The Summoning dp-1 Page 8

  "Sorry. I'm just . . ."

  "Freaked out."

  I nodded. This was true, even if it wasn't about what she thought. I sat in one of the rocking chairs.

  "Like I said last night, Chloe, there's a trick to getting out of here." She lowered her voice. "Whatever you think? About their labels? Just nod and smile. Say 'Yes, Dr. Gill. Whatever you say, Dr. Gill. I just want to get better, Dr. Gill.' Do that, and you'll be following Peter out that front door any day now. We both will. Then I'll send you a bill for my advice."

  I struggled to smile. From what I'd seen so far, Rae was a model patient. So why was she still here?

  "How long is the average stay?" I asked.

  She reclined on the sofa. "A couple months, I think."

  "M-months?"

  "Peter was here about that long. Tori a bit more. Derek and Simon, about three months."

  "Three months?"

  "I think so. But I could be wrong. Before you, Liz and I were the newbies. Three weeks for each of us, me a few days more than her."

  "I —I was told I'd only be in for two weeks."

  She shrugged. "I guess it's different for you then, lucky girl."

  "Or did they mean two weeks was the minimum?"

  She stretched her foot to nudge my knee. "Don't look so glum. The company's good, isn't it?"

  I managed a smile. "Some of it."

  "No kidding, huh? With Peter and Liz gone, we're stuck with Frankenstein and the divas. Speaking of which, Queen Victoria is up and about . . . relatively speaking."

  "Hmm?"

  She lowered her voice another notch. "She's stuffed full of meds and totally out of it." I must have looked alarmed because she hurried on. "Oh, that's not normal. They don't do that to anyone but Tori, and she wants it. She's the pill princess. If she doesn't get hers on time, she asks for them. Once, on the weekend, they ran out and had to page Dr. Gill for a refill and whoa boy —" She shook her head. "Tori ran to our room, locked the door, and wouldn't come out until someone brought her the medication.

  Then she tattled to her mom and there was this huge uproar. Her mom's connected to the people who run Lyle House. Anyway, she's totally doped up today, so she shouldn't give us any trouble."

  When Mrs. Talbot rounded us up for dinner, 1 realized I hadn't told Rae about taking her advice and looking up the dead janitor.

  * * *

  Tori joined us for dinner —in body, at least. She spent the meal practicing for a role in the next zombie movie, expressionless, methodically moving fork to mouth, sometimes even with food on it. I was torn between feeling sorry for her and just being creeped out.

  I wasn't the only one left uncertain. Rae tensed with every mouthful, as if waiting for "old Tori" to leap out and jab her about her eating. Simon gamely tried to carry on a conversation with me and tentatively slanted questions Tori's way, as if afraid she was just playing possum, looking for sympathy.

  After that endless meal, we all fled, gratefully, to our chores —Rae and I on dinner cleanup, the guys on garbage and recycling detail. Later Rae had a project to work on, and Ms. Wang had warned the nurses that she wanted Rae to do it without help.

  So after telling Miss Van Dop that I'd be right back, I headed up to my room for my iPod. When I opened the door, I found a folded note on the floor.

  Chloe,

  We need to talk. Meet me in the laundry room at 7:15.

  Simon

  I folded the note into quarters. Had Derek put Simon up to this when I didn't freak out over him calling me a necromancer? Did he hope I might give a more gratifying response to his brother?

  Or did Simon want to resume our discussion from the kitchen, when they'd asked about Liz? Maybe I wasn't the only one worried about her.

  * * *

  I went downstairs just past seven, and used the extra time to ghost hunt, prowling the laundry room, listening and looking. The one time I wanted to see or hear a ghost, I didn't.

  Could I contact it? Or was it a one-way street, and did I have to wait until one chose to speak to me? I wanted to test that by calling out, but Derek had already caught me talking to myself. I wasn't taking that risk with Simon.

  So I just wandered, my mind automatically sliding behind a camera lens.

  ". . . here . . ." a voice whispered, so soft and dry it sounded like the wind through long grass. ". . . talk to . . ."

