“Of course,” she says. “We’ll sort out whatever this business is with the hospital. We will nail the people responsible.”
But it’s far down on her list, I can tell.
“No. I mean now,” I say. “They’re in danger.”
“Danger?” Rachel asks, skeptical. “Like physical danger?”
“Something like that, I think.” I hope she doesn’t press me for proof. “And I didn’t even warn them. I didn’t tell them anything. If you won’t help me, I can go back there myself.”
“Whoa, Wylie.” She holds up her hands. “I’ll do whatever I can to get the other girls out. But first I’m going to call the police about your dad. I’ll see if I can find the itinerary at your house and we’ll get him tracked down.” She is all calm matter-of-factness now. “Then we’ll deal with this situation at the hospital. I have a friend at the Justice Department. He probably has a contact at the NIH. Always helps to have an inside line. But I am on it, I promise.” And for the first time since we left the hospital, I feel my body loosen the tiniest bit. “And listen, if worse comes to worst, we’ll use your mom’s journalist contacts to apply some pressure. The threat of a headline can be extremely motivating.”
“Thank you,” I say, and in that I hope she also hears: especially because I was always such a bitch to you.
“Of course,” she says. Then her brow wrinkles. “Wait, so how did you get out of the hospital?”
“There was a girl I was with—she and I decided to pull the fire alarm,” I say, making a point of not looking at Jasper. He knows I am deliberately leaving Kendall out as a contributing factor. Rachel would disapprove of Kendall’s role in all this even more than Jasper does. “But then it seems like there was an actual fire. Everyone was kind of unprepared and freaking out. Even the guards. I was able to sneak out, but I’m not sure Kelsey did.”
“Wait, there was a fire at the hospital?” Rachel asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know for sure because I took off. But the alarm went off and I smelled smoke, and firefighters came.”
“That’s an odd coincidence,” Rachel says. And she is suspicious, but I’m not sure of what or whom.
“What do you mean, a coincidence?” Jasper asks.
Rachel doesn’t look at him. Instead, she keeps her eyes on me. “I mean, after the fire at the camp.”
19
JASPER AND I RIDE THE T TOWARD BEACON HILL AND RACHEL’S BROWNSTONE. The few people on the early-evening Sunday train look so ordinary, reading their newspapers, fixated on their phones. Going about their day as if nothing is amiss. I envy them.
Rachel had insisted we go to her house. That she would handle looking into everything. I tried to argue with her, but she did have a point. If there are people from the NIH—or whoever—looking for me, I should stay out of sight.
As soon as I’d agreed, Rachel moved fast getting into details. Extra keys to her house, a card with all her numbers written down, a spare burner phone. She called it that too: “a burner.” Apparently, this was not the first time she’d helped someone disappear. Rachel convinced us to ditch Jasper’s car on a side street and take the train to her house. We were supposed to stay there until she came for us.
“Out of an abundance of caution, I’d keep that off as much as possible.” She had pointed to Jasper’s phone. “They’d first have to connect you with Jasper and then realize you’re together to use it to find you. It’s a long shot, but not impossible. Never ceases to amaze me what the government can accomplish when it wants to. And yet how little it gets done most of the time.” The last thing she did was hand us a thick stack of twenties that she’d pulled out of a drawer. They were stiff and brand-new when she pressed them into my hand. “Definitely don’t use a credit card, Wylie. They’ll find you that way in a heartbeat.”
And just like that, we were officially on the run. Again.
I’m startled back when Jasper puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is our stop,” he says as the train rocks to a halt.
IT TAKES US a while to find Rachel’s house in picturesque Beacon Hill with its fashionable storefronts and pristine brownstones. Her street is only a couple off Newbury, but without GPS, we walk in the wrong direction for a while trying to find it. We’re about to give up and power up Jasper’s phone for its map when I finally spot a bright-white house with a gas lantern out front—exactly as Rachel described. It’s only a few houses down.
“Wait, I think that’s it,” I say, picking up the pace. “Down here.”
