Ellen stared out the tiny, frost-covered window facing the fenced playground. It had snowed overnight, and was still coming down, big, chunky flakes mixed with icy pellets that smacked against the reinforced glass. It had been weeks since she had last seen William and the other children playing—no doubt because it had gotten too cold. When she had last seen him, he had been sitting alone with his back against the fence while the other children played. As they were being led back inside he had turned, just for a second, and looked in her direction—almost as if he felt her stare and heard her pained whispering of his name. She had cried out, banging on the thick glass, but the teacher stepped between them and then he was gone.
She’d cried harder than she had since the day they’d been brought here. To be so close to her son, knowing he had no idea where she was. And now that the depths of winter had come, she wouldn’t be glimpsing him at all. Most days, all she saw were the guards who brought her meals and occasional clean laundry. Dr. Regardie had visited her a few times in the early days, barraging her with questions, but after concluding that she knew very little about the Brotherhood, he lost interest. As much as she hated the pompous asshole, she found herself wishing he would show up again just so she could have someone to talk to.
And that made her sick.
She paced the room. It was built for two people, with two utilitarian beds and a small table with two chairs. The bathroom door had been removed, as had the toilet seat and the medicine cabinet mirror—basically, anything she could use to hurt herself or one of the guards. She imagined she looked pretty hideous by now, so she didn’t miss the mirror. The shower had hot water, but it was within the sight line of any guards who might walk in, so she never lingered and showered only once every few days. A pile of old magazines and books sat by her bed. She’d read all the magazines a dozen times, and had even erased all the word searches and crossword puzzles so she could do them again. But very few of the books held her interest, and several repelled her—the ones about complex magical theories, rituals, and demons. Just looking at the diagrams made her want to throw up. What she wouldn’t give for a simple novel about normal people, with no magic or blood or horror, or even one of the sexed-up romance novels she’d made fun of her sister for reading.
Or, God, just one hour of TV. Even the shitty Mexican telenovelas she’d watched when they were on the run in Guatemala would be a joyful escape.
She finally stopped pacing. It made her feel too much like an animal in a zoo. She dropped to the floor and started doing pushups. It was part of a routine she’d put together, something to keep her focused, to push away the pain. Between the exercise and the lousy food, she was more buff than she’d been in high school.
And moving kept the bad thoughts at bay. After her first week, she’d started thinking what had once been unthinkable—how the sharp corner of a metal bedpost could, with enough scraping, cut deeply into her wrist.
Ten, eleven, twelve…
Or how the leg of the table, if lifted high enough, and dropped directly on her temple, might break through bone…
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…
William, she repeated to herself. His name became a mantra to chase away the terrible thoughts. He was alive, and he was close. So close.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…
And yet so far. So goddamn far.
She dropped to the floor, tears burning in her eyes.
She woke up, her heart hammering. The door had banged open and ricocheted off the wall.
“Get the fuck off me,” a woman screamed.
Ellen sat up in bed. Two guards shoved a young woman into the room. She turned and ran back at the door but it slammed shut. The lock clicked.
“You fucking assholes!” she screamed, pounding her fists against the metal. “Cocksucking motherfuckers!”
She had short black hair and sleeves of tattoos on both arms. She was still in normal clothes, too, tight black jeans and a loose T-shirt. When she stopped pounding on the door she turned to Ellen. Her face was smeared with mascara.
“Who are you?” she asked. She looked maybe mid-twenties, pretty and fashion-model skinny to the point of possible danger.
“Ellen. You want to come over and sit?”
“Fuck that.” She glared. “I want to get out of here.” She kicked the door.
“That’s not going to do it,” Ellen said.
The woman flipped her the finger.
“What’s your name? Come on. Looks like you’re stuck here with me for a while.”
“Marlo.” She looked around the room. “I guess you probably don’t have any cigarettes. Those assholes took mine.”
Ellen shook her head. “I wish. That’s a bit of a luxury in these parts.”
Marlo scowled. “Are you a redneck? You sound like one. I don’t get along with rednecks.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “How old are you? Fifteen?”
“Twenty-two.” She stared out the tiny window in the center of the door. “Come on back, assholes. I’ll fuck you up.”
“They’re not coming back. They bring food, take the laundry and bring it back once a week, and that’s about it.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I lost count. Five months or so, maybe six. Too long.”