  A shadow loomed over my shoulder. I braced myself to see a vision of horror as I looked up into . . . Derek's face.

  "You always this jumpy?" he said.

  "Wh-where did you come from?"

  "Upstairs."

  "I'm waiting for some —" I stopped and studied his expression. "It's you, isn't it? You had Simon send—"

  "Simon didn't send anything. I knew you wouldn't come for me. But Simon?" He glanced at his watch. "For Simon, you're early. So did you look it up?"

  So that's what this was about. "You mean that word? Nec —" I pursed my lips, testing it. "Necromancer? Is that how you say it?"

  He waved the pronunciation off. Unimportant. He leaned against the wall, trying for casual, uninterested maybe. His flexing fingers betrayed his eagerness to hear my answer. To see my reaction.

  "Did you look it up?" he asked again.

  "I did. And, well, I don't quite know what to say."

  He rubbed his hands against his jeans, as if drying them. "Okay. So, you searched for it and . . ."

  "It wasn't what I expected."

  He brushed his jeans again, then closed his hands. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. I looked around, drawing it out, making him rock forward, almost bouncing with impatience.

  "So . . ." he said.

  "Well, I have to admit . . ." I took a deep breath. "I'm not really into computer games."

  His eyes closed to slits, face screwed up. "Computer games?"

  "Video games? RPGs? I've played some, but not the kind you're talking about."

  He looked at me, wary, as if suspecting I really did belong in a home for crazy kids.

  "But if you guys are into them?" I flashed a bright smile. "Then I'm certainly willing to give them a shot."

  "Them?"

  "The games. Role playing, right? But I don't think the necromancer is for me, though I do appreciate the suggestion."

  "Suggestion . . ." he said slowly.

  'That I play a necromancer? That's why you had me look it up, right?"

  His lips parted, eyes rounding as he understood. "No, I didn't mean —"

  "I suppose it could be cool, playing a character who can raise the dead, but it's just, you know, not really me. A little too dark. Too emo, you know? I'd rather play a magician."

  "I wasn't —"

  "So I don't have to be a necromancer? Thanks. I really do appreciate you taking the time to make me feel welcome. It's so sweet."

  As I fixed him with a sugary smile, he finally realized I was having him on. His face darkened. "I wasn't inviting you to a game, Chloe."

  "No?" I widened my eyes. "Then why would you send me to those sites about necromancers? Show me pictures of madmen raising armies of rotting zombies? Is that how you get your kicks, Derek? Scaring the new kids? Well, you've had your fun, and if you corner me again or lure me into the basement —"

  "Lure you? I was trying to talk to you."

  "No." I lifted my gaze to his. "You were trying to scare me. Do it again and I'll tell the nurses."

  When I scripted the lines in my head, they'd been strong and defiant —the new girl standing up to the bully. But when I said them, I sounded like a spoiled brat threatening to tattle.

  Derek's eyes hardened into shards of green glass and his face twisted into something not quite human, filling with a rage that made me stumble back out of its path and bolt for the stairs.

  He grabbed for me, fingers clamping around my forearm. He yanked so hard I yelped, shoulder wrenching as I sailed off my feet. He let go and I crashed to the floor.

  For a moment, I just lay there, crumpled in a heap, cradl
ing my arm and blinking hard, unable to believe what had just happened. Then his shadow fell across me, and I scrambled to my feet.

  He reached for me. "Chloe, I —"

  I staggered back before he could touch me. He said something. I didn't hear it. Didn't look at him. Just ran for the stairs.

  I didn't stop until I was in my room. Then I sat cross-legged on my bed, gulping oxygen. My shoulder burned. When I rolled up my sleeve, I saw a red mark for each of his lingers.

  I stared at them. No one had ever hurt me before. My parents had never struck me. Never spanked me or even threatened to. I wasn't the kind of girl who got into fistfights in catfights. Sure, I'd been pushed, jostled, elbowed . . . but grabbed and thrown across a room?

  I yanked down my sleeve. Was 1 surprised? Derek had made me nervous from that first encounter in the pantry. When I realized he'd sent the note, I should have gone upstairs. If he'd tried to stop me, I should have screamed. But no, I had to be cool. Be clever. Bait him.

