by K M Frost
I look away and focus on Stewart instead. “Do you want some help with that, buddy?” I’m not really in a hurry to be alone with Leah after what happened . . .
But Stew shakes his head and stands. “I’ve got it.”
I stand too and hesitate while he picks up the box. I look at Leah again, and then at Stewart. He gives me another smile and continues on his way to Abby.
I hold back a sigh of resignation and make my way slowly back toward Leah.
I’m more than a little nervous, so when I get back to where she’s standing, I don’t rush her.
After a moment she glances at me, an odd expression on her face I can’t identify.
Then she grins and turns to face me fully. “You still want to help me find my mom?”
“You bet.”
Chapter 17
Mom walked us to school on Monday morning and Leah met us at the crossroad like usual. I smiled when I saw her, but then I remembered what had happened last night, and my skin flushed. I was glad Ellie was in a talkative mood, and gave me an excuse to not say more than ‘hi’ to Leah.
School dragged, like it always did when I had a Counseling session. Leah tried to make me forget about it, but even though I had fun goofing off with her and Ellie during school, the heaviness of my attitude didn’t lift.
I must have looked really depressed when I walked into Practical Literature, because Leah could hardly wait for me to sit before she was urging me to cheer up.
“It can’t be all bad. I mean, you just talk to some random person about your personal life for a full, uninterrupted hour. What’s so bad about that?”
I sank down in my chair, staring up at the ceiling grimly. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just talking to him . . .”
Leah leaned toward me with a teasing smile, though I could see the shadow of concern in her eyes. “What, does he make you run laps?”
I rolled my head to frown at her, without moving from my slumped position. “No. He hasn’t really done anything, but . . .” I let my head roll back so I could stare at the ceiling again. “I don’t know. There’s something off about him, something wrong.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like he’s trying to manipulate what I say, like he’s trying to put words in my mouth.”
Leah widened her eyes, mockingly grave. “You mean, like this?”
I scowled. “No.” I let out a growl of frustration and sat up, only to lean forward and settle my folded arms on top of my desk. “Just forget it.”
“Have you told your parents?” All teasing was gone from her voice now.
I shook my head. “No. I don’t want them telling me it’s all in my head.”
Leah hesitated, then asked, “Is it?”
I glared at her. “Of course not! I don’t know what he’s up to, but Counselor Gerrit’s not what he seems.”
She raised her hands quickly. “Okay, okay. Geez, you’re really worked up about all of this. What do you know about this Counselor Gerrit?”
I grimaced. “Not much.”
I remembered what Billy had said. As much as I wanted to believe he was just off his nut, I had a feeling he had talked with Counselor Gerrit about those things.
I pressed my lips together. “I know he’s lied before, and he has a really bad temper. And . . . I don’t know. I feel like he’s trying to trick me with something, like he’s toying with me.”
Leah frowned. “How long do you have left?”
“I don’t know. After my first session he said I’d probably be done in a month, but he hasn’t said anything else about it.”
“One month isn’t too bad.”
I looked at her in exasperation, but she just shrugged unhelpfully as Instructor Grey walked into the room and called for silence.
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered.
I wasn’t sure if she heard me or not, but I didn’t dare repeat myself, because the room had fallen silent now.
Instead, I pretended to listen to today’s lecture, and tried to keep my mind off the upcoming Counseling session.
* * *
After school got out Leah, Ellie, and I waited at the edge of the schoolyard for Mom to show up. She came soon enough, and then we were on our way.
I didn’t say anything about the Counseling session, and Leah didn’t bring it up, either.
When we reached the road that would lead us into the heart of town, Mom stopped suddenly.
She turned to Leah, clearly flustered. “Oh, no. I’m sorry Leah. I completely forgot. Jonas has a Counseling session to get to, and I really don’t like him to go alone.”
Leah waved her worry away easily. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve walked home alone lots of times.”
“But it could be dangerous.” Mom frowned, but she sounded like she might be swayed.
Leah just smiled. “Thanks for your concern, Mrs. Hartley, but I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you’re sure . . .”
“Yep. You’d better hurry—you don’t want to be late!” Leah turned with a wave and continued down the regular road, the road that lead home.
I wished I could go with her.
But then Mom grabbed mine and Ellie’s hands and pulled us along. “Let’s go. Leah’s right—we don’t want to be late.”
A few minutes later we walked into the Counseling Center. There were just as many creepy people on the sofas, but I didn’t recognize any of them.
No Billy. I sighed quietly in relief.
Gloria greeted us at the front desk, as too-cheerful as ever. Today’s smock and fingernails were a shocking purple that hurt my eyes if I looked at it for too long.
Mom kept mine and Ellie’s hands in hers. “We’re here to see Counselor Gerrit.”
Gloria consulted her clipboard. I wondered if she just did that for the flair of it. I had a hard time believing she didn’t know the Counseling schedule. I mean, what else could she be doing all day, if not learning the appointments?
