“I’ll work on that.”

He put the tokens in his pocket. He believed there were nine of them. He would give three to Avery, and three to each of the Wilcox twins. Enough for snacks, not enough for any of the other stuff. All he wanted for himself at the present moment was a big load of protein and carbs. He didn’t care what was on tonight’s menu for supper as long as there was a lot of it.

21

The next morning Joe and Hadad took him back down to C-Level, where he was told to drink a barium solution. Tony stood by with his zap-stick, ready to administer a jolt if Luke voiced any disagreement. Once he’d drained every drop, he was led to a cubicle the size of a bathroom stall in a turnpike rest area and X-rayed. That part went all right, but as he left the cubicle, he cramped up and doubled over.

“Don’t you hurl on this floor,” Tony said. “If you’re going to do it, use the sink in the corner.”

Too late. Luke’s half-digested breakfast came up in a barium puree.

“Ah, shit. You are now going to mop that up, and when you’re done, I want the floor to be so clean I can eat off it.”

“I’ll do it,” Hadad said.

“The fuck you will.” Tony didn’t look at him or raise his voice, but Hadad flinched just the same. “You can get the mop and the bucket. The rest is Luke’s job.”

Hadad got the cleaning stuff. Luke managed to fill the bucket at the sink in the corner of the room, but he was still having stomach cramps, and his arms were trembling too badly to lower it again without spilling the soapy water everywhere. Joe did that for him, whispering “Hang in there, kid” into Luke’s ear.

“Just give him the mop,” Tony said, and Luke understood—in the new way he had of understanding things—that old Tones was enjoying himself.

Luke swabbed and rinsed. Tony surveyed his work, pronounced it unacceptable, and told him to do it again. The cramps had let up, and this time he was able to lift and lower the bucket by himself. Hadad and Joe were sitting down and discussing the chances of the Yankees and the San Diego Padres, apparently their teams of choice. On the way back to the elevator, Hadad clapped him on the back and said, “You done good, Luke. Got some tokens for him, Joey? I’m all out.”

Joe gave him four.

“What are these tests for?” Luke asked.

“Plenty of things,” Hadad said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Which was, Luke thought, perhaps the stupidest piece of advice he’d ever been given. “Am I ever getting out of here?”

“Absolutely,” Joe said. “You won’t remember a thing about it, though.”

He was lying. Again, it wasn’t mind-reading, at least as Luke had always imagined it—hearing words in his mind (or seeing them, like on the crawl at the bottom of a cable news broadcast); it was just knowing, as undeniable as gravity or the irrationality of the square root of two.

“How many more tests will there be?”

“Oh, we’ll keep you busy,” Joe said.

“Just don’t puke on a floor Tony Fizzale has to walk on,” Hadad said, and laughed heartily.

22

A new housekeeper was vacuuming the floor of his room when Luke arrived. This woman—JOLENE, according to her nametag—was plump and in her twenties.

“Where’s Maureen?” Luke asked, although he knew perfectly well. This was Maureen’s off week, and when she came back, it might not be to his part of the Institute, at least not for awhile. He hoped she was in Vermont, getting her runaway husband’s crap sorted out, but he would miss her . . . although he supposed he might see her in Back Half when it was his turn to go there.

“Mo-Mo’s off making a movie with Johnny Depp,” Jolene said. “One of those pirate things all the kids like. She’s playing the Jolly Roger.” She laughed, then said, “Why don’t you get out of here while I finish up?”

“Because I want to lie down. I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, wah-wah-wah,” Jolene said. “You kids are spoiled rotten. Have someone to clean your room, cook your meals, you got your own TV . . . you think I had a TV in my room when I was a kid? Or my own bathroom? I had three sisters and two brothers and we all fought over it.”

“We also get to swallow barium and then puke it up. You think you’d like to try some?”

I sound more like Nicky every day, Luke thought, and hey, what’s wrong with that? It’s good to have positive role models.