  Yet I had no proof except marks on my arm that were already fading. Even if I still had them when I showed the nurses, Derek could say I'd lured him into the basement and flipped out, and he'd had to grab my arm to restrain me. After all, I was a diagnosed schizophrenic. Hallucinations and paranoia went with the territory.

  I had to handle this myself.

  I should handle this myself.

  I'd led the proverbial sheltered life. I'd always known that meant I lacked the life experience I'd need to be a screenwriter. Here was my chance to start getting it.

  I'd handle this. But to handle it, I needed to know exactly what I was up against.

  * * *

  I took Rae aside.

  "Do you still want to see Simon and Derek's files?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  'Then I'll help you get them. Tonight."

  Fourteen

  WE FOUND MRS. TALBOT setting out the evening snack. Carrot sticks and dip. Yum. Whatever complaints I had about Annette, at least I could always count on brownies at home.

  "Hungry, girls? I'm not surprised. No one ate very much at dinner."

  She held out the plate. We each took a stick and dipped it.

  "Chloe and I were thinking, Mrs. T," Rae said. "About Tori."

  She set the plate on the table, eyes downcast as she nodded. "I know, dear. She's taking Liz's leaving very hard. They were close. I'm sure she'll feel better once they can talk, but until then she may feel a little down while we get her . . . medication adjusted. We'll need you girls to be extra nice to her."

  "Sure." Rae licked dip off her finger. "We were wondering, though, whether it might be easier for her if she had the room to herself. I could sleep in Chloe's."

  Mrs. Talbot handed Rae a napkin. "I don't want to isolate her too much but, yes, she'd probably be happier alone for now."

  "Just for now?"

  The nurse smiled. "No, you can move in with Chloe permanently, if that's what you'd both like."

  * * *

  While Tori was downstairs watching television, Rae started to move, as if afraid Miss Van Dop or Dr. Gill would veto the change.

  She handed me a stack of T-shirts. "It's Simon, isn't it?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You want to know what Simon is in for."

  "I don't —"

  She draped her jeans over her arms and waved me out. "You two have been chatting every meal. At first, I thought maybe he was using you to throw Tori off his trail, but she wasn't paying any attention today, and he kept talking."

  "I'm not —"

  "Hey, you like him. That's fine." She opened Liz's bottom drawer. It was empty —every trace of her cleaned out while we'd been in class. "I don't care for the guy, but that's just my opinion. Maybe he's just stuck up with me because I'm not in his league."

  "League?"

  She held up a pair of jeans and pointed to the label. "You see anyone else in this place wearing jeans from Wal-Mart? It's a private home. You gotta pay for it, and I bet it costs more than Motel 6. I'm the designated charity case."

  “I—"

  "It's cool. You treat me fine. So did Peter and —" a somber look around her new room "—Liz. Derek's a jerk to everyone, so I don't take it personally. If I'm only getting the cold shoulder from Simon and Tori, I can live with it. That's why I think those two are perfect for each other, but if you like him and he likes you? None of my business. But you're smart to run a background check."

  She headed back to her old room, me at her heels. "My friend's mom did that with a guy she was supposed to marry. Found out he had three kids he'd never mentioned." She grinned over her shoulder. "I'm pretty sure Simon doesn't have kids, but you never know."

  As we finished clearing out her drawers, I considered letting it go at that. But I didn't want her thinking I was the kind of girl who gets into a new place and immediately starts scoping out the guys. If I wasn't ready to tell the nurses about Derek, I should tell someone. That way, I'd have backup for my story if I needed it later.

  "It's not Simon," I said as we returned to her room, clothing finished. "It's Derek."

  She'd been in the middle of plucking a photo from the wall and fumbled it, cursing as I rescued the fallen photograph.

  "Derek? You like —"

  "God, no. I meant Derek's the one I'm checking out — and not that way."

  She exhaled and leaned against the wall. "Thank God. I know some girls go for the jerks, but that's just nasty." She flushed as she took the picture from me and reached for another. "I shouldn't say that. It's not his fault, the whole . . ." She faltered for a word.

