“This afternoon? Tomorrow?”
“It’ll take approximately a month, I believe,” the superintendent said.
“What?” Carol shouted.
“The month will go quickly.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s a month or a minute,” she said, “the point is we’re his parents and—”
“Forget it, Carol,” Richard interrupted. “It’s no use.”
Carol looked over at her husband in shock, ready to argue with him, but he shook his head in a calm, almost stern, way.
“After all,” Richard said, “that’s what we came here for, the assurance that we could see our son. It doesn’t have to be today.” He stood up and faced the superintendent. “You can give us your personal assurance he’s all right? That he made it back here safely and is now attending his class?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine. Let’s sign the papers. The important thing is that we’ll get to see him.”
“Good. I appreciate your willingness to conform to our policies, Mr. Carson. Believe me, the resident is receiving the best of care as we speak.”
“Just one more thing,” Richard said. “What does a little lion cub have to do to become a real lion?” It was a gamble, but maybe if the superintendent knew that Richard was aware of a few things he’d be more careful how he treated his son.
The superintendent’s eyes froze on Richard, then he took a deep breath. He motioned to the host waiting near the door and instructed him to show the Carsons to the administrative offices. Without a comment, the host walked past the secretary’s desk and into the hall, Richard and Carol following close behind. Ms. Garrett remained in the superintendent’s office and closed the door.
They turned a corner and came to a closed door. The host stopped and stepped aside. Richard opened the door and motioned for Carol to walk through, which she did. Then Richard went through the doorway and let the door close partway behind him. When the host reached for the doorknob to follow them, Richard slammed with all his weight into the door, hitting the host in the face and knocking him to the floor. Carol let out a scream, but quickly covered her mouth. As the stunned host tried to get up, Richard ran up to him, using his momentum to kick him in the face. The host fell to the floor, apparently unconscious.
Richard grabbed his wife’s hand and started to run down the hall.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” she whispered.
“It’s those old Bourne movies you never wanted me to watch,” he said as they rounded a corner in the hall, coming to the large door that led to the lobby.
Richard opened the door slightly. The host had his back to the desk, speaking on the telephone. His first thought was that somehow someone knew what he’d done and was notifying the front desk, but he decided there hadn’t been enough time. It was worth the risk.
“Carol,” he whispered, “just walk through the lobby like nothing has happened, and don’t look at the host. Don’t give him any reason to quit talking on the phone. Then get a cab and get out of here.”
“Where should I go?”
“Don’t go back to the apartment. Once they’ve figured out what happened, they might go looking for you and I don’t want you alone.”
“I’ll go to Susan’s.”
“Good. I’ll call you when things are settled.”
“Richard, what are you doing?”
“Who knows? I’ve got to find Christopher. Now get going.” He looked over his shoulder, hoping no one was coming. “There’s no time to talk.”
“Let me help.”
“They’re going to catch me sooner or later. You’ll be a lot more help out there than in here. Go!”
Carol walked through the doorway cautiously, keeping an eye on the host. He was still talking on the phone, apparently to some friend by the way he was laughing, with his back to the lobby. Richard remembered the card in his wallet with the telephone number from Harold.
“Pssst.”
She didn’t hear him.
“Carol,” he whispered.
She still didn’t hear him.
He looked over at the host, expecting any minute for him to turn around. Richard inched his way into the lobby, but he didn’t want to leave the door and have it lock on him. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, took the card out, then placed the wallet in the doorway, keeping the door from closing. He walked up behind his wife, who was almost at the front door.
“Carol.”
She turned, surprised.
“Call this number when you’re safely away from here,” he whispered.
“Who is it?”
“Tell them it’s an emergency. Explain what happened. You can trust them.”
She nodded and turned back to the front door. Keeping an eye on the host, Richard walked back toward the large door to the hall. He sighed as he heard the front door close, knowing that Carol had made it. The host said good-bye and turned to hang up the phone. Richard ran for the door, not worrying about sound. He pushed on the door, catching his wallet as it fell, and headed down the hall without looking back.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Richard ran up the stairs and stopped at the door with the sign “FLOOR #3.” He opened the door a couple of inches and looked out. The hall was empty. He opened the door a little farther and looked in the opposite direction, closing it when he saw two hosts approaching. As they walked past the door to the stairs, he heard one of them talk about some fight. Once they passed, he opened the door and headed down the hall from where they’d come.
Richard kept repeating “Room 316” in his mind, trying not to forget it. There was a number of doors on either side of the hall and, despite what the superintendent had said, each had a small window. 308...310...312.... Richard ran, crouching down whenever he went past a window. It wasn’t difficult to hear the instructors speaking. In 314 he heard the instructor, a man, yelling at one of the residents, accusing the child of not trying hard enough. Finally, he came to 316.
He stopped at the door, inching up to the window so he could see inside. The room was almost completely dark, but he could hear a woman’s voice talking about something—the law of inertia?—as she pointed a laser pen at the screen.
