Down by the riverside

Time is running out. Physically and mentally broken, you stumble toward East River Road on your way to the president’s mansion.
It’s a long way to Eastcliff. You break into a run. Heart racing and legs burning, you keep going. You’re sprinting now. Time is wasting away.
Questions rack your aching head. Who would want to keep me from my spring break? Why?
Fear shoots through your spine as you approach the glistening picket fence surrounding the president’s fortress. You realize that the conspiracy goes straight to the top.
Then you hear a faint melody swirling in the trees. Your nerves begin to settle. Hasselmo is on the balcony, gazing toward the river.
Laughing loudly, he grins and waves you toward him.
What is he holding? Why is he laughing? Does he know me?
You begin walking toward him when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. Glancing to your right, you see someone darting behind a tree in the next yard.
You’ve seen the person before — during your test in 125 Willey and after that blow to your head in Pillsbury Hall.
But this time the figure doesn’t run. It steps away from the tree and stands still. A soft, rounded face peers from under a hood, looking toward you and then toward Hasselmo. You look closely. The figure is crying.
You have little time. Is the president holding the key to your spring break? You can’t be sure. Who is this crying figure? Does the person want to help?
If you want to approach Hasselmo …

If you want to approach the crying figure …