The receptionist wore a perfect pout. She probably practiced on a regular basis. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. The previous counselee arrived a little late, and the full hour is essential for the sessions to be effective.”
Mom nodded. “That’s fine. Thank you.” She led me and Ellie by the hand over to an empty sofa, where she placed us on either side of her.
She tossed cautious glances at the people around us and I felt a twinge of guilt for telling her about Billy. Now she would think everyone here was crazy. Though, I wasn’t sure that wasn’t the case . . .
Gloria hadn’t been kidding. We sat on the sofa for much longer than I’d ever had to, and still they didn’t call me back.
While I waited, I watched the smocked attendants lead people to and from the doorway at the back of the room. But every once in a while, a smocked person went through another door, closer to Gloria’s desk. I watched those people come and go, and started to wonder what was behind that door.
Acting on impulse, I stood up. Mom looked at me in surprise.
“I’m going to ask if there’s a bathroom.” I kept my voice low, not wanting to broadcast the announcement to everyone.
She frowned a little, but she nodded.
I tried to look calm and innocent as I approached Gloria’s desk.
When I reached her, she raised her head, though she looked irritated. “Can I help you?”
“Uh . . .” I had to clear my throat. “I was looking for the bathroom.”
She arched a single, stenciled eyebrow, but then she waved to an attendant in a bright blue smock, and he hurried over. “This young man needs to use the restroom.” She made it sound like I had a handicap—like using a bathroom was a bad habit.
But, as I’d hoped, the attendant led me toward the mystery door. I glanced back at Mom once, but she was talking with Ellie and wasn’t watching. I felt a little guilty for lying to her, but when the attendant pulled open the door and led me into a new hall, I pushed the guilt away and tried not to lo
ok too excited.
This hall wasn’t as long as the other one, and there were less doors, though they still ran along each side.
The attendant stopped at the first door on the right and waited for me to open it. I did and saw it was a small bathroom with a single toilet and sink. I took a step inside, thinking fast.
I turned back to the attendant with an apologetic look. “Actually, I think I might be a while.” I hoped my lie wasn’t too obvious. “Do you think you could go tell Counselor Gerrit? He should be out soon, and I don’t want him to wonder where I am.”
I held my breath while the attendant considered. Then he nodded, and I smiled gratefully.
I hesitated, then closed the door for show.
I pressed my ear to the door and listened carefully, and a few heartbeats later I heard the outer door open and close.
I hurried to pull the door open and slip out into the hall, knowing I wouldn’t have long to look around.
I moved quickly to the door across from me and eased it open. It was a storage room, with shelves of odds and ends—cleaning supplies, supplies for the bathroom, a random assortment of colorful smocks. A quick survey told me there wasn’t anything interesting in here, so I moved on to the next room.
This one was bigger than the storage room, and stuffed chockfull with all kinds of things to decorate a room—chairs, sofas, curtains, plants, paintings, statues.
I continued down the hall. Most of the rooms were filled with strange assortments of items, but nothing all that interesting. There was a break room for the staff but it had nothing more than a couple tables and some cabinets on the wall.
It wasn’t until I opened the second-to-last door that I actually saw something that made me pause.
It was a filing room, almost like an office. There wasn’t a desk, but there were cabinets along the walls, and bookcases packed with folders and books.
It was all carefully organized, and looked like it was used frequently; there was no dust.
I hesitated with my head in the room and my body in the hall. I threw a look over my shoulder to be sure no one was watching, then stepped inside and quietly closed the door.
The lighting in the room was dimmer than I would have expected for a filing room, but I moved forward anyway, my eyes scanning the labels on the drawers and shelves.
I stopped when I saw Counselee Records.
I wondered if my record was in there, and I wondered what it said about me.
Looking closer, I saw there were smaller labels on each drawer, two letters connected by a dash. I found the drawer marked G–M and pulled it open, grateful it didn’t squeak.
Inside were many paper folders pressed together. Each folder had a tall flap on one side, with a full name written there, as well as an abbreviated date.
I sifted through them quickly, and soon found a folder near the front with Hartley, Jonas scrawled on it. I tugged it loose and set is on the drawer, right on top of the other files, and opened it.
The first pages were full of personal information—my birthday, my parents, where I lived—that kind of stuff. After that, there were several pages of scrawled notes from Counselor Gerrit. I recognized some of the things we’d talked about in our sessions over the past weeks. The last few pages, though, held evaluations from the counselor. I started to read the first one.
Mr. Hartley seems genuinely repentant, which is good. It will speed the process if he has come to terms with the infraction. I also believe he will be easily persuaded. He has few friends and is heavily dependent on his family. That will provide a more than sufficient motivation.
I frowned at the words.
Infraction, persuaded, motivation . . .
They sounded oddly threatening, though I wasn’t sure why. It looked like there was an evaluation for each of our sessions, and each one mentioned a ‘process’ and my ‘motivation’, but none of them explained what he meant by those things, and what he aimed to do with me.
