wondered if it was the woman with the smiling scar, the one who had disappeared into the wall. She had never spoken, though, except with her eyes. This one had a voice.
It couldn't be one of the staff He would have heard the door open, and the halls were all lit by faint security fixtures. No one had entered. Except through the walls, or maybe down from the sky. Or up from the floor. From the deadscape.
'You're not supposed to be in here,' Bondurant said.
'I belong here.'
'Who are you?'
'Me.'
Bondurant's pulse pounded against his skull. He was drunk and dreaming, that was all. He wasn't sitting here talking to nobody. 'I'm Francis,' he said.
Three voices came in unison from the darkness. 'Hello, Francis.'
He groped for the flask again, then remembered it was empty.
'Do you have a problem, Francis?' came one of the voices, this one from his left, a female voice scratchy from cigarettes.
He looked at the window, a square of lesser gray against the black. He prayed for sunrise. The Lord would deliver. That was one of His favorite tricks, tempting the Faithful with despair and fear. But Bondurant's faith was strong.
'I don't have a problem,' he said, surprised that his voice was steady.
'Sure,' came a man's voice two chairs from Bondurant's right. 'None of us got problems. Only solutions, right?'
'Amen,' said the woman across the circle.
'Wait a minute,' Bondurant said. 'You guys are talking about my drinking, right?'
'Ah, so you admit it. That's the very first step.'
'Step,' he said. 'I'm not going anywhere.'
'We understand, Francis,' said the scratchy woman. 'We've been there. We know what it's like.'
Bondurant wanted to stand and stagger for the door, but his legs were limp. He wiped the sweat from his palms onto his slacks. His necktie was choking him, and he struggled for breath. The room with its invisible walls and invisible people seemed to grow smaller.
'Leave me alone,' he shouted.
'We can't,' said the man. 'We love you too much.'
'I have the love of the Lord,' he said. 'I don't need yours.'
'Ah, so you accept a higher power. That's another step toward healing.'
Bondurant found the strength to rise, though his legs quivered like saplings in a thunderstorm. 'I don't need to be HEALED.'
Silence.
Bondurant clenched his fist around the flashlight, ready to lash out.
The woman across the circle whispered, 'So much anger. So much pain. Francis, you don't have to fight it anymore. Just surrender.'
He sat again, slumped, defeated, scared.
The man spoke from darkness. 'We know it's hard. You're under a lot of pressure. All these brats to take care of, who wouldn't need a drink?'
Bondurant put his head in his hands and nodded.
'Social Services breathing down your neck all the time, fund-raisers, a board of directors to please, everybody expecting you to keep on smiling no matter how much shit they feed you,' said the scratchy woman, only she was no longer to his left, she was standing behind him.
A new voice came, a child's voice, small and lost. 'It's okay, Mr. Bondurant. We forgive you.'
'Forgive,' he said. Only the Lord's forgiveness mattered. Sins weren't measured on earthly scales, only by He who judged. No mere child had the right to feel sorry for Bondurant.
'For the spankings,' said the child.
Bondurant felt as if a sock were stuffed in his throat. He only spanked in those instances when he knew he wouldn't be reported. Like all successful predators, he chose his victims carefully. And now some stupid little snot- nose was telling him it was okay to bend the sinning little shits over his desk.
Well, he knew it was okay, because the Lord had assigned him the mission. Who cared what the Department of Social Services thought when he had higher authorities to please? The rod and staff comforted. He turned their other cheek until they howled for mercy.
Because, beyond everything else, Bondurant was merciful. He'd learned that from the Lord, and from the Scriptures. Mercy tempered all acts, though sometimes you had to be righteous and vengeful.
'You need to open up,' the scratchy woman said.
'Open up?' Bondurant didn't know what frightened him more, sitting in a room with people who didn't exist or being put on the spot.
'Don't be afraid,' whispered the child, and now his voice was very close, so close that Bondurant should have felt the exhalation on his face.
Bondurant recognized the voice. Sammy Lane, the boy who had died in that botched restraint hold two years ago at Enlo. That was the home's most shameful moment, bringing the Social Services storm troopers into Bondurant's life. Sammy became the poster child for reform, his grinning photo splashed across the newspapers for weeks until another controversy pushed the death to page five. Then he was gone, nothing but a black mark on the system's record.
Until now.
Sammy was back, offering Bondurant forgiveness.
'I didn't have anything to do with it,' Bondurant said. 'I wasn't even there when you died-I mean, when it happened.'
'They said you gave the order,' Sammy said. 'And I wasn't being mean or anything, this girl pulled my hair so I kicked her, and the counselor twisted my arm behind me and took me to the time-out room, and of course I hated it because nobody likes to be locked in the dark, so I shoved the counselor and he wrapped his arms around me and told me to calm down and I couldn't breathe but he wouldn't let go and I didn't have enough breath to tell him to stop and the next thing I knew I was dead.' Little Sammy paused. 'But it's okay now.'
Bondurant wept, the salt stinging his bloodshot eyes. He was innocent. The investigation had cleared him. Even the counselor had gotten off, taking a plea agreement that barred him from ever working in child services again. Everyone was satisfied with blaming it on the system instead of individuals. Enlo's financial support had suffered a little, but Bondurant waxed his smile and faced the storm and then the storm blew over. And Bondurant took the director's chair at Wendover. Everyone had forgotten.
Except Sammy.
'We all have problems,' said the scratchy woman.
The man said, 'My shrink asked me all these questions, but she was a woman so I couldn't answer. Reminded me too much of my mom. Later, I wrote the answers on little pieces of paper and slipped them in the back of the television in the rec room.'
'That's crazy,' said Bondurant, glad he didn't have to respond to Sammy.
'They said / was crazy but I was only in love,' the scratchy woman said. 'Love is nothing but internal bleeding.'
'It's not my fault,' said the man from the darkness.
'I didn't love you, I loved the doctor. They took away my cigarettes so I chewed tin foil. I pulled the staples out of magazines and swallowed them. Then I found some loose nails in the paneling and ate them. By the time they opened me up, it was too late.'
'I don't want to be opened up,' Bondurant said.
The woman who was standing too close behind him said, 'Let out what's inside.'
A cold touch like the end of a frostbitten finger trailed down the back of his neck. 'I'm scared,' Bondurant said.
'We're all scared.'
