Burning Page 19

  “So why didn’t she just leave?” I ask. “No one’s forcing her to be in SciGirls.”

  “She was scared! She knew something really bad was going on. I told her that if she wanted to help, she needed to find real proof—something she could take to the police. We knew there was nothing about SciGirls online, but Mary Anne thought there might be something in the local newspapers. She said that Dr. Gruen has been recruiting around this area for years. It’s impossible that no one noticed, and it’s harder to get rid of evidence when it’s in an actual newspaper and not just words on a screen. She’s been going through the archived papers at the library for the past few days. That’s where she found that article about the woman who’d been experimented on.”

  I nod. I’m glad I know where the article came from, but I’m still curious about Cara and Mary Anne. How long have they been together? And has Cara always liked girls? Did she not trust me enough to tell me? I’m not sure how to ask any of these questions without sounding judgmental, so I keep quiet. I hesitate for a second, then drop my hand on Cara’s arm. Her shoulders tense.

  “You’re going to be weird around me now, aren’t you?” she asks, shrugging me off.

  “Jesus, Cara. That wasn’t weird, it was supportive.”

  “I don’t want you to be supportive. I want you to be normal.” Cara slumps against the bathroom stall, hanging her head. “Things don’t have to change. It’s not like I’m—”

  The air around us shifts, like when a noise you didn’t even notice suddenly goes silent. Cara stiffens. I turn, pressing my back against the bathroom stall so no one can sneak up behind me. We watch the empty bathroom for a full minute, but nothing happens. I exhale, and allow my shoulders to loosen. We’re just being paranoid. There’s no one here.

  “The wind,” I say. Cara doesn’t look convinced.

  “We should get back,” she whispers. “Now.”

  Together we creep back down the hall and slip into our dorm. I pull our door shut behind us, taking solace in the low, hollow sound as it clicks. Cara kneels on the floor, fishing a bobby pin out of her hair.

  “You were the one messing with our lock,” I say.

  “Sometimes I meet up with Mary Anne at night, if she’s working late with Dr. Gruen.” She jams the pin into the keyhole and wiggles it around until she hears a click.

  “I thought it was Jessica,” I explain. Cara shoves the bobby pin back into her hair.

  “Girl, did you really think that tiny little thing could work these locks?” she says, nodding at Jessica’s bed. She starts climbing the ladder to her bunk, but I frown and glance down.

  Jessica lies huddled in the bunk below, her breathing slow and steady. I think of the smoke that woke me from my sleep, smelling of bonfire and burning leaves. It had seemed so real at the time, but Jessica’s here, not setting things on fire in the bathroom.

  So who was?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Miss Davis.”

  The voice is so low that, for a moment, I think it’s part of a dream. I groan and roll over, my eyes flickering open. A long, thin shadow stretches across my floor.

  I jerk upright. Dr. Gruen stands in the doorway, the golden rose glinting in the early-morning sunlight. The bed across from me creaks. Cara moans.

  “What the—” she starts, but Dr. Gruen raises a hand, silencing her.

  “Don’t get up, ladies. I just need to borrow Miss Davis.”

  I swallow. “Why?”

  Dr. Gruen stares at me with those cold blue eyes. “Follow me.”

  I crawl out of bed. Cara’s gone completely white. It occurs to me that she’s scared. I’ve never seen her scared before. The sweat on the back of my neck feels suddenly very cold. I look around the little dorm, wondering if this might be the last time I see it.

  Jessica stares out from the bunk across from me, her dark eyes wide with fear. She’s got her hands all bunched up near her mouth, and she’s written the word “hope” across her knuckles.

  I look down at the wobbly letters. In the nearly two years since I started coming up with four-letter words to write on Issie’s hand, I had never once thought of “hope.”

  “Miss Davis,” Dr. Gruen says. Her voice harder, this time.

  I follow her out of the room and down the hall, clenching and unclenching my hands as we walk. Something’s going to happen. Something bad. I feel it in the back of my throat. I stare at the bloodred soles of Dr. Gruen’s shoes, and think of one hundred different ways she could destroy my life. I should be scared, but I just feel numb. I wish I’d gotten to see Issie again. And Ben.

