“We try to provide more than sufficient food for our students,” Dr. Isaacson said. “Had you skipped lunch and breakfast?”
“No,” Emily admitted.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Emily knew he was trying to put her at ease by making her think this was nothing more than a friendly chat. But a friendly chat wasn’t possible. He was the famous psychologist-director of the Foxworth-Isaacson Educational Center, and Emily was … was a witness to Dr. Foxworth’s death. She shivered.
“Is the air-conditioning set too low?” he asked. “I can easily adjust it for your comfort.”
“No, sir. I’m fine,” Emily said.
“You’re fully recovered from your fainting spell?”
“It wasn’t exactly a spell. I was just hungry,” Emily repeated. “Mrs. Jimenez said so.”
“So she reported,” he said. Then abruptly, catching Emily off guard, he added, “I was informed at our staff meeting that you exhibited an interest in Dr. Amelia Foxworth.”
Emily swallowed hard. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. “I just asked who she was. I saw her picture. She looked familiar.” I’ve said too much, she thought. Ducking her head, she let her hair fall forward.
“Then I assume you had met Dr. Foxworth?”
“No,” Emily said.
“Your parents had not brought you to the center?”
“No,” Emily quickly repeated, thankful that she could answer truthfully.
His voice was low. “You said her portrait looked familiar, yet you have no early memories of Dr. Foxworth?”
Emily couldn’t answer. She attempted to shrug, but it ended in another shiver.
“That thermostat definitely needs adjusting,” Dr. Isaacson said. Emily heard him get to his feet and peeked out from under her hair to watch him do something with the thermostat, then return to his chair.
Squeezing her hands together tightly, Emily asked, “Why are you asking me about Dr. Foxworth?”
Dr. Isaacson’s eyes widened in surprise. “I was trying to put you at ease through friendly conversation before I got to the point of your visit.” He paused before he continued. “We try to help our students reach their individual potential, so we stress individuality. In your case we hope to help you see that there is no need for you to feel you must match the individual talents of your older sisters. You can learn to discover your own talents and expand your own horizons.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response, so Emily nodded, although she wondered why so many teachers, and now Dr. Isaacson, had come to the conclusion that she felt she had to match what Angela and Monica had done. She loved her sisters. She was proud of them. But she didn’t want to be like them. She couldn’t be. The idea of being noticed, of being on a stage—the center of attention—that was what she hated and avoided.
Dr. Isaacson said, “Taylor Farris apparently had her hair bleached and curled to match your hairstyle. Was there a reason for this?”
“No!” Emily raised her head defensively, trying to sit taller, and brushed her hair back from her face.
“Had you planned this project together?”
“No, sir,” Emily answered. “She surprised me.”
“Did she tell you why she made an attempt to look like you?”
“She liked my hair.”
He frowned a little, as if the answer didn’t satisfy him, so Emily tried to think of an answer that would. “Taylor told me she likes the way my hair falls around my face.”
“And you can hide behind it.”
“Yes. Oh. I mean …” Emily stopped. She felt herself blushing.
“You’re aware that you use your hair like a shield against the world?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dr. Isaacson smiled. “Good,” he said. “Being aware of your reason for doing something you wish to change is the first step toward making that change. You’re a bright girl, Emily, and while you’re here at Camp Excel we’ll help you discover abilities and talents you didn’t realize you had.”
He paused, but when she didn’t answer, he asked, “Where do you think you can excel, Emily?”
Startled, Emily blurted out, “Why do I have to excel? Why can’t I just be me?”
“You have a good mind. You have potential and the ability to excel, once you believe in yourself and find the direction you need to take. Will you let us help you?”
“Yes,” Emily said. She had no choice but to give him the answer he obviously wanted.
“Do come to any of the staff if you have a problem or a question, and you’ll have our undivided attention. Many of our teachers, such as Dr. Hampton and Dr. Anderson, were with our educational center when it opened and helped develop our unique and highly successful approach to learning.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, recognizing that the discussion was over.
