Connected (3 page)

He reached for the phone and dialled his friend,
only to be met with another stupid voicemail greeting:
“Congratulations on calling Kal, the king of cool. Kindly converse after this.”
“Pick up the call you crazy clown!” shouted Doug, immediately thinking of a
four lettered c-word which would have continued the alliteration more
satisfyingly.
After a few seconds silence he added, “It’s Doug - I’m downloading - I’ll call
after.”
He checked the screen. The transfer rate had slowed right down and the download
was still only 65% complete. He got up and stretched, memories of the previous
night starting to break through the haze. In many ways, it had been a typical
student party except, being organised by Kal, had boasted a more agreeable
female to male ratio. Quite how he achieved this remained a mystery. To Doug,
Kal was basically short and chubby with bad skin and slicked back hair, and yet
swarms of attractive girls appeared drawn to him like flies. Admittedly, the
guy had a keen sense of humour, and he always seemed able to afford the
trendiest gear, but beyond that, it was a puzzle. Doug on the other hand, who
considered he ought to be fairly attractive to the opposite sex, had not
managed to pull for months. At the party, he had seemed to be getting all the
right signals from a tall, elegant, but slightly older looking girl by the name
of Susan, but somewhere in the course of events, she had disappeared and Doug
had found himself getting incredibly drunk instead - or perhaps the getting
drunk had come first - he couldn’t remember.

He stripped off, wrapped a towel around his waist
and headed to the shower-room. Campus accommodation at the University of Essex
was fairly basic - half a dozen almost identical concrete tower blocks deposited
in the middle of picturesque Wivenhoe Park on the outskirts of Colchester. What
had once been the inspiration of John Constable was now a tribute to the worst
of sixties architecture. Doug’s room was on the twelfth floor of “William
Morris”, the first tower as you approached from town. Kal’s was three blocks
further in and on the thirteenth floor. The wood and plaster was scratched and
dented from a myriad careless students tramping in and out, but it was warm,
dry, five minutes from the lecture halls, and relatively cheap. Doug held in
his stomach as he passed the kitchen, but the girl had already disappeared back
into Brian’s room. He could hear them arguing about something as he passed.
Perhaps he ought to try his luck later, he mused mischievously.

On the bathroom floor was a small puddle of vomit,
but with no recollection of having been responsible, he stepped gingerly over
it and into the shower. The water felt good and slowly the vice began to loosen
its grip. As he massaged the shampoo into his scalp, he heard the bathroom door
open. “Morning!” he shouted - to no response. “Miserable git,” he muttered. Of
the eight other guys on Doug’s floor, Brian was the only one he could really
call a friend. Although reading history and philosophy, which had little in
common with his own combination of maths and computing, Brian also played
second row for the university’s first rugby team and since the beginning of the
season the two had become close friends. Each standing about six foot four and
weighing in at some two hundred and ten pounds apiece, some people even mistook
them for brothers, but beyond their muscular builds and short spiky hair, the
resemblance was only superficial.

As Doug stepped out, he heard one of the other
showers running and turned to see who it was. Glistening under the
fluorescent-lit jets of steaming water and now wearing nothing but a broad
grin, was the girl from the kitchen. Doug stepped back into the vomit, small
pieces of diced carrot squelching up between his toes. “Shit!”
“No, that would’ve been worse,” said the girl, still facing him, “…but only
just,” she added. “I was going to ask you to soap my back, but with that on
your feet….”
He wrapped the towel around his waist and stuck his foot back under the shower.
As he came out, she was proffering the soap invitingly. He looked at her
properly now, his mouth gaping unconsciously. She was incredibly well toned,
her breasts round and firm, while her shoulders, arms and stomach were defined,
but not overly muscular.
“Look I can’t. Brian’s a mate!” he said, walking towards her.
“Don’t worry about him,” said the girl, pulling the towel away and tossing it
on the floor.
“What if he comes in though?” he said, as he stepped into the cubicle with her.
“It’s finished between me and him,” she replied, pulling him closer.
“Well I suppose that’s all right then,” whispered Doug as their lips came
together.
“I’d say so. By the way, I’m Cindy.”
“Doug,” he replied, still somewhat stunned at how quickly things were happening.
Not unlike some of his recent dreams, he half expected to be catapulted into
some other improbable scenario with the typically frustrating incongruence of
such fantasies. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed while sucking
hard on his tongue. She was strong. For several minutes they twisted and
turned, kissing and exploring each other’s bodies with their fingertips.
“How come I missed you at the party last night. You’re bloody gorgeous,” he
finally offered.
“It’s probably something to do with the fact that you were pissed as a newt by
the time I got there.” She glanced at the door and paused, clearly slightly
concerned at the prospect of interruption.
“Listen, why don’t I go and get my stuff from Brian’s room and meet you in
ten.”
“Good idea, I’m in room nine.”
He didn’t feel entirely comfortable about stealing Brian’s date, but lust was
getting the better of him.

