The Summoning

Eighteen

WHEN I CAME IN THE back door, I almost mowed down Tori.

"Have fun putting out the trash?" she asked.

I glanced back through the frilly curtains to see Simon near the shed. I could have said he'd been helping or, better yet, point out that Derek was there, too, if she looked closer. But I didn't much see the point.

Derek blamed me for getting him into trouble. Simon blamed me for getting Derek into trouble.

If Tori was going to blame me for poaching her non-boyfriend, so be it. I couldn't work up the energy to care.

Rae was quiet all afternoon. Tori's comments about her parents not visiting seemed to have brought her down. At break, we got permission to go upstairs before classes and move the rest of her photos to our room.

“Thanks for helping with this," she said. "I know, I don't have to clear out right now, but if I leave one of these, Tori's liable to toss it out and say she thought I didn't want it anymore."

I looked at the top photo, one of a blond girl about three years old and a slightly older boy, who looked Native American. "Cute. Friends? Kids you babysit?"

"No, my little brother and sister."

I'm sure my face turned bright red as I stammered an apology.

Rae laughed. "No need to be sorry. I'm adopted. My mother was from Jamaica. Or so I'm told. She was just a kid when she had me, so she had to give me up. That —" she pointed to a photo of a Caucasian couple on the beach "—is my mom and dad. And that—" she pointed to a Hispanic girl mugging for the camera with Donald Duck "—is my sister, Jess. She's twelve. That—" She waved to a solemn-faced boy with red hair "—is my brother, Mike. He's eight. A very multicultural family, as you can tell."

"Five kids? Wow."

"Jess and I were adopted. The others are fosters. Mom likes kids." She paused. "Well, in theory anyway."

We walked to my room. She took the stack of photos from me and put them on her new dresser.

As she moved her Nintendo DS aside, her fingers tapped the scratched plastic. "You know how some kids are when they get a new gizmo? For weeks or even months, it's the coolest, best, most interesting whatsit they've ever owned and they can't stop talking about it. They carry it everywhere. Then, one day, they're all hyped up over some new gadget. There's nothing wrong with the old one. It just isn't cool and new anymore. Well, that's how my mom is." She turned and walked to the bed. "Only with her, it isn't gadgets. It's kids."

"Oh."

"When they're little, they're great. When they get older . . . not so much." Rae sat on the bed and shook her head. "Yeah, I'm probably being too hard on her. You know how it is. When you're little, your mom is so cool and she can't do anything wrong and then you get older —" She stopped and blushed. "No, I guess you wouldn't know what that's like, would you? Sorry."

"It's okay." I sat on my bed.

"Your dad never got married again?"

I shook my head.

"So who looks after you?"

As we headed down to class, I told her about Aunt Lauren, and the endless succession of housekeepers, making her laugh with my impressions, and forgot everything else . . . at least for a little while.

That afternoon, during my session with Dr. Gill, I put on an Oscar-worthy performance. I admitted that, as she'd suspected, I had thought I might be seeing ghosts. Now, after hearing her diagnosis and letting my medication take effect, I understood that I'd been hallucinating. I was a schizophrenic. I needed help.

She totally bought it.

All I had to do now was keep up the act for a week or so, and I'd be free.

When classes ended, Rae and I did our homework together in the media room. Simon passed the door a couple of times and I thought maybe he wanted to talk to me, but when I stuck my head out the door, he'd disappeared upstairs.

As I worked, I thought about that patch of fog in the yard. If Derek hadn't seen it, too, I might have mistaken it for a ghost.

Why had he shushed Simon? Was Simon somehow causing my "hallucinations"? Some kind of special effects?

Sure, that would explain the ghosts I'd seen at school — holographic projections created by a guy I'd never met. Right.

But something was going on.

Or, at least, that's what Derek wanted me to believe.

By refusing to explain and making a big deal of refusing, Derek wanted me to do exactly what I was doing right now —driving myself nuts wondering what he wasn't telling me. He wanted me to go to him, begging for answers, so he could taunt and torment me some more.

There was no way Simon or Derek could have created the ghosts at school, but that fog would be a simple effect to pull off. Maybe Derek had done it. That's why Simon had protested, and Derek had shut him up.

Was Simon afraid of his brother? He pretended to defend him and act like best buds, but what choice did he have? He was stuck with Derek until his father returned.

Where was his father?

Why had he enrolled Simon and Derek in school under false names?

Why was Simon even here, if he didn't have a file?

Too many questions. I needed to start finding answers.

We were clearing the table after dinner when Mrs. Talbot came into the dining room with a man she introduced as Dr. Davidoff, the head of the board that ran Lyle House. With only a thin circle of hair and a huge, sharp nose, he was so tall that he seemed to be permanently leaning down to hear better. With the hair and the nose, he bore an unfortunate resemblance to a vulture, head tucked down, eyes beady behind his glasses.

