Goodhouse (16 page)

“Oh dear,” said Mr. Mayhew.

“We have imposed the usual restrictions and penalties, but”—Tanner shrugged as if he were uncertain that those were enough—“I would like to hear the recommendations of the committee.”

“I'll go first,” said Dr. Beckett. “If I may.”

“Of course,” said Tanner.

“I've been reviewing my notes on James, and I want to acknowledge that there is a history of good behavior here. His record at La Pine was spotless. No behavioral issues. No serious incidents. However”—and here Dr. Beckett winced as if there were a sour taste in his mouth—“La Pine was not a particularly sophisticated school,” he said. “This empty page may be a lack of reporting as much as anything else. As we cannot get a clear picture of his past, I suggest the committee limit itself to what we have observed at Ione.”

“That's not fair,” I said. “That's not how it should work.”

Tanner looked up with a bewildered expression. Students spoke only to answer direct questions, and I saw too late that my outburst would merely solidify Dr. Beckett's argument.

“The boy will not interrupt,” said Tanner. “He can present his point of view at the end of this assessment. Understood?”

I swallowed hard, trying to get control of myself. “Yes, sir,” I said.

“I'm going to suggest that we start with my initial intake notes from February,” Dr. Beckett said. “I'll send them to you now.” He clicked his handheld and then continued. “As you can see, James was furtive and withdrawn. He exhibited all the classic signs of PTSD—the hypervigilance, the irritability and paranoia.”

Committee members scanned their handhelds, presumably reading the report. I barely remembered the intake. Driving into Ione had been terrifying. The compound was huge and we'd passed a group of a hundred feral-looking boys working in the cold. I might have said anything to Dr. Beckett, and now this document would define me. In the ensuing silence I became aware of a rhythmic ticking sound. A housefly beat itself against a windowpane, trying to reach the world on the other side. The tap of its conviction filled the hushed room.

“Our general population is not equipped to handle a student with these kinds of issues,” Dr. Beckett said, “but I was hoping that James could assimilate with the help of medication.”

Tanner checked his watch. “And what is your recommendation?” he asked.

“It's my opinion that these are not just isolated incidents but the beginning of some larger time of acting out. We could increase his medication, but frankly”—and here Dr. Beckett licked his pink fish mouth—“I've seen this before—the displaced anger, the explosive violence. James is not able to master his own experience and will continue to take out feelings of impotence and rage on others.”

“You don't even know me,” I said. “You can't predict what I'm going to do.” I didn't mean to say the words out loud, much less shout them. “I've already been punished,” I said. “I've done everything you asked.”

Tanner slapped his hand on the tabletop. “If you are unable to control yourself,” he said, “you will be restrained. Understood?”

I nodded. Mr. Mayhew gave me a tremulous smile. “Mr. Beckett's conclusion seems a little extreme,” he said. “This is probably an adjustment issue. My own children had a hard time when they switched schools.”

Dr. Beckett cleared his throat. “When I say it is my
opinion,
I bring two advanced degrees and twenty years of experience to the matter. I understand, Mr. Mayhew, your sentimental feelings in this case, but—frankly—James's story is an old one.”

Tanner nodded in agreement. “It's really too bad.” He took off his reading glasses and placed them on the table. He glanced at me for the first time. He looked detached and slightly bored. “Prove me wrong,” he continued. “I hope you do. But in the meantime, I'm going to recommend a transfer to Protective Confinement.”

“What?” I said.

“That doesn't seem proper,” Mr. Mayhew said. “The Confinement Block is where we punish boys. What sort of therapy do you have in mind?”

“The block is where we have the resources to provide James with the supervision that he needs,” Dr. Beckett said.

Tanner kept glancing at his watch. “Are we all in agreement here?”

“When do I get to say something?” I asked. But they ignored me. I would rot in Confinement. I would never get out.

“I'm going to need more time to review his file,” Mr. Mayhew said.

“Returning him to the general population is just the sort of lazy optimism that has made us sloppy in the past,” Dr. Beckett said.

Mr. Mayhew frowned, and his voice, when he spoke, was a higher pitch. “Mr. Beckett—” he began.

