The Leaving(12)

/

/



“What’s going on?” her mother asked.

“Well,” the doctor said, “there’s something inside Scarlett. So I called Detective Chambers.”

He clipped a film to a light board and switched it on.

Scarlett’s insides—rib cage, esophagus, all—lit up in black and gray.

Brightest of all was a thumbnail-sized white oval in her gut.


She thought she might throw up.


Wanted to, even.


“I can’t even . . .,” her mother said slowly.


Scarlett stepped closer to the film.

Mesmerized by that glowing, misshapen moon.

The shine of it hurt her eyes.

Up.

Up.

Up.

Feet floating.


She turned to the detective when she said “What is it?”





Lucas


At a low-rise building in a complex full of low-rise buildings, a smiling, youngish black man with a head covered in tight cornrows that led to ponytail dreads greeted Lucas. He wore a white lab coat over a T-shirt that had a drawing of a shark on it, and Lucas imagined that he’d just been surfing; he seemed balanced and invigorated-looking in a way that made Lucas feel a little bit dead inside.

“Doctor Todd Sashor.” He shook Lucas’s hand with both of his. “Cognitive-science specialist. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Lucas didn’t want to release Sashor’s warm hands. He was the first person who had seemed genuinely happy to see him.

“Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Lucas nodded, let go reluctantly.

They went into the lobby—modern and clean—and up to the third floor, where Sashor pushed open a glass door that opened up on a large lab: glass cabinets on the walls and a few desks and filing cabinets and computers. He introduced two assistants—one male, one female—who then busied themselves around the room.

“I should confess I’ve never had to try to devise an intake process or test of this kind. So, we’re winging it a bit. First we’re going to test you on some basic brain functions and skills,” Sashor said. “We want to try to figure out what kinds of things you’ve learned and know and remember. Then we’ll sit and talk. Cool?”

Lucas nodded.

He took a math test (so easy), and then a more advanced math test (still easy), and then a test on world history (aced it), and one on general science (likewise). He filled in a blank map of the United States and much of the world. Then played checkers (he won) and chess (he lost) with the female assistant.

He was shown a series of pictures and asked to say the first word that came to mind. Same with a bunch of black ink blots.

He gave up on a trivia test with questions about pop culture when it was clear he didn’t know any answers at all.

Likewise, a test about literature.

It bothered him he could not think of a favorite book.

He did not appear to be able to speak any other languages.

He was generally up to speed on current events—“At least as much as the average teenager, is my guess,” Sashor said.

Then he finally sat down face-to-face with Sashor, and the questions began and blurred. Do you remember anything about where you’ve been? Were there windows? What could you see? Do you know if the person who took you was male or female? Were you allowed to go out? How long were you in the van? Have you ever been made to do something against your will?

Lucas almost laughed, shifted in his seat. “I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been taken against my will.”

“Good point,” Sashor said. “Have you ever been made to do something against your will . . . sexually?”

Lucas turned and looked out the window; across the street, a sign read Cheesecake Factory. “I really don’t think so.”

“Have you ever had sex?” Sashor asked with some hesitation, and Lucas wondered whether this line of questioning was maybe going off script but then remembered there really was no script.

He didn’t mind.

He was curious, too.

“I’m not sure.”

“Kissed a girl?”

“No idea.”

“Have you ever kissed Kristen?”

“No idea.”

“Scarlett? Sarah?”

“Don’t know.”

Sashor raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been in love?”

A surprise: “Yes.”

“With whom?”

“No idea.”

Which was a lie?

“Then why’d you say yes?”

Lucas paused for a second, considering. “Just a feeling.”

A feeling about Scarlett.

It felt like protecting her to not name names.

Moving on: “Do you remember anything from the day you were taken?”

“No.”

“Anything suspicious in the days leading up to the event?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you remember things from before the abduction?”


SKIDDING SIRENS BLOOD


“Like kindergarten? Preschool?” Sashor asked.


CUBBIES. RED. SUPERMAN BACKPACK.


Lucas nodded. “I do. My mother died in a car accident. I was there. In the backseat. But I was fine.”