  Gruen turns down the hallway that leads to the visitors’ center. I frown. I never have visitors.

  “Who’s in there?” I ask. Dr. Gruen places a hand on the doorknob.

  “Come look,” she says. She pushes the door open.

  Charlie sits at a long, plastic table, staring at his hands. His hair has grown longer and he’s started twisting it back into cornrows, like some of the older boys in our neighborhood. My heart climbs into my throat. Someone has taken the old Charlie and stretched him out, leaving this newer, ganglier model behind. He looks exactly like he did the last time I saw him, and impossibly different.

  He can’t really be here. This is an illusion.

  “You have fifteen minutes,” Dr. Gruen says. She steps out of the room, and the door clicks shut behind her. I don’t watch her go. I can’t peel my eyes away from my little brother.

  “Charlie,” I gasp. He looks up, and a smile like sunshine unfolds across his face. A sob claws at my throat, but I choke it down. I cross the room in two large steps and throw my arms around him.

  Brunesfield fades into the background, like an unpleasant dream. I hold my brother tight. He’s almost as tall as I am now, and there are muscles in his arms that weren’t there before.

  “Ang, you’re gonna break me,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I say, letting him go. He shuffles backward, shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. I make a face. “Are you wearing cologne?”

  “No.” Color brightens his cheeks. “It’s my shampoo. I don’t have to use that Herbal Essences crap you buy anymore.”

  “So you’re buying manly shampoo now?” I sniff his hair. “What is that? Old Spice?”

  “Stop.” He laughs, swatting me away. I sink into the chair across from him and lean over the table.

  “Have you been getting my letters?” I ask. His grin falters.

  “Yeah. Sorry I haven’t written more,” he says. “You know Mom . . .”

  “Don’t apologize.” I make my smile hard, trying not to think of my mother’s angry handwriting. Leave your brother alone.

  “Anyway, things will be different when I bust out of here,” I say. Charlie stares at his hands. His smile fades into something small and private. Like I’m telling him a story he’s getting too old to believe.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely.”

  The doubt in his voice opens a deep, ugly space inside my chest. “How’s Mom?” I ask to change the subject. Charlie shrugs.

  “Good, I guess.”

  “She working?”

  Another shrug. “Sometimes. She ain’t doing too bad, really.”

  “Isn’t,” I correct him. I don’t care how the other boys in the neighborhood talk; I won’t let Charlie sound ignorant.

  Charlie smiles, sheepish. “Sorry. She isn’t doing too bad. She has a part-time job at a bakery.”

  “How long?”

  Charlie chews on his lower lip. I know he’s trying to decide whether to tell me the truth, or lie so I think things are better than they are. “Only two weeks,” he says, opting for the truth. “But it’s going really well! The manager likes her.”

  I frown. There’s only one kind of manager who ever likes Mom, and he’s usually bored and wearing a wedding ring. “The manager a guy?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “Nah. It’s this old lady who’s owned the place forever. I think it could be okay.”
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br />   I nod and work my mouth into a hopeful smile. Mom’s never been able to hold a job for more than a couple of months. It always starts out fine, but then something goes wrong. She’ll become convinced that the manager doesn’t respect her, or that the job is below her abilities. She’ll stop showing up on time. Or at all.

  When she’s out of work, things get real bad. She drinks earlier in the day, and watches old movies in bed, the volume turned up loud to tell us she doesn’t want to be disturbed. She’ll forget to buy groceries, and Charlie and I will have to figure out how to make a loaf of bread last a week.

  That thought sends a shudder through my body. Because it hasn’t been Charlie and me dealing with Mom, not for the past two years. It’s just been Charlie. He looks so hopeful right now. Like he wants me to tell him I’m proud of him.

  “That’s really good, bud,” I say. I reach across the table and take his hand.

