by Cory Clubb
Thank you, Mr. Carlson! A few giggles spread about the room. Laura retrieved her trusty notecards, her one saving grace in this horrific ordeal, and walked as though she were being led to the firing squad.
She took a deep breath, gave us her cute smile, and began. It sounded like her words were in the Running of the Bulls, as if the faster she talked, the farther she’d be from certain, crushing doom. Then I saw her eyes flutter sideways. I looked in the direction of her quick glance, but it was only to the door that exited to the hallway. I bet that was where she would have liked to be instead.
Come on, I begged, look at me, or at least look up for a second. I figured Mr. Carlson’s eyes had a hard enough fix on her already, waiting to see if she would relieve her notecards of all the attention. Laura just couldn’t seem to do it.
Then I saw it. Laura’s eyes flipped up a second time, but this was to look at the teacher, give him what he wanted. How long had it been since she started? Laura was reading so fast, I thought for sure that famous Disney mouse had visited to tell us all about how sea turtles laid eggs on the beach.
Laura was beginning the conclusion of her speech, and she hadn’t glanced from her notecards but twice. I was going to miss my opportunity. She finished, and the class clapped. I didn’t join them. I was too busy keeping my eyes set on her. Then, as she walked from the front of class back to her seat, she did it. Laura sat in the third row and she would have to pass me to get to her desk. At first her eyes were cast down, but in one mere moment, she shot me a dead-on look. I caught it and was in.
The familiar drilling sound of washing machines and dryers filled my ears. It was very loud, very annoying. Nothing had quieted down in here since the last time I read Laura’s mind; if anything, it had grown louder.
Although, something was different this time. Sometimes I’d revisit minds and the room would be shifted slightly. Nothing major, but it was as if the person rearranged his or her thoughts. I guess it was normal—who didn’t keep their mind orderly? The deranged and homicidal, maybe, but for the most part, people were pretty level-headed.
One difference I noticed instantly was the sudden drop in temperature. Not freezing, but there was a distinct change from the last time.
I walked the row of washing machines, trying to pick up any clues to a connection Laura had with Greg. Then an idea struck me and I turned my attention to the dryers, although this time they were all in full motion, working away, even the one that had stopped before.
I shifted my focus to the washing machines; nothing seemed out of place. Then Laura’s current string of thought started ringing. I debated answering it. The phone’s ring grew louder, as if it were vying for my attention. It sounded more like a fire alarm.
I moved, giving in, and unhooked it mid-ring, putting the white receiver to my ear. By instinct I almost said hello.
On the other line was Laura’s voice. She was going on about sea turtles still… Wait, no, not sea turtles, but the speech, and how she was “frickin’” glad to be done with it.
“Screw eye contact,” she said before changing the subject to something else. I hung up the phone, and not two seconds passed before it was ringing again. Standing so close to it, I felt my skull shake. I lifted it again but then let it dangle by its cord. It just occurred to me, strangely enough, that the phone wasn’t a cell phone. Who had a landline anymore?
Next to the phone was the bulletin board full of flyers. A chill hit me and I blew warm air into my hands as I scanned the papers. They all just seemed to advertise the upcoming dance. Something, I again realized, I had totally forgotten about. Would things be weird now between Kate and me? Were we still going to the dance together…as a couple … or was our new relationship on a totally different level?
I felt stupid not knowing the first thing about the event. I snagged a flyer from the board and read it over. I didn’t even know what time the dance started. Looking the information over, the words didn’t make sense. The poster read:
Richmond Community High School Homecoming Dance
A Night in Hollywood
That wasn’t our school. I looked back up at the other flyers that adorned the board. There was another one that advertised Richmond’s Spring Fling event. Where was this Richmond school, and why did Laura have these events pinned in her mind? Had she gone to Richmond before River West? I tried to think back as far as I could. I remembered graduating with Laura from junior high; she had never moved or left the area to attend another school. She had always lived in River City, as far as I knew.
