The Trust

by Tom Dolby

  Patch nodded sadly and looked at Nick. They both wanted so much to have a connection with their father, and yet he had made it impossible. Perhaps all they would ever really have as family was each other and Genie.

  The phone rang in the apartment, and Genie answered it crisply. “I believe it’s for you,” she said to Nick.

  Nick answered the phone.

  It was Charles, asking them to meet at the town house at two o’clock.

  In front of the town house was a security camera aimed at the front door. Patch pointed it out first.

  “I didn’t notice that yesterday,” Nick said, “but maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I’m surprised,” Patch said. “What’s the purpose of it? I thought they specifically didn’t want a record of people’s comings and goings.”

  Nick shook his head. He was tired of trying to speculate on the Society’s methods.

  Up the street, Thad and Lauren were walking east toward the building. The four of them had agreed that they would enter together. They had told Genie that if they didn’t report back to her in two hours at a specific meeting place, she should call the police as well as drop all the DVDs in a mailbox.

  Nick had a sinking feeling as they ascended the steps of the sandstone building. He had hoped that Phoebe would return, that she wasn’t really still out of town.

  “Hold on,” he said to Lauren. “Phoebe. Is she still away?”

  Lauren nodded. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’ll tell you where she is after this is all over. I promised her I wouldn’t, but you deserve to know.”

  It sounded so grave. Where was she? Had she met someone else? The thought sickened him.

  When they reached the top step, the door was opened by Charles Lawrence. The lion’s head knocker rattled slightly in the breeze as he held it open for everyone.

  Two of the Guardians, members of the Society’s private security force, stood in the vestibule of the town house on its kilim runner.

  “We’re going to need to check each one of you,” one of them said. “No recording devices, you understand?”

  Nick nodded to the others. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered to Lauren and Thad. He didn’t really know, though, if it would be.

  Patch was looking around frantically, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Nick gave him a friendly squeeze on the arm as they each were patted down by the Guardians.

  “Come with me,” Charles said. He led them down a hallway, past the main staircase. After pressing a panel in the wall, a door opened, leading to an elevator.

  “You want us to get in there?” Lauren said. “You must be crazy.”

  Charles shrugged. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

  Nick stepped forward. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s an elevator. We’ve been to the upper floors. We know what’s up there, more or less.”

  The four of them stepped into the elevator along with Charles and one of the Guardians. The elevator car was large, but it was still a tight fit.

  Charles pressed a button, and to everyone’s surprise, the creaky old elevator started going down. Nick grasped Lauren’s hand, as he sensed she was the most frightened by it all. He didn’t know what was giving him the confidence to proceed, but he felt in his gut that they were going to survive this. He was reminded, though, that he had felt a lot of things in his gut in the last six months, and many of them had not gone his way.

  The elevator went down what felt like two stories, and then everyone got out. They entered a long oak-paneled room. On its walls were bulletin boards containing newspaper clippings, maps, photographs, printouts of emails, and assorted lists. A bank of file cabinets flanked the wall on the left, and on top of them were multiple flat-screen televisions, one of them monitoring the front entrance, the others turned to muted news channels. A bookshelf nearby appeared to house yearbooks and other directories. On the right were four old-fashioned secretarial desks, lined up neatly in a row. On them were computers, printers, a fax machine, and multiline telephones. Across from the desks was a large oval oak conference table, a Harkness table similar to the ones they had in the Chadwick classrooms. Nick noticed that running along the walls and in front of the desks were brass curtain rods that were attached to the ceiling. Velvet curtains in a deep shade of burgundy were pulled aside at all four corners.

  It was a conference room in which the meeting participants could either be privy to the mechanics around them, or be completely partitioned off from it.

  “You are probably wondering why we have left the curtains open for you.” It was Nick’s father, standing at the other end of the room, in front of a doorway. “We call this the War Room. Some of the Elders wanted to hide our operations, to keep it all under wraps today. But I thought you should see what goes on here before you leave us. I wanted you to see how much work goes into this organization. This room is rarely empty. It is where everything happens, where all your text messages are sent from, via the latest technology. Where we decide when and how we’ll meet. How we have connected you with opportunities. Most of your classmates will never see this.”

  The room was a contrast of old and new. The computers were the latest models, but the Edison bulbs and fixtures lighting the room could have been a hundred years old. The burgundy curtains looked like they were from an old Broadway theater house.

  Nick looked at Patch, and his brother could merely shake his head.

  “What do you think?” Nick whispered.

  “I don’t really know,” Patch said.

  Nick decided to speak up. “Why are you showing us this?”

  “Good question.” Parker looked at the group of four. “I am showing you this because I never want you to take for granted the chance that you were given. The Society is a machine that could have worked for you. But sadly, you have all chosen to throw that away.”

  He motioned for them to follow him.

  Through the doorway was yet another room, but this one was filled with people.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Lauren was last in line as the four of them were led into the next room. It was octagonal, with black-and-white-striped walls, a glossy white floor, and a dimmed chandelier in the middle. She braced herself for what was to come.