“Have you seen the bitch?”
“Lily?” Ellen shook her head. “Not since she brought me here. There’s a guy named Dr. Regardie who runs things.”
Marlo’s face wrinkled in disgust. “That old pervert? Jesus Christ. This is worse than I expected.”
“Why don’t you sit down. Tell me your story, I’ll tell you mine.”
“I need a drink. I guess I can’t call room service for a vodka and tonic.”
“Plastic cup is in the bathroom. Water is all I got.”
Marlo cursed under her breath.
“So your kid is right over there, in that building? And he has no idea you’re here?”
Ellen nodded.
“That is some fucked-up shit.”
“Tell me about it,” Ellen said. “Now—your turn.”
The young woman sat on her bed, drawing up her thin legs. Her collarbones jutted through her T-shirt. She was pretty, with clear, pale skin, but her face reminded Ellen of a troubled girlfriend she’d known back in Blackwater—resigned, sullen, and devoid of anything remotely joyful. The kind of face that hinted of alcoholism or suicidal tendencies. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Well, one thing we have plenty of is time. Start as far back as you want.”
Marlo flopped onto her back. “Well, my dad is a general. Real bigwig. James W. Skinner—always had the W in there. He was on TV a lot right after the dirty bombs went off. Ever heard of him?”
Ellen shook her head. “I never paid a lot of attention to politics.”
“Me, neither. I hate all that shit.” She banged her fists on the bed. “I am dying for a goddamn cigarette.”
Ellen ignored her. Even though she had purged herself of the habit, she remembered nicotine fits all too well and didn’t relish watching this girl going through that agony.
“Anyway, my mom died when I was fourteen. Ovarian cancer. After that my dad got really weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Just…different. Real possessive of me. He had never paid much attention to me before that and he was never around, always in D.C. or flying to Europe or to see one of his stupid girlfriends. Didn’t give a rat’s ass how I was doing in school or who I hung out with. But after Mom died he wouldn’t leave me alone. When I started failing high school he pulled me out and got me private tutors. That didn’t work, so he sent me to this fancy rehab place in Boulder.”
“You were…” Ellen didn’t want to say addict. “Doing drugs.”
“Yeah, I liked to party. A lot. Still do.” Marlo stared at Ellen. “Don’t tell me you’re a fucking Christian. I’ll kill myself if I’m stuck in here with a born-again.”
“No,” Ellen said. “After everything I’ve been through, I have no idea what I believe in anymore.”
“God, that’s a relief. The Christians in rehab are the worst, always rubbing the higher power bullshit in my face. Anyway, I ran away from there, so he took me to West Virginia to stay with some of his friends to get clean. I guess he’d run out of options at that point. Well, guess who this couple turned out to be.”
Ellen felt dizzy. “Oh, no.”
“The Bitch and the Buggy Dude. That’s what I called them. They must have convinced my dad they could help me get straight if he left me there for a couple weeks. Which was hilarious, because the minute he left for D.C., Crawford got me high as shit on some trippy drug he cooked up.” She laughed, but it was full of bitterness. “The three of us partied all night. Hanging out by the pool, swimming, just doing a shitload of drugs. But then right before the sun came up, they started doing something to me, talking all weird, in some other language, and she was in my face, just staring into my eyes. It was like being hypnotized, I guess. And I woke up in my bed, and I could tell I’d had sex. I just didn’t know with who.”
“Jesus,” Ellen said. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen. I’d fucked lots of guys. Older guys. So it wasn’t a big deal. I just didn’t want to be pregnant with Buggy Dude’s baby.”
You poor girl, Ellen thought, but kept quiet.
“So the night before my dad came to take me back home, they took me out in the gardens. Crawford said all this nice shit about me—he’s good at making you feel special. They wanted me to keep an eye on my dad. Just to make sure he was okay and not getting into trouble. They gave me this little burner cell phone so they could contact me. So every once in a while they’d call. Ask me questions about where he was going, who he was seeing, have me go into his email, stuff like that. It was fun—like being a spy. And they would send me money. And really good drugs. All of a sudden I had lots of friends.”
“So what happened? Why are you here?”