  "Puberty smackdown."

  A grin. "Exactly. I should feel sorry for the guy, but it's hard when his attitude is as ugly as his face." She stopped, photo in hand, and glanced over her shoulder at me. "Is that it? Did he . . . do something?"

  "Why? Does he have a history of that?"

  "Depends on what that is. Being rude, yes. A jerk, yes. He ignores us except when he doesn't have a choice and, believe me, no one complains. So what did he do?"

  I considered my words. I didn't want her to insist I talk to the nurses, so I left out the throwing-me-across-the-room part and just said he'd been following me, popping up when I was alone.

  "Ah, he likes you." She handed me a photo to hold.

  "No, it isn't like that."

  "Uh-huh. Well, you'd probably rather it wasn't like that, but it sure sounds like it. Maybe you're his type. At my school, there's this guy I like, on the basketball team. He's even taller than Derek, but he always goes for tiny girls like you.

  I took another photo from her. "That's not it. I'm absolutely certain of it."

  She opened her mouth and I felt a flash of annoyance. Why is it that every time a girl says a guy is bothering her, it's fluffed off with oh, he just likes you, as if that makes it okay?

  Seeing my expression, Rae snapped her mouth closed and took down another picture.

  I said, "He freaks me out and I want to see what his file says. Whether there's any reason to be spooked. Whether he has, you know, a problem."

  'That's smart. And I'm sorry. If he scares you, that's serious. I don't mean to make jokes. We'll get the facts tonight."

  Fifteen

  BEDTIME AT Lyle HOUSE was nine, with the lights out and the no-talking rule coming into effect an hour later when the nurses retired. Each side of the upper level had a bedroom for its assigned nurse. Liz had said there was no door linking the boys' and girls' areas, but according to Rae, there was one between the nurses' rooms, which gave them quick access to the whole upper floor in an emergency.

  So while Rae swore Mrs. Talbot was a quick and sound sleeper, we had to take Miss Van Dop into account, too. An early break-in was too risky. Rae set the alarm on her sports watch for 2:30 and we went to sleep.

  * * *

  At 2:30, the house was still and silent. Too still and too silent. Every creaking floorboard sounded like a gunshot. And in an old house, most boards creak.

  Rae follow
ed me into the kitchen, where we took two juice boxes from the fridge and set them on the counter. Then I opened the pantry door, turned on the light, and returned to the hall, leaving both doors half open.

  Dr. Gill's office was at the west end, near the boys' stairs. Rae had checked out the lock a week ago. It was only a regular interior key lock, not much tougher than the kind you can pick with a coin. Or so she said. I'd never had any reason to open a household lock —probably because I didn't have siblings. So I watched and took mental notes. All part of gaining life experience.

  Rae had watched Dr. Gill get her file out once, during her session, so she knew where they were kept. The office had an all-in-one printer, which made things easy. I stood guard. The only hitch came when she copied the pages, the swoosh-shoosh of the scanner head loud enough to make me nervous. But the files must have been short because by the time I looked in, she was returning them to the folder, copies made.

  She passed me two sheets, folded in half, then she returned the file to the drawer. We backed out of the room. As she reengaged the lock, the unmistakable sound of a creaking floorboard made us both freeze. A long moment of silence passed. Then a fresh creak. Someone was coming down the boys' stairs.

  We took off, padding barefooted down the hall. At the half-open kitchen door, we darted inside, then into the open pantry.

  "Come on," I stage-whispered. "Just pick something already."

  "I can't find the Rice Krispie bars. I know there were some last week."

  "The guys probably —" I stopped, then hissed. "Someone's coming. Get the light!"

  She flipped the switch as I closed the door all but a crack. As I peered through the gap, Derek stopped inside the kitchen door. He left the light off as he looked around, moonbeams from the window casting a glow on his face. His gaze swept the kitchen and came to rest on the pantry door.

  I pushed it open and stepped out.

  "Cracker?" I said, holding up a box.

  He looked at me and, in a flash, I was back in the basement, sailing through the air. My smile fell away and I shoved the box into his hands.