The Institute Page 49
Her eyes again sought Luke, sitting at a table against the far wall. His little friend was with him. Dixon’s mouth was hanging agape, but at least he was leaving his nose alone for the time being.
“If anyone should contradict what I’ve just told you, you may be sure that person is lying, and his lies should be immediately reported to one of the caretakers or technicians. Is that understood?”
Silence, without even a nervous cough to break it.
“If it’s understood, I would like you to say ‘Yes, Mrs. Sigsby.’?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sigsby,” the kids responded.
She offered a thin smile. “I think you can do better.”
“Yes, Mrs. Sigsby!”
“And now with real conviction.”
“YES, MRS. SIGSBY!” This time even the kitchen staff, techs, and caretakers joined in.
“Good.” Mrs. Sigsby smiled. “There’s nothing like an affirmative shout to clear the lungs and the mind, is there? Now carry on with your meals.” She turned to the white-coated kitchen staff. “And extra desserts before bedtime, assuming you can provide cake and ice cream, Chef Doug?”
Chef Doug made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. Someone began to clap. Others joined in. Mrs. Sigsby nodded right and left to acknowledge the applause as she left the room, walking with her head up and her hands swinging back and forth in tiny, precise arcs. A small smile, what Luke thought of as a Mona Lisa smile, curved the corners of her mouth. The white-coats parted to let her pass.
Still applauding, Avery leaned close to Luke and whispered, “She lied about everything.”
Luke gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“That fucking bitch,” Avery said.
Luke gave the same tiny nod and sent a brief mental message: Keep clapping.
17
That night Luke and Avery lay side by side in Luke’s bed as the Institute wound down for another night.
Avery whispered, recounting everything Maureen told him each time he went to his nose, signaling her to send. Luke had been afraid Maureen might not understand the note he’d dropped into her basket (a little unconscious prejudice there, maybe based on the brown housekeeper’s uni she wore, he’d have to work on that), but she had understood perfectly, and provided Avery with the step-by-step list. Luke thought the Avester could have been a little more subtle about the signals, but it seemed to have turned out okay. He had to hope it had. Supposing that were true, Luke’s only real question was whether or not the first step could actually work. It was simple to the point of crudity.
The two boys lay on their backs, staring into the dark. Luke was going over the steps for the tenth time—or maybe the fifteenth—when Avery invaded his mind with three words that flashed on like a red neon, then faded out, leaving an afterimage.
Yes, Mrs. Sigsby.
Luke poked him.
Avery sniggered.
A few seconds later, the words came again, this time even brighter.
Yes, Mrs. Sigsby!
Luke gave him another poke, but he was smiling, and Avery probably knew it, dark or not. The smile was in his mind as well as on his mouth, and Luke thought he had a right to it. He might not be able to escape the Institute—he had to admit the odds were against—but today had been a good one. Hope was such a fine word, such a fine thing to feel.
YES, MRS. SIGSBY, YOU FUCKING BITCH!
“Stop, or I’ll tickle you,” Luke murmured.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Avery whispered. “It really worked. Do you think you can really . . .”
“I don’t know, I only know I’m going to try. Now shut up and go to sleep.”
“I wish you could take me with you. I wish it bad.”
“Me too,” Luke said, and he meant it. It would be tough for Avery here on his own. He was more socially adjusted than the little Gs or Stevie Whipple, but nobody was ever going to crown him Mr. Personality.
“When you come back, bring about a thousand cops with you,” Avery whispered. “And do it fast, before they take me to Back Half. Do it while we can still save Sha.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Luke promised. “Now stop yelling in my head. That joke wears out fast.”
“I wish you had more TP. And that it didn’t hurt you to send. We could talk better.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. For the last time, go to sleep.”
Avery did, and Luke began to drift off himself. Maureen’s first step was as clanky as the ice machine where they sometimes talked, but he had to admit that it tallied with all the things he’d already observed: dusty camera housings, baseboards where paint had chipped off years ago and had never been touched up, an elevator card carelessly left behind. He mused again on how this place was like a rocket with its engines off, still moving but now in an inertial glide.