Although, what if she had been asked to those events by someone else? That was when it hit me. What school had Greg said he came from? Was that how Laura knew him, from these other events? I flipped the paper over and found Greg’s name on the back. Again beneath his name was the word “lies.”
He sure does.
Above me, an overhead fluorescent light flashed, buzzed, and went dim. The bulb began to pulse as if trying to cling to life. Then, and I kid you not, every single one of the appliances stopped. Utter silence.
That’s when I felt the breath of someone whisper my name on the back of my neck.
Chapter Twenty-five
WITHOUT A SLIVER OF HESITATION, I exited Laura’s mind, returning to my own head and back in the warmth of speech class. I watched in horror as Laura took two more steps and collapsed to the ground. A few people gasped while others laughed. Mr. Carlson wasn’t laughing. He was out of his chair and at Laura’s side. Out of pure instinct or some awkward impulse, I stood. Mr. Carlson gave me a look of terror, finally managing the words, “Get the nurse.”
I too was in sort of a shock mode, but I began to move. I wasn’t the only one. Another girl ran out of class just before me, and then a guy behind me. The three of us jogged, almost in a pack. The guy turned to me and said, “Nolan, grab another teacher. I’ll get the nurse.” I didn’t even have a chance to argue as he sprinted ahead of the girl and me. The girl ducked into the restroom, probably getting some wet paper towels or something.
I turned toward the nearest classroom and launched myself inside. I came face-to-face with the Pirate. Her expression twisted into surprise, as if I’d just started a mutiny. I was completely out of breath and was glad that other guy had taken the job of getting the school nurse all the way on the other side of school.
“She … passed out … or something.” It was all I could manage to say before I took a new breath. “Mr. Carlson’s class,” I said, finishing my thought. I took a moment to rest, my hands on my knees, and Mrs. Pearot was out of the room before I could suck in a second gulp of air.
My mind started to fill with questions. Had Laura fainted because of her nervousness about the speech, or something else? I wandered back into the hallway and saw that another teacher had come out of another classroom, as had a few students. More people trickled behind me from Mrs. Pearot’s class out into the hallway.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I spun around to see Kate.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Laura Hartman passed out in Carlson’s class.”
Kate started to move toward the speech class, but I pulled her back.
“The story isn’t in there—it’s in here.” I tapped the side of my head.
Kate nodded. It felt good that she finally understood my secret. Then she reached and wiped her finger under my nose. It colored red. Quickly I covered my nose with my hand.
“Thanks,” I said as she handed me a Kleenex from her shoulder bag. It occurred to me that the nosebleeds were something I hadn’t told her about yet, but then again, I hadn’t figured them out myself. “Have you seen Greg Wilkins?” I asked under my breath, cleaning up the rest of my face.
Kate shook her head. “No, but let’s connect tonight.”
“Online?”
Even though she was talking to me, her attention was on the movement and emotions of other people, always the investigator. “In person,” she said.
“I can get Dean to drop m
e somewhere,” I replied.
Kate pressed her lips together, thinking, finally saying, “Won’t he be nosy?”
I smiled and said, “He knows.” I gave her a wink. “And if anything, he could help us out.” Kate made a face that told me she was upset at the fact that she wasn’t the only one who knew my secret. “Look, you can stop all the conspiracy thoughts racing through your head. I trust him.”
Kate gave me a suspicious look and said, “Did you read my mind?”
“Not this time. I just know you too well,” I answered.
Chapter Twenty-six
I SAT IN MY computer chair in my room, noise-canceling headphones on, hands behind my head, waiting for seven o’clock. It was something about the silence the headphones provided that calmed my busy thoughts. Too bad they didn’t silence all the voices inside my head.
I had already mentioned something to Dean about meeting up with Kate at the Schofield Mall. “A place with a lot of witnesses” was how Kate described it. Have I mentioned she’s paranoid?
