I do a burp, my tummy’s still crammed from breakfast.
“Ideally a mental health OT with qualifications in play and art therapy,” Dr. Clay is saying, “but at our meeting this morning it was agreed that the immediate priority is to help him feel safe. Both of you, rather. It’s a matter of slowly, slowly enlarging the circle of trust.” His hands are in the air moving wider. “As I was lucky enough to be the admitting psychiatrist on duty last night—”
“Lucky?” she says.
“Poor word choice.” He does a sort of grin. “I’m going to be working with you both for the moment—”
What working? I didn’t know kids had to work.
“—with input of course from my colleagues in child and adolescent psychiatry, our neurologist, our psychotherapists, we’re going to bring in a nutritionist, a physio—”
Another knock. It’s Noreen again with a police, a he but not the yellow-hair one from last night.
That’s three persons in the room now and two of us, that equals five, it’s nearly full of arms and legs and chests. They’re all saying till I hurt. “Stop all saying at the same time.” I say it only on mute. I squish my fingers in my ears.
“You want a surprise?”
It was me Ma was saying, I didn’t know. Noreen’s gone and the police too. I shake my head.
Dr. Clay says, “I’m not sure this is the most advisable—”
“Jack, it’s the best news,” Ma butts in. She holds up pictures. I see who it is without even going close, it’s Old Nick. The same face as when I peeked at him in Bed in the night that time, but he has a sign around his neck and he’s against numbers like we marked my tall on birthdays, he’s nearly at the six but not quite. There’s a picture where he’s looking sideways and another where he’s looking at me.
“In the middle of the night the police caught him and put him in jail, and that’s where he’ll stay,” says Ma.
I wonder is the brown truck in jail too.
“Does looking at them trigger any of the symptoms we were talking about?” Dr. Clay is asking her.
She rolls her eyes. “After seven years of the real deal, you think I’m going to crumble at a photo?”
“What about you, Jack, how does it feel?”
I don’t know the answer.
“I’m going to ask a question,” says Dr. Clay, “but you don’t have to answer it unless you want to. OK?”
I look at him then back at the pictures. Old Nick’s stuck in the numbers and he can’t get out.
“Did this man ever do anything you didn’t like?”
I nod.
“Can you tell me what he did?”
“He cutted off the power so the vegetables went slimy.”
“Right. Did he ever hurt you?”
Ma says, “Don’t—”
Dr. Clay puts his hand up. “Nobody’s doubting your word,” he tells her. “But think of all the nights you were asleep. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask Jack himself, now, would I?”
Ma lets her breath out very long. “It’s OK,” she says to me, “you can answer. Did Old Nick ever hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I say, “two times.”
They’re both staring.
“When I was doing the Great Escape he dropped me in the truck and also on the street, the second was the hurtest.”
“OK,” says Dr. Clay. He’s smiling, I don’t know why. “I’ll get onto the lab right away to see if they need another sample from you both for DNA,” he tells Ma.
“DNA?” She’s got her crazy voice again. “You think I had
“I think this is how the courts work, every box has got to be ticked.”
Ma’s sucking her whole mouth in so her lips are invisible.
“Monsters are let off on technicalities every day.” He sounds all fierce. “OK?”
“OK.”
When he’s gone I rip my mask off and I ask, “Is he mad at us?”
Ma shakes her head. “He’s mad at Old Nick.”
I didn’t think Dr. Clay even knows him, I thought we were the only ones.
I go look at the tray Noreen brought. I’m not hungry but when I ask Ma she says it’s after one o’clock, that’s too late for lunch even, lunch should be twelve something but there’s no room in my tummy yet.
“Relax,” Ma tells me. “Everything’s different here.”
“But what’s the rule?”
“There is no rule. We can have lunch at ten or one or three or the middle of the night.”
“I don’t want lunch in the middle of the night.”
Ma puffs her breath. “Let’s make a new rule that we’ll have lunch. . anytime between twelve and two. And if we’re not hungry we’ll just skip it.” “How do we skip it?”
“Eat nothing. Zero.”
“OK.” I don’t mind eating zero. “But what will Noreen do with all the food?”
“Throw it away.”
“That’s waste.”
“Yeah, but it has to go in the trash because it’s — it’s like it’s dirty.”
I look at the food all multicolored on the blue plates. “It doesn’t look dirty.”
“It’s not actually, but nobody else here would want it after it’s been on our plates,” says Ma. “Don’t worry about it.” She keeps saying that but I don’t know to not worry.
I yawn so huge it nearly knocks me over. My arm still hurts from where it wasn’t numb. I ask if we can go back to sleep again and Ma says sure, but she’s going to read the paper. I don’t know why she wants to read the paper instead of being asleep with me.
• • •
When I wake up the light’s in the wrong place.
“It’s all right,” says Ma, she puts her face touching mine, “everything’s all right.”
I put on my cool shades to watch God’s yellow face in our window, the light slides right across the fuzzy gray carpet.
Noreen comes in with bags.
“You could knock.” Ma’s nearly shouting, she puts my mask on and hers.
“Sorry,” says Noreen. “I did, actually, but I’ll be sure and do it louder next time.”
“No, sorry, I didn’t — I was talking to Jack. Maybe I heard it but I didn’t know it was the door.”
“No bother,” says Noreen.
“There’s sounds from — the other rooms, I hear things and I don’t know if it’s, where it is or what.”
“It must all seem a bit strange.”
Ma kind of laughs.
“And as for this young lad—” Noreen’s eyes are all shiny. “Would you like to see your new clothes?”
They’re not our clothes, they’re different ones in bags and if they don’t fit or we don’t like them Noreen will take them right back to the store to get other ones. I try on everything, I like the pajamas best, they’re furry with astronauts on them. It’s like a costume of a TV boy. There’s shoes that do on with scratchy stuff that sticks called Velcro. I like putting them open and shut like
Ma’s in a jeans that’s too tight. “That’s how they’re wearing them these days,” says Noreen, “and God knows you’ve got the figure for it.”
“Who’s they?”
“Youngsters.”
Ma grins, I don’t know why. She puts on a shirt that’s too tight too.
“Those aren’t your real clothes,” I whisper to her.