“And please remember to eat properly,” he said. “We want you to feel well. No more fainting spells.”
He stood, smiling, and Emily obediently got to her feet.
She left his office quickly, feeling eyes staring at her back. Were they Dr. Isaacson’s eyes or the glazed eyes in Dr. Amelia Foxworth’s portrait? Why had Dr. Isaacson questioned her about remembering Dr. Foxworth? What did he and the rest of his staff, who obviously shared everything they heard and saw, know?
This is too much for me to handle by myself, Emily thought. I need help.
Maxwell, Haley, and Taylor were waiting for Emily in the lobby. Taylor’s newly blond hair had been cropped short, a thick gauze pad taped to the back of her head.
Taylor struck a model’s pose and said, “Ta-da! No concussion, no problems, and not much hair left. How do you like the new me?”
Stricken with guilt, Emily said, “Oh, Taylor!”
“It’s not so bad,” Taylor said, “although it’s going to take forever for my hair to grow, especially where they shaved it in the back. Why’d I have to be so clumsy?”
Emily felt a tear roll down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away. “Taylor, what happened to you was not your fault,” she said. “It was my fault.”
“I didn’t tell her what you told me,” Maxwell said to Emily.
“Tell me what?” Taylor asked.
Haley’s eyes widened, and she asked, “Tell her what? What in the world are we talking about?”
“About what really happened to Taylor,” Emily said.
Still shaken by her conversation with Dr. Isaacson, Emily jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder and a voice spoke close to her ear. “Is everyone all right?”
Emily pulled away, gasping.
Dr. Lydia Hampton stepped back, saying, “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Emily.”
“I’m okay,” Emily managed to say. She wondered if Dr. Hampton had overheard their conversation and would ask about it. Nervously, knowing her voice was too high-pitched, Emily began to babble. “We were talking about Taylor’s new look. Short hair. You know. Curly around her face. Except in back, which isn’t really around her face. I mean …”
Dr. Hampton put an arm around Emily’s shoulders, as if to steady her, and said to Taylor, “I’m so sorry about what happened to you today. Thank goodness Maxwell was on hand to pull you from the water.”
“Yeah. He saved my life, like in the movies or on TV,” Taylor said happily. “He’s my hero.”
Maxwell tugged his cap farther down over his eyebrows and ears. “I just happened to be at the right place at the right time,” he said.
“You were very brave and did exactly the right thing,” Dr. Hampton told him. She bent her head to look down at Emily. “How about you, Emily? Are you feeling better now?”
Realizing that she was beginning to sound like a recording, Emily repeated, “I was just hungry.”
“So Mrs. Jimenez said.” There was a pause; then Dr. Hampton asked, “How did you like Dr. Isaacson’s beautiful office? The decorator had scarcely finished by the time Camp Excel was ready to open.”
Nodding a
greement, Emily said, “It is beautiful. Especially the tapestry and the flowers.”
“I personally like the cozy seating arrangement at the other end of the room,” Dr. Hampton said. She smiled as she added, “I’m not too fond of those large formal portraits hanging there, however. Too imposing. It might have been nice to have still-life paintings. Flowers and fruits. What do you think?”
Emily’s face grew hot. Embarrassed, she just shrugged and said, “Whatever.”
Dr. Hampton turned to the others. “The portraits are of the founders of the educational center, Dr. Isaacson and his partner, Dr. Amelia Foxworth. I wish you could have met Dr. Foxworth,” she said, and Emily felt Dr. Hampton’s fingers tighten on her shoulder. “She was a wonderful educator who would have had a great deal to offer if she had lived.”
“What happened to her?” Taylor asked.
“Dr. Foxworth died in a tragic fall,” Dr. Hampton said.
“Like I almost did,” Taylor said.