  “She’s doing better. You’d be surprised,” Charlie says. “She’s seeing this guy from my school now, Dan. He’s the PE teacher. He’s nice.”

  I try not to let the surprise show in my face. Boyfriend with a job is new. I bite my lip to keep myself from asking whether he has a wife. “That’s really great,” I say, instead.

  “Yeah,” Charlie says. “I just want you to know that things are okay. In case . . .”

  “In case what?”

  He picks at his fingernail. “In case you can’t come back.”

  His words hit me like a shot to the heart. I grip his hand tighter. “Charlie, I’m coming back. You know I’m coming back.”

  “Yeah.” He narrows his eyes, just slightly, and in a second I see exactly the kind of man he’s going to be. It’s like watching one of those nature programs where things grow in fast-forward.

  He looks like our dad.

  “But in case you can’t,” Charlie adds, slowly. “In case something happens, I don’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”

  The tears I’d been trying not to cry come to my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks. I close my eyes. Stupid.

  Charlie turns his hand over in mine and squeezes me back. I stare down at our entwined fingers.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

  I nod. “I know you are,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Charlie and I spend the rest of our fifteen minutes talking about school (him) and telling funny stories about Cara and Issie (me). I learn that he’s planning on trying out for the basketball team this spring, and that he got third place in a schoolwide essay contest, and that Jason isn’t his best friend anymore because now Bradley is.

  I listen to it all, enthralled. It feels like a long, cool drink of water after spending years in the desert. Charlie’s life is so normal. I take note of details and specifics so I can recount his visit for Cara and Issie. I don’t want to get anything wrong. I don’t want to forget anything.

  Fifteen minutes passes too quickly. I hear the door click open and my stomach plunges. I swivel around in my chair.

  “Just a little longer,” I beg. “Please.”

  Dr. Gruen’s face is a mask. She shows no emotion. No sympathy.

  “You may have a minute to tell your brother good-bye,” she says. It’d be stupid to waste time arguing with her, so I turn back around and take Charlie’s hand.

  “I’ll write you,” I promise.

  “Me too,” he says. “I’ll try.”

  I give him another quick, tight hug, thankful he’s not old enough to shrug me off yet. “I’ll come home,” I whisper into his ear. “I promise.”

  “I know,” he says.

  And then Dr. Gruen’s behind me, telling me to stand, and I’m sliding my chair away from the table and trying not to cry as I walk away from my little brother.

  Dr. Gruen shuts the door to the visitors’ room. My head is still filled with Charlie, but then I look up at her pale, pointed face, and the memory switches off like a television.

  Officers Sterling and Crane stand behind her. They stare straight ahead, hands clasped at their backs. Fear hovers at the edge of my mind but I steel myself, refusing to let it in.

  “How did you find my brother?” I ask.

  Dr. Gruen considers me, her mouth a thin, straight line. “The address was in your file,” she says. “Of course.”

  “But how did he get here?” I ask. “My mother—”

  “I have resources, Miss Davis.”

  Resources. My eyes flick back over to the closed door. I imagine my little brother on the other side, waiting for someone to take him back home. My mouth feels dry, but I make myself open it. “Why?”

  Dr. Gruen purses her lips. “I’ve made my intentions quite clear. You’re the one who’s been playing games.”

  I think of the word “hope” dancing across Jessica’s knuckles. I hear her whisper in the dark. Don’t let them take me.

  “I told you,” I say. “I don’t know where that damn bear is. I’ve tried—”

  “I don’t believe you!” Dr. Gruen’s voice cuts through the stillness of the hallway. Officer Sterling flinches, but doesn’t look at me. “You may not understand the importance of ‘that damn bear,’ as you call it, but I assure you it’s essential to the work I’m doing.”

  Dr. Gruen grabs my shoulders and jerks me forward, her face inches from my own. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice. Her eyes flash, and a strand of blond hair falls over her forehead. For a second, she looks unhinged. Then she tucks the strand of hair back behind her ear.

  “What do you think I’ll do to your brother if you don’t bring me what I want?” she asks.