I walk quickly ahead until I am in front of number 729—a massive, immaculately restored brownstone nestled behind two huge trees. It’s the closest thing to a mansion that the city of Boston has to offer.
“Wow,” Jasper says when he comes to stand next to me. He sounds afraid to go inside as his eyes roll up and down the facade. “That’s a super-nice house.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, and there’s no denying it, especially compared to her office. I don’t want to be bothered by the disconnect, but it makes me uneasy. “Crazy nice.”
INSIDE, RACHEL’S PLACE is even fancier than outside, restored historical details mixed with chic industrial furniture. The front of the living room has two huge floor-to-ceiling windows, one wall of exposed brick, and dark wood floors, which probably cost more to make look so knotty and worn.
“She lives here by herself?” Jasper asks, looking around at the vast emptiness. He’s still trying to figure out Rachel. So am I.
“Yeah,” I say. “As far as I know.”
“As far as you know? I thought she was your mom’s best friend?”
“She used to be. That’s what I said.” I don’t want to explain Rachel’s weird split with my mom, or her reappearing out of nowhere. If Jasper makes me examine it again up close, I will get suspicious. Too suspicious to let her help. And we need Rachel right now. My dad definitely does.
Jasper is still looking around the inside of her beautiful house. “Did that freak you out at all, the way she was all ready for us with a go bag?”
“She’s a defense attorney.”
“Um, yeah,” Jasper says. “But I don’t think they’re supposed to help their clients get away.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, because Rachel said we could and I feel gross. Also, I desperately want to end this conversation. Jasper’s points are too valid. “Don’t break anything.”
I STAND FOREVER in Rachel’s fancy spa shower, trying to wash away the hospital. Soon my time locked up there starts to feel like some kind of weird, invented memory. Something I might even forget if it weren’t for how responsible I feel for the girls I left behind.
After the shower, I head to Rachel’s bedroom to change into the clothes she insisted I borrow. She said I could take whatever I wanted. Her massive walk-in closet is like its own perfectly arranged boutique, the expensive clothes all well spaced and nicely lit. There are dozens of built-in cubbies, too, each with only one pair of shoes. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it is completely overwhelming. I close the closet and turn to Rachel’s large bureau, hoping there might be something less intimidating in there.
Sure enough there are jeans, but buttery and soft in a way I was not aware denim could be. Still, they are my best option. I pull out a pair and move on, hoping to find a nonthreatening T-shirt of some kind. It isn’t until I dig way to the bottom of the second stack of shirts that I feel something like plain old cotton. As I’m pulling it out my fingers hit on something hard at the bottom of the drawer. I pull the T-shirts back and look. It’s a small square box like the kind an expensive bracelet might come in.
Why would someone who lives alone be hiding a box at the bottom of her drawer? Who would she be hiding it from? I am about to pull it out and investigate, but something stops me. It’s none of my business. Rachel is helping us. I don’t want to jeopardize that by snooping through her things.
WHEN I GET back downstairs, Jasper is sound asleep on the couch. He’s propped up st
iff—feet square on the floor, arms tightly crossed. Only his head is tilted a little off to the side, mouth open slightly. I take a pillow off the bright-white couch opposite him. When I tuck it under his head, he shifts and leans into it in his sleep.
I watch him for a minute. It’s easier to look right at him with his eyes closed. I am glad he is there, more than I am ready to admit. And not because I need him. I don’t need him, not like that. I just want him here, which—it turns out—is actually way more unnerving.
I sit down on the couch across from him and dig out Kelsey’s copy of 1984 stowed in the getaway tote Rachel gave us. There isn’t anything else but to wait for Rachel to call with news. This time I start reading at the beginning.
Gabrielle and Kelsey had the benefit of each other for their haphazard trial and error, but I had the benefit of knowing that what I was doing—what I was feeling—was real, an actual scientifically verifiable thing. Because there are a bunch of places in the book where Kelsey and Gabrielle wonder whether they are making the whole thing up, imagining it. Whether they both might even be losing their minds.