My cover story was that we were getting outfits for the dance, and it was probably a good idea for me to actually do so. The problem was that Dean wanted his date, Celia, to meet us as well. My plan was to tell Dean everything on the way there. I had a feeling we were going to need his help.
Before the end of the school day, the rumors flew that Laura had passed out. Yet it wasn’t Laura’s accident that hung with me; it was the real nagging (scary, if I actually thought about it) question of whether I’d been alone in Laura’s mind. Twice now I’d encountered a presence while inside. Was it some kind of subconscious manifestation I had just never noticed before? And why hadn’t I felt it while flipping through Kate’s comic books, or even further back, while scooting chairs in Greg’s mind? Then again, I hadn’t really been paying all that much attention, either.
A sharp chill ran down my body. What if there really was something inside people’s minds? What was roaming around inside mine? Was it the reason I was having nosebleeds? My thoughts came to the stiff question: Was I slowly dying, or something worse?
My bedroom door swung open with a swift, jarring motion, and Rick Mitchell walked in.
“Holy crap!” I lurched back, almost falling completely out of my chair.
Dressed in his khaki sheriff’s department uniform, Rick looked strangely professional, entering my room as if it was some crime scene.
“Sorry, Nolan,” he said, and Dean came in behind him. Instantly, something didn’t feel right. The man was wringing his hands together. I didn’t need to read Rick’s mind to know he was nervous. I righted myself and slid my headphones to dangle around my neck.
“I’ll get right to it.” Rick cleared his throat. “Two things, Nolan. First, I wanted to make sure you two behave yourself tonight at the mall. Don’t think that just because you guys live under this roof, this badge doesn’t count.” He tapped his finger on the gold star on his shirt.
I nodded to him. Was he serious? Did he even know his straight-arrow son? I didn’t think buying dress shirts for a dance was a federal offense. Maybe a neon-orange Hawaiian shirt might get you in trouble with the fashion police.
I saw Dean’s face and assumed he had just been given that same advice. And Dean, being Dean, didn’t want to exclude anybody, ensuring that the warning be forwarded to me personally.
“We’ll be on our best behavior.” I tossed the headphones from around my neck to my desk and stood, giving Rick a short, playful salute.
Rick’s face still looked sullen. And now the real reason they’d come to see me. “Secondly.”
He waited a breath. “Someone is here to see you, Nolan.” Rick quickly followed with, “He just wants to talk.”
Even before Rick had finished his sentence, I answered, “I don’t have time to talk.” I had a feeling I knew who “he” was, and it was true—I didn’t have time to talk. Dean and I were supposed to meet Kate.
Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it, but a few minutes won’t hurt.”
I wanted to argue, but didn’t.
“I told your mom—” Rick caught himself, “—um … Tracy that I would come up here and prep you.”
I looked at Dean now. He avoided me, shrinking behind his dad’s shoulder. The whole “behave yourselves” speech had just been a cover. I’d known something wasn’t right.
“I’ve got a shift tonight, but if you want, I can stay.”
I quickly thought it through. “I’ll be fine. You just be ready to leave in, like, ten minutes.” I pointed at Dean. He nodded.
With that, the two turned and left the room. The only reason I was agreeing to talk to the person downstairs was that it might satisfy Rick and Tracy and get them off my back. That, and I wanted to respect them.
I paused at the top of the stairs and listened. Like I said, I had an idea of who it might be, and I was right. His voice gave him away. It was a voice I’d heard just about once a week on the phone. I descended the stairs, rolling the cuffs of my shirt. My mind was already resisting talking to this guy in any sort of way.
“Oh, Nolan, there you are,” Tracy said. Her statement was staged, considering she had sent Dean and Rick up to prompt me.
I stood on the threshold of the living room. The man had his back to me. Dr. Edgar Vance turned to me as if he were just there to have a cup of coffee with the Mitchells, nothing else, and acted surprised to see me, as if he didn’t know I lived there.
