Goodbye Forever Page 5

  A dried-up swimming pool had been filled in and now held a vegetable garden. Only a few peppers and tomatoes remained, and they would be wiped out once temperatures dropped to freezing. Beside it, right outside the back door, was the makeshift shower that didn’t hide anyone’s nudity. Someone must have installed it years before so swimmers could rinse off after they got out of the pool. Yet it seemed newer, cleaner. Farther back, to the right of the pool, stood a walk-in steel cooler, the kind a restaurant might have used. Pool, shower, cooler for liquor and maybe food. At one time, this little compound must have been a party place.

  The brick barbecue in back seemed to blaze into the stars. Jessica sat between Wyatt and Lucas, which was the right place for her. The others scattered into a disconnected circle. Moving among them, refilling wine glasses and replacing beers, Sissy pouted, perhaps because Lucas had chosen her to serve, possibly because Wyatt paid no attention to her.

  ‘The Originals are finally together again,’ Lucas announced. The air filled with the sweet smoke of their fire. On the patio table sat a bong filled with a green substance. Jessica looked at the container beside it and realized it was Gatorade.

  As the sun sank into the sky, Wyatt got up, dragged his case to the center of the circle, and took out his knives.

  He stared directly at Jessica. ‘It’s been a few years since I did this. Be kind if I screw up, will you?’

  She nodded and joined the others as they began to clap in a slow, expectant rhythm.

  ‘All right. Here we go.’

  The knives he juggled flew like starlight, like silver confetti. At first, Jessica worried that he wouldn’t be able to catch them the way he used to with his clubs. But he had only grown taller and more skilled, and he was still Wyatt, the boy she had liked, the boy she had burned her hands trying to rescue from a fire.

  Lucas walked into the unmarked ring beside him. Seeing him beside Wyatt, Jessica tried to calculate Lucas’s age. Fifteen? Sixteen? No, she was seventeen and he had to be younger. He didn’t act it, though.

  Once he stood beside Wyatt, he put out his hands. ‘This is one of my best friends.’

  Everybody applauded.

  ‘He’s one of the six Originals.’ He glanced over at Ike. ‘Seven Originals.’

  More limp applause, except from Ike, who slammed his hands together as if intent on drawing blood.

  ‘This is not just a typical reunion, however,’ Lucas said. ‘It is, most of all, a union. Let’s go around the fire, and, if you feel like it, share with us your gift, and why you’re part of us right now.’ He smiled over at Wyatt.

  ‘I’m here because I’m one of the Originals.’ Wyatt lifted a knife in each hand, as if trying to stab his way into the sky. His face, framed by dark curls, glistened. ‘And my gift? You just saw it.’ He grinned at the gleaming blades and then touched the scar that crept above his turtleneck. ‘Because of what happened to me, we got out of that prison.’

  Laughter and applause filled the air.

  ‘I don’t like the way it happened, though,’ Wyatt said. ‘I don’t like anything about what happened that night.’

  Lucas nodded his approval and glanced at Theo, who sat cross-legged on an old camp chair. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘The Weasel called me a follower.’ He shook his long, dark hair, and in the light of the fire, his glasses looked like the fiery eyes of an animal. ‘All that means is I’m smart enough to obey orders.’

  A few murmurs came from the crowd, and Theo grinned as if that was all he expected.

  ‘And you, Ike?’ Lucas asked.

  Ike sucked down a hit from the Gatorade concoction Sissy had passed him and slowly exhaled. ‘I’m here as an Original.’ He pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and flexed his biceps. ‘The idiots who analyze us say I’m a sociopath, but it’s not true. Sociopaths are supposed to be stupid and from low-class families. I’ve studied it all.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘I’m not a sociopath. Far as I can tell, I’m a fucking psychopath and proud of it.’

  More clapping and shouts of laughter.

  ‘Sorry, Lucas,’ he said. ‘Pardon my French.’

  ‘I didn’t hear you speak French,’ Lucas told him. ‘Pardon your English. And your gift is …?’

  ‘That isn’t enough for you?’ More applause. He flexed his muscles again. ‘Brute strength. How’s that? All any team needs is brains and brawn.’

