by Gillian Chan
It took less than a minute and then I was off, card in hand, to the computer he indicated. They were arranged in rows, each on its own table, with enough space between them to give you a degree of privacy. There were a couple of boys about my age, wannabe gangsters with low-riding pants and Yankees hats, goofing around on the computer to one side of me. One of them raised a finger to point at my scar, but then I smiled at him. After that, his attention stayed fixed on his own screen. Ugliness can be a powerful thing.
Finally I could start to see if I could find anything that might solve the mystery of Jacob Mueller.
I figured that when he’d first been found, Jacob’s name had been entered into all the various search engines and databases, so there seemed to be no point doing that again. Instead, I was going to see what I could find about Foda.
Calling up Google, I typed in the name and waited, absolutely sure that something helpful would come up. Something came up all right: pages and pages of sites dedicated to some sort of fucking stupid acronym—feature-oriented domain analysis. This was not what I wanted. But I didn’t give up, just kept doggedly plowing through page after page of results—God knows how many—until I started to hit the porn ones, the ones where your search term was somehow inserted just to drag you in. Then I gave up. I didn’t want some nosy librarian looking over my shoulder, thinking the worst, and throwing me out on my ass.
I was stymied.
It came to me then. I had a bit of information that no one else did. I knew that Jacob had a brother. I typed in Caspar Mueller and held my breath, until the results page flashed up. They were mostly in German, which of course I didn’t speak.
I tried both names then, not really expecting much. On about the third page of results, I got lucky, or at least I thought I had. There were the two names. I clicked the link and nearly cried when I was taken to what turned out to be one of those “trace your family tree” sites. The Jacob and Caspar Mueller I’d found were long dead, someone’s moldy old ancestors. This Jacob had been born in 1850 and his brother, Caspar, two years later. Jacob died in 1890, but his brother, Caspar, hadn’t even made it to adulthood. He’d died when he was thirteen, in 1865. There was a sister, too: Katerina Mueller, born in 1862. She’d outlived both her brothers, and hadn’t died until 1925. It was her family tree that I was looking at, drawn up by one of her descendants. Funny thing was, she’d lived in Hamilton. That was a coincidence, but it still seemed like a dead end. I thought I might as well print out the family tree anyway, though. The names were unusual, and if I read it right through, maybe, just maybe, it might lead to some present-day relatives of my Jacob.
“Find what you were looking for?”
I jerked with shock. Was it three already?
Chaz was standing behind me, bouncing his car keys from hand to hand. His question startled me, then I remembered that I’d told him I needed the library to look up stuff for school.
“Yeah,” I muttered, “history.”
“C’mon, Mike,” he said. “It took me quite a while to find you, and I’m running a little late.”
It crossed my mind that I had my library card and could just leave without getting Chaz to sign for me, but, hey, the librarian guy hadn’t been a dick about it, so I felt like I kinda owed him.
“Chaz, I had to get a library card to use the computers and they said you’d have to sign for me, okay? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Okay, okay. Just pray that the traffic gods smile kindly on us today.”
Chaz couldn’t resist chatting a bit to the librarian, and I felt a bit bad when he went on about how pleased he was that I actually wanted to study. I shifted impatiently from foot to foot and finally Chaz remembered that he was in a hurry. He dog-trotted out of the library with me at his heels. The van was in a no-parking zone, a traffic warden fast approaching.
Once I was in the van, I pulled out a folder I’d brought, one of my school ones, and stuffed the Mueller family tree inside it. I’d look at it more closely later on in my room, maybe show it to Jacob to see if I could get any reaction from him. Today, Chaz was too intent on getting to the school on time to make conversation, which suited me just fine.
The traffic wasn’t too bad, and we were only fractionally late. I could see our little group standing in the usual place as Chaz pulled to a halt, the whole van shaking as he yanked on the hand brake. I was childish enough to give Paddy a big cheesy grin. He mouthed something that I didn’t catch, but I didn’t have time to think much about it because Chaz shot out of the van like a racehorse out of the starting gate. At first I couldn’t see what had got him so worked up. Then I realized that Jacob was not waiting with the others.