Marlo sat up. “I got lazy. Well, I was fucked up, too, when they called. I’d been out all night with my boyfriend. My dad heard me talking to them—he was in the next room and heard everything. I was telling them he had a trip to Turkey coming up, some bullshit like that, and who he was going with, one of his weirdo art collector girlfriends to see some special rock. Jesus, he was fucking pissed. I was never so afraid he might beat the shit out of me. So I had to ’fess up. He said, ‘Do you know who those people are? What they can do to us?’ He was freaking out big time. He was actually scared, and I never saw the asshole scared. And that freaked me out.”
“What did he say about them?”
“He said they were powerful people, more powerful than many of his government friends. That they were really dangerous, but he didn’t know any of that when he let me stay with them. When they convinced him they could fix me.” She laughed. “Yeah, they fucking fixed me, all right.”
“So what did he do?”
“He told me to just keep playing along. As if he hadn’t found out. Because he was scared. Really fucking scared. He was sweating and shaking and not making any sense.” She stood and started pacing. “Talking about this shit makes me really need a smoke.”
“Me, too,” Ellen said. “And I haven’t smoked in years.”
Marlo stared out the window. “About three weeks ago, he went to someplace he couldn’t tell me about. Because of martial law, I guess. Somewhere secret. He was in his dress uniform and a Humvee pulled up and boom, he was gone. We had two guys working security at our house, and all kinds of cameras and alarms, so I was always being watched. The next night I was in the bathroom. In the shower. And suddenly the door flies open. I screamed, and then these two dudes in ninja costumes grabbed me. Jabbed me with a needle or something and knocked me out. When I woke up, I was handcuffed. And there she was—that fucking smile on her face.”
Ellen shook her head and covered her face.
“She slapped me around. Told me I was a useless junkie fuckup. I spit at her, and she had one of her goons squeeze this spot under my arm until I was screaming like a baby. It hurt so bad I pissed my pants. I thought I was going to die from the pain. Then she said she was going to make the best of a bad situation—that I’d be useful to keep my dad in line.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ellen said. She had been clenching her fists. “That’s why she’s keeping me around. So William cooperates with whatever she’s doing with him over there. Otherwise…” Her voice trailed off. There was no need to think about that.
Marlo sat back down on her bed. “That sucks.”
“And when I get to talk to him, when she or Regardie decides it’s okay, I have to pretend like everything’s hunky-dory. She made that very clear. If I don’t, I might never hear his voice again.” Now she really wanted a cigarette.
“I want to kill her.” Marlo smiled. “But not until I torture her. For a really long time. Like, pull out her eyeballs and make her eat that shit. Yank out her teeth with pliers. You want to help me?”
Ellen smiled grimly. Maybe her new cellmate wasn’t so bad. “I get first whacks.”
Marlo laughed. “I knew you were a redneck. And hey, you didn’t finish your story. So your boyfriend—this Ray guy. Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”
Ellen’s throat went dry. Icy snow rattled against the window. “No,” she said. “No. I don’t think so.”
Marlo threw her tray across the floor. Brown stew splattered on the wall and floor.
“It’s not that bad,” Ellen said.
“I’m so sick of this food. Can’t they bring us a fucking pizza or something? It’s all shit.”
“Well, now you have to clean it up.”
She rolled her eyes. “It can wait. Let the roaches have it. Want to play cards again?”
Ellen shook her head. “Want to exercise with me instead?”
Marlo laughed. “Ugh. I’d rather go eat that crap off the floor. Why do you exercise so much?”
Ellen lifted her arms. “See this? I used to have flab. You’re in your twenties. You couldn’t get fat if you wanted to, but when you start getting my age, it’s a whole different ball game.” She lowered her arms, then leaned close to Marlo. Whispered with her lips almost touching Marlo’s ear. “And there’s another reason. I don’t plan on staying here. Before I got here I was locked in a cage by a narco asshole in Guatemala. A hairy, gross pig and a murderer. He called me his little bird. His little fucking bird.”
Marlow’s eyes widened.
“Well, guess what? I’m sick of cages. I am going to get out of here. And if you want to get out with me, you need to focus on that. Because if you don’t, I’m going myself and you’ll be stuck here until they decide you’re no longer worth it.”
Marlo stared. “Shit, Ellen, now you sound tough.”
“I have to be tough. Otherwise I’d have been dead a long time ago.”
“Well, what are we going to do? The dickhead guards are out in the hall twenty-four/seven. With guns.”