  When the laughter died down, Lucas said, ‘Sissy? Welcome.’

  ‘Glad to be here.’ She shook her pale hair from her face and turned to look at Wyatt. ‘I came in at the end of the first year, so I’m an Original. I was there that night someone tried to kill Wyatt.’

  The others murmured the way they had that night, and then Sissy’s little grin became victorious. ‘Next?’ She glared at Jessica. ‘What can you do?’

  ‘First of all, I’m the one who saved Wyatt. You, he, we all know that.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Her words were clipped, and Jessica remembered when Sissy couldn’t or wouldn’t talk at all.

  ‘Lucas and I are friends,’ Jessica said. ‘We understand each other. One time when the Weasel gave us a Bleeds because Lucas was late, I flushed the Weasel’s tie down the toilet.’

  Laughter exploded around her.

  ‘I remember that,’ Lucas said with a grin. ‘Those stupid Bleeds, where we all got punished the same if one of us did something wrong.’

  ‘But what can you do?’ Sissy demanded.

  Jessica stood. ‘I’m smart,’ she said, and then smiled at Sissy. ‘That’s why I’m sitting where I am, not serving the food.’

  ‘I don’t mind serving.’ Sissy jerked herself to her feet. ‘Who’s next?’

  ‘You don’t like Sissy, do you?’ Lucas walked with Jessica back to the big house through a cluster of trees in the back after the rest of them had finished with their speeches.

  ‘I don’t care about her one way or the other.’ Not a lie, exactly, but not the truth either. ‘I’m more comfortable with Wyatt – and you, of course. We forced the Weasel to end his study. We saved the rest of them in a way.’

  ‘But remember that everyone here went through much of what we did.’ His voice was so soft and gentle that she could barely hear him. ‘Besides, we need more than just us to make it in the real world.’

  ‘We have each other,’ she said. ‘And we all have different skills. You’re smarter than all of us, and you can convince anyone to do anything.’

  ‘And why is that?’ he asked her.

  ‘Because you can mimic anyone’s emotion. If I told you my mother died, you would cry on the spot.’

  ‘That’s what I did,’ he said. ‘When my own father died.’

  ‘Your father. I remember. In a fire.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you light that match if you had the chance?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘But you did that night. You would have killed Wyatt.’

  ‘We had to get out of that place. It was the only way.’

  ‘And we did it. Thank you, Lucas.’

  ‘Still, we need more than First Years, or we’ll be a compound with no followers.’

  ‘Why do we need followers?’ she asked.

  Lucas gazed into the distance and then back at her. ‘Every leader does.’

  SIX

  As much as Kit hated to admit that John Paul was right about anything, ‘truth was truth’, as her mom always said. Trying to fix every other broken family, John Paul had accused her, and she had denied it. Maybe he was right, though. It didn’t matter. Richard had been there for her when they found her mom in time to save her life. And now Kit would do whatever she could to help him find Jessica. She owed him that.

  When she told him that the girl had spent time at a camp for disturbed children, he went silent, and she knew he was wondering if he could have done something to prevent it if he had pressed harder to spend time with his niece.

  So now more than ever, in spite of what John Paul Nathan might think, Kit had to find Jessica.
If she didn’t at least try, she would always wonder if she could have done something more to give Richard the family he had been denied. If the psychologist wouldn’t talk to her, she would try Plan B and attempt to pass herself off as a runaway teen.

  But Dr Melvin Weaver did take her call, and he did agree to an interview, with what he called ‘restrictions’. He told Kit in advance that he would only talk about current patients and his current program.

  ‘In the interest of anonymity,’ he had said in flat doctor-speak.

  Richard insisted on driving her that Saturday. Although she had hoped the drive would bring them closer, she could feel Richard’s detachment. Even as they spoke about how to deal with Dr Weaver, he seemed withdrawn, and she knew he was trying to protect his feelings. After reaching the Bay Area, they turned off and followed the winding roads three hours to Mendocino. Finally, after the Route 1 coastline became as rocky and dangerous as it was exhilarating, they drove into Fort Bragg. On the way, they discussed how to approach the doctor, who had made it clear that he was happy, even eager, to discuss his current program. Yet it was worth the drive to get his reaction to seeing Jessica’s photo.