"This must be little Chloe Saunders." He beamed with the false heartiness of a middle-aged guy who doesn't have kids and never stops to think that a fifteen-year-old girl might not like being called "little" Chloe Saunders.

He awkwardly clapped me on the back. "I like your hair, Chloe. Red stripes. Very cool."

He said "cool" like I say a Spanish word when I'm not sure of the pronunciation. Rae rolled her eyes behind his back, then came around front. "Hey, Dr. D."

"Rachelle. Oh, sorry, Rae, right? Are you keeping out of trouble?"

Rae flashed a perky smile, one custom-made for adults she had to suck up to. "Always, Dr. D."

"That's my girl. Now, Chloe, Dr. Gill tells me you had quite a breakthrough today. She's very pleased with your progress and how quickly you've fit into the therapeutic routine and accepted your diagnosis."

I tried not to squirm. He meant well, but being a good patient wasn't something I wanted to be publicly congratulated on. Especially when Derek had stopped eating to watch.

Now run along, take your meds and be a good girl.

Dr. Davidoff continued. "Normally, I don't meet with our young people until they've been here at least a week, but since you're speeding right along, Chloe, I don't want to hold you back. I'm sure you're eager to get back to your friends and school as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir." I copied Rae's perky smile, ignoring Derek's heavy gaze.

"Come along then and we'll chat in Dr. Gill's office."

He put his hand on one shoulder to propel me out.

Tori stepped in front of us. "Hello, Dr. Davidoff. That new medicine you have me on is working great. I'm really doing well."

"That's good, Victoria."

He absently patted her arm, then led me out.

The session was similar to the first one I'd had with Dr. Gill, filling in background. Who was Chloe Saunders? What had happened to her? How did she feel about it?

I'm sure he could get all this from Dr. Gill's notes, and she'd stayed late today to sit in, but it was like in a cop movie, where the detective interviews the suspect, asking all the same questions as the last guy. It's not the information that's important, but how I tell it. What's my emotional reaction? What extra details did I add this time? What did I leave out?

For all his false heartiness, Dr. Davidoff was Dr. Gill's supervisor, meaning he was here to check her work.

Dr. Gill had sat stiff and tense, leaning forward, squinting at me as she raced to capture every word, every gesture, like a student afraid to miss a key point for the exam. Dr. Davidoff took his time, getting a coffee for himself and a juice box for me, relaxing in Dr. Gill's chair, chatting me up before we started.

When he asked whether I'd had any hallucinations since I'd been here, I said yes, I'd seen a disembodied hand the second morning and heard a voice later that day. I didn't mention yesterday but said honestly that all had been fine today.

I sailed through the session without a hitch. At the end, he told me I was doing "fine, just fine," patted me on the back, and led me from the office.

As I passed the open media room door, I glanced inside. Derek was at the computer, his back to me as he played what looked like a war strategy game. Simon was also playing a game, on his Nintendo DS, as he sprawled sideways in the recliner, legs draped over the arm.

He noticed me and straightened, lips parting as if ready to call after me.

"If you're going for a snack, grab me a Coke," Derek said, attention fixed on the screen. "You know where they're hidden."

Simon paused, gaze shunting between us. His brother was giving him the perfect excuse to sneak out and talk to me, but he still hesitated, as if sensing a setup or a test. There was no way Derek knew I was here, behind his back. Yet Simon slouched in his chair.

"You want a Coke, get it yourself."

"I didn't ask you to get me one. I said if you were going."

"I'm not."

"Then say so already. What's with you tonight?"

I continued down the hall.

I found Rae in the dining room, homework spread across the table.

"You've got a DS, don't you?" I asked.

"Yep. Only Mario Karts on it, though. You want to borrow it?"

"Please."

"It's on my dresser."

I walked past the media room doorway again. The guys were still there, looking like they hadn't budged since I last passed. Again Simon glanced up. I waved Rae's DS and gestured. He grinned and shot me a discreet thumbs-up.

Now to find a place within range . . . I had a DS at home and knew I should be able to connect with another one within fifty feet. The media room was sandwiched between the front hall and the classroom, both off-limits for hanging out. But it was also right under the bathroom. So I went up, started PictoChat and prayed I could connect to Simon.

I could.

I used the stylus to write my message: u want to talk?

He drew a check mark, then wrote D followed by a picture that, alter a moment I realized was an eye. Yes, he wanted to talk, but Derek was keeping an eye on him.

Before I could reply, he sent another. D 8? a box with "soap" drawn in it, surrounded by bubbles. It took a moment, but I finally interpreted that as "Derek has a shower around eight."

He erased it and drew an 8 followed by yard. Meet him outside at eight.

I sent back a check mark.