“Back home to our parents is what he means,” Iris said quietly.
“Where we’ll be welcomed with open arms,” Nicky said. “No questions asked, just welcome home and let’s all go out to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate. Does that sound realistic to you, Ellis?”
It didn’t.
“But our parents are alive, right?” Luke didn’t know how it sounded to the others, but to him his voice sounded very small.
None of them answered, only looked at him. And really, that was answer enough.
3
There was a knock at Mrs. Sigsby’s office door. She invited the visitor in without taking her eyes from her computer monitor. The man who entered was almost as tall as Dr. Hendricks, but ten years younger and in far better shape—broad-shouldered and muscled out. His skull was smooth, shaved, and gleaming. He wore jeans and a blue workshirt, the sleeves rolled up to display his admirable biceps. There was a holster on one hip with a short metal rod sticking up.
“The Ruby Red group’s here, if you want to talk to them about the Ellis operation.”
“Anything urgent or out of the ordinary on that, Trevor?”
“No, ma’am, not really, and if I’m intruding, I can come back later.”
“You’re fine, just give me a minute. Our residents are giving the new boy a backgrounder. Come and watch. The mixture of myth and observation is rather amusing. Like something out of Lord of the Flies.”
Trevor Stackhouse came around the desk. He saw Wilholm—a troublesome little shit if ever there was one—on one side of a chessboard that was all set up and ready to go. The new intake was sitting on the other side. The girls were standing by, most of their attention fixed, as usual, on Wilholm—handsome, sullen, rebellious, a latter-day James Dean. He would be gone soon; Stackhouse couldn’t wait for Hendricks to sign off on him.
“How many people work here in all, do you think?” the new boy was asking.
Iris and Kalisha (also known as the Chicken Pox Chick) looked at each other. It was Iris who answered. “Fifty? I think at least that many. There’s the doctors… techs and caretakers… the cafeteria staff… um…”
“Two or three janitors,” Wilholm said, “and the housekeepers. Just Maureen right now, because there’s only the five of us, but when there’s more kids, they add another couple of housekeepers. They might come over from Back Half, not sure about that.”
“With that many people, how can they keep the place a secret?” Ellis asked. “For one thing, where do they even park their cars?”
“Interesting,” Stackhouse said. “I don’t think anyone ever asked that before.”
Mrs. Sigsby nodded. “This one’s very smart, and not just book-smart, it looks like. Now hush. I want to hear this.”
“… must stay,” Luke was saying. “You see the logic? Like a tour of duty. Which would mean this is actually a government installation. Like one of those black sites, where they take terrorists to interrogate them.”
“Plus the old bag-over-the-head water cure,” Wilholm said. “I never heard of them doing that to any of the kids here, but I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“They’ve got the tank,” Iris said. “That’s their water cure. They put a cap on you and duck you under and take notes. It’s actually better than the shots.” She paused. “At least it was for me.”
“They must swap out the employees in groups,” Ellis said. Mrs. Sigsby thought he was talking more to himself than the others. I bet he does that a lot, she thought. “It’s the only way it would work.”
Stackhouse was nodding. “Good deductions. Damn good. What is he, twelve?”
“Read your report, Trevor.” She pushed a button on her computer and the screen saver appeared: a picture of her twin daughters in their double stroller, taken years before they acquired breasts, smart mouths, and bad boyfriends. Also a bad drug habit, in Judy’s case. “Ruby Red’s been debriefed?”
“By me personally. And when the cops check the kid’s computer, they are going to find he’s been looking at some stories about kids who kill their parents. Not a lot, just two or three.”
“Standard operating procedure, in other words.”
“Yes, ma’am. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Stackhouse gave her a grin she thought almost as charming as Wilholm’s when he turned it on at full wattage. Not quite, though. Their Nicky was a true babe magnet. For now, at least. “Do you want to see the team, or just the operation report? Denny Williams is writing it, so it should be fairly readable.”
“If it all went smoothly, just the report. I’ll have Rosalind get it to me.”
“Fine. What about Alvorson? Any intel from her lately?”
“Do you mean are Wilholm and Kalisha canoodling yet?” Sigsby raised an eyebrow. “Is that germane to your security mission, Trevor?”
“I could give Shit One if those two are canoodling. In fact, I’m rooting for them to go ahead and lose their virginity, assuming they still have it, while they’ve got a chance. But from time to time Alvorson does pick up things that are germane to my mission. Like her conversation with the Washington boy.”
Maureen Alvorson, the housekeeper who actually seemed to like and sympathize with the Institute’s young subjects, was in reality a stool pigeon. (Given the little bits of tittle-tattle she brought in, Mrs. Sigsby thought spy too grand a term.) Neither Kalisha nor any of the other TPs had tipped to this, because Maureen was extremely good at keeping her way of making a little extra money far below the surface.
What made her especially valuable was the carefully planted idea that certain areas of the Institute—the south corner of the caff and a small area near the vending machines in the canteen, to name just a couple—were audio surveillance dead zones. Those were the places where Alvorson gleaned the kids’ secrets. Most were paltry things, but sometimes there was a nugget of gold in the dross. The Washington boy, for instance, who had confided to Maureen that he was thinking about committing suicide.
“Nothing lately,” Sigsby said. “I’ll inform you if she passes on something I feel would be of interest to you, Trevor.”
“Okay. I was just asking.”
“Understood. Now please go. I have work to do.”
4
“Fuck this shit,” Nicky said, sitting down at the bench again. He finally brushed the hair out of his eyes. “The ding-dong’s gonna go pretty soon, and I gotta get an eye test and look at the white wall after lunch. Let’s see what you got, Ellis. Make a move.”
Luke had never felt less like playing chess. He had a thousand other questions—mostly about shots for dots—but maybe this wasn’t the time. There was such a thing as information overload, after all. He moved his king’s pawn two squares. Nicky countered. Luke responded with his king’s bishop, threatening Nicky’s king’s bishop’s pawn. After a moment’s hesitation, Nicky moved his queen out four diagonal squares, and that pretty much sealed the deal. Luke moved his own queen, waited for Nicky to make some move that didn’t matter one way or the other, then slid his queen down next to Nicky’s king, nice and cozy.
Nicky frowned at the board. “Checkmate? In four moves? Are you serious?”
Luke shrugged. “It’s called Scholar’s Mate, and it only works if you’re playing white. Next time you’ll see it coming and counter. Best way is to move your queen’s pawn forward two or your king’s pawn forward one.”