  Fort Bragg came on in waves of sight and sound – a botanical garden along the sweep of coastline to their left, the bark of a seal through the open car window. Although it wasn’t even four o’clock, the moon was already out, a ragged, translucent shape that might have been torn from a cloud. Under any other circumstances, she would have felt drawn to this serene little city. Now, she just wanted to get the confrontation with Weaver over with.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Richard asked.

  Kit’s stomach felt as twisted and hopeless as the road ahead. ‘Three of the missing kids were here. I know he has the answers.’ She heard the fear in her rising voice and forced herself to lower it. ‘We just need to get him to talk.’

  ‘What if he won’t?’ The expression on his face reminded her of how it used to be with them back when they were a team and could almost read each other’s minds.

  Kit wanted to talk to him about her other idea, about posing as a runaway, but he had always been more cautious than she was, and he was already worried enough. She squeezed his arm and said, ‘Let’s just hope for the best.’

  Dr Weaver’s camp wasn’t visible beyond the trees. They drove on a narrow path toward an assortment of portable rustic buildings. The one in the center looked like a small condo. To one side of it, a patio area held a battered metal fire pit at least four feet wide. They stepped out of the car, and Kit breathed in a mixed scent of pine and ocean. This place seemed peaceful, yet she kept remembering John Paul’s words. Some kind of tough-love psychiatric study.

  Weaver stood with his back to them, in jeans, a light yellow shirt, and a gray vest that matched his hair. He waved at the SUV and van pulling away and paused when he saw Richard and Kit. Then he hurried to them, all business.

  ‘I see you made it, Ms Doyle.’ His boyish smile didn’t seem to go with his paunch, and his brusque, practiced handshake had just enough pressure to be friendly and not enough to offend. ‘I thought you’d be coming alone.’ Although his tone was pleasant enough, his gaze lingered on Richard.

  ‘If I had,’ Kit replied, ‘I never would have found this place. This is Richard McCarthy, my …’

  ‘Husband.’ Richard stepped closer to the doctor. ‘Jessica’s my niece,’ he said.

  ‘Jessica McCarthy? Your niece?’ Dr Weaver gave Kit a polite smile that carried no warmth. ‘Perhaps I should have been clearer when we spoke. I explained to you that I can’t reveal confidential information.’

  ‘Not even to Jessica’s uncle?’ Richard glanced over at the fire pit. ‘They let you burn this thing in the forest?’ he asked.

  Kit shot him a frown.

  ‘The kids like it.’ Dr Weaver answered in a clinical voice, as if he had been asked the question many times before. ‘There’s not much out here this far except a furniture-manufacturing place in an old lumber mill and a bunch of pot farmers. We all respect the land and each other. And no, not even to her uncle. I’m happy to speak with you, though, Ms Doyle, about what we’re doing now.’

  ‘Why now and not then?’ Kit asked.

  Dr Weaver leaned against the back of a weathered picnic table and crossed his arms.

  ‘Because the parents now agree to share the information from the studies before we as much as start. I have significant findings to support my theories.’

  Kit wasn’t sure if he was boasting or attempting to dodge their questions. ‘Why was Jessica sent here?’ she asked him. ‘How old was she when she joined your camp?’

  ‘Thirteen, fourteen, I think. Again, I cannot speak to you in any detail about the patients prior to those in this new program.’

  Richard’s face flushed. Kit resisted the impulse to take his hand and turned toward Dr Weaver. ‘She’s disappeared, probably run away. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?’

  ‘How could I possibly know that?’ He shifted as if the table had suddenly become uncomfortable.

  ‘She isn’t the only one of your patients who has disappeared.’ Kit reached into her bag and took out the photo. ‘This is the girl you worked with, right?’

  His skin paled. ‘I can’t really tell you.’

  ‘The police have this photo,’ Kit said. ‘The other girl’s mother gave it to them.’