Back in the room, the download had bombed at 65%,
but he couldn’t care less. The empty beer cans and pizza boxes decorating the
floor were crammed into the bin and the ashtray emptied on top. He straightened
the bed and looked around, the room suddenly tidier than it had been in weeks.
That’ll do, he thought, regarding himself in the mirror. He flexed his muscles
in what he imagined to be a body-builder pose. He was in pretty good shape
thanks to rugby training, but could still lose a pound or two around the
middle. He wondered what she did to keep in such perfect condition. Perhaps it
was just lots of sex. He pondered this for a moment, the thought intriguing him
immensely. He found most aerobic exercise as boring as hell, but sex was said
to be equivalent to quite a workout, and he couldn’t ever imagine tiring of
that.

There was a knock at the door and in danced Cindy
dressed in black leather jeans and a tight black cotton top that stopped
somewhere short of her navel. Her hair was still wet and fell limply about her
shoulders. He took in her face properly for the first time. She had delicate,
sculptured features with high cheekbones and a small straight nose. Her eyes
were emerald green and full of life. She was really quite beautiful, he
decided.
“Can I – err - get you anything?” he asked awkwardly, suddenly aware of how
little he knew about this girl, other than the fact that she seemed to want to
have sex with him - not that he had a problem with this, but it seemed an odd
reversal of roles nonetheless.
“No thanks, I have everything I need right here,” and with that, her arms flew
up above her head and the top was gone. Almost as quickly the jeans were round
her ankles and kicked off.
“Yes I can see that.” He barely managed to say the words before she had pushed
him onto the bed and thrust her tongue into his mouth. He gasped for air as she
finally pulled back and started to work her way down his neck and chest, her
head moving in slow circles, each getting tantalisingly lower. The sensation of
her warm lips and the way her cool damp hair lightly tickled his skin sent Doug
into a trance. Time froze. Never before had felt so aroused.

From outside, came a loud crash followed by the
sound of a car alarm. Cindy raised her head to look through the window.
“Don’t stop now.” Doug groaned, “It’s just another idiot dropping bricks onto
parked cars.”
For several weeks, there had been a spate of incidents in which various
projectiles had rained from tower windows. It had started with water bombs,
then the water turned to paint, prompting angry warnings from the dean after
his old blue Mercedes gained a red roof one afternoon. When it progressed to
heavier objects including bricks, the police became involved although
miraculously there had still been no casualties. Unfortunately upon arrival,
the police had made the mistake of parking too close to one of the towers. As
soon as the men had stepped clear of the patrol car, a fridge had crashed
through its roof. Eventually three stoned first-years had been taken away and
since then, things had been quiet – until now, that was.

The wail of the car alarm was now accompanied by
screaming - female, high pitched, hysterical, and soon to be joined by others.
The clatter of opening windows resonated through the blocks as students peered
out to investigate, while an air of panic started to permeate the buildings.
Doug reluctantly got up and joined Cindy at the window. Leaning out slightly he
could just make out a small red car, perhaps a Golf cabriolet, with its
indicators flashing. It was at the bottom of Kal’s tower and there appeared to
be something protruding from the top, though what exactly, was unclear.
“What’s going on?” said Cindy.
“Looks like something’s been dropped on that red car down there. I thought we’d
seen the last of all that shit.”
“I don’t like it. Why are they still screaming like that?”
“It’s all right, I know someone in that tower. I’ll give him a call.”
Doug picked up his mobile and dialled Kal’s number again. Still the stupid
greeting.
“I want to go and see,” Cindy said putting her clothes back on. All Doug could
think about was getting back into bed, but he knew the moment was lost. He
pulled on his boxers and then, bending over double, just managed to force a
pair of jeans over the top.