“Dr. Beckett,” the psychiatrist corrected.

“It is not
lazy optimism
to listen to each boy who sits before us and weigh the particulars of his individual case.”

But Tanner was standing up and shrugging into a sport coat. He gathered his things, pausing only to ask Mr. M. Hawke what they were serving for lunch. I had to do something or I was going to be locked in a cinder-block room. I was going to disappear.

“Please don't send me to Confinement,” I said quietly. “Dr. Beckett is making me seem like a monster. There's no reason why I should be punished more than everyone else. I'm working extra shifts; I'm doing everything you ask. What happened with Creighton was a mistake. It's not part of some larger acting-out. I just had a bad day, is all.”

“No,” Dr. Beckett said. “Creighton had a bad day. You had a regular day.”

“This isn't what you think,” I said. “You don't know the truth.”

M. Hawke, the man in the red cowboy boots, took a sip of his water and made a loud crunching noise as he chewed the ice. He had yet to speak, but now he turned to Tanner and said, “Sit down. They aren't going to run out of hamburgers. I don't think they're beef anyway.”

“They're a by-product,” Tanner said.

“Then we definitely don't need to hurry,” M. Hawke said.

Dr. Beckett sat back in his chair, his hairy chin tucked close to his neck. Tanner leaned against the table and sighed, still poised to leave.

“We haven't even talked about the incident,” M. Hawke said. “I want to know what happened.” He nodded at me. “In your own words, tell me why you attacked your class leader.”

“Can you look at my record for that night?” I asked. “There should be an electronic log of where I was. If you examine it closely, you'll see that I was off campus. They took me somewhere, some building in the Exclusion Zone. Check my record. It should all be there.”

M. Hawke started to type on his handheld, and then he clicked on something that activated a wallscreen to my right. “What do you want to show us?” he asked.

“Keep scrolling,” I said. “It was around midnight or so. Maybe later.” But as M. Hawke browsed through the records of that evening, I saw that there was no confirmation of my visit to the Exclusion Zone, just a large red
Infraction
written beside
Work detail 4, 1:26 a.m.

“It was tampered with,” I said. “Somebody changed it.”

“Yes, that's very likely,” said Dr. Beckett, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

“It's the truth,” I said.

Mr. Mayhew shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I think Protective Confinement is a good idea,” Tanner said. “We don't need any loose ends just now. Adjourned?”

“Wait.” I stood up and walked to the edge of the yellow line. “Something happened to set me off. Something very serious.” I had their attention now. I felt it in the quality of their silence. “I didn't know who to tell and I was afraid no one would believe me.”

“Well?” Tanner asked.

I had no other options. “I saw a Zero on campus,” I said.

Dr. Beckett shook his head as if he'd misunderstood. “I'm sorry? A Zero?”

“One of the men who lit the fire at La Pine,” I said. “I'm absolutely certain.”

“That's a serious accusation,” Tanner said.

“I realize that.”

“And can you identify this man?” The muscles in Tanner's jaw stood out as if he were angry, but his body was very still. For an uncomfortable moment he held my gaze.

“I saw him in the infirmary. His name—” And then I hesitated, thinking of Bethany and what might happen to her. “His name is Dr. Cleveland.”

“A.J.?” Dr. Beckett asked, and he looked amused as he turned to M. Hawke. “He's talking about A.J.”

M. Hawke gave a little grunt. “And here I thought this meeting was going to be dull.”

“It's not a joke,” I snapped. “I saw him kill someone.” I looked from one incredulous face to another. “If there is even a small chance that I'm telling the truth,” I said, “you need to investigate.”

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Beckett said, scrolling through his handheld. “Didn't you spend your Community Day with A.J.'s family?”

“Yes, but I didn't know it at the time,” I said.

“So the theft was an act of retribution?” M. Hawke nodded as if it made sense.

“No,” I said. “It's not related. That has nothing to do with it. I didn't even see him at the house.”

“And now that you're caught,” M. Hawke continued, “you have a story about how the head of this family is really a criminal.”