  ‘I know. I spoke with a detective on the phone, but he didn’t tell me they were missing.’ Dr Weaver shook his head slowly. ‘Believe me, I know nothing about that. I’ve been out of contact with those families for three years.’

  In spite of his composed tone, he looked ready to bolt, and Kit knew she had to keep her voice calm. ‘But you did treat the kids?’

  ‘Clearly. However, that’s all I can say. When we started, we didn’t have parental permission to share information. We worked from a different model.’ He stood up and straightened his vest. Kit realized that he looked strong in spite of his slight build. ‘I’m doing good work here now. I’m doing ground-breaking work, actually.’

  ‘But what about Jessica?’ She tapped her finger on the photo. ‘What about Lucas and Sissy? All three of them are missing. Don’t you care what happens to them?’

  Weaver sighed, and his façade crumbled behind the beads of sweat on his forehead.

  ‘Nothing I can tell you about them will help you find the girl,’ he said.

  ‘But they were friends.’

  ‘Dormitory friends, I call it. They created their own group within a group, and Lucas Tibbs was the leader.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to him?’

  Weaver shook his head and waved them away. ‘You’re not hearing me. It’s highly unlikely these young people ever saw each other after they left here. Friendships never amount to anything after the study is over, and everyone goes home.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. ‘I hoped I could interest you in my current research, but this is obviously a family matter.’

  ‘A family matter?’ Richard took a step toward Weaver, and Kit grabbed his arm. ‘A girl’s life is in danger. Maybe all three of these kids, for that matter. You can at least tell us why they were here, and what happened to them when they were.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing that.’ Weaver held his ground and glared up at Richard. ‘If you don’t leave right now, I’ll have to call for assistance. A security officer is just a few minutes away.’

  A soft breeze moved across Kit’s face, and she realized that she was sweating as well. ‘Do that,’ she said. ‘Maybe you should call the detective you spoke to in the first place. I believe his name is Jasper.’

  ‘Don’t try to threaten me.’ Still, he walked over closer to Richard, who stood to her side, hands clenched. ‘I’m sorry about your niece,’ he said.

  ‘Ms Doyle asked you a question.’ Richard’s voice was so low that Kit could barely hear it. ‘She asked you about that boy – Lucas.’

  ‘Lucas Tibbs? I’m not certain.’ W
eaver’s expression went blank. ‘Lucas came back the second year, I believe, as most of them did. As you probably already know, we had to end that study too early.’ He pointed toward the empty road where he had waved at the departing vehicles earlier. ‘We’ve had many success stories – children whose lives have been changed, maybe saved. That’s what I had hoped we could focus on.’

  ‘And Lucas wasn’t one of those?’ Kit asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. We lost touch with the family.’

  ‘What about Jessica?’ She didn’t dare meet Richard’s eyes.

  ‘I’m not currently connected with any of the first- or second-years,’ Dr Weaver said. ‘We didn’t have staff for that back then. I had hoped you would help me spread the word on our work here as others in the media have.’

  ‘All I know,’ she said, ‘is that at least three of these kids you treated are missing.’

  ‘And I told you there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.’ He spoke slowly, but Kit could detect a tremor in his voice. ‘The grants I receive go to helping antisocial kids. I learned a long time ago I can’t help them all.’

  ‘But Jessica, Sissy, and Lucas were young when they came to you for treatment,’ she said. ‘How can you just cut yourself off from them?’

  ‘I’m not cutting off anything. But focusing on the ones I couldn’t help won’t improve the chances for the next group or the one after that. What we’re doing here now is cutting edge.’ He sank back against the wood picnic table again. ‘But you’re clearly not interested in that, and you really should go now.’

  Richard seemed planted in one spot, and Kit knew she had to give it one final try. ‘The word is out to law enforcement that you were running a tough-love camp.’ He went pale, and she moved closer, into what she hoped was his comfort zone. ‘What was tough love back then, Doctor Weaver?’

  He seemed to sink into his shoulders like a beaten man, and Kit had to ask herself, beaten by what?

  ‘They’re free to investigate. I did nothing without parental permission.’ He went over to the table and picked up a phone. ‘Have a safe trip back, Ms Doyle. These hills can be treacherous at night.’