Had Kracowski said that last sentence in mockery of Bondurant and the director's tight-lipped manner of speech? 'I want him to trust me,' she said.
'As far as I'm concerned what happened here is a secret, between you, me, and our old pal Larry.'
Starlene wanted to stuff Kracowski's clipboard into his smile. She cast a quick prayer of forgiveness, both for Kracowski's arrogance and her own surrender to anger. This was her first job, the counselor's equivalent of a combat zone, and she would be a good soldier. God had sent her here for a reason, and she didn't need to understand His purpose until He needed her to know.
'Excuse me, I've got a group session to lead.' She headed down the hall to the stairwell, feeling Kracowski's eyes on her.
'A pleasure to meet you,' Kracowski called when she was about to turn the corner. Starlene kept walking.
In college, Starlene had studied the phenomenon where medical students often noticed symptoms in themselves of ailments they were studying-med school hypochondria. The same was true of psychology students, though the symptoms were more nebulous. Maybe working with troubled children had snapped something loose in her own head. Were hallucinations contagious?
Sure. And mass hysteria in Salem had led to witch hangings. The human race had come a long way, and the field of psychology had come even further. Carving out pieces of people's brains in order to rid them of emotions was rarely done anymore, and even required the patient's permission. Electroshock wasn't automatic for every person who sought treatment for depression. Insanity was no longer touted as a spectator sport, as had happened at St. Mary of Bethlehem Hospital in seventeenth-century London, commonly known as Bedlam to the tourists who gave twopence for the show.
No, she hadn't seen a ghost. Because only crazy people saw ghosts, and as Dr. Kracowski had said, nobody's crazy anymore. Especially her.
And to see a ghost twice would mean she was two times crazy. She buried the idea of ghosts as she pushed open the door to Room Seven. She had children to help. She couldn't be worried about helping herself.
The room was sparse, with a desk in the corner and a dusty chalkboard on one wall. Posters proclaimed such timeless tidbits as 'Hugs Not Drugs' and 'A Smile Cures Everything.' Out the window, the sun worked its way behind the distant, black ridge tops. The seven children sat in a ring of chairs. Two slouched sullenly: Deke the pudgy teen whom Starlene knew to be a bully, and Raymond in his ever-present drab olive jacket.
The others watched Starlene take her seat at the head of the circle: Vicky, pale and wide-eyed, whose dress hung about her as if draped from a clothes hanger; the new boy, Freeman; Mario, in too-short trousers, who rarely spoke; Isaac, who nurtured a serious persecution complex; and Cynthia, who called herself 'Sin.' Cynthia seemed to have recovered from her recent treatment, but a suspicious defiance sparked her eyes.
Ready for a good jousting match, Starlene?
Starlene loved Group. The setting was perfect for teaching socialization skills while also gaining the children's trust. In group therapy, she could be a 'facilitator,' though she hated that word for it. A facilitator was someone who was structured and inflexible, who 'empowered' others while not taking much personal risk. She thought of her job as more like 'witnessing,' showing others the blessings she'd discovered and which all could share in.
'Hey, guys,' she said looking into each face in turn.
'You're late,' Deke said.
'And I apologize. Adults have to apologize sometimes, too, don't they, Freeman?'
Freeman winced, twitched one corner of his mouth, and said nothing.
'You going to make us talk about something, or do we just got to sit here for an hour?' Deke said.
'I think it's better when we get things out in the open,' Starlene said.
'Because sharing is caring,' Freeman said.
She ignored his sarcasm. Many placements came to Wendover with a wall around their hearts. You couldn't hammer through the wall; battering at it only made the wall stronger. Love was better. Love seeped through the cracks and melted the wall away, eroded its base until the stones crumbled. 'We do care, Freeman.'
Deke glowered at Freeman, then at Starlene. He looked around the circle, at the children sitting in their straight-backed chairs, making sure he had an audience. 'Not all of us care, Freaky Freeman.'
Starlene was about to quiet Deke, then decided the group dynamic might be more interesting if she let the children lead the discussion themselves. If only Deke's natural leadership skills didn't turn nasty so easily. Six years in therapy, according to the case file, and Deke was no closer to adjusting to society than he'd ever been. Still, the Lord and her professional obligation required her to have hope for him.
But patience was a demanding virtue. That was one of the warnings that her psych teachers had burned home, that occasionally you'd feel like slapping little Johnny across the face. No matter that he had been abused and suffered a neurochemical imbalance and was diagnosed with an adjustment disorder, you sometimes had to wonder if a particular kind of vermin was, and always would be, a rat.
'Why do you think Freeman is 'freaky'?' Starlene asked Deke.
'He's weird. He likes books and stuff. He sits by himself. He don't talk much, and when he does say something, it's big words nobody understands.'
'And how would you respond to that, Freeman?'
Freeman shrugged and slouched more deeply into his chair. 'Do unto others.'
'Ah, something from the Bible. That's a good rule to live by.'
'Actually,' Freeman said, straightening, 'that's a basic tenet of many religions: Scientology, Buddhism, Islam.'
'See what I mean?' Deke said. 'Weird.'
'He's a thief, too,' Raymond said.
'Let he who is without sin,' Freeman said.
'Hey,' Cynthia said. 'What about 'she'? Girls can sin as good as you can.'
Raymond let loose with a wolf whistle. 'And you ought to know, sweet cheeks.'
'Like you'd ever be so lucky,' she responded.
Starlene cut in before the verbal barrage turned crude. 'Why do you accuse Freeman of being a thief?' she asked Raymond.
Raymond and Deke exchanged looks. Vicky, who had been silent thus far, watching the conversation as if it were the ball at a tennis match, finally spoke.
'Because they feel threatened,' she said. 'They're insecure and overcompensate by trying to dominate the other boys. Any time a new guy comes here, Deke and Raymond and their gang have to knock him down in order to build themselves up.'
'I ain't insecure,' Deke said.
'Dysfunctional. Both psychologically and physically. Remember on the rocks?'
'At least I don't throw up every time I turn around,' Deke said.
Vicky turned even paler, if such a thing were possible, though two red roses of anger blossomed on her cheeks.
'Guys,' Starlene said. 'Remember that we're all here for each other. We're all in this together.'
'Bull hockey,' Deke said. 'Don't give me that 'brothers and sisters' crap. We get enough of that in chapel.'
'Remember that part in the Bible about not coveting thy neighbor's ass?' Freeman said.
'That's not in there,' Deke said, then turned to Starlene. 'See how weird he is?'
'It's there,' Freeman said. 'The unexpurgated version of the Ten Commandments. The long form that usually gets trimmed down when they get posted in the courthouse or the classroom. Lots of other good stuff, too, about slaves and how God is a jealous God. The Big Guy said so himself.'
'You seem to know a lot about the Bible, Freeman,' Starlene said.
'He probably swiped a copy,' Raymond said.
'Yeah, Weasel-brains,' Deke said to Raymond. 'I got one personally autographed by Jesus. Want to buy it?'
Raymond glowered, fists clenched. Deke held up his palms and smirked. Starlene left her chair and stood between the two boys. 'Jesus said to turn the other cheek.'
'His other ass cheek?' Freeman said. The kids erupted in laughter, even Deke, and finally Raymond.
