Brad felt good. Really good. The night was still, with just the rustling of the wind, but the rhythm of the music from the party still beat in his head. Wendy leaned against him as they stumbled back toward the dorms. Both were almost numb with a combination of alcohol and exhaustion and just plain feeling good. Brad knew their path was erratic, and he didn’t care. He felt good and Wendy felt nice and soft against him and who cared anyway.
The party had started at around seven. Brad picked Wendy up at her dorm and they walked off campus to the house of the guys throwing it. Lots of people had heard about the party and the crowd overflowed out of the house into the front yard. The three guys who shared the house had planned the party well. The neighbors to the north and across the street were both away for the night, and the old lady who lived to the south was fairly hard of hearing and never complained of noise. They still kept the noise down enough that the police never came. There was lots of music, lots of beer, and Brad and Wendy danced until they got tired, and drank until they felt like dancing again. Wendy had to work the following afternoon and didn’t want to be too tired, so they finally left about half past one in the morning.
They’d left with a small crowd, but Wendy insisted on trying to help someone who’d passed out on the driveway. After several minutes some of his friends showed up and Brad and Wendy continued their slow and erratic way back to the dorms.
Once on campus, they made their way toward the administration building. Brad always liked looking at the building at night because it was such a contrast to the imposing business that swarmed them during the day. It was his way of feeling he could conquer the authority they represented, walking past them when they were empty and impotent. He’d joined, with relish, the protest that had been organized the week before. He had no idea what, specifically, they were protesting, but he yelled and screamed along with the other students who marched in front of the administration building. He figured any authority is bad, so why not protest them. He smiled at the impotence he imagined the buildings now showed, dark and empty.
His eyesight was fuzzy and things seemed to swim a little, but it looked like someone had spray-painted something on the wall up ahead. He gave a short, involuntary giggle as he thought of the stuffy uppity-ups getting all uptight when they came into work in the morning.
As they came closer Brad could see that it wasn’t words but just a spray of what looked like red paint across the off-white brick wall. Cool, he thought. Someone’s pulling a prank, making it look like the wall’s been sprayed with blood. “Someone shoulda thought of that for the protests, but hey, it’s still a cool joke. All that’s missing is a body.”
Brad laughed out loud the next moment as the body came into view. He wondered what they used to make it. It looked very realistic. Wendy had her eyes closed and was letting Brad lead up to that point, but his laughter made her look up. She sobered a bit at what she saw. Then it dawned on her that Brad was laughing. He must know it’s a joke. So she relaxed.
“That’s gross,” she said up at Brad as they walked closer, “why would someone pull something like....”
Both she and Brad stopped. They were now close enough to clearly see that this was no prank. Wendy closed her eyes and tried to bury her head in the folds of Brad’s jacket, but she felt his stomach tightening with spasms. He jerked away from her, doubled over, and loudly threw up.