  On one side, standing in a row, were their mentors: Charles, Emily, Anastasia, and Hunter, who had been Thad’s mentor.

  On the other side was Parker Bell, standing with Katherine Stapleton, the Administrator.

  “I think we all know why you four are here,” Parker Bell said. “You have been a disappointment, and so we have decided to grant your wish to be released from the Society.”

  “Wait,” Nick said. “What about Phoebe? You promised that Phoebe would be released as well.”

  “Miss Dowling will be released by proxy. Her mentor is here. You will all be witness to her de-initiation.”

  Anastasia looked as if she was wiping away a tear.

  “My five Infidels,” Mr. Bell continued. “I’m sure you know by now that we have called you that. An infidel is a person who doesn’t believe in a religion. You also know the word infidelity. Being untrue. Not being faithful. All of you lack faith. You lack faith, and you lack trust.”

  To his left, the four mentors looked dour, as if they, too, had failed.

  “Hector, open the doors.”

  One of the Guardians opened two of the panels. It revealed an unfinished basement, at the center of which was a giant furnace with an iron door.

  “Mentors!” The four mentors stepped forward. They each held forward a plastic mask, the ones from the Night of Rebirth that had each Initiate’s face printed on them. Emily handed Lauren’s to her, and Anastasia handed Phoebe’s to Lauren as well. Hunter handed Thad’s to him. Charles had both Nick’s and Patch’s masks, even though Patch had never been part of that night. He handed one to each of them.

  Hector opened the iron door leading to the furnace room. “As you burn the masks,” Parker said, “you will destro
y your identity as a member of the Society.”

  “Should we do this?” Lauren asked Nick quietly. The heat from the furnace was flowing into the room, raising its temperature.

  “I think so,” he said.

  Each of the four of them went forward, one by one, and threw his or her mask into the opening of the furnace. The toxic smell of burning plastic was released into the air.

  “Now, the scrolls,” Parker said.

  The Administrator handed out five scrolls, each representing one of the members, to them. Again, Lauren took Phoebe’s for her. They were the same scrolls they had been shown at the Night of Rebirth.

  At Parker’s direction, they each threw the scrolls into the furnace. With an ominous clang, Hector closed the door, which fanned the flames even more.

  “The burning represents your forgetting—your forgetting all that went on in the Society. You’ve experienced consequences inside the Society, and now, outside the Society, if you reveal your exploits, you will experience consequences as well. You may wonder why we aren’t asking you to sign nondisclosure agreements.” He paused. “I think you understand that all of this is above the law.”

  “What about our tattoos?” Patch said. “How do we get rid of them?”

  “We can’t remove your tattoos. You are welcome to try. But as I understand it, faint traces will always remain with you.”

  He turned to Nick. “I won’t ask for a copy of that ridiculous film that you all made. I know there are multiple copies out there, and confiscating one copy won’t change that. But I can assure you, if the Society ever sees that film in the public domain, there will be grave consequences for all five of you. If I were you, I would destroy all the copies. That’s the only way you can ensure that your heirs don’t do something silly with them someday.

  “Charles, I believe we’re done here. Please escort these four back up to the street.”

  In a few minutes they were back on the street. The entire thing had happened quickly, but Lauren still found herself hyperventilating. Her face was warm from the heat in the room, and the cold air outside was bracing. She held on to Thad, as she felt faint.

  “That was quite a production,” Patch said.

  “I don’t even know what to think about it,” Thad said. “I guess they couldn’t just cut up our membership cards or something, right?”

  Nick smiled grimly at Thad’s attempt at a joke. Of course, they all knew that they had no membership cards. They had nothing to prove they had ever been members at all, Lauren realized, except for the tattoos on their necks, markings that could have been obtained at any tattoo parlor.

  “Can we start walking?” Lauren said. “I swear, I never want to go down this street again.”

  The four of them started up the block.

  “Lauren, can you do something for me?” Nick asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Please tell me where Phoebe is.”

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you, Nick,” Lauren said, turning to him. “She’s in LA. She went to stay with her dad for a little bit. Her mom called me this morning, actually. She was really upset that Phoebe left without calling her, and she was trying to figure out why. I told her it was because of Daniel. I know that wasn’t the only reason, but I think Phoebe would have wanted her mom to know that she doesn’t trust him.”

  “Will you call her for me? Will you tell her what happened? I want her to come home.” He paused, looking behind them at the town house. “I want her to know that I tried to make things right.”

  “I will,” Lauren said as she gave Nick’s arm a squeeze. “I promise.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Patch and Nick were walking north on Fifth Avenue, headed in the direction of the Met. They had parted ways with Lauren and Thad, who were going to hang out at Lauren’s apartment. She was still pretty shaken up by the entire ordeal, but Thad promised to keep her company. Now Patch and Nick were going to meet Genie at the agreed-upon place. Even in the crisp March air, what they had just been through didn’t feel real to Patch. Everything with the Society had an air of unreality to it—the rituals, the meetings, the parties—and the past hour had seemed the strangest of all. Patch was hopeful that they were free of the group, at least for now. There was still, of course, so much they would have to contend with. Patch didn’t know if he would ever have any sort of relationship with Parker Bell. He even wondered if Nick could ever be around his parents again. Perhaps Nick could move in with Genie and him—that is, if their father didn’t try to get them kicked out of the building or threaten them in some other way.

