The Institute Page 26
He typed in New York Times and hit enter. This time the computer thought even longer, but eventually the Times came up. Today’s issue, and in English, but from this point forward, the computer’s search history would note nothing but a series of German words and English translations. Maybe a small victory, maybe a large one. For the moment, Luke didn’t even care. It was a win, and that was enough.
How soon would his captors realize what he was doing? Camouflaging the computer’s search history would mean nothing if they could do live look-ins. They’d see the newspaper and shut him down. Never mind the Times with its headline about Trump and North Korea; he ought to check the Star Trib before that could happen, see if there was anything about his parents. But before he could do that, the screaming started out in the hall.
“Help! Help! Help! Somebody help me! SOMEBODY HELP ME, I’M LOST!”
4
The screamer was a little boy in Star Wars pajamas, hammering on doors with small fists that went up and down like pistons. Ten? Avery Dixon looked six, seven at most. The crotch and one leg of his pajama pants were wet and sticking to him.
“Help me, I WANT TO GO HOME!”
Luke glanced around, expecting to see someone—maybe several someones—coming on the run, but the hall remained empty. Later, he would realize that in the Institute, a kid screaming to go home was par for the course. For the moment, Luke just wanted to shut the kid up. He was freaked out, and he was freaking Luke out.
He went to him, knelt down, and took the boy by the shoulders. “Hey. Hey. Take it easy, kid.”
The kid in question stared at Luke with white-ringed eyes, but Luke wasn’t entirely sure the kid was seeing him. His hair was sweaty and sticking up. His face was wet with tears, and his upper lip gleamed with fresh snot.
“Where’s Mumma? Where’s Daddy?”
Only it wasn’t Daddy but DAAAAAADY, like the whoop of an air raid siren. The kid began to stomp his feet. He brought his fists down on Luke’s shoulders. Luke let him go, got up, and stepped back, watching with amazement as the kid fell to the floor and began to thrash.
Across from the poster proclaiming this JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE, a door opened and Kalisha emerged, wearing a tie-dyed tee-shirt and gigantic basketball shorts. She walked to Luke and stood looking down at the newcomer, her hands on her mostly nonexistent hips. Then she looked at Luke. “I’ve seen tantrums before, but this one takes the prize.”
Another door opened and Helen Simms appeared, clad—sort of—in what Luke believed were called babydoll pajamas. She had hips, plus other interesting equipment.
“Put your eyes back in their sockets, Lukey,” Kalisha said, “and help me out a little. Kid’s buggin my head like to give me a migraine.” She knelt, reached out for the dervish—whose words had now devolved into wordless howls—and pulled back when one of his fists struck her forearm. “Jesus, work with me here. Grab his hands.”
Luke also knelt, made a tentative move to grab the new kid’s hands, pulled back, then decided he didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of the lately arrived vision in pink. He grabbed the little boy at the elbows and pressed his arms to the sides of his chest. He could actually feel the kid’s heart, racing along at triple time.
Kalisha bent over him, put her hands on the sides of his face, and looked into his eyes. The kid stopped yelling. Now there was only the sound of his rapid breathing. He looked at Kalisha, fascinated, and Luke suddenly understood what she’d meant when she said the kid was bugging her head.
“He’s TP, isn’t he? Like you.”
Kalisha nodded. “Only he’s a lot stronger than me, or any of the other TPs that have been through here during my time. Come on, let’s take him down to my room.”
“Can I come?” Helen asked.
“Suit yourself, hon,” Kalisha said. “I’m sure Lukey here appreciates the view.”
Helen flushed. “Maybe I’ll change first.”
“Do what you want,” Kalisha said, then to the kid: “What’s your name?”
“Avery.” His voice was hoarse from crying and yelling. “Avery Dixon.”
“I’m Kalisha. You can call me Sha, if you want.”
“Just don’t call her Sport,” Luke said.
5
Kalisha’s room was more girly than Luke would have expected, given her tough talk. There was a pink spread on the bed, and frou-frou flounces on the pillows. A framed picture of Martin Luther King stared at them from the bureau.
She saw Luke looking at it, and laughed. “They try to make things the same as at home, but I guess someone thought the picture I used to have there was taking it a little too far, so they changed it.”
“Who did it used to be?”
