'Well, if Patrick did not have the same family problems and situation as Ashley had, his connection to her psychic imprint probably wouldn't be as strong. I believe it would fade completely with time. Can you convince the Westbrooks to get him and themselves some therapy?'
Even if I could convince Emily, the others would never agree to it. I doubted that Adrian's opinion of psychologists was the only obstacle; ugly and personal things would come out, precisely the kind of things that no one in the family wanted to admit.
'I'll try again, but I think it's impossible,' I said, frustrated. 'I'm afraid I don't like your theory any more than my own.'
He smiled. 'Good. It's when we like our theories too much that we should be wary.'
Dr. Parker gave me his card and told me not to hesitate to contact him. I emerged from his quiet office deep in thought and found myself in sudden bedlam. Classes were changing. A river of people flowed down the hall. I hesitated, then took the plunge, trying to make my way to the front door.
'Kate!'
At the sound of Sam's voice, I turned around.
'Over here.'
I struggled to make my way toward him but was swimming upstream. He reached out and grabbed my hand, towing me to a wall of lockers.
'Looking for me?' he asked, smiling, propping an arm against a locker, framing me with his body. He was so good at it-getting close without touching.
'No.'
He dropped his arm. 'Well, maybe you could pretend.'
'Sam, we're going to be late,' a girl called to him.
'Go on, Sara,' he answered. 'Tell Campbell I'm finishing a test.'
'Tell him yourself,' the girl said, sounding annoyed.
Sam turned back to me. 'So why are you here?'
'I was talking to Dr. Parker.'
Sam grinned. 'No, really.'
'Really. Why would I make that up?'
'Because the man is flake-o, Kate.'
I shrugged.
'You went to see him-like a counselor?'
'Yes. Joseph suggested him.' The bell rang; the hallway cleared and grew quiet. 'Dr. Parker has not only a background in psychology, but an interest in the paranormal.'
Sam hooted softly.
'Just because you are unwilling to keep an open mind and consider all the possible causes-' He interrupted me. 'The problem with keeping your mind open to impossible causes is that it distracts you from chasing down the real ones, from talking to the people who can definitely help you.'
'Like who? If you have a suggestion, tell me. I'll follow up on it.'
'Your mother.'
I took a step back.
'I want to talk to her, Kate. I need her phone number or e-mail address.'
Five years ago, my father had given me the contact information that she had sent for me. I had attempted several times to tear up the slip of paper but never succeeded. As if he had guessed I might do that, he'd also left the information with his attorney.
'Do you have it?' Sam asked.
'Not with me,' I said brusquely.
'When you get back to your room, call and leave it on my voice mail, okay?'
I don't remember hiring you as a private investigator.'
'You didn't.'
'What makes you think you have the right to interfere with my family?'
His eyes narrowed. 'You forget, this involves my family too.'
'So you're picking up where your father left off, solving his case-' 'Maybe.'
'Proving my mother did it.'
'No! That's no fair, Kate. You're jumping to conclusions.'
'But it's a possibility, isn't it? Isn't it? And as much as I may despise my mother, I am not going to help you hang her.'
I turned quickly to walk away. He grabbed my hand.
'Let go!'
He did, but he stood very close. 'Listen to me, Kate. I am definitely interested in solving my father's case, and it is possible your mother is guilty, but that's not my main reason for pursuing this. You've gotten yourself mixed up with a vicious group of people, and I'm not going to stand by waiting for something to happen to you. You know that Patrick is in danger, but when it comes to yourself, you just don't get it.'
The intensity of his eyes and voice made me feel shaky inside. There wasn't a nerve in my body unaware of him. 'I get it. I'm scared.'
Then let me help.'
'Help Patrick, okay?'
He threw up his hands. 'You just can't trust, can you?'
'Not easily,' I said, and left.
When I picked up Patrick that afternoon, he handed me a note from his teacher addressed to his parents. I quickly parked the car and brought him and the sealed note back into school, hoping I could speak with the teacher. While Patrick stood in the pet corner of his classroom, silently watching a hamster in its cage, Miss Crichton explained that the rule that applied to counselors applied to teachers as well. Without permission, she could speak only to the parents.
By the time I got Patrick home and into his play clothes, I could guess what was in the note that I had placed in Adrian's mailbox: Patrick showed no interest in what was around him. I didn't know if it was Ashley or the hostility of the others that was draining him of his energy, but I found the seeping away of his spirit more frightening than the recent dares and danger he had encountered.
Since he didn't appear to be physically ill, I gave him a snack and took him outside, hoping the sunlight and fresh air would help. The melting snow was ankle-deep now. To my relief, when Patrick spotted his snowman, he ran toward it, kicking up the sloppy snow, acting like a normal kid. He snatched up the hockey stick and gave it a swing.
'Goal!' I shouted. 'Westbrook scores!'
He raised his arms in triumph, as Sam and the other hockey players did, then froze in that pose, his mouth opening with surprise. He dropped the stick.
'November! November!' he cried.
He raced forward, then crouched in the snow. I saw the strip of orange fur lying still on the ground. My heart tightened. Don't let it be, I thought.
'November, wake up! Wake up! Move! Come on, you can.'
I hurried forward and knelt next to Patrick. The cat lay motionless, his eyes staring ahead, his mouth open. Piles of vomit had gelled in the snow around him. I glanced about for an empty food dish; no evidence had been left behind, but I suspected that someone had poisoned the cat.
I put my arms around Patrick. 'I'm so sorry.'
His small frame felt rigid.
'I'm so terribly sorry.'
His bottom lip quivered, but his eyes were dry. 'Why did they do it?' he asked. 'Why do they want him dead?