A siren could now be heard racing towards the
campus. As they made their way along the road between the towers, a small crowd
was forming around the red car. The ambulance passed them, blue lights flashing,
but the siren now off. It was not until they reached the edge of the gathering
that their worst fears were confirmed. The object jutting through the torn roof
of the cabriolet was in fact a pair of legs. They were short, brown and chubby
and one was bent impossibly at the knee. On the feet were a flashy new pair of
trainers that Doug recognised immediately.
“Oh my God, it’s Kal!” he said, staring at the trainers. Several people turned
to glare at him as if knowing the victim somehow made him responsible. The
ambulance men had opened the door and were leaning into the car, obscuring any
view of the body. Even so, there seemed surprisingly little blood around.
Perhaps he had survived, he thought to himself, but a glance up at the open
window thirteen floors above was enough to remove any such hope. Cindy buried
her head in Doug’s chest as he wrapped an arm around her. The ambulance men
stood up and walked slowly back to the van with a look of defeat on their
faces. There was no hurry. No medical attention was necessary; just a stretcher
and a black bag. Doug moved closer. Through the open door of the car, he could
now see Kal’s face, eyes open with a trickle of blood over his chin and throat.
The neck had evidently snapped on impact with the driver’s seat, forcing his
head the right way up while his chest and body remained inverted. Only a small
hole had been torn in the vinyl roof. Doug started to feel sick and just
managed to get away from the crowd before vomiting. At that moment, two police
cars arrived from which four men appeared and started clearing the area.
“Did anybody see it happen?” one of them asked. Silence.
“Does anyone know which floor he came out of?” It was the same man again. He was
in plain clothes, a huge man in both height and girth with a deep gravelly
voice. Some of the bystanders turned and pointed at Doug. “He knows him,” one
said. The big man moved towards him. He had a tangled thatch of grey hair atop
a bushy grey beard and moustache. His equally shaggy eyebrows were raised and
what little face could be seen through all the hair, seemed to repeat the
question.
“I didn’t see it happen,” said Doug, wiping his mouth nervously, “…but it’s
Kal Gupta and his room’s on the thirteenth floor.”
The big man looked up, waved an arm and the two uniforms were dispatched
inside. The fourth policeman was much younger looking, obviously more junior
and rather gangly in appearance. He too was dressed in plain clothes and was
busy scribbling something in a notebook. “And your name is?” he asked.
“Doug - Doug Richards.”
“And where were you when it happened?”
Doug looked around for Cindy, but she had disappeared. “I was in my room.”
The big hairy face was asking for more.
“Room nine, twelfth floor, William Morris - It’s the last tower on the right there,”
he added pointing back up the road.
“Thank you Mr. Richards. We’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
He whispered something to his gangly colleague then turned to the crowd. “We’d
appreciate if you all went home now. We’ll take it from here.”

Doug looked around for Cindy again, but she was
nowhere to be seen. He didn’t even know how to contact her. He wanted to go up
to Kal’s room. He wanted to know what had happened, but he knew they wouldn’t
let him in. There had been a suicide the previous year - some first year with a
history of depression and bad grades. Doug hadn’t known him personally, but by
all accounts he had been a seriously troubled young man. He was fairly sure
that Kal had not suffered from depression, at least not in the clinical sense,
and his grades had always been excellent. They had been friends since sharing a
flat in the first year and had sat together at most lectures. In fact Kal had
been one of the most cheerful students he knew - always optimistic and game for
a laugh. Doug felt a lump in his throat. It made no sense. He looked up at the
window again. It couldn’t have been an accident though; the windows were all
fitted with stops that usually prevented them opening all the way, unless
purposely removed.