Ellen held her finger to her lips. She grabbed the Word Search Xtreme! in front of her and wrote in the margin. They hear and see everything. We have to plan in writing. Then erase. OK? Passed it to Marlo along with the pencil.
Marlo read it and nodded. She erased the message, then wrote a reply.
Ellen smiled when she read it.
Fuck yes. You are BADASS.
Ellen showed her another technique to avoid their omnipresent eavesdroppers—the one she and William had used in El Varón’s compound. They spoke quietly to each other while Marlo was showering and Ellen sat on the toilet, or vice versa, hoping the sound of the water concealed their whispered conversations. They debated their options. Try to distract the guards and go for their guns? It was risky, and unlikely to work—the goons were enormous and well-trained. Fake an illness to get the guards or Dr. Regardie into the room? Maybe, but hadn’t that been done in just about every movie or TV show? Would they fall for such a hackneyed trick? And what then, anyway? There were more guards, undoubtedly. And they were in the middle of nowhere, with everything around buried in snow. Where would they even go?
And so it went, but nothing seemed possible.
But to Ellen’s surprise, Marlo started the workout program with her. She bitched about it incessantly and threw up the first time she managed twenty-five pushups. But the girl was competitive at heart and didn’t like to see an older woman besting her. They had to be inventive, doing pull-ups on the bathroom doorframe and squats holding on to chairs, but it kept them from boredom and sniping at each other, and Marlo’s thin frame showed her new musculature within days. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t gotten me doing this shit,” she said one evening as she finished her pull-ups. “When I kick your ass.”
Ellen shook her head. “In your dreams, little girl.”
But despite her increasingly strong body, the young woman had moments that scared Ellen. She’d wake up screaming, cursing out people from her past, and nothing Ellen could do would console her. Some days she refused to talk at all. It was like she was a different person—morose, brooding, and violently angry. When Ellen asked her about those episodes a cold “Fuck off” was the best she could get. And those outbursts and sulking periods were getting more frequent.
Marlo had been ignoring Ellen all day when Dr. Regardie showed up.
“Ladies,” Regardie said. He reeked of cloying pipe smoke. Two guards flanked him.
Ellen stared, expressionless. Marlo had her back turned to Regardie and didn’t respond.
Regardie cleared his throat. “I have some good news for both of you. Ellen, we have arranged for you to speak to your son.”
Ellen’s heart raced. She tried to retain her composure but it was difficult.
“Marlo,” Regardie continued. “Your father would like to speak to you. I can arrange that.”
No response.
Regardie raised his eyebrows. “Well, you let me know if you’re up for it.” He turned back to Ellen. “William has been doing quite well in his studies. He’s had a remarkable turnaround, in fact. So we’re allowing him a phone call. Tomorrow afternoon.” He smiled.
Ellen forced a smile in return. “Thank you.”
“It will be subject to the same restrictions as before,” Regardie said.
Ellen nodded. She just needed to hear William, to know he was okay.
“Miss Skinner,” Regardie continued. “You could follow tomorrow afternoon. If you wish. I know the general would be very happy to hear from you.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Marlo said.
One of the guards, a young man with thick black hair, smiled. Marlo’s eyes locked with his. Was she flirting with him? Jesus. If she was, Regardie didn’t seem to notice. “Your choice,” the doctor said. When he left, the young guard closed the door behind them. His eyes lingered on Marlo through the window as the lock mechanism clanked. Then he was gone.
“What was that all about?” Ellen asked.
“He’s cute,” Marlo said.
“He’s also one of them. Are you crazy?”
“Crazy like a fox,” she said, then flipped Ellen the bird.
Dr. Regardie sat in on Ms. Fortune’s class, way in the back of the classroom, holding a yellow legal pad and a marker and chewing on his unlit pipe. Ms. Fortune had arranged a select group of nine children in a circle, while the others sat at their desks, watching quietly. In the center of their circle was a pile of what looked like human bones, some nondescript rocks, and a plain ceramic bowl holding about an inch of something that looked like silver paint. Victoria sat next to William in the circle, though she was studiously ignoring him.
“Children,” Ms. Fortune said. “Today is very special.” She stepped to her desk and pulled out blue plastic gloves, the kind William had once seen in the doctor’s office. She snapped them onto her sausage fingers with some difficulty. “We’re going to try something new. Something very exciting.” She stepped between William and Victoria into the circle’s center. “These are artifacts. They were found in a cave very close to here. The bones and the stone tools belonged to people who lived on this land, but very, very long ago.” She lifted up the ceramic dish. “This bowl is more than two thousand years old. So I’m going to hold it very carefully. If you look inside”—she held it at the children’s eye level—“you will see liquid mercury. Now don’t be afraid of it—I’m going to dab a teeny-tiny bit of it onto your foreheads. Just don’t touch it, or rub your eyes or get it anywhere near your mouth, okay? And then I’ll lead you on one of our inner journeys. It’s going to be fun, isn’t it, Dr. Regardie?”
“Oh, yes,” Dr. Regardie said.
Ms. Fortune addressed the rest of the class. “I know the rest of you are wondering why you are not part of this circle. It’s quite simple. Those of you who scored the highest on last week’s tests, and showed extra talent in ritual and meditation, were chosen to take part in this special event.” She turned to the back of the room. “And there is another important reason. Isn’t there, Dr. Regardie.”
Regardie pulled the pipe from his mouth. “Indeed. Those of you who scored highest in playing Merkaba were given a special bonus.”
Several of the students exchanged puzzled looks.
“Merkaba isn’t just a game,” Regardie continued. “As you will see. I designed the game to teach all of the necessary rituals and symbols for the journeys you will be taking. Those who have mastered the ten levels of the game have internalized all of the necessary workings—banishings, invocations, evocations, and the like.” He seemed particularly satisfied with himself. “So who says computer games can’t be educational?”
Ms. Fortune laughed, then abruptly cut herself off when Regardie glanced at her.
“That’s why you are so lucky to be at this school,” he said. “You are all extraordinary students doing extraordinary things. And not just for yourselves—for everyone in the whole world. That’s why we call it the Great Work.”
“You’re superheroes,” Ms. Fortune said. “Like Heracles, or Hermes, or, for the young ladies, Ixchel, or Sekhmet—”
“Ms. Fortune.” Regardie cleared his throat. He made a hurry up gesture.
“Of course, Doctor,” she answered, shifting on her chair before struggling to stand. Victoria had a running bet on how long it would be before the chair splintered into pieces. Ms. Fortune walked inside the circle up to each student, dabbing each of them with a tiny bit of the mercury from a gloved finger. When her index finger touched his head William felt a weird jolt, a sudden disconnection from his body.
Around him all the other kids reacted to the mercury. Some blinked hard, others got wobbly-headed, some closed their eyes. Ms. Fortune walked to a small table and lit a piece of charcoal. Incense. She was always burning incense.
“Close your eyes, children,” she said. “And follow along.”
It happened surprisingly quickly. His body was there, in the circle, sitting on a pillow, but then somewhere else, too. A cave. He didn’t like caves. Hated them, in fact. Because that was where that thing
Camazotz
had taken him over. And all that blood. Slashing knives. He was covered in it. Strands of gore wrapped in his fingers, bits of it staining his vision. Was it in his mouth? And suddenly he could taste it again. And smell it. And he liked it.
No.
It was Victoria. But only her voice.
William was himself again. The bloody scene dissolved and he was back in an ordinary cave. Standing in front of him was something like an angel, with enormous wings, but the head of a lion and thick, taloned bird feet.
“Victoria?”
The angel before him shimmered. Its lion head turned; the tongue came out and licked its face. Just as quickly, Victoria was her normal self. “You looked really scary,” she said. “Don’t do that again.”
“So did you,” William said. “You looked like Mr. Winston.” They were talking without using their voices.
It may take a few moments to settle into your normal forms. Ms. Fortune’s voice, from far away behind him. Just breathe deeply and your physical form will return. Now trace the sigil for banishing in bright blue light.
William traced the sigil in front of himself. The other kids were doing it, too. Some of them wavered and looked insubstantial, like ghosts. Others, including Victoria, looked perfectly normal. They were still in the circle, and their sigils glowed in front of them, suspended in the air.
Now the evoking sigil in bright yellow. We’re energizing the bones in front of you, children. We’re bringing forth the spirit of the man who once inhabited those bones.
William drew his sigil. Just like in the game, only this was real.
“Look,” Victoria said.
The bones in the center of the circle rose and knitted themselves into a skeleton. It was quickly covered in muscle and tissue, then layers of fat, and finally skin and hair, like a reversed video of a melting candle. A man holding a torch, naked except for a leather skirt and ragged boots. His skin was mostly hairless, his eyes and features Asian. His face and chest were heavily tattooed with odd symbols and interlocking patterns.
Ms. Fortune spoke in a strange language. The man replied, his eyes closed. Like he was praying. He was shaking. Maybe she was a god to him.
Good work, children. Now follow him wherever he leads you.
The man opened his eyes and moved down a passage deeper into the cave.
Victoria led the way. William followed. It was bizarre—feeling himself walking in this dream-place while also feeling himself sitting on the floor, in the circle. And which was the real him? His feet pressing against the rocky cavern, or his butt on the pillow? And what if something happened to him while he was here? Would it also affect him there?
There were drawings on the walls as the passage narrowed—animals, mostly, but strange human figures with horns and wings. He felt panic rising in his chest, his breath coming faster. This was too much like El Varón’s secret cave beneath his compound.
And then the passage opened up. It was bright in there. When Victoria stepped through she gasped. He stopped cold as the other children filed in. He felt the wave of astonishment pass through all of them.
The man was kneeling down in front of something, the torch smoldering on the rock floor next to him.
“What is it?” Victoria asked.
William couldn’t tell. It was a sphere, half buried in stuff that looked like the liquid mercury Ms. Fortune had smeared on their heads. But the sphere, which looked like it was made from black smoke that had congealed into rock, was alive. Alive like a person. Vibrations radiated off it like heat ripples in the air. And beneath its polished exterior, amorphous things were moving around. Swirling shapes, strings, and particles, like strands of iridescent smoke.
It was absolutely beautiful.
The man bowing before it opened his mouth and began to sing. A strange song, rising up and down scales. But simple, too, like a song for a child. It repeated, and each time it grew more familiar, like a lullaby his mother might have sung.
William started singing along. The other kids joined him.
Yes, children, sing and learn the melody. Good, good.
The swirlings within the object quickened, pulsing in time with the song. William moved closer to see better. There were marvelous things in there. All sorts of beings staring out, trying to get his attention. They changed shape, so he couldn’t fix on any one before it mutated into another, but they were like snakes, jellyfish, funnels, and spiders and radiating stalks, all transmuting and collapsing and reforming. Hundreds, maybe thousands of life-forms.
And they wanted to get out.
Don’t get too close, children. Just remember what you see. What you feel.
William moved closer. It was trying to say something to him. He could almost understand it.
“William,” Victoria said.
William stepped through the praying man. It felt sticky as he passed through, and for a brief moment he was inside the man’s head. Their thoughts ran together—scenes of a hunt, of a man bleeding in the snow, of children in black paint dancing around a fire. Then he pulled through with a distinct pop and stood so close to the swirling sphere it felt like there was nothing else in the world. He no longer heard Ms. Fortune, no longer heard Victoria warning him to stop, begging him to stay away from it. He couldn’t resist its call. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a demand.
Come to us, it said in a thousand voices.
William fell into it.
“William. William, can you hear me?”
Dr. Regardie’s face hovered above him. It wavered in and out of focus.
“Tired,” William said. “Where am I?”
“In the infirmary. You have been asleep for”—he glanced at his watch—“almost twenty hours.”
William wiped his eyes. “I feel numb. Like when your foot goes to sleep, but everywhere.”
Regardie leaned in closer. William smelled the stinky pipe tobacco on his breath. “So what do you remember? About your experience?”
William blinked. “Nothing.”
Regardie raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”
William looked up at the ceiling tiles. “I just remember seeing that thing. And then falling into it. And then here I am.”
Regardie sighed. He sat back in his chair and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, if you do remember anything—anything at all—I want you to have someone call me right away. Even if it’s just something minor—a feeling, or an image, or a sound. Sometimes these things take a while and then you suddenly start to remember little bits and pieces. Or it can all just come back like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Will you do that for me, William?”
“Yes,” William said.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Regardie stood, patted William on the shoulder, and left the room.
William closed his eyes. He was becoming such a good liar.
He was trying to understand Ms. Fortune’s latest assignment—a paper about ultraterrestrials—when Dr. Regardie opened the door and entered the room. He didn’t even look at Colin but walked straight to William’s desk and sat on the bed, crossing his legs.
An enormous nose hair hung from his left nostril. “Hello, William.” He patted his shoulder. “What are you reading?”
William held up the paper.
“Oh, good. John Keel was very ahead of his time. He didn’t get it all right, but he was on the proper track. Operation Trojan Horse was a big influence on my research in the seventies.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I was wondering if you had managed to recall anything about what you experienced.”
“I feel like it’s starting to come back,” William said quietly.
Regardie stiffened. “Good. That’s very good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Hold on just a moment. I want to record this.”
William shifted in his seat. “Dr. Regardie, you told me a long time ago I would be able to talk to my mom.”
Regardie stopped poking at the phone and studied him silently. “Yes. I did say that.”
“I want to talk to her. I think I might remember more about what happened if I can talk to her first.”
Regardie laughed quietly. “Of course.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “How about tomorrow?”
William nodded. “That would be cool. Thank you, Dr. Regardie.”
“Goodnight, William.”
That night William woke up. Someone was in his room.
Colin was asleep, his pillow over his face. William sensed the man before he saw him, off in the shadows by the window. He felt like he was dreaming, but he knew he was awake.
“Ray,” he said.
Ray’s mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. He had weird-looking clothes on—like the hospital scrubs his mom used to wear at work, only all white. He was shimmering, too, and the way he seemed semi-transparent made William think of the hologram of Princess Leia in Star Wars. His mouth kept moving but William couldn’t read his lips.
William held his finger to his lips. Shh. Think at me. He pushed with his mind and made the invoking symbol with his extended finger.
The communication happened soundlessly, Ray’s words turning into thoughts in his head. A helicopter. A map.
William nodded. Please hurry. Things are getting out of control. She is using us to do something bad. To let bad things in. Please be careful. I am worried about Mom. She—
And then something moved between them. Vague forms of symbols flashed inside his eyes. They were being pushed apart. And then Ray was gone, as if he’d never been there.
Now he understood. Ray was alive. And he was coming to get them.
“How are you, William? Are you okay?”
It was her. She was upset, too, though she was trying to hide it. He could always tell. They’d both been given guidelines. No specifics about where they were, their captors, nothing but vague generalities. If they violated the rules, the call would be cut short. And might turn out to be their last.
“I’m okay,” he said. His hand was sweating against the plastic telephone. He was pushing thoughts at her, too. “Are you?”
“Yes,” she said, and he heard the tears in her voice. “I’m fine. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” When he closed his eyes, he saw her, alone, in a tiny room. And then he pushed with all his might. We need to get out of here, Mom. We need to escape soon because really bad things are going to happen.
His mom grew silent. Had she heard him? She cleared her throat. “How’s school?”
“It’s fine. It’s gotten better.” He pushed again. Hurry, Mom. I’m scared.
“I can’t wait to see you,” she said. “I hope I get to see you soon. I’ll give you the biggest hug.” Her voice caught. She was hiding it, but he knew she was crying.
Dr. Regardie knelt down and stared at him. He tapped on his watch.
“I miss you, Mom. I hope I do see you soon.”
“I miss you and love you, my baby,” she said. “I will see you, William. I promise.”
Dr. Regardie took the phone from his hand. “There, there. Your mother is fine, like I told you.” He pushed the END button. “We’re taking good care of her just like we’re taking good care of you.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I expect you can see her soon. Maybe in a few weeks. Possibly sooner.”
William felt his heart jump. But Regardie was a liar—he couldn’t forget that—a puppet doing what the wicked witch told him to do. “See her? Really?”
The doctor nodded. “If you keep up the good behavior and continue to excel in your studies, I can assure you of it.” He reached into his shirt pocket for his pipe, but it wasn’t there. He stared at the empty pocket, then turned back to William. “Now let’s talk about what happened to you. We’re going to do the relaxation exercise together. Just relax, go as deep inside as you can, and tell me what you remember.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket again and poked his fingers against the screen. “Let’s breathe deeply together, shall we? I’ll count down from ten to one, very slowly.”
“Now you’re very deeply relaxed. So very deep. Let’s go back to what you saw, and what you felt, when you touched the artifact.”