I skip ahead until I get to the word BLOCKING, in all caps and boxed with several deep, dark lines. Followed by four numbered points:
1) BELIEVE THE LIE 2) Imagine a box 3) put your feelings in that box 4) stare at the flat black top, think of the box (only the box). G
But how are you supposed to do that while you’re having a conversation with someone? K
IDK. Practice? G
From how good Kelsey seemed in the hospital at blocking, they must have figured it out eventually.
I try to do it myself now: I close my eyes and imagine pushing all my feelings into a box. I stare at the top of the black box. Try to think of only that. After a minute, I do feel emptied out, though I have no way of knowing if I’ve done it right, not without Kelsey here to try to read me. As much as I want to pretend that I have a leg up because of what I know from my dad, it feels more important that I am alone.
On a diagonal below the bit about the blocking I find the following: Knowledge or cognition without evident rational thought. Intuition—as defined by Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary.
They figured out what I have: HEP is more than just reading people’s emotions. Already practice has made me better. The real question is how much better we can get. What’s the limit of what we can do.
I flip through the rest of the book to the end pages, which are filled with notes. Not all of it is about reading either. There are some exchanges about friends; some girl named Sarah on the volleyball team was causing Kelsey all sorts of problems—she made up a rumor that Kelsey had had sex with somebody who was married and old and, most importantly, totally disgusting.
There’s something about Gabrielle’s new-at-the-time boyfriend—a point of testiness between the two girls. His name is Leo Berkowitz, and he’s a rower on the Harvard crew team, which Kelsey somehow makes seem like an insult the way she hurls it at her sister. A stupid cliché to date a “college guy,” and, “ew, Harvard, gross.”
But I know neediness when I see it. Kelsey is covering up for feeling abandoned. She’s obviously hardened in the time since, because I can’t imagine the Kelsey I met clinging to anybody. Later there is a mention of Kelsey getting high and Gabrielle not approving. Drugs I can imagine. There’s a note from G: I’m worried about you.
The boyfriend is my first tangible lead back to Kelsey: Harvard University, crew team, Leo Berkowitz. If I can find Leo, maybe I can find Gabrielle. I have a fantasy that Kelsey is already with her. If not, surely her sister will want to help me get Kelsey out.
I want to jump off the couch right now and run to Harvard to find Leo. But I should at least wait until I hear from Rachel about my dad, which is where Rachel’s energy should really be focused.
Having reached the end of the book, I flip to the inside of the back cover, where my eyes land on another exchange enclosed by a dark, black box.
Snuck into the test!!! It was way too easy. That researcher guy may be super good at science, but he sucks ass at security. The creepy Dr. Caton guy totally bought my lost Univ. ID story!! K
My heart is pounding as my eyes search the rest of the page. Until finally I find it: AN OUTLIER. And then it says: WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?
I’m still staring at the words, which are written in big block semi-hysterical letters, unlike the others, when the book slips from my hands and smacks against the floor.
Jasper, startles awake, bolting upright. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry, I dropped something,” I say. “It’s okay.”
He sinks back against the couch and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “What’s that?”
“It’s that copy of 1984. It belongs to the girl we went back to look for. I think she was one of the other three original Outliers.”
“Oh?” Jasper narrows his eyes at me. He is confused and so am I. “And this is a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure.” That’s the honest truth. “I guess it depends.”
“On what?”
I think then of how wary my dad was about me meeting the other two original Outliers. I had assumed he’d been worried about us drawing attention to ourselves. And the truth was, I hadn’t really had any interest in meeting them. But it could have been something else. Being an Outlier definitely doesn’t mean that someone is automatically worth trusting. I’ve met Kelsey and she wasn’t exactly sunshine and light.
“It depends on whether or not she’s a good person.”
My burner phone rings then with what I can only hope is Rachel’s number. “Hello?”
“You guys okay at the house?” she asks. She sounds nervous. Whatever she’s learned in the time since we left her office, it’s not good news.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” I say. And suddenly I am swamped by dread. I’ve been worried about my dad, but I’ve controlled it by not letting myself go there all the way. Now, my grip is slipping. “Did you find my dad?”
