“C’mon you guys, outta bed!" Carmen shouted down the staircase, clapping her hands sharply three times.
Stephen held his pillow over his head, but he heard a muffled groan from the direction of Michael's bed, then a groggy, "Errr, summer's over."
There were sounds of yawning and sighing as they stirred, sat up, and looked around with puffy eyes.
"You wanna shower first?" Michael mumbled.
"Uh-uh. G'head."
"C'mon, you're gonna be late!" Carmen called.
"H'come?" Michael replied as he trudged up the stairs.
"'Cause my alarm clock didn't go off, that's how come. Breakfast is ready!"
Stephen flopped onto his back, rubbed his eyes, then stared at the ceiling.
He would not be going to school right away like Michael and Stephanie. Instead, he would have to go to the hospital for his treatment. Last week, Mom had met with the principal of the high school Stephen would be attending, as well as one of the counselors. She'd explained the learning problems he had faced while going to school in Hurleyville and told them of his illness and that he would be late for school every day the first week so he could get his treatments. She'd said they were very understanding and had assured her that they would do everything possible to see that he was comfortable and that his problems were dealt with properly.
Stephen had no way of knowing, of course, if they were sincere or not, but he hoped for the best. School was hard enough by itself, but going to a new school with total strangers made it even harder; he certainly didn't need any more trouble.
When it came right down to it, he didn't need anything other than those treatments. They were enough trouble all by themselves, thank you very much. He despised them even more than the doctors and nurses he had to deal with every day. There was nothing particularly wrong with them—except that they administered the treatments.
Each day he was put under a sinister-looking contraption that resembled an X-ray machine, only it was bigger and uglier and more threatening. The worst part was being abandoned by everyone while he was exposed to radiation. If they were all afraid of it, why were they leaving him in there?
He'd had a nightmare—several times, in fact—in which everyone left him in that sterile white room beneath that ominous machine...and they never came back.
Oh well, just a few more days, and then...well, as Dr. Simon said, "And then we'll see."
Stephen couldn't wait for the treatments to be over, and hoped he'd never have to have them again. He could think of nothing worse.
"Stephen?"
Nothing except that voice.
He sat up on the bed and listened.
"Stephen? Are you ready?"
He turned toward the French doors, but saw nothing through the glass panes.
"Are you ready, Stephen?"
It was the same male, voice, but now it was coming from another part of the basement.
"I'm waiting, Stephen."
Each time it spoke, it sounded closer.
Staring through the panes, Stephen thought he saw something...just a faint sign of movement...a shadow, perhaps...a shadow falling through the open door across the next room.
He shot from the bed and scrambled around the room, grabbing pants, a shirt, shoes, then—
"Time is wasting, Stephen."
He raced up the stairs, the sound of his breath loud in his ears, rounded the banister and hurried down the hall, his clothes clutched to his chest.
Carmen stepped out of the kitchen in front of him and they collided.
"Stephen!" She snapped, more frustrated than angry. "What're you doing?"
He started to speak, then snapped his mouth shut and just stared at her, trying not to tremble.
She held up a rigid index finger and said, "I don't wanna hear it, Stephen. Not now, not ever, but especially not now. This morning's been bad enough already. Go eat your breakfast, it's on the table."
She hurried past him and went into her bedroom.
Stephen stood in the hallway and listened, but all he heard was the shower. Relieved, but still tense, he headed for the dining room.
Carmen could not understand what had gone wrong with the morning. She knew she'd set her alarm for seven o'clock, but when she'd finally dragged herself out of a sound sleep, she found that the alarm button on top of the clock was still in the ALARM ON position, but the clock had been set for twelve and she was forty minutes late.
After waking everyone urgently, she'd tossed a quick breakfast together, thrown on some clothes—she always felt more awake when she was dressed—set her purse and keys on the kitchen counter so she'd be ready to take Stephen to the hospital, and somehow managed to get Stephanie and Michael fed and dressed in time to meet their bus, but not before asking them, "Did any of you fool around with my alarm clock?"
They'd all looked at her with puzzled expressions and said no.
"Okay. Just wondered."
Once Stephanie and Michael had gone, she was left with Stephen, who was even more quiet than usual, and Peter, who couldn't stop talking about the day when he would be able to ride to school in a big yellow bus, too.
Carmen sat across the dining-room table from Stephen and said, "Well, how about we go to the hospital and get this over with so you can get to school?"
His hair, wet from his shower, was combed straight back and clung to his head, making his thin face look almost skull-like. "Do I have to go straight to school afterwards?"
"'Course not. You can come back here, if you want. Relax. Recover. Then I'll take you to school. In fact, if you don't feel like going at all, that's fine, too. It's only for this week, and they know all about it at school. It's up to you."
He nodded slowly, stared at the tabletop for a long moment, then looked at her, lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it, closed his mouth and muttered. "Okay, let's go."
When everyone was ready, Carmen went into the kitchen to get her purse and keys.
They were gone.
She stared at the empty space on the counter where she had set them as Peter tugged on her hand and said, "Mommy, I'm pretending you taking me to school!"
"All right, where's my purse," she said. Then, louder, "Stephen, have you seen my purse?"
"No," he called from the living room.
"Well, it was right here on the counter with my keys and now they're gone, so look for them, okay?"
"Where'd you put 'em?"
"Right here,” she snapped.
"Okay, okay, I'll look."
They looked. They searched the entire upper floor of the house, but the purse and keys were nowhere to be found. Carmen was near tears when she met Stephen in the dining room.
"Think they might be downstairs?" Stephen asked.
"I haven't been downstairs this morning."
"Okay. Just asked."
But that question made Carmen pause. She frowned as she thought about it. Then, against her better judgment, knowing her things couldn't possibly be down there because she hadn't been down there, she went downstairs and, a few steps from the bottom, she froze.
Her purse and car keys were on Stephen's bed.
She stared at her fists for a long time before clenching them at her sides and calling, "Stephen! Stephen, get down here right now!"
Carmen did not turn when she heard him coming down the stairs, she just continued to stare at her purse and keys on the bed. When his footsteps stopped, she pointed at the bed and said, "Did you put them there?"
"Nuh-n-no!"
"Then how did they get there?"
"I-I-I d-don't know!"
Finally, she turned to him, glowering. "Stephen, this has got to stop," she said, her voice almost a whisper, quivering with anger. "I mean it. I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, I'm sick of it!"
He stared at her, slack-jawed and horrified. "B-but I didn't—"
"Shut up!" she growled through clenched teeth. "I don't want to talk about it. Just see to it that this crap stops now, Stephen! I'm serious. If you're still pulling this stuff when your dad moves home, you're gonna be sorry, because he won't put up with it. And neither will I!"
She crossed the room, swept the purse and keys off the bed, then started up the stairs, calling back, "C'mon, let's go."
They didn't speak for a while; Peter was the only one who did any talking, babbling on about how he was pretending Mommy was taking him to school. Once they'd been on the road for a while, Carmen felt herself begin to relax. Other thoughts began to crowd her mind, making it easy for her to forget about her purse and keys being moved downstairs. Along with those thoughts came guilt.
"I'm sorry for shouting at you like that, Stephen," she said quietly. "But you made me very angry."
He turned to her suddenly and said, "But I didn't—" then stopped just as suddenly and faced front. He said nothing more.
Carmen was relieved by his silence. She was glad he'd thought better of denying it once again. She really did not want to hear it.
Because the quiet voice in the back of her mind kept whispering insistently that Stephen's denial might very well be the truth.