Nightmare (15 page)

Dr. Weil smiled at Emily. “Your idea has merit. I’m looking forward to reading the interviews when you’ve finished.” He glanced around the room. “Anyone else?”

Taylor waved her hand, but so did some of the others. As they talked about what they would write, Emily sat back, relieved that her second plan had worked. She could narrow down the list of names, which would mean less interviewing and less writing. Mostly, it would mean that there would be fewer people to think about and watch out for.

Before she went to lunch she stepped into the next classroom down the hall. She didn’t have Mr. Anderson for math, but he smiled at her explanation of her project. “You can write about my wife, but not me,” he said, his breath reeking of stale cigarette smoke and peppermint. “Lorene was hired by Dr. Isaacson before the center opened. It’s why she moved to Dallas from Indiana.”

“Didn’t you work there, too?”

“No. We didn’t even meet until three years later. I was working with the Dallas public schools.”

“But you’re working at the center this summer?”

“I thought it would be a good way to spend the summer together.” He chuckled. “But Lorene’s been so busy
setting things up and getting through the first two days that I’ve hardly seen her.”

As Emily turned to leave his classroom, Mr. Anderson said, “Lorene’s really proud of what the staff at the center have accomplished. She’s sure their work will be recognized and praised by the top educators throughout the world. If you can find her, I know she’ll be glad to give you more than enough information for your project.”

“Thanks,” Emily said. She paused as an idea popped into her mind. “Do you know which of the staff members here this summer were with the center when it opened or even a year or two after, like maybe 1995 or before?” She held her breath. Had she been too obvious?

Mr. Anderson leaned back in his chair and thought a moment. “Not many were with the center then,” he said. “Let’s see … besides Lorene, there’s Gail Comstock, Dr. Lydia Hampton, Dr. Joseph Bonaduce—he teaches government and civics—and Dorothy Hill. She’s chemistry and physics. I think that’s it.”

Emily wrote down the names, thanked him again, and left.

“I’m starving,” Taylor wailed as Emily walked into the hall. “Can’t we go to lunch now?”

“Go without me,” Emily answered. She noticed that Taylor was alone. “Where are Haley and Maxwell?”

“Haley’s eating lunch with Tammy, and Maxwell said he’d go ahead and save us seats.”

“You go in and tell Maxwell that I’ll be along as soon as I talk to just a few more people.”

“I thought you wanted someone to stay with you,” Taylor said. “I’ll wait outside their rooms. I’m hungry, but I’m not
that
hungry.”

Emily smiled. “Go ahead. I’ll be all right. I’m tired of hiding and trying to be invisible. I’ve been hiding for too long,” she added.

“I don’t get it,” Taylor said. “You’re not hiding, and you’re not invisible. You’re right here in the hall.”

“It’s a bad joke,” Emily said. “Go on. Get lunch. I’ll join you soon.” She turned and walked down the hall, checking the names on the doors.

She reached Mrs. Hill’s room just as Mrs. Hill and Dr. Bonaduce walked into the hall. Emily told them about her interview plan and asked them a few basic questions. They were polite and kind and hardly seemed like possible suspects.

But there was one more person to interview: the camp’s counselor and psychiatrist, Dr. Hampton.

As Emily passed Dr. Isaacson’s office, she stopped and touched the doorknob, and before she realized what had happened, the unlocked door had opened. Even though she knew she shouldn’t be there, Emily stepped inside, closing the door silently behind her.

She laid her notebook on a small table near the door, then forced herself to move forward to look at Dr. Foxworth’s portrait again. From a face frozen in time, glassy, vacant eyes stared back at her. A chill ran through Emily’s shoulders and neck, but she found she could now face the picture without flinching. The memories this time were not from a nightmare. They were real. They were complete. Someone had argued with Dr. Foxworth. Someone had pushed her over the marble steps, and she had fallen to the tiles and died. Someone had murdered her.

Emily suddenly realized that she had walked over to Dr. Isaacson’s desk, where an enlarged photograph lay in the center of some folders. Out of curiosity, Emily picked it up.

From a background of leaves and a ragged sprig of honeysuckle blossoms, Emily’s own slightly younger face stared back. Her hair was a cloudy white aura framing wide, terrified eyes.

Shivering with shock and cold, Emily dropped the photo on the desktop and backed away. Now she knew that the flash of light that had blinded her had been a camera flash. The person who had killed Dr. Foxworth had heard Emily’s cry of shock, had discovered her hiding place, and had taken her picture. So this was how she’d been recognized at Camp Excel.

She began to wonder why the photograph was lying on Dr. Isaacson’s desk. He was the person in whom she had thought of confiding. Had he taken the photo? Was he the murderer?

Emily froze as she heard his voice in the hall. She couldn’t be caught here—not with this picture in plain sight. He’d know she’d seen it.

There was a side door in the office, and she ran to it, her footsteps silent on the thick rug. As she slipped into the private bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her, she heard Dr. Isaacson enter his office, obviously upset as he talked to whoever was with him.

Inch by inch Emily quietly slid the window open. She could easily climb to the sill and drop the five or six feet to the ground on the other side. But Dr. Isaacson’s voice carried, and Emily stopped, startled by what she heard.

“Alice telephoned to tell me that you had requested the Carter file.”

The other person in the office answered but was speaking softly, so Emily couldn’t make out what was being said.

“No, she didn’t deliberately open the file.” As Dr. Isaacson spoke again, he sounded farther away, closer to
his desk. “She accidentally dropped it. That’s when she saw this photograph. She was as disturbed as I was at this photograph of a terrified child, so she copied the photo and sent it to me with her explanation. She knew that photo didn’t belong in the Carter file, but she sent the entire file to you, as you had requested.”

Again Emily strained to hear the other person, but she couldn’t. Who was with Dr. Isaacson? Who had taken and kept her photograph?

“Yes, we can agree that it’s Emily Wood,” Dr. Isaacson said. “It couldn’t be anyone else. But she had never been brought to the center by her parents. I would remember, even without referring to the records. However, since you state that you were not aware of the photograph’s existence, and neither was I …”

There was more conversation, and Dr. Isaacson lowered his voice, no longer as disturbed as when he began, so Emily was unable to hear more than a snatch or two after he said, “Yes, I can see how the special problems with the Carter child could help you with the student you mentioned—both of them procrastinators.”

Suddenly his voice was much closer, just outside the bathroom door. “Thank you for your time. The question is how that photograph got into the Carter file, but it’s not something we can delve into at this time. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention the existence of this photo to any of the other staff members. Sooner or later the explanation will turn up, and in the meantime we have important work to do here this summer.”

Panicked, expecting the door to open at any second, Emily climbed onto the sink, boosted herself to the windowsill, and swung out, dropping and landing on her feet. She dove through the hibiscus bushes that hedged that
side of the building and ran, not stopping until she reached the dining room.

Who had been in the office with Dr. Isaacson? Who had taken her photograph? It had to have been the person who had warned her eight years ago that she’d be found.

Emily accepted the loaded cafeteria tray that was handed to her, plopped it on the nearest table in the nearly empty room, and began to eat automatically, not having the slightest idea what she’d been served. She shