The Home

SIXTEEN

The kids were all accounted for, even Deke and his buddies. Starlene knew they liked to sneak off and smoke cigarettes in the laurels, but she didn't think cracking down on them would do any good, at least until she established rapport. She needed to earn their trust to be a good therapist. And at least it wasn't marijuana they were smoking. Probably.

Down by the lake, Vicky and Freeman were talking. That was a good sign for both of them, because Freeman had acted like a sassy loner and Vicky had been aloof ever since Starlene had taken the job at Wendover. The poor girl was a classic anorexic-bulimic, and maybe having a friend would help her self-esteem, which in turn might boost her appetite. She sighed. Sounded like a "Dr. Phil Get Real" platitude.

Starlene looked at her watch. Dinner was fifteen minutes away. House parents rotated shifts on a weekly basis, and her week off was coming up. After eating, she would make the long drive down to Laurel Valley, where her cat awaited in her cold mobile home. A good book and a prayer would get her to midnight, when sleep would probably come.

A restless sleep, as they all were these days. First it was Randy who had intruded on her dreams, with his big arms and strong smile and his irritating overprotective-ness. Guys these days thought just because you kissed them meant you were obligated to roll back the sheets and let them wallow like hogs in the slop of your skin. Randy didn't understand the meaning of patience, especially that business about waiting for marriage. Chastity didn't seem to be a treasured virtue outside her Baptist church,vand virginity was more a burden than a prized possession these days.

And Randy was so secretive, with his "Don't ask questions" attitude. She needed an ally on the inside. This job was tough enough without having to wing it alone. How could she have a lasting relationship with someone who believed in keeping things from her?

Now she had other worries to lose sleep over. This strange business with the disappearing man in the gown, for example. She hadn't hallucinated, no matter what Randy and Mr. Bondurant and Dr. Kracowski thought. She believed religious visions were confined to the Old Testament, not let loose in the modern waking world. Though, Lord knows, the truth often came cloaked in the weirdest of disguises.

And the boy, Freeman, who had left Room Thirteen dazed and trembling. He was another puzzle in this stone house of mysteries.

"The boy's doing fine now," came Dr. Kracowski's voice from behind her.

Kracowski stood under an oak tree with Dr. Swenson. Paula, the doctor liked to be called especially by the men. She batted her eyelashes every time she introduced herself by her first name, and doubly enjoyed it after some man had peered at the nameplate on her breast a full five seconds too long. Starlene wasn't jealous, though she wondered what strategy the woman had employed to get through medical school.

Kracowski waited looking at Starlene like a cat that had swallowed cream. Pleased with his playmate or smug in his therapeutic genius?

"I don't know," Starlene said. "Freeman looked awful shaky when he left that treatment room."

"You don't trust me at all, do you?" Dr. Kracowski turned to Dr. Swenson. "She doesn't trust me."

"That's not really my place, sir," Starlene said. "My main responsibility is for the welfare of the kids."

"As is mine, Miss Rogers. We're all part of the Wendover team. Victory is measured by happy hearts and contented souls. One child at a time."

"What was that business with the electricity? I didn't think the home was authorized to administer electroconvulsive therapy. I'm pretty sure that neither Freeman nor his legal guardian authorized it."

"Wendover is Freeman's guardian now," Kracowski said.

"The treatment must have done his heart good," Dr. Swenson said, in her cheerleader voice. "He's well enough to be flirting with the Vomit Queen."

Starlene wanted to choke the woman for her use of the nickname, but Kracowski's grin stopped her cold.

"Now, Paula, just because the children can't hear us doesn't mean we can let down our guard," he said. "After all, if you name a puppy 'Butt-Ugly,' it will suffer from poor self-esteem and the resultant depression. Even though the puppy doesn't know the meaning of the words. It's all projection and perception, setting up expectations."

Starlene looked at her watch again. Three more minutes. She could put up with this insufferable pair that much longer, surely. This was nothing compared to the trials of Job or the rigors of a church bake sale.

"Tell me, Miss Rogers," Kracowski said, waving his hand to indicate the children playing and shouting on the grounds. "What do you see when you look at our young charges?"

"I see hearts in need of hope. And I think we ought to do more than just shock them senseless."

Swenson glowered. "Richard's treatments affect positive change at the subatomic level. He heals the whole person, from the inside out."

Kracowski laughed. "I don't need another advocate, dear. The results will speak for themselves once I collate my data and get my articles published."

"That's what it's all about with you, isn't it?" Starlene knew she was risking her job, but she'd had enough of Kracowski's subterfuge and pompousness. "As long as you get credit in the psychological community, you could care less about the kids."

"I care more than you can imagine, Miss Rogers. Those kids out there, the ones who receive Synaptic Synergy Therapy, they are me. Or, rather, the way I was when I was young. Lost, confused, unsure of my place in the world. I had so much anger inside."

"Did you plug yourself into a wall socket, or did you find somebody to talk to?"

"We're really not so different, Miss Rogers. I believe in optimism. That's a version of harmony, no matter if the harmony is induced by SST or through the attention of someone who pretends to care."

"I care," Starlene said. She watched Vicky and Freeman on the rocks by the lake. They seemed to be arguing about something. She hadn't seen Vicky so animated in weeks.

"I'm sure you do care," said Swenson. "You're brainwashed by the twin systems of religion and social sciences."

"Paula, don't rush to judgment," Kracowski said. "We all need faith."

"Faith," Starlene said. "I'll remember that tonight when I'm saying my prayers."

The sun was lower now, touching the cut of the mountains, and shadows reached like fingers toward Wendover Home.

"I'll tell you what," Kracowski said. "Why don't you let me administer an SST treatment on you? If you're sound and healthy, it can do no harm. If you have any troubles, your emotional fields will be aligned to their proper state. And you'll see that I'm not some Victor Frankenstein running a chamber of horrors."

Starlene folded her arms. The evening was growing cold. Or maybe the chill originated from the challenge in Kracowski's voice.

"Sure," she said. "I'll be your guinea pig. You'd probably love to have a case involving an adult subject, anyway, to make your research more credible."

"Tomorrow morning, then?"

"I'm scheduled to rotate off duty tonight."

"I can have the schedule changed. Things will soon be very interesting around here. The state board is going to visit in a few days, and our directors are excited about what's happening here."

Down by the lake, Vicky and Freeman had stopped talking and were looking out across the water. Starlene followed their gazes, and that's when she saw the old man.

She was about to blurt out to Kracowski, to show him that the man with the wet footprints was real, that she wasn't prone to temporary insanity or hallucinations, but she saw the old man walking on water, four steps, five steps, and she was trying to deny the evidence of her own eyes when he disappeared.

Maybe she did need an SST treatment. Or maybe she just needed to have her brain fried to a crisp.

In recorded history, only one person had ever walked on water, and Jesus Christ was safely resurrected and borne aloft to Heaven. Unless Jesus had made his promised return right here in the Southern Appalachian Mountains, on the grounds of Wendover, then a different kind of spirit was on the loose.