I sifted through the rest of the papers, but there was nothing more than that.
Frustrated and desperate, I slid the folder back into its place—making sure it looked like it had before I’d touched it—and quietly closed the drawer.
I knew I was almost out of time, but I couldn’t leave empty-handed. Feeling a little reckless, but very determined, I hurried to cross the room to the bookshelves and scanned the titles on the spines, trying to find something helpful.
Program and Policy.
I’m not sure why the title caught my eye, but I didn’t waste any time in pulling the thick folder down and laying it out on the floor. It was full of papers all attached in the middle, on the reverse side of the spine. I scanned titles and headlines until I found one that stopped me.
Our Mission.
Nothing too exciting or condemning, but I had a feeling this was what I’d been looking for. My eyes skipped over the words so quickly, I couldn’t take them in. I forced myself to calm down and read more slowly.
As I read the mission statement, my dread grew, as well as my indignation. I had known something wasn’t quite right about this place, but I never would’ve guessed this.
I thought about Counselor Gerrit and how he was a part of this—and not just a part. If what he’d told me about his dreams as a Conceptor were true, he’d organized the whole thing.
I was jerked back into the present when I heard a door open and close distantly.
My heart in my throat, I slapped the folder closed and shoved it back into its place. Then I ran to the door and listened. I couldn’t hear anything. Maybe they hadn’t come to look for me.
Then I heard a familiar voice. “Jonas?”
I was surprised to hear my mom’s voice back here. I chanced a peek from around the corner, opening the door carefully and quietly.
Mom stood outside the bathroom door at the other end of the hall, a frown on her face and her hand resting on the doorframe. She looked like she was considering going for help. I knew I didn’t want anyone else back here, so I hurried to step out into the hall and close the door behind me.
Mom’s frown deepened when she saw me. “Jonas. What are you doing there?”
For a moment I considered telling her everything. But then she stepped impatiently toward the door leading back to the waiting room.
“Counselor Gerrit has been waiting for you. It’s very rude to make him wait like this.”
I swallowed my story and walked forward sheepishly. “I got turned around.”
She sighed and led me back out to the main room.
When I saw Counselor Gerrit waiting for me with a patient smile, I fought the urge to run.
Now I knew why he made me uneasy. And the worst part of it was, I had no idea how to get out of here.
Chapter 18
Leah and I move silently to the next bed.
We haven’t said much tonight, and I think she can tell I’m still annoyed with her for teasing me about Counselor Gerrit.
I’m also still shaken by what I found out at the Counseling Center today, but I don’t know who to tell. I don’t dare tell my parents—they wouldn’t believe me anyway. And I’m sure Leah would tease me . . .
I sigh and try to push the thoughts away.
Leah speaks without raising her head. “Okay, Jonas. Spill.”
I frown and cross my arms.
She glances over at me and her expression softens. “Please.” When I don’t reply, she crosses her own arms. “Hey, you get mad when I don’t spill—now it’s your turn.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to make fun of me some more?”
“No teasing, I promise.” She crosses her heart for show.
The tension in my shoulders eases a little, and I move to the next body before I finally tell her what’s been bothering me.
I tell her how I got into the back room and about the strange rooms I found down the hallway. Then I tell her about the records room.
“It’s right there in their mission statement. They don’t
actually want to help anyone. They’ll never let anyone go, because then they lose money. So they keep on telling people they need more counseling, and then more counseling, forever. They aren’t helping people, they’re using them.”
Leah listens quietly while I tell my story, and when I’m done, she’s frowning.
I look at her, praying she’ll have a solution. “So . . . what am I supposed to do?”
“Well, I think you should tell your parents, and maybe they’ll be able to get you out of there.”
“But what if they don’t believe me?”
She raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you tell that many lies? Your parents don’t even believe you anymore?”
I scowl. “No, I don’t tell lies. I just don’t know if they’ll believe me. I mean, my mom didn’t believe me about the Reality Dreams for one second—how can I convince them about this? They already know I don’t like going—what if they think it’s a ploy to get out of it?”
“Are you usually so diabolical?”
I toss her an annoyed look.
Leah shrugs, though her grin remains. “Fine. This is a special case. But, either way, I think you should tell them. If they don’t believe you, we’ll figure something out, okay?”
I sigh and close my eyes, wishing my life wasn’t so complicated. I hate lying to my family about the Reality Dreams, but I don’t know how to tell them the truth. Most of all, I’m afraid they won’t believe me about Counselor Gerrit, and they’ll send me to a facility or something.
“Hey.” Leah moves closer and softly touches my arm. “You’re not alone, Jonas. You’ve got friends and we’ll help you.”
One look assures me she’s totally serious.
I sigh. “I know. It’s just . . . draining.”
She nods sympathetically and squeezes my arm.
Before I can thank her, Abby calls for everyone to come over.
Like always, she’s sitting amid stacks of books, some opened, some closed, all stacked haphazardly.
Leah and I are the first ones there, though Stew’s right behind us.