  Horror washes over me, and it feels cold and thick, like mud. “I won’t let you touch my brother,” I say, but fear makes my voice tremble.

  A cruel smile twists Dr. Gruen’s lips. “Do you have any idea how easy it was to get to him?” she says. “Your idiot mother didn’t even ask for identification before handing him over to a complete stranger. Tell me, how much time could pass before she’d think to call the cops? Too much, I bet. Canada’s only a couple of hours away by car. And then poof.” Dr. Gruen snaps her fingers. “He disappears. You never see him again.”

  She wants me to cower. Beg. But I’m used to threats, and I learned a long time ago that crying gets you nowhere. I push my anger and fear as far down as they’ll go and look her straight in the eye.

  “You don’t scare me,” I say.

  Dr. Gruen shakes her head, disgusted. “I should,” she says. She takes a step back, nodding at Officer Crane. “Take her.”

  Crane shoves me against the wall, pressing the side of my face up against the cold concrete. I press my lips together to keep from crying out. Sterling twists my arms behind my back, and metal bites into my wrists. Handcuffs.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, finding Dr. Gruen’s eyes.

  “It occurred to me that you might need some time to think about your situation,” Dr. Gruen says smoothly. “It’s probably best to put you someplace free of distractions. Luckily, Officer Brody informed me of an open room in the Seg Block.”

  Fear drops through me like a stone. “You can’t do that,” I say.

  “You’d be amazed at what I can do,” Dr. Gruen says. Sterling drags me away from the wall, and I stumble toward the door.

  “Stop!” I shout. “Please.”

  An amused smile crooks Dr. Gruen’s lips. She’s enjoying this.

  The guards drag me away from the wall and force me through one security door, and then another. Dr. Gruen’s heels click against the concrete floor, following us down the staircase and through the twisting basement halls. I hold my breath as we round the corner to the Seg Block.

  Ben will be there, I think. Ben will help me.

  But Ben isn’t sitting on the rickety metal stool at the end of the hall. Brody is. The flickering fluorescent lights bounce off his pink skull. He flashes me a cruel smile and jabs the security button with his thumb.

  “Fresh mea
t,” he mutters, as Sterling and Crane steer me through the buzzing door.

  “Go to hell,” I spit.

  The guards drag me past pink walls and small, dirty cells. Horror claws at my chest. The girls down here still haunt my dreams. Their shrill screams echo through my head. I see them run their dirty tongues over their glass doors and scratch at the walls until their fingers bleed. I can’t stay here. I can’t be like them.

  Officer Crane fumbles with the keys at her belt. She unlocks the cell and slides the door open.

  “Go on,” she says, pushing me forward. My knees give out, and I collapse onto the floor, next to the dirty mattress shoved up against the wall. My legs shake, but I leap up and lunge for the still open door.

  Dr. Gruen steps in front of me, blocking my way. She lifts one thin hand to the door.

  “I suggest you use this time to think about your options,” she says in that low, too-sweet voice of hers. “Jessica is an infection. If we don’t stop her, she’ll wipe out everyone here.”

  Then, without another word, she closes the door in my face, leaving me locked in the cell. Alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I inhale, and oxygen rips through my throat and lungs like knives. I push myself to the corner of the room and pull my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms around them, trying to make myself as small as possible. The walls inch closer every time I blink.

  This can’t be real. Dr. Gruen can’t leave me here. It’s a trick. My breathing calms a little, and my head clears. She’s coming back for me. She has to.

  Minutes tick past. Cold creeps in through the walls and coaxes goose bumps from the back of my neck. I tighten my arms around my knees, shivering. It’s a trick. Dr. Gruen thinks she can break me, but she can’t. I won’t let her.

  “Always knew you were one of us, pretty,” someone whispers. I flinch. It’s Karen, the girl I met my first day here. I hear her crawl across the floor of her cell. Her breath sounds ragged. Like her lungs are paper bags.

  “Pretty girl,” she whispers. Her nails scratch the wall. “Talk to me, pretty girl.”