“Eldridge Cleaver. Ever heard of him?”
“Sure. Soul on Ice. I haven’t read it, but I’ve been meaning to get around to it.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Man, you are wasted here.”
Still sniffling, Avery started to get up on her bed, but she grabbed him and pulled him back, gently but firmly.
“Nuh-uh, not in those wet pants.” She made as if to take them off and Avery stepped back, hands crossed protectively over his crotch.
Kalisha looked at Luke and shrugged. He shrugged back, then squatted in front of Avery. “Which room are you in?”
Avery only shook his head.
“Did you leave the door open?”
This time the kid nodded.
“I’ll get you some dry clothes,” Luke said. “You stay here with Kalisha, okay?”
No shake and no nod this time. The boy only stared at him, exhausted and confused, but at least not doing his air raid imitation anymore.
“Go on,” Kalisha said. “I think I can soothe him down.”
Helen appeared at the door, now wearing jeans and buttoning up a sweater. “Is he any better?”
“A little,” Luke said. He saw a patter of drops tending in the direction he and Maureen had gone to change the sheets.
“No sign of those other two boys,” Helen said. “They must sleep like the dead.”
“They do,” Kalisha said. “You go on with Luke, New Girl. Avery and I are having a meeting of the minds here.”
6
“The kid’s name is Avery Dixon,” Luke said as he and Helen Simms stood in an open door just past the ice machine, which was clattering away to itself. “He’s ten. Doesn’t look it, does he?”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “What are you, TP after all?”
“No.” Surveying the poster of Tommy Pickles, and the G.I. Joes on the bureau. “I was here with Maureen. She’s one of the housekeepers. I helped her change the bed. Other than that, the room was all ready for him.”
Helen smirked. “So that’s what you are—teacher’s pet.”
Luke thought of Tony slapping him across the face, and wondered if Helen would soon be getting the same treatment. “No, but Maureen’s not like some of the others. Treat her right and she’ll treat you right.”
“How long have you been here, Luke?”
“I got here just before you.”
“So how do you know who’s nice and who isn’t?”
“Maureen’s okay, that’s all I’m saying. Help me get him some clothes.”
Helen grabbed some pants and underwear out of the dresser (not neglecting to snoop her way through the rest of the drawers), and they walked back to Kalisha’s room. On the way, Helen asked if Luke had had any of the tests George had told her about. He said he hadn’t, but showed her the chip in his ear.
“Don’t fight it. I did, and got whacked.”
She stopped dead. “Shut up!”
He turned his head to show her his cheek, where two of Tony’s fingers had left faint bruises.
“No one’s whacking me,” Helen said.
“That’s a theory you don’t want to test.”
She tossed her two-tone hair. “My ears are pierced already, so no big deal.”
Kalisha was sitting on her bed with Avery beside her, his butt on a folded towel. She was stroking his sweaty hair. He was looking up at her dreamily, as if she were Princess Tiana. Helen tossed Luke the clothes. He wasn’t expecting it and dropped the underpants, which were imprinted with pictures of Spider-Man in various dynamic poses.
“I have no interest in seeing that kid’s teeny peenie. I’m going back to bed. Maybe when I wake up I’ll be in my room, my real room, and all of this will just have been a dream.”
“Good luck with that,” Kalisha said.
Helen strode away. Luke picked up Avery’s underwear just in time to mark the swing of her hips in the faded jeans.
“Yummy, huh?” Kalisha’s voice was flat.
Luke brought her the clothes, feeling his cheeks heat. “I guess so, but she leaves something to be desired in the personality department.”
He thought that might make her laugh—he liked her laugh—but she looked sad. “This place will knock the bitch out of her. Pretty soon she’ll be scurrying and flinching every time she sees a guy in a blue top. Just like the rest of us. Avery, you need to get dressed in these things. Me and Lukey will turn our backs.”
They did so, staring out Kalisha’s open door at the poster proclaiming this was paradise. From behind them came sniffling and rustling clothes. At last Avery said, “I’m dressed. You can turn around.”
They did. Kalisha said, “Now take those wet pj pants into the bathroom and hang em over the side of the tub.”
He went without argument, then shuffled back. “I did it, Sha.” The fury was gone from his voice. Now he sounded timid and tired.