Richard searched the room for Christopher, but he just couldn’t make out kids’ faces. All the students sat rigidly, looking at the screen in front, sometimes entering something into their tablets. Off to the side, about three rows up and against the wall, was an empty desk. The only empty desk in the room.
The teacher said “next” and an image of the solar system appeared on the screen. Richard opened the door and entered the classroom, standing right next to the door. No one noticed him.
“Christopher Carson, you must come with me. I must take you to the superintendent’s office immediately,” Richard announced. Everyone turned and looked at the dark figure that had spoken in the back. The instructor stopped and put down her laser pointer.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“The superintendent—”
“You aren’t from the superintendent’s office. Who are you?” Everyone squinted when the instructor turned on the lights. Richard scanned the room, but there was no sign of Christopher.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“I am the boy’s father. I’ve come for my son. Where is he?”
The children looked shocked to see a real father in the school. They whispered to one another, looking at the father, then at the instructor.
“I’m calling security,” the instructor said.
“Where is he?” Richard shouted this time. Several children covered their mouths, eyes wide open and staring.
“He’s not here,” a little boy said, barely loud enough for Richard to hear. The boy was sitting next to the empty desk.
“Be quiet,” the instructor said.
“They said he was sick,” the boy continued, “but I don’t believe them.”
“I will send the next resident who speaks to t
he basement,” the instructor said. “Now turn around.”
As she was trying to get the children back in line, Richard jumped into the hall. He ran down to the next corner, but as soon as he turned left, he spotted two hosts at the end of the hall. One of the hosts saw him and yelled for him to stop. Richard turned around and headed back from where he’d come. When he got near the physics classroom, he saw the instructor standing outside the door, talking with a host.
“That’s the intruder,” the instructor yelled, pointing at Richard.
Richard turned, but saw the other hosts running up fast from behind. He ran forward, thinking he’d have a better chance with just one host. The host lurched forward, tackling Richard around the waist and bringing him down. The two men wrestled on the floor, the host at least fifty pounds heavier. Richard broke from the host’s hold and got up, only to be grabbed by the legs and come crashing down on the hard floor again. The host jumped on Richard’s back and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, struggling to grab one of Richard’s hands as he kept swinging.
Richard heard children screaming. The kids poured out of the physics class, the instructor trying to keep them back and shouting at them to “remember your training.” Led by the little boy who had spoken up earlier, the children piled on top of the host, knocking him off of Richard.
“Leave him alone,” they were shouting. “He’s Christopher’s father.” They swung their little fists into the host’s stomach and face, giving Richard all the time he needed to get up and run down the hall.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
When Richard pushed open the stairwell door he paused for a second, then ran up the stairs. He figured if Christopher was supposed to be sick, maybe he’d be in bed. He kept trying to remember where the superintendent had pointed when he spoke about “private time,” but he couldn’t remember the room number. He came to a door that said “FLOOR # 4,” but kept running up. When he got to the next door one flight up, he stopped at the sign, “FLOOR # 5,” trying to catch his breath. He pushed open the door. He couldn’t see or hear anyone and walked down the hall toward a set of large double doors. He looked behind him, saw no one, then ran. Slowly, he opened one of the doors and peered inside the room.
It was huge. Christopher had talked about what the Newman staff called the “dorm room,” and how he got to “sleep in a room with a bunch of other guys,” but Richard hadn’t thought he meant a place like this. It was crowded with beds only a couple of feet apart. A small dresser and bookcase sat at the foot of each bed. Hanging on each headboard by wire was a small metal sign, like a license plate, with the resident’s name stamped on it.
Richard saw someone under a blanket move. He wanted to run as fast as possible to that bed, but he thought better of it and walked carefully, keeping an eye on the dark blue blanket. As he got closer to the bed, he could see that the body was about the size of Christopher. He tried to get a look at the child’s face, just to be sure, and the boy opened his eyes.
“Oh no,” the boy whimpered as he pulled the blanket tight around his neck.
It wasn’t Christopher.
“Do you know where Christopher is?” Richard asked.
The boy didn’t answer.
“Do you know where Christopher is?” he asked again.
“I really am sick, sir,” the boy whispered.
“Don’t be afraid of me. I don’t work here. See,” he held out his arms, “I’m not wearing a uniform. I’m harmless.”
The boy studied Richard’s face, which must have been bruised and bloody.
“You don’t look harmless,” the boy said.
Richard looked down at his shirt. “No, I guess I don’t. I’ve been in a couple of fights today.”
“Fights? Why?”
“With the hosts here. I’m a father, and my son is here. I’m trying to find him.”
The boy let go of his blanket, amazed. “You are a father of a resident?”
“Yes.”
The boy sat up in bed. “How did you get in?”
“Do you know where Christopher is?”
“I don’t think I know who he is.”
“He was on the sabbatical.”