“Yes, I suppose there were certain similarities.” She patted Emily’s shoulder and looked at each in turn. “Please be careful while you’re here at camp. It’s very important that our—that Dr. Isaacson’s theories about achievement in education be made public so that the work done by him—and the staff, of course—will get the recognition it deserves. A serious accident that would detract from the success of Camp Excel would be deeply regretted.”
Emily realized that she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to answer. Silently, they watched Dr. Hampton leave, and Emily wondered if Dr. Hampton had been truly concerned for their welfare, or if they had just been given a warning. Why had she spoken about Dr. Foxworth and her portrait?
Haley leaned close. “I found a wonderful purification rite,” she said. “Let’s go back to the room. There is no time like the present.”
“Now?” Emily asked.
“Now,” Haley said.
“What’s a purification rite?” Taylor asked.
“A ceremony. A charm. A way to protect Emily from evil,” Haley answered.
“How about me?” Taylor asked. “I’m the one who got my head bashed open.”
“I suppose we can include you, too,” Haley said. “I got the ritual from a curandero’s Web site, and it didn’t say anything about being for just one person.”
“I want to be there, too,” Maxwell said.
“Yes,” Emily said. “You can come with us. But before we get into whatever it is Haley wants us to do, there is something I have to tell you.”
“What?” Taylor asked.
“Not here,” Emily said. Although she looked from side to side and saw that no one else was nearby, she lowered her voice. “In our room.”
———
A few minutes later, after Maxwell and Taylor had been given the chairs and Emily and Haley had perched on the bed, Emily said, “I have never told anyone, even my parents, that I have no memories at all of the year I was eight years old.”
“Weird,” Haley said.
“But now memories have been coming back to me. Bad memories. Horrible memories.” She told them about the nightmares and about Dr. Amelia Foxworth’s death and remembering the voices before her fall.
“What were the voices saying?” Taylor asked.
“I couldn’t make out the words. Maybe I wasn’t trying to. But I knew they were arguing. Then I saw her fall. And then there was a flash of light. For a few minutes I couldn’t see.”
“What do you mean, a flash of light?” Maxwell asked. “Like lightning?”
“No. It wasn’t raining. There was no thunder. It was just a bright flash, right in my face.” Emily shuddered and clapped her hands over her eyes. “I think Dr. Foxworth was pushed, and someone here is afraid that I’m going to tell what I know.”
Haley gasped. “Are you saying she was murdered?”
“I think so.” Emily told them about the voice calling to her, “ ‘Don’t leave! Come back here!’ ” To her amazement the rest became clear. “And it warned, ‘I’ll find you! I’ll find you!’ ” she said.
“Could you recognize the voice?” Maxwell asked.
“No,” Emily said. “It was low, like a stage whisper. I’m sure whoever it was didn’t want anyone else to hear.”
“Was it a man’s voice? Or a woman’s?”
“I have no idea.”
“This happened at the educational center?”
“I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure it did.” Emily slowly shook her head as she looked at Taylor. “I think you were hit on the head and pushed into the water. I think because from the back you looked like me, whoever did it thought they were getting rid of me.”
Wide-eyed, Taylor reached up and touched the gauze pad at the back of her head. “Who did it?” she asked.
Emily groaned and said, “I don’t know.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” Taylor said.
Emily sighed and said, “Maxwell thought we should, too, but I’ll tell you what I told him. We have no proof of anything that happened and no suspects. The police won’t pay attention to us. We have only questions without answers.”
“I have a question,” Maxwell said. “If you were only eight years old when you saw Dr. Foxworth fall, then you were too young to have gone to the center by yourself. How did you get there?”
“My mother said she had taken me with her when she went to visit a friend. The friend’s daughter was just a year or two older than I was. I must have gone to the center with her.”
“I think you should find out if that’s what happened,” Maxwell said. “Not knowing how and why you were there is like trying to put a puzzle together when some of the pieces are missing.”
“I haven’t seen the girl since then.”
