the faculty lounge, where he knew there was a telephone. He spoke very clearly, and told them exactly where the boy was, in the restroom on the second floor of the main building of Dickinson High.
Then he went back to the restroom to see if he could help the boy, and maybe five minutes later, a bunch of people started arriving, just like his counselor had told him would happen.
Someone was kneeling at the boy’s side, and police were milling about in the hallway. Caleb watched from the doorway, nervously twisting at his forelock. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked as two men wearing some kind of jumpsuits brought in a stretcher and lifted the boy onto it.
“Hope so,” one of the paramedics said, handing Caleb the boy’s bloody backpack. “Here. Find out who he is and get in touch with his parents.”
Caleb, uncertain what he was supposed to do, started to open the backpack, but even before he could look inside it one of the school’s security guards took it away from him. “Tell you what, Caleb,” the guard told him. “Why don’t I do that, and you can go call the principal and tell him he better come over here.” He handed Caleb a card with a telephone number on it, and steered him out the door.
Caleb, grateful for the simpler task of just calling the principal, started toward the faculty lounge for the second time, and as he passed the slimy stuff on the stairs, reminded himself to make sure he cleaned it up before he went home.
The graffiti, though, was going to have to wait for another night.
CHAPTER 6
BROTHER FRANCIS NERVOUSLY wended his way through the Boston traffic as Father Sebastian gazed silently out the side window.
“Kip’s parents live in Newton,” Brother Francis offered, more to break the silence than anything else. “It’s a little bit west of the city, but not very far.”
Father Sebastian finally turned toward him and smiled slightly, and Francis could see why the students — at least the girls — liked him so much. There was something in his face that was both gentle and intense, giving anyone who talked to him the feeling that he was not only listening to them intently, but empathized with whatever they were saying. Combined with his olive complexion, deep dark eyes, and thick, coal-black hair, he struck most people as being someone who could as easily have been a doctor as a priest. Or even a movie star, though he seemed so completely unaware of his effect on people that Brother Francis was sure he’d never even thought of such a thing.
“Not a problem,” Father Sebastian said. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this any more than you are. Any idea what the Adamsons are like?”
Brother Francis pulled off the turnpike, found Centre Street, and started south. “I haven’t actually met them, but I took a look at Kip’s file before we left.”
“So did I,” Father Sebastian sighed. “And it didn’t tell me as much about the parents as it did about Kip. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything negative about the family, so it seems to me that our main job is to find out if they’ve heard anything from him without getting them too upset.”
“It’s their son,” Brother Francis said, turning left on Beacon Street. “He’s missing — they’re bound to be upset.” He turned right onto Greenlawn Avenue and started looking for the address. “Here it is,” he said, pulling the car to a stop in front of an utterly nondescript middle-class home, which told him no more about Kip’s family than the file had. He switched off the engine.
“God willing,” Sebastian said, “we’ll find out where Kip is.”
“God willing,” Francis echoed.
Together they got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and Father Sebastian pressed the bell. A middle-aged man, wearing a white polyester shirt and a slightly stained tie, which was loosened at the neck, opened the door. He stared at them blankly for a moment, but as he took in their clerical garb his eyes clouded and his expression soured.
“Mr. Adamson?” Father Sebastian asked, though he was already certain they were talking to Kip’s father.
Gordy Adamson nodded curtly, held the screen door open for the men to enter, and called out to his wife. “Anne! A couple of priests are here! The brat must be in trouble again!”
Anne Adamson emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, her forehead furrowing. “Kip?” she said. “What’s he done? He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“I’m Father Sebastian, and this is Brother Francis,” Father Sebastian began.
“Please sit down,” Mrs. Adamson said, ushering them farther into the living room. As the two men lowered themselves to the edge of the living room sofa, she fluttered nervously next to a wing chair, then settled onto its arm.
Her husband remained standing, leaning against the wall, his arms drawn tight across his chest, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as if he was already certain his son had committed some kind of offense whose repercussions were about to come down on his own head.
“Is Kip all right?” Anne asked again.
“We have no reason to think he’s not,” Father Sebastian said a little too quickly.
“If you didn’t think something was wrong, you wouldn’t be here,” Gordy Adamson announced, not moving even a fraction of an inch from his post by the kitchen door. “So why don’t we just cut to what he’s done, all right? It’s not like we haven’t heard it all before.”
Father Sebastian took a deep breath, and started over again. “Kip appears to have left campus without permission this morning. We were hoping that he’d come here, or that at least you’ve heard from him.”
“Goddammit,” Gordy spat.
“Gordy!” Anne shot her husband a warning glance, then turned back to the two clerics. “We haven’t heard from him.”
“Aren’t you people supposed to keep an eye on him?” Gordy demanded, his anger focusing on Brother Francis. “Isn’t that why we sent him to St. Isaac’s? To make sure things like this didn’t happen?”
“I’ve been working pretty closely with Kip the last eight months,” Father Sebastian replied as Brother Francis shrank back from Gordy Adamson’s anger. “He’s been doing very well — good grades and an attitude that’s been improving. Aside from the usual mischief all our kids get into now and then, he hasn’t been any trouble worth more than a quick confession and a couple of Hail Marys for penance.” His cavalier reference to the confessional had the intended effect; Gordy Adamson’s arms finally dropped to his sides and he moved closer to his wife. “Frankly, it’s a mystery to me why he left,” Father Sebastian finished.
“We sent him to St. Isaac’s because you have a reputation for dealing with kids like that — what do you call it? ‘
“St. Isaac’s isn’t a prison, Mr. Adamson,” Father Sebastian said. “The students aren’t prisoners, and we’re not guards. I’m a psychologist, and I treat all our students — especially the so-called ‘at risk’ group — with a great deal of respect. The school has found that for the most part our students rise to our expectations, and I’m happy to be able to tell you that Kip has done exactly that, right up to this point. Which is why his disappearance is such a mystery.”
“Something must have set him off,” Anne Adamson said, her fingers twisting a corner of her apron. “It’s what always happens. Everything seems fine, then something sets him off. It’s like he just goes crazy.” She seemed about to burst into tears, and Brother Francis reached out and took one of her hands in his own.
“I’m sure nothing like that happened at all,” he began. He was about to say more, but fell silent as Father Sebastian shot him a warning glance.
“Perhaps there
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