18
The next day Winona escorted him down to C-Level, where he was given a quick once-over: blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, O2 level. When Luke asked what came next, Dave checked his clipboard, gave him a sunny grin—as if he had never knocked him to the floor—and said there was nothing on the schedule.
“You’ve got an off-day, Luke. Enjoy it.” He raised his hand, palm out.
Luke grinned back and slapped him five, but it was Maureen’s note he was thinking of: When they stop testing, you might only have 3 days.
“What about tomorrow?” he asked as they returned to the elevator.
“We’ll let tomorrow take care of itself,” Dave said. “It’s the only way to be.”
Maybe that was true for some, but it was no longer true for Luke. He wished for extra time to go over Maureen’s plan—or to procrastinate, more like it—but he was afraid that his time was almost up.
Dodgeball had become a daily affair on the Institute’s playground, almost a ritual, and nearly everyone joined in at least for awhile. Luke got in the circle and jostled around with the other dodgers for ten minutes or so before allowing himself to be hit. Instead of joining the throwers, he walked across the asphalt half-court, past Frieda Brown, who was standing by herself and taking foul shots. Luke thought she still had no real idea where she was. He sat down on the gravel with his back against the chainlink fence. At least the bug situation was a little better now. He dropped his hands and swept them idly back and forth at his sides, eyes on the dodgeball game.
“Want to shoot some?” Frieda asked.
“Maybe later,” Luke said. He casually reached one hand behind him, felt for the bottom of the fence, and found that yes, Maureen was right; there was a gap where the ground slumped a bit. That slump might have been created by snowmelt in the early spring. Only an inch or two, but it was there. Nobody had bothered to fill it in. Luke’s upturned hand rested on the exposed bottom of the fence, the wire tines pressing into his palm. He waggled his fingertips in the free air outside the Institute for a moment or two, then got up, dusted off his bottom, and asked Frieda if she wanted to play HORSE. She gave him an eager smile that said Yes! Of course! Be my friend!
It sort of broke his heart.
19
Luke had no tests the following day, either, and nobody even bothered taking his vitals. He helped Connie, one of the janitors, carry two mattresses from the elevator to a couple of rooms in the East Wing, got a single lousy token for his trouble (all the janitors were miserly when it came to handing out tokes), and on his way back to his room, he encountered Maureen standing by the ice machine, drinking from the bottle of water she always kept chilling in there. He asked if she needed any help.
“No, I’m fine.” Then, lowering her voice: “Hendricks and Zeke were talking out front by the flagpole. I saw them. Have they been testing you?”
“No. Not for two days.”
“That’s what I thought. This is Friday. You might have until Saturday or Sunday, but I wouldn’t take that chance.” The mixture of worry and compassion he saw on her haggard face terrified him.
Tonight.
He didn’t speak the word aloud, only mouthed it with a hand at the side of his face, scratching below his eye. She nodded.
“Maureen . . . do they know you have . . .” He couldn’t finish, and didn’t have to.
“They think it’s sciatica.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Hendricks might have an idea, but he doesn’t care. None of them do, as long as I can keep working. Go on now, Luke. I’ll turn your room while you’re at lunch. Look under your mattress when you go to bed. Good luck.” She hesitated. “I wish I could hug you, son.”
Luke felt his eyes fill up. He hurried away before she could see.
He ate a big lunch, although he wasn’t particularly hungry. He would do the same at supper. He had a feeling that if this worked, he was going to need all the fuel he could take on.
That evening at dinner, he and Avery were joined by Frieda, who seemed to have imprinted on Luke. After, they went out to the playground. Luke declined to shoot more hoops with the girl, saying he would spot Avery for awhile on the trampoline.
One of those red neon words bloomed in Luke’s mind as he watched the Avester jump up and down, doing lackadaisical seat-drops and tummy-bounces.
Tonight?