The Mysterious Benedict Society

meddlesome people into his own private workforce, and they didn’t even realize it.

The Helpers had been programmed to believe that “everything is as it should be.” But you could see it in their eyes. Their lost lives, their lost families — something inside them missed those things terribly.

“Reynie, you’re worrying us,” said Kate. “What’s the matter? Reynie!”

At last Reynie’s eyes focused, and he turned to his friends and told them what he’d just realized.

Kate, Sticky, and Constance stood dumbfounded — struggling, just as Reynie had, to accept that such a thing was possible. And yet, once you believed it was possible, so many things could be explained. It finally made sense how the special recruits, if they’d been kidnapped, could seem so untroubled: They had been kidnapped, all right; they just didn’t remember it. And Charlie Peters! He had seemed so dazed — just like the special recruits on their first day — and then so disturbed when the boys asked him about special privileges. “I can’t say,” he’d told them. He was disturbed because he really couldn’t say — he couldn’t remember!

“This is crazy, but it all seems to fit,” Kate said, pacing on the path. “Except why aren’t the special recruits as sad as the Helpers? They seem pretty happy to be here.”

“Charlie didn’t seem that sad, either,” Sticky reflected. “He got upset, but he wasn’t really sad. It must be different with lacunar amnesia. Maybe —”

“Wait a minute,” Constance demanded. “Back up and say that again in human words.”

“Lacunar amnesia? It means you can’t remember a specific event.”

“That explains it,” Reynie said. “You only get sad if you can’t remember all the things that are dear to you. If you only lose a little of your memory, you just get confused for a while — confused but not sad.”

“That’s exactly how I feel right now,” said Kate. “Who is Mr. Bloomburg, Reynie? Why is he here?”

“He was a school facilities inspector. He’d come around the orphanage every six months or so. Mr. Rutger was afraid of him — afraid he’d find something wrong and the orphanage would have to pay for repairs — but Mr. Bloomburg was a good man. Always laughing, always talking. He chatted constantly with anyone who’d listen. And afterward he’d give the kids ginger snaps. A very friendly, very kind man . . .”

Reynie trailed off. He gazed across the harbor channel toward the mainland, as if by gazing he might somehow get back there, and not just to the land, but to a time when he didn’t know all the things he knew now.

“What was he talking about all the time?” Kate asked.

“His children,” Reynie said.

“Oh,” said Kate soberly.

“He loved them dearly,” said Reynie. “And now look at him, afraid of every child he sees. It’s not even a year since I saw him last.”

Kate was putting it together. “So Mr. Bloomburg came to the Institute to make an inspection, which was never supposed to happen, and he didn’t like what he found —”

“And Mr. Curtain made sure that he never went back,” Reynie finished.

“But how could Mr. Bloomburg forget his children?” Sticky protested. “It doesn’t seem possible. Can it really be possible? Can any of this be possible?”

Reynie made no reply.

“I just can’t believe it,” Sticky said, wishing he really couldn’t.

Of Families Lost and Found

The mood in their meeting that night was subdued: no bickering, no laughter, only a general feeling of grim resolve. Now that the children finally knew some things, they all rather missed not knowing them.

If only they had proof of what they knew! But all they had was their word, and the word of children, they knew, amounted to nothing. If the authorities wouldn’t listen to Mr. Benedict, they certainly wouldn’t listen to children. Reynie and the others could argue all day that Mr. Curtain was erasing people’s memories, that dozens of government agents were being held captive on Nomansan Island — but they couldn’t begin to explain why it was all happening, and without proof, no one would help them try to find out.

“If we could lay our hands on that journal,” Kate had said, “do you think that would be proof enough?”

“Fat chance,” said Sticky. “Mr. Curtain always has it with him.”

“Anyway, even if we stole it and convinced people to read it,” said Reynie, “they’d think it was a hoax. Mr. Curtain’s messages have made sure of that.”

“At least we could read it,” Kate said. “You know it’s chock full of information, and some of it might be exactly what Mr. Benedict needs. . . .” She sighed. “But you’re right, swiping it would be too risky. I wish we could do something, though.”

“We’re doing all we can, aren’t we?” Sticky said. “We’re telling Mr. Benedict everything we know.”

“Speaking of that,” said Reynie, “we should send our report. There’s a lot to tell.”

So much to tell, in fact, that Sticky was complaining of a blister on his finger by the time he’d finished the report. A few minutes later a reply flashed from the mainland trees:

What has been lost may yet be found. Have hope.

“Is he saying he has hope,” said Constance irritably, “or is he telling us to have hope?”

“Either way,” Reynie said, “I think he believes those people might be able to get their memories back. Maybe he thinks he can find a way to do it. That’s a pretty hopeful thing, isn’t it?”