William was very deep, but a part of his mind was still alert, knowing it was best to not tell Dr. Regardie everything. Some things he was going to keep to himself. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew what the doctor didn’t know might wind up being useful. Not just for bargaining, like getting to see his mother, but maybe to use against them when the time came. And he was certain the time was coming very soon. They had told him so.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
William breathed deeply. His eyes moved jerkily under his eyelids, the telltale sign that he was deep in trance. But this was the first time he also existed as an observer. It felt strange, like his mind had cracked into two pieces. “There are voices. Lots of them. Telling me just to let go and fall in.”
“And so let yourself. Just relax and fall into it. Tell me how it feels.”
“Dizzy. Like flying really fast, flipping over and over. Then like being lost. Floating in space that goes on forever.”
“And then? Do you see anything?”
“Yes. Things. Not people, more like animals or bugs. Or sea creatures. They’re really weird and they keep changing. They’re coming from everywhere to look at me.”
“Do they say or communicate anything?”
“They seem surprised I’m here. My head is buzzing. Like too many words all at once.”
“Try to slow down. Feel time slowing, everything just getting slower and slower. Can you understand better now?”
“Mmm-hmm. Little bits.”
He could feel Dr. Regardie’s mounting excitement. “Tell me, William.”
“They are ready to come through,” William said. “They’ve been waiting for a long time. But they need our help. They need to get inside us. Like, in our heads. Something like that. We need to keep doing what we’re doing—the rituals and all that stuff—and soon they’ll all be able to get out.”
“Yes. I understand. What else are they saying?”
“The stars have to be right. I’m not sure what that means.”
“I do. Keep talking. You’re doing great.”
“There’s going to be a new star. In the sky. That’s when we’ll know they’re here. And that the passage…is opening.”
Hold back, the observing William said. Don’t tell him the rest.
“Good, good. Fascinating. And then?”
William stiffened. “They told me I’ll be able to say more, but not yet. It’s locked up until the time is right for it to come out.”
Dr. Regardie sighed. “Did they say when that would be? How long?”
“No.”
The doctor was silent. “Very well. What’s happening now?”
“It’s like I’m being pushed. Through a long tunnel. I feel sick. Dizzy.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “And then everybody’s looking at me. You. The rest of the kids.”
“Okay…We’re going to bring you back.” The doctor worked his way from ten backward to one and the recorder clicked off. “Excellent work, William. You have become quite the star pupil.”
The observing William felt a surge of pride. Yeah, if only you knew what I didn’t tell you.
“Did you talk to your mom?” Victoria whispered. They were having some rare lecture-free time in Ms. Fortune’s class, having finished something she called inner contact drawing. Victoria had drawn a colorful Mr. Winston, with his lion’s head, multicolored wings, and taloned feet clutching a rock. William had tried to draw the things he’d seen in the artifact, but it was all a scribbly mess. But it didn’t matter anymore, now that he was obviously Dr. Regardie’s pet.
William put down his pencil. The rest of the kids were talking and laughing, so he figured their conversation wouldn’t be picked up by the ever-present cameras and microphones. “Yeah. She sounded okay, but I could tell she wasn’t. She’s scared.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “But I think Ray’s coming. So maybe he’ll get us all out of here.”
“God, I hope so,” Victoria said. “Because it really feels like something’s going to happen soon. Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” It was true. There was a tension, or maybe an excitement, in the air, especially among the teachers. The way it used to feel right before summer vacation, only weirder. “Then Dr. Dogturdy hypnotized me. He wanted to know what happened to me when I went into that thing.”
She chewed on her eraser. “Did you tell him?”
“Not everything. Not what it said about us kids.”
“Good,” she said. Then jumped. Ms. Fortune was standing behind them.
“Interesting drawing there, William,” the teacher said. William didn’t like her smile and her breath smelled like old milky coffee. “What were you two discussing?”
“Nothing, really,” Victoria said. “I was telling him how bad his drawing was.”
Ms. Fortune laughed her fake laugh. “Oh, it’s not that bad. Not quite as good as your little friend Mr. Winston, Victoria, but William is doing his best. We all have our special talents.”
William forced a smile. “Thank you, Ms. Fortune.”
When the teacher walked away William rolled his eyes and Victoria mimed sticking her finger down her throat.