“Oh,” the boy said, nodding his head. “He hasn’t been here. I heard they brought him back last night, but he never slept here.” He pointed over to some beds about fifteen feet away.
Richard headed over there. He found a bed with “C. Carson” stamped on the plate, but the mattress was rolled up and the blanket was folded. There was nothing on the dresser or in the bookcase. Richard looked back at the boy.
“Where could he be?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”
Richard started back toward the double doors. “I’ve got to find him.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t belong here.”
As Richard passed by the boy’s bed, he read the name. “H. Jenkins.”
“Are you the son of Hunter and Tiffany Jenkins?”
“I used to be,” the boy said, lying back down in bed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
After he closed the double doors behind him, Richard pulled out his cell phone to check in with Carol or Harold or somebody, but there was no coverage. Just as he got to the stairwell door, it opened. A woman in a lab coat came out, but she was going in the opposite direction and didn’t see him. He slipped into the stairwell before the door closed. He ran down the stairs to the lobby level. He stood still for a moment, catching his breath, when the door opened. He jumped behind it as a short man in a safari uniform walked past and went up the stairs. Once the man was out of sight, Richard let out a breath and stepped away from the wall. He noticed for the first time another door and found some stairs leading down.
Finally, after three flights of stairs, he found another door. The sign on the door said “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” He reached for the door, but it was locked. There was a black pad next to the door, requiring a security card of some sort to get in. Richard leaned up against the door, pressing his ear against it, but couldn’t hear anything. He held onto the doorknob as he tried to listen, and soon felt the doorknob moving in his hand. He moved back against the wall, holding his breath. The door opened and he could hear a man talking.
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” the man said, opening the door a little bit more, but hesitating. He seemed to be talking on his cell phone.
“Okay, I’ll be there immediately.” The man let go of the door and stepped back into the hall.
Richard caught the doorknob and let the door almost close. He waited a minute, until he could no longer hear the man on the phone, then opened the door and slipped through. He was in a long hallway, dimly lit. He saw a door labeled AUTHORIZED PERSONELL ONLY: POST-PROCEDURE LAB. He tried the door, but, of course, it was locked. When he put his ear to the door, he thought he could hear some noise. Maybe a person talking. Impulsively, he knocked on the door, then listened. The noise stopped. He knocked again, but louder. The doorknob began to turn and Richard stood by, ready to jump. When the door opened, he didn’t even wait to see who opened it but lunged forward, crashing into the other person. The two fell on the floor and Richard pulled back his fist, ready for a fight, but the other man lay on the floor, unconscious. He was a small man, wearing khaki scrubs and a surgical mask. No one else seemed to be in the room.
The room was some sort of lab: table, desk, a microscope, scientific instruments Richard didn’t recognize, and a computer. The microscope was on, probably what the man was working on when he was interrupted. Richard looked into the microscope and saw what looked like a thin slice of tissue. In the middle of it was something he’d never seen before. He tried focusing the lens. He thought he could identify the cells of the tissue, but embedded among the cells was what appeared to be some sort of tiny mechanical instrument.
A bulletin board above the desk was covered with brain scans, similar to the one Hunter had given him for Christopher. Various colors highlighted differ
ent portions of the brain, and lines of light crisscrossed the portions. On each of the scans was written the word “Gazelle.”
He lifted up one of the scan images and found another paper with “Seven Cubs” at the top. There were seven animals listed: giraffe, elephant, gazelle, zebra, gorilla, leopard, and lion. The word “gazelle” was circled. That pattern of animals seemed familiar to him. “Cubs.” Lions had cubs, but elephants had calves, zebras had foals, and he wasn’t sure what the others had. Seemed odd to call them all cubs; was there some meaning here?
Richard closed his eyes, trying to remember where he’d seen that grouping of animals before. The outside of the Newman school…the protective railings on the windows. Each floor had its own animal portrayed in its railings: one was giraffe, the next elephant, all the way up to lion. And the video, of Christopher walking…the pattern on the couch included each of these seven animals. The woman in the video called Christopher her “lion cub.” And, of course, there was his son’s phone message about someone wanting to make a lion out of him. Now, he was just a cub, but someone had bigger plans for him.
Richard stepped away from the desk, looking for other clues—something that might help him figure out where his son was. If Christopher was the lion cub mentioned on the piece of paper, maybe he was getting closer to finding him. He noticed a door in a dark corner of the room. When he stepped into the room, large lights automatically came on, revealing what looked like several operating tables. The walls were white tile and bare, and the room smelled of some chemical. The tables were empty, except for one which held a small body covered with a sheet. Richard walked over to the table and touched the sheet, hesitant to pull it back. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled the sheet down. He was shaking. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the body of a little girl, probably about his son’s age. He was instantly relieved, but then felt guilty for feeling that way. While her body looked like it had not been touched by any medical procedure, there were a number of holes on the top and sides of her head, as though someone had been taking samples from her brain, and a small incision behind her ear. He covered her body back up and stepped away.
The Newman Resident Page 19