Jolene turned to him and brandished the vacuum cleaner attachment. “You want to see how getting hit upside the head with this feels?”

Luke left. He walked slowly along the connecting residence corridors, pausing twice to lean against the wall when the cramps hit. At least they were lessening in frequency and intensity. Just before he got to the deserted lounge with its view of the administration building, he went into one of the empty rooms, laid down on the mattress, and went to sleep. He woke up for the first time not expecting to see Rolf Destin’s house outside his bedroom window.

In Luke’s opinion, that was a step in exactly the wrong direction.

23

The next morning he was given a shot, then hooked up to heart and blood pressure monitors, and made to run on a treadmill, monitored by Carlos and Dave. They sped the treadmill up until he was gasping for breath and in danger of tumbling off the end. The readings were mirrored on the little dashboard, and just before Carlos slowed him down, Luke saw the BPM readout was 170.

While he was sipping at a glass of orange juice and getting his breath back, a big bald guy came in and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He was wearing a brown suit that looked expensive and a white shirt with no tie. His dark eyes surveyed Luke, all the way down from his red and sweaty face to his new sneakers. He said, “I’m told you show signs of slow adjustment, young man. Perhaps Nick Wilholm has something to do with that. He’s not someone you should emulate. You know the meaning of that word, don’t you? Emulate?”

“Yes.”

“He is insolent and unpleasant to men and women who are only trying to do their jobs.”

Luke said nothing. Always safest.

“Don’t let his attitude rub off on you, that would be my advice. My strong advice. And keep your interactions with the service staff to a minimum.”

Luke felt a stab of alarm at that, then realized the bald guy wasn’t talking about Maureen. It was Fred the janitor he was talking about. Luke knew that perfectly well, although he had only talked to Fred once and had talked to Maureen several times.

“Also, stay out of the West Lounge and the empty rooms. If you want to sleep, do it in your own room. Make your stay as pleasant as possible.”

“There’s nothing pleasant about this place,” Luke said.

“You’re welcome to your opinion,” the bald man said. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, they’re like assholes, everybody’s got one. But I think you’re smart enough to know there’s a big difference between nothing pleasant and something unpleasant. Keep it in mind.”

He left.

“Who was that?” Luke asked.

“Stackhouse,” Carlos said. “The Institute’s security officer. You want to stay off his bad side.”

Dave came at him with a needle. “Need to take a little more blood. Won’t take a minute. Be a good sport about it, okay?”

24

After the treadmill and the latest blood draw, there were a couple of days of no tests, at least for Luke. He got a couple of shots—one of which made his whole arm itch fiercely for an hour—but that was all. The Wilcox twins began to adjust, especially after Harry Cross befriended them. He was a TK, and boasted that he could move lots of stuff, but Avery said that was a crock of shit. “He’s got even less than you do, Luke.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Don’t be too diplomatic, Avery, you’ll strain yourself.”

“What’s diplomatic mean?”

“Spend a token and look it up on your computer.”

“I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that,” Avery said in a surprisingly good imitation of HAL 9000’s softly sinister voice, and began to giggle.

Harry was good to Greta and Gerda, that was undeniable. Every time he saw them, a big goofy grin spread over his face. He would squat down, spread his arms wide, and they would run to him.

“Don’t suppose he’s fiddling with them, do you?” Nicky asked one morning on the playground, watching as Harry monitored the Gs on the trampoline.

“Eww, gross,” Helen said. “You’ve been watching too many Lifetime movies.”

“Nope,” Avery said. He was eating a Choco Pop and had grown a brown mustache. “He doesn’t want to . . .” He put his small hands on his backside and bumped his hips. Watching this, Luke thought it was a good example of how telepathy was all wrong. You knew way too much, and way too soon.

“Eww,” Helen said again, and covered her eyes. “Don’t make me wish I was blind, Avester.”

“He had cocker spaniels,” Avery said. “Back home. Those girls are like his, you know, there’s a word.”

“Substitute,” Luke said.