Except for the mention of Samuel Bowden, I didn’t readily have a legitimate reason to not return promptly at five. But I did have concerns. Ones that continued to play inside my head as I made my way to Forest Hill for the second time today. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was why I was so fixated on it. Anger? I didn’t like how I’d been treated by Ms. Kalakos. But that was no reason to suspect anything nefarious about the society. The woman was rude. Plain and simple.
So what the hell was my problem?
Trust your gut, my father would say.
My gut said there was something wrong. But my mind refused to accept it.
“Let it go, Imani. Let it go,” I said and pulled to the curb in front of Pagonis Manor at 4:58 p.m.
I climbed out of the car and stopped dead in my tracks.
Voices carried on the cool breeze.
My gaze tracked the sound and found . . . children, milling around the side of the house. Not really playing, just moving as if on marionette strings. Freakish smiles were plastered on their faces. They turned when I got out of the car and stared at me out of dead eyes.
My hand went to my car door, fingernails digging into the plastic.
A grinding of gears sounded.
Laughter rang out.
And just like that, the children broke from those imaginary strings and ran around the yard as if just now coming to life.
I glanced up at the house. It no longer looked frozen in time.
The front door opened, and Collette Kalakos came bustling out the front door wearing a flowing white skirt and a turquoise top. Strands of her long hair feathered around her face. A large smile creased her mouth, and her eyes danced with pure joy. “Ms. Deschene! So happy to see you.” She stopped in front of me and clamped her hands on my arms. “You don’t need to stand outside. Please. Come in.” She pulled me forward. “I will have Minos get your things. I want you to meet your charges first.”
Reluctantly, I followed, mind buzzing with a slew of questions. One being, who the hell had this woman morphed into? And why did she act as if she were just now meeting me?
She moved past the children and started for the stairs.
I stopped. “Umm . . . shouldn’t I meet the children?” I asked, waving my hand at the kids at play. Who, strangely, hadn’t bothered to acknowledge us.
Collette shook her head. “No. No. They have already been assimilated. You will be in charge of two other children.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Assimilated?”
She froze, eyes rounding slightly. “Oh. No. I mean . . .” She shook her head. “I mean they have been here a while and have taken nicely to the routine.” She nodded as if trying to reassure herself this made sense.
It really didn’t. Assimilation was indoctrination. Used in the past to strip children from their families and cultures and into the colonists’ ways. My father had told me horror stories about his grandfather’s time at the Indian boarding schools, where he was forced to learn English, convert to Christianity, and assimilate into society. Even my Haitian Creole grandparents did not escape the horrific practices of the past.
Anger rose inside of me. “Does The Pagonis Society practice indoctrination?”
She rushed forward, reaching for me. I stepped out of her grasp. Concern filled her eyes. “Oh, no. No. I misspoke. I truly apologize.”
Did I believe her? I glanced at the children, who had stopped and were now staring at us. “Hello,” I said to a boy nearest to us. “How are you?”
He smiled. “I’m fine, miss.”
I shook my head and strode toward him, hand extended. “You don’t have to call me that.” I crouched and made eye contact with him. “My name is Imani. What’s yours?”
“Nicholas, mi . . . Imani.” His face lit up. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Do you like it here, Nicholas?”
He bobbed his head up and down. “Oh, yes!”
Did I detect a false ring in his voice?
I studied him for a minute, then looked over at the other children. They didn’t appear brainwashed. But what would that really look like? “Okay.” I turned back to Collette. Her eyes were laser focused on Nicholas. I wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on in such a brief exchange, especially under Collette’s watchful gaze. “I think I’m ready to meet my . . . charges?”
Collette sighed heavily. “Yes. Thank you. Go and finish playing, Nicholas.” She gave me a hesitant smile. “Please follow me.”
I made my way up the stairs and glanced at the clock on the door as we passed. When I had come by earlier, it had read eleven o’clock. Now, it was twelve.