Darley-city. Elizabeth Roide

Thirteenth chapter. "The end of Elizabeth`s scheduled education"

Yesterday, the head of faculty of our group, Jane Worth, sent out an alert to all of us on smartphones, in the form of an e-mail message "by five o'clock in the evening of tomorrow come to the hall of celebrations".

We were on vacation, waiting for my prom. Patrick went to work. In the end of work day, we came to the appointed place and found a lot of people: teachers, students from schools and universities and, of course, students of our the Oxford College. After six dance numbers we went to the Dorm room where Oksana Kent cleaned the things and prepared tea for a supper. To above ten o'clock, it was dark outside, we walked to the ninth room of student hostel, for sleep. Patrick went away.
I felt cold  in the midnight. Someone opened the window? I tried to wake up. No, the window is closed, so is the door. I got out of bed and went into the corridor. It was quiet. Nobody, nothing, everything is closed. Am I dreaming? I guess not. Where's the cold coming from? I don't know.
Suddenly, I saw the doors first, second, third, fourth, as if from the room out, there's another one, one at a time in different parts of the room like some kind of dream. This is weird. And here-or a ghost, or actually - a red spot. Traces. I pushed the flowerpot aside, saw the man, he was hurt. I thought about what to do, but nothing came up. How did he come? Where is this place? How am I going back? "Patrick! Come here!"

I shouted, hoping for help, but my friend was far away. Wait, could I pick up all his things, as if for guidance, to learn more about its origin? I took everything, I could started reading.
Some interesting font, written with a strikethrough, as if writing this, wanted to convince other people that everything is done, or words - not true. He reported his thoughts, claimed how good he was, but he was not understood. The logic is the same as that of the Hatter, but it is not the Hatter, but someone else whom I have not seen before, but he was then somewhere in the place, where I was.
"Well, if it's that bad, I'll go back, maybe find my friends, call them for help... - I thought. I still find it difficult to return to the serene state that happened yesterday.
I went further. There's a door. The padlock. The key? Where does that door lead? What key? The searching the key was a waste of time. Although, if everything was fine, I wouldn't be standing here. There was nothing in the dead man's suit but a notebook, a collection of pens, handkerchiefs, two lenses, and some paper clips. By all indications, he was a researcher or a student, but I didn't know, who he was, because he didn't have any papers. The questions were almost the same as I had asked myself that time. I remember, how Patrick met me after my first visit to the Astral.
- Sit here. I will coming soon!
But the man didn't move; or alive, or dead, or really, or a ghost, or maybe just a vision, a dream. Strange place. Wait, could I take all of his stuff, like, for an introduction, to learn more about his background?
I thought that before you do something, you have to ask your friends or those who know how to do something. However, when I entered these rooms, I had no such thought, and I did not understand what it is and where it is. Some corridors, flower pots, a man without movement, but there was no explanation in sight. I realized that I was in a terrible dream, where I was standing alone in a room with a closed door, and go back to my friends, to leave this stranger. I don't care that he is a scientist with higher education, who made experiments with social psychology, and now sitting here, showing no signs of life. If there maybe was a way out, I had happy to get out of here. Now I'm alone, in a cold place, looking out the window, covered with fog, move the diary on the windowsill, and think about salvation. I don't care about that man, I just need to get out of the room.
- Hi! Who are you? - I turned around.
- Not afraid. My name is Marcus Fight. I left my girlfriend.
- What are you doing here?
- I'm sleeping.
- Is this a place to sleep?
- I'm sorry, but I was a good man, and when I was killed, I went through that door. Could you have opened it?
- No.
- There's some kind of lock, but you have to find the key. I don't want to stay with my last mistake.
- As you say!
- Have you identified your target?
- What?
- You wanted to get out of here.
- Yeah.
- What target are you looking for?
- I consider becoming a psychologist.
- Good! Come with me?
- How do you open the door?
- Perhaps it will open when we decide our destiny.
- Well. Gone.
We touched the surface of the whiteboard, and after our press, the door opened. Before us was reality. We were met by my friend Patrick and my brother David, and we saw those, who passed by on the stairs. My friends asked me, where I was, how I felt, but there was almost no time to answer, because many students and teachers were going to go on Christmas holidays and vacations, and we gone to home after graduation, collecting things.