I could see panic on Chaz’s face—Jacob had never been late before—as he questioned Paddy and Matt. They were shaking their heads, but I saw Paddy smirk before Chaz charged into the school. Whatever had happened, I knew that slimy bastard had had some part in it. I wasn’t so sure about Matt, though. He was pale and looked as if he wanted to puke. I got up and loomed in the doorway of the van, ready to stop anyone who tried to get on, especially those two.
“Boys!” Chaz, his face almost purple, was back with the principal in tow as well as the guy who ran the special ed department, who looked scared shitless. “Jacob’s gone AWOL. He didn’t turn up for the last period, only no one bothered to report that.” He glared at Special Ed Guy, who I swear almost grabbed the principal’s hand for protection. “We’re going to search the building before we do anything else. Mike, get out of the way and let the others on. I want you all to stay put, do you understand?”
“No!” I only realized that I had shouted by the look of shock on everyone’s faces. I was too surprised to lower my voice. “I’ll help look.”
Chaz didn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to waste time arguing, Mike. Come if you must, but the rest of you are to stay here.” The principal looked like he might want to argue, but didn’t.
Most of the teachers were searching the school already, some like they meant it, hurrying down the corridors calling Jacob’s name, others just going through the motions, their faces telling me that they thought this was a huge waste of time, searching for a kid who’d obviously just done a bunk.
At first I stayed with Chaz, but then I peeled off on my own. Chaz yelled after me, something about staying together, but I kept going, just shouted back that I was going to check behind the school.
I didn’t know exactly where I was heading, but I remembered all the times I had seen Jacob coming from the direction of the gym. I didn’t bother with the gym itself; I could hear the voice of one of the teachers ringing out from the building. Instead, I walked around the back, onto the field.
Nothing.
The sun was setting and I could feel how cold it was becoming. The grass crunched beneath my feet. I scanned the field, looking for anywhere that Jacob might hide. It was the first time I’d been to this part of the school. I’d thought there might be an equipment hut or something that he hid in, but I saw nothing but two sets of bleachers—sturdy ones, not the lightweight aluminum ones that look like they’d blow over in the first strong wind. These had solid side walls made out of some sort of heavy green canvas. I started to run toward the nearest one, going around the back into the dark cave-like space underneath the seats. The ground here was covered with empty soda cans, chip packets, and cigarette butts, but no Jacob. As I set off for the other bleachers, I thought I heard noises, but I wasn’t sure. I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the stitch that was building in my side.
I heard him before I found him, a muffled sobbing interspersed with whispering—whispering that sounded like more than one voice.
At first, I thought Jacob was just sitting in the farthest corner, his head resting on his knees. It was only when I got close, falling on my knees beside him, that I realized what the bastards had done.
They’d stripped him down to his skivvies, use
d his pants and shirt to tie his wrists and ankles together. He was shivering, his skin pale and mottled with the cold. Snot and tears had frozen in snail tracks down his face, which he now raised to me. Between gulping sobs, he tried to speak. “You came,” he gasped. “Jon said you would find me, that his Mutt would save me. The others, too, they said you would come. They know how strong you are.”
I went rigid. My brain was filled with the thought that the lying little bastard had insisted that Jon had gone away. It took all my willpower to move again. I wanted to shake him, shake him until he told me the truth, but he was too far gone. I had to get him out of there. His face had that blank look it got. The only difference from when he went into one of his overloads was that he wasn’t silent now—he was muttering to himself incessantly: a strange mixture of what sounded like names, English words, and words in a language I didn’t know. I frantically tried to unpick the knots binding Jacob’s wrists and ankles, but my hands were too cold and the material had been pulled too tight. I tried not to listen to him as he continued to croon softly to himself. I definitely didn’t listen to the other voices, the ones that whispered from the shadows all around us. If I had, I would have been too terrified to pick Jacob up and stagger with him across the icy field to the warmth and the light—where all hell broke loose.