“Not yet.” She’s measuring her words. “I just left your house, though. For sure there was someone there. Jasper’s right. It’s a mess. The police are investigating, and for now they seem to be buying the idea that you and Gideon are out of town—at your grandmother’s house, I told them. They haven’t asked to talk to you yet and they didn’t mention your call. Between the state of your house and some random woman having your dad’s phone, they at least seem to be taking finding your dad seriously. And I did find his itinerary, buried under a bunch of other stuff.”
“Oh, good.” But I don’t really feel relieved. “Then we can call them and—”
“I already did,” she cuts me off. “Apparently, Senator Russo wasn’t even in Washington yesterday and had no plans to be. They have no record of anyone from their office ever being in touch with your father either,” she says, then hurries to add, “He was on that flight, though, and he did land in DC. And, like you said, fifteen minutes after he was on the ground, he booked a flight back home. But—”
“He never got on that flight back,” I say, finishing her sentence.
“No, he didn’t.”
“So now what?” I ask, and I am gripping the phone so hard my hand is aching.
“Surveillance video and cell phone data are the next places to check. It can take a little while to get all of that, but the wheels are in motion. There’s a chance I’ll have to go to DC to make sure it happens. But then I could also talk to that woman who has your dad’s phone. She may know more than she realizes.” Rachel takes a breath and sounds exhausted when she exhales. “Now, about the girls in the hospital, I—”
“No,” I say, feeling a stab of guilt. I feel bad pulling Rachel off helping the girls, but I can’t have her distracted from my dad. His situation suddenly feels so much more urgent. I just hope that isn’t because I know something—something terrible—I don’t even realize I know. “You need to find my dad.”
And the girls will be my responsibility,
I think but do not say. It’s only fitting, though. I am the one who left them behind.
“But you and Jasper need to stay put in the house, Wylie.” Rachel is already onto me. “I mean it. I don’t want you deciding to try to get the girls out on your own or something. Besides, I’ve already talked to my friend at the Justice Department and his contact at the NIH should be getting back to him by tomorrow morning. It is a Sunday, so we have to be a little patient. We can talk more about it when I get home. I will help the girls and find your dad. I’m on it. I promise. You need to sit tight.”
“Okay, yeah. Yes,” I say quickly. Hesitation will be fatal. “Sure.”
But I stop short of actually promising we will stay put. Because that would be an outright lie.
“I’ll call you if I hear anything else,” Rachel says. “And you can call me here, on my cell, whenever you need.”
“Okay,” I say, wanting to get off the phone before I say anything incriminating.
“This is going to be okay, Wylie. I’m here and I’m going to help you. Everything will be fine.”
WHEN I HANG up, I go in search of a computer to track down Leo Berkowitz. He is a place to start. He is the path to Kelsey’s sister, and she is my way back to Kelsey, one of the other original three Outliers. I feel a weird flutter—part nerves, part excitement—thinking of talking to her again. I wonder if Kelsey knows?
There is Jasper’s phone, which we could use to find Leo. But turning it on is unwise unless we absolutely need to. Those are instructions from Rachel that I will listen to. Luckily, it doesn’t take long anyway to find a slim laptop—elegant and expensive-looking in a leather case—in the corner of Rachel’s kitchen.
“What are you looking up?” Jasper asks as he makes his way over behind me. I should come clean. Leave it up to him to make his own choices. The farther we get into this the higher the stakes are rising. I’m in this until we get the girls out. Jasper doesn’t have to be.
“Kelsey’s sister has or had a boyfriend named Leo Berkowitz,” I say. “He’s on the crew team at Harvard. I want to see if I can find him. Where he lives or a phone number or something.” I look up at Jasper. “To be clear, Rachel told me that she wanted us to stay here, that she would look into what’s happening with my dad and the girls at the hospital. But she can’t do both, and I need her looking for my dad.”