“Hello there, Nolan,” he said. I felt like a spy amongst the enemy and was now being interrogated as such. I slowly walked to the opposite side of the room, but did so like it was layered with traps.
“What’s up?” I finally asked, landing myself in the La-Z-Boy chair kitty-corner from the doctor. He had a tired-looking expression. I knew the feeling. Lines ran across his face, aging him like a weathered stone. His thin hair was only slicked back on the sides because he had none on top, but the most prominent feature was his nose. It sat on his face like a hook. His small eyes glimmered as if they had been yearning for this encounter. I looked past him, cutting our contact, feeling creeped out.
He creased his mouth into a playful smile, not sinister, which was a good thing. And to be honest, I really had nothing to fear from this guy. My resolve was just to shut myself off to him, answer him in short bursts of words, and then see him on his way. He’d be satisfied, as would the Mitchells, and then life could go on.
My stomach growled, and Dean tossed me a candy bar with a nod. I almost burst out laughing, considering that he seemed to have read my mind. The irony. Then an irresistible thought swept over me. I could easily jump inside the doctor’s head and learn all kinds of things I probably didn’t really want to know.
“Well, let’s get to it, shall we?” the doctor said, shifting his attention to Tracy. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Nolan alone.” He smiled at her. It wasn’t a question—more of an order. Instead of feeling trapped, it now felt like I was being abandoned. Tracy looked across to Dean and got to her feet. Her attention lingered on me.
“We’ll be in the next room, if you need anything,” she said.
“Sure, that’s just fine,” answered the doctor, pushing them with his words. Dean followed his mom, and I could hear their hushed voices as I watched them exit the room. When I brought my gaze back to the doctor, he was holding his hand out to me.
“I haven’t properly introduced myself.” I took his hand, shaking it. “Dr. Edgar Vance.”
His hand was warm, almost inviting. We parted, and then I noticed a thick file folder on the coffee table between us. It was labeled “Jacob Day.” I swallowed a chunk of the candy bar, but suddenly lost my appetite for it.
“Now, just to be on the level with you, I’m only here on behalf of your father.” He tapped the file folder with his fingers. “I’m not here to persuade, convince, or even guilt you into anything. Just simply talk.”
Even though he said those things, I didn’t have to read his mind to know he was
lying through his teeth. If his nose had been any more pointed, it would have poked me in the eye.
Chapter Twenty-seven
AS DR. VANCE BEGAN to speak about my dad, I didn’t know what to feel. A mixture of emotions flooded my already-racing head.
“Jacob,” Dr. Vance said, promptly stopped, smirked at me, and then began again. “Sorry. Your father has made resounding progress in treatment. I can’t go into specific details, but of that progress, I can be certain.” He waited for my reaction. I had none. Seeing that, he continued, “It has been a little over a year since he arrived, and since then, he has been one of my very best patients.”
Best patient? This guy had to be full of it.
“Nolan, if anything, please know this. Your father loves you very much.”
I dipped my head and raised my eyebrows at him, giving him an “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” face. I wanted to bust out laughing. This doctor was a crock. Somebody didn’t live his life abusing his son, go mutant insane, and then talk to a psychologist and simply turn it all around.
Something told me Dr. Vance knew I’d respond that way. He was getting me worked up, but why? I wanted to know what this guy was really up to, but instead, he offered me the couch Tracy had been sitting on and asked me to lie down.
“If you could, please, just relax. I’d like to hear your perspective on your father. Forget that my coming here is on his behalf, and let’s make this about you.”
I didn’t see the harm in that and did as he asked.
“Explain to me, if you would, your first impression of your father—not the first time you became aware of him, but the first impression of him right now, in this very moment. What do you feel?”
I stared at the ceiling, folded my arms over my chest, and decided this couldn’t be all bad. Heck, maybe it was what I needed. I spoke.
“He’s nothing to me but a shrewd coward, a bully, a freak, a half-cocked loon, and he has wanted nothing more in life than to see me suffer.” It felt good to say those things. I hadn’t expected that.