Chapter Six
It was shouting. It was faces looming. It was Chaz bellowing and grabbing Jacob from my arms. It was the hallway suddenly being filled with people. It was Matt and Paddy worming their way in, trailed by the other kids from the van. It was the look on their faces: a combination of fear and menace for Paddy as he stared at Jacob; it was fear and what looked a lot like shame on Matt’s. It was my legs giving way so that I ended up on the floor, lost in the vortex of legs milling around me.
I think I blacked out, just for a second. I had no memory of moving, but suddenly Jacob and I were in what I guessed was the first-aid room. Chaz was there, too, alternating between yelling on his cellphone to Luce and lambasting the principal, who looked like he was being confronted by a rabid dog. His stuttered apologies and protestations that this sort of thing had never happened before only made Chaz wilder. The word “police” peppered Chaz’s ranting and caused the principal to go even paler. Chaz got closer and closer to him, invading his space until the principal was flinching. I thought Chaz was going to hit him.
Jacob was curled into a ball on a cot, a blanket draped over his body, while a teacher worked on loosening the knots in his clothes. He was still muttering to himself. I was sitting on a chair, straining to pick out words, to hear Jon’s name, but most of the words were not English. I rested my head on my hands, stared down at the floor, fighting a building wave of nausea. The floor was some kind of tile made to look like pebbles. I focused on the pattern but it was no use; it swirled round like a whirlpool. A flood of acid vomit poured out of my mouth. It didn’t stop until I had nothing left to bring up, but my body kept trying.
I heard Chaz yell, “Where is that bloody ambulance? You did call one, didn’t you?”
I felt weak, my sides still heaving. The shouting was making me feel sick again.
Fragments of sounds and images penetrated. The ambulance was on its way; they’d called it for Jacob already, but perhaps I’d better go to the emergency room, too. A guy in a suit burst into the room and immediately started talking animatedly to Chaz. I caught the words “head office” and figured he was here to take over, maybe to pressure the school to find out exactly what had happened.
It was then, just as I threw up again, that paramedics rushed in. Hands lifted up my head. A girl worked on Jacob. A gurney held the door open. Faces peered in.
“We’ll take them in to check them out.” The voice was calm, soothing amid all the bluster. “The little one could have hypothermia. The big guy, who knows. Have their parents been contacted?”
“They are both from Medlar House, the group home. I’m one of the social workers there,” Chaz said, not yelling now. He sounded worried. “I’ll come with them.”
The paramedic who’d been looking me over squatted down next to me. “Can you walk, big guy?”
I didn’t want to risk opening my mouth, so I just nodded. He held out a hand to help me up, which I ignored until I stood up and the room started to spin around. He steadied me, then called for Chaz and the principal to help me stay on my feet while he helped his partner load Jacob on the gurney.
The crowd parted silently as our sad little procession made its way out to the ambulance. My head was throbbing and my stomach roiled, so it was a relief to lie flat on the cot in the ambulance. They’d tried to uncurl Jacob when they moved him but without any luck. He lay with his face to the wall, his back curved into a bow. His muttering had stopped and the silence was good. I didn’t want to hear his voice or any others.
There was a flurry of chatter just before we left.
“What about the others? What should I do about the other kids?” The principal’s voice was high-pitched and panicky.
In contrast, Chaz’s was a low growl. The anger was still there, but controlled now. He gestured to the suited stranger with a broad sweep of his hand. “My boss is here. He’ll take charge and get them home. You did a shit job looking after Jacob when he was supposedly in your care, so I wouldn’t trust my kids to you.”
The principal looked as if he was going to say something in return, but Chaz was already getting into the back of the ambulance. Chaz’s boss glared at the principal, too.