  Patch sighed. It was all too complicated, this mess they had gotten themselves into, starting last fall. Or perhaps, because they had been born into it, they had never really had a choice. He wished they could run away from it all, from the Society, from their lives, from New York City. Maybe someday they would be able to.

  For now, he decided that he had to be thankful for the important things. For the possibility that the Society would leave them alone. For Lia. For Genie. For Nick.

  They entered the Met, cheekily paying a dollar—the usual twenty-dollar fee was merely “suggested”—and winking at the cashier as they were let through. The two of them had agreed to meet Genie in the Chinese Garden in the Astor Court, on the second floor, directly above the Egyptian wing. Patch didn’t exactly know why they had chosen this particular room at the Met; maybe it was because Parker Bell hated Chinese art, or so Nick claimed.

  Genie stood in the middle of the little faux courtyard that had been re-created inside the museum, a replica of an actual seventeenth-century courtyard in China.

  “Oh, thank God!” Genie said as she rushed forward to greet the boys. “I have been standing here biting my nails for the past half hour. I was ready to call the police.”

  “Let’s go sit down,” Patch said as he took his grandmother’s arm.

  “The Petrie Court?” Nick asked, referring to the café in the museum that looked out onto the park. Patch and Nick had spent a good portion of their childhood enjoying free hot chocolate from the friendly waiters there who were amused by the two little boys who were barely as tall as the tables.

  When they arrived at the café, Patch looked up. “Nick, um . . .”

  In front of them, outside the glass windows of the café, was Cleopatra’s Needle, the monument where Jared Willson had been killed. It was in the distance, but it was visible nonetheless.

  “It’s okay,” Nick said, pulling out a chair. “It’s a monument. That’s all it is. Nothing more. What happened to Jared doesn’t change that.”

  Patch got Nick’s point. They had to stop being afraid of everything. It was part of the argument Patch had overheard Nick and Phoebe having in the house in Southampton, and it seemed as if Nick had given it some thought.

  Genie ordered hot chocolate for the three of them, and an assortment of miniature desserts, the fancy kind that were served on a tower of three plates. After the waiter left, Nick looked nervous.

  “Patch, I need to tell you something,” Nick said, first looking at Patch, then at Genie. “Actually, I need to tell both of you something. I owe you both an apology.”

  Patch frowned. “I don’t understand—what for?”

  Nick took a deep breath. “I knew about you and me and the whole brotherhood thing before you did. My father told me about your mother and him and what happened the day after you were initiated on Isis Island. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how to deal with the information. It was too much to handle, and I had to make sure our friendship was solid again. And then everything with Palmer’s challenge—there was just never a good time.”

  Patch looked at Nick angrily. “Nick, you could have told me anytime! Can I ever trust you? This is just like last year when you didn’t tell me what was going on with the Society—”

  “Boys—” Genie interrupted. “You two have to trust each other. Frankly, you don’t have a choice. And for God’s sake, Patch, I kept that secret from y
ou for nearly seventeen years. You think I didn’t know all that time? You think I didn’t want to tell you, that I didn’t agonize over every moment whether I was doing the right thing? Ever since your mother left, it was in my hands. I kept it from you as well. Nick didn’t tell you for a few months. You need to let it go.”

  The platters of small desserts arrived, and the boys picked a few each, choosing miniature raspberry tarts and currant scones with lemon curd.

  Maybe Genie was right. Maybe Patch needed to give Nick a break. Nick had tried to do what was right, and he was obviously under a great deal of pressure.

  “What I want to understand is, what really happened between my mother and our father?” Patch asked. “Why would she do this? Why would she not have told my father—that is, Patch, Jr.—about it?”

  “Your mother was ashamed,” Genie said. “But she wanted to have a child so badly. She and your father were not able to have children, or at least, they hadn’t been successful yet. When she became pregnant, we were all so happy. I had no idea at first. She only told me halfway through the pregnancy. It was a strange piece of news, but in the end, what mattered most was that she and Patch had a son.”

  Patch nodded. “But why . . . why Parker? I mean, no offense, Nick, but he’s such a monster.” A monster, Patch thought, who was his real father.

  Nick looked dismayed, though not surprised. He turned to Genie. “I can’t answer that,” he said.

  “He was delightful back then,” Genie said. “So handsome and charming. All the ladies flirted with him. And in retrospect, he and Esmé seemed to have a curious connection. They hit it off. I think it was only later that your father became—I don’t know the right word—I guess he became nasty, hardened. Maybe Palmer did it to him.”

  “And my father knew about it?” Patch asked.

  “I believe he found out,” Genie said. “There was a fight between the two of them. It was a terrible time when that happened—it was like two halves of a family breaking apart. And then your father drowned. That weekend was supposed to be a reconciliation. And it never happened.”