“Please listen to me.” I turned to Mr. Mayhew. “They're twisting my words.”

“Enough,” Tanner said. He sat down heavily, as if resigning himself to a longer meeting. “There's an easy way to put this to rest.” And with that he picked up his handheld and called Dr. Cleveland.

*   *   *

Nobody spoke as we waited for him to arrive. At one point my heart raced to such an extent that my chip sent a warning to the proctors standing behind my chair.

I looked at Tanner. “You'll help me, right?” I said. “If the doctor tries something, you'll step in?”

“I think we'll leave security to the professionals, James,” Tanner said, and M. Hawke chuckled as if this comment were funny. The fly continued to tap at the window. Undaunted by any evidence to the contrary, it was still on its way out into the world.

A knock sounded on the door, and then it slid open. “Here you are,” Dr. Cleveland said. “Forgive the delay. I had the wrong floor.”

“Not a problem,” Tanner said, and he smiled with such warm familiarity that I knew they must be friends. I felt a queasy, stomach-clenching despair. “I'm sorry to pull you away from your work,” Tanner said, “but I felt you should hear this.”

“Of course,” he said.

“This is James.” Tanner gestured toward me. “He has something he wants to say.”

Dr. Cleveland turned as if noticing me for the first time. He was wearing a green shirt, and his cheeks were flushed, as if he'd hurried. “Of course,” he said. “I know James.” He paused. “Go ahead. Don't be shy.” He nodded in an encouraging way.

“I saw you at La Pine,” I said, but my voice was thin. My mouth felt numb and I couldn't finish my sentence, though I kept forming the words.

“Go on,” Dr. Cleveland said. “Take your time.” He waved a hand to silence Tanner, who was about to interject. I stood up. That was the problem. I had to stand and face him—this phantom plucked from the cold Oregon night. I met his gaze, and the pantomime of bravery worked. It was a little like the real thing. “You're a Zero,” I said. “You shot my friend. I saw you do it.”

“A.J.,” Tanner said in a low voice, “I thought you might be interested in responding to this accusation yourself.”

“And you were right,” Dr. Cleveland said, but I couldn't read the emotion in his voice. He turned toward me. “Is there more?” he asked.

“Isn't that enough?” I said.

“It certainly is,” said M. Hawke. “Let's not waste another moment on this nonsense.”

“Our recommendation stands,” Dr. Beckett said.

“That's it?” I said. “He just has to sit there looking friendly and you all break for lunch. Nobody has any questions?” I looked around in disbelief. Mr. Mayhew scratched at his yellow hair and scowled. “This is exactly how the last attack started. People weren't paying attention. This isn't such a crazy thing I'm saying. It's already happened.”

“This is a classic misdirection,” Dr. Beckett said. “We're just giving him an opportunity and a platform.”

“Agreed,” Tanner said, but Dr. Cleveland spoke over them, his baritone easily cutting through the sounds of the committee sheathing their handhelds and gathering their things.

“I think James makes an excellent point,” he said.

I blinked at him in surprise. “I guess you would know,” I said.

“And,” he continued, “I don't want to see this boy penalized for telling what he believes to be the truth. It takes a lot of guts to stand there and denounce a faculty member.”

“Perhaps, A.J., you aren't acquainted with the particulars of this case,” Tanner said, frowning.

“I saw the file. You claim that he suffers from hallucinations,” Dr. Cleveland said. “That he is often unable to tell the difference between what is real and what is not.”

“So he believes what he's saying,” Tanner said. “That's hardly encouraging.”

“Confinement is a mistake,” Dr. Cleveland said. “He needs expert care and ongoing psychological evaluation.”

“This man is lying to you,” I said, pointing to the doctor. “Don't take my word for it. Ask your own questions.” I was starting to panic. “He's going to kill me. He knows who I am now. And then he's going to come after you.”

“Silence,” Tanner said. “Will somebody shut him up?”

“Stay behind the yellow line,” a proctor said.

“All your security won't mean anything if you don't arrest him,” I said, and then I heard the hum of a proctor's Lewiston. It was poised a few inches from my neck. I shut my mouth and went very still.