I don’t like hospitals. I don’t like doctors. You’re smart enough to know why. If I’d felt sick before, the high-pitched, screeching siren of the ambulance made it worse. I could feel beads of sweat on my face. It helped if I shut my eyes.
There’s little point in describing in detail what happened when we reached McMaster Hospital—all standard stuff, except for no waiting around. We were rushed straight into the ER, put into adjoining rooms. Chaz did his best, bopping between them until I growled at him to stay with Jacob.
The doctor who examined me was good. He looked me in the eyes, didn’t let his gaze slide away from my ruin of a face and then sneak looks back, like you would with the car crash you pass at the side of a road. Nothing major wrong with me, maybe a bit of shock. He was all for sending me out to the waiting room until Chaz and Jacob were done, but I told him no. I was waiting with Chaz. He didn’t argue. Wise man.
A doctor and a nurse were working on Jacob. The nurse was cleaning him up, gently removing mud from his hair, cleaning up the abrasions on his legs and arms. The bastards must have dragged him along the ground after they’d stripped and hog-tied him. Somehow, she’d straightened him out from his curled-up ball. He lay on the bed in the position I knew so well, flat on his back, arms by his sides. The only difference from his nighttime posture was the shivering that shook his body nonstop. His eyes were open and staring straight up at the ceiling, but I would have wagered big bucks that he wasn’t there. It was weird. He’d shut down. Chaz knew it, too, because when the doctor tried to get Jacob to do some dumbass test, counting backward in twos, he told him not to waste his breath, that Jacob rarely spoke. I think that clinched it for the doctor: he was going to keep Jacob in the hospital for observation. If I’d been him, I would have, too. If your patient didn’t talk, didn’t answer questions, how could you assess them unless you just watched over them? Before he left to arrange a bed for Jacob in the kids’ ward, he told Chaz that he thought Jacob would be okay. He was bruised, but nothing was broken. Someone had used him as a punching bag either before or after they’d tied him up. He had probably been out there a couple of hours; he was suffering from mild hypothermia. The hospital staff would observe him overnight to ascertain if he had a head injury.
“Ah, shit, Mike, who could do such a thing?” Chaz looked close to tears. “Jacob’s a little strange, but for Christ’s sake, he’s harmless. It would be like kicking a puppy.”
I d
idn’t say anything. There was no point. I knew that Paddy was behind this, but I had no proof, and I doubted that Jacob would say anything. I’d get him, though. Get him later, when he thought he was safe and had gotten away with it.
I realized that Chaz was looking at me hopefully. “Could be anyone,” I muttered. “Jacob’s an equal-opportunity target.”
Chaz took one of Jacob’s hands and began gently rubbing it. “I knew school wasn’t easy for him, that he probably got picked on, but he never complained, and nothing this bad has ever happened before. By law, I have to send him . . .” His voice trailed off.
“He hides.” I surprised myself by speaking. “He has a bolt-hole somewhere out on the field where he goes when he’s not in class. If I noticed that, other kids would have, too. It would be easy to corner him there, with no one around to see or stop them. That’s where I looked for him. He was under the bleachers.” I didn’t mention what else I had experienced under there. No one would believe me.
Chaz was shaking his head at that thought when the doctor came back, followed by an orderly. “Mr. Mazzone, they’re ready for him on the third floor, if you want to go up and get him settled. You can, of course, stay with him. There’s a couch in his room.” He hesitated, looking in my direction but not looking at me directly. “But . . .” He didn’t need to say any more.
“One of my coworkers, Lucy Evans, will be here shortly.” I don’t think I’d ever heard Chaz sound so formal. “She’ll stay with Jacob. Mike and I will head back to Medlar House once she gets here.” He motioned to me to follow him. The doctor looked like he wanted to nix this, but I glared balefully at him. He didn’t say anything, which was good.
When I got to the kids’ ward, I almost wished that the doctor had been more assertive. I stayed in the play area near the elevators while Chaz did the necessary. Little kids stare, and they say exactly what pops into their heads; they have no filters.