“Do you remember her name?”
“Yes,” she said. “My mother talked about her friend, Patty Foswick, and her daughter Jamie.”
“Do you know the Foswicks’ address or phone number?” Maxwell asked.
“I suppose I could call my mother and ask her,” Emily said. “But I’d be afraid someone in the office would hear me make the call, and pretty soon the whole staff would know about it. They tell each other everything.”
Haley threw herself on her stomach, reached down to the floor near the foot of the bed, and rummaged through her handbag until she found what she was looking for. Sitting up, she handed Emily her cell phone. “My mother made me bring this,” she said. “I’m supposed to call her every day.”
“Do you?” Taylor asked.
“Don’t bug me,” Haley said. “We’re here to talk about Emily, not me.”
Emily checked her watch, relieved to see that it wasn’t too late to call. Her parents would be about to turn on the ten o’clock news. She dialed, and before the third ring her mother answered.
“Hi, Mom,” Emily said.
“Darling!” Mrs. Wood answered. “How are you? We’ve missed you.” Then her voice deepened. “Emily, love,” she said, “you aren’t calling to ask to come home, are you, because you know that your father and I—”
I can tell Mom all about the nightmares and what happened to Taylor and everything I suspect, Emily thought. My mother wouldn’t let anything terrible happen to me. “Oh, Mom,” she began, but she stopped abruptly, realizing that her mother would tell her father, and they’d call the school to find out what was going on, and everyone on the staff would know that Emily was about to blow the whistle.
If the murderer of Dr. Foxworth was determined to keep Emily from talking, her time on earth would be numbered in minutes. There was no way she could involve her parents.
“Mom,” Emily said, “I only called to ask if you still have a phone number for your friend in Dallas, Patty Foswick.”
“Yes, I do,” Mrs. Wood told her. “But tell me why in the world you want her phone number.”
“I don’t want her number exactly,” Emily said. “I want her daughter Jamie’s.” She fumbled for the right way to explain. “There’s somebo
dy here who hasn’t seen her for years and wants to talk to her.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” Mrs. Wood said. “Hang on one minute and I’ll get it for you.”
Emily jumped off the bed, leaned across Taylor, and reached into her desk for a pencil and paper. When her mother returned with the phone number she was ready and wrote it down.
“Tell me everything you’ve been doing, sweetheart,” Mrs. Wood said.
Emily said, “Mom, that would take forever, and it’s late. I’ve got to go. Okay?”
“Well … okay,” her mother said. “We miss you, Emily. We love you.”
“I love you, too,” Emily said. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes, and she took a deep breath, willing them away. If she’d only been allowed to spend the summer at home … if she hadn’t been forced to come to camp … if she lived through this summer …
“Bye, Mom,” Emily said firmly, and pressed the End button on the phone.
She held out the phone to Haley, but Haley shook her head. “Call your friend,” she said. “You need to find out as much as you can as soon as you can.”
Emily dialed the number her mother had given her.
A young voice answered, and Emily asked, “Is this Jamie?”
“Yes, it is,” Jamie said. “Is this Megan? You sound different.”
“My name isn’t Megan,” Emily answered. “I’m Emily Wood, and about eight years ago my mother and I came to spend a weekend with you and your mother. You probably don’t remember me.”
“Emily Wood?” The voice was questioning.
“The reason I’m calling is because I think you took me to the Foxworth-Isaacson Educational Center. I mean, I can remember climbing through some vines up to where I could see a swimming pool and—”
A burst of laughter cut Emily short. “Now I remember you. Snakes. You were scared to death that snakes and bugs would be in the underbrush.”
“Where was this underbrush?”
“On the hill behind the center.”
“Can you tell me more about it?”
Jamie chuckled again, then said, “I suppose I wasn’t very nice to you. It was too much fun scaring you about snakes and giant tree roaches, then daring you to climb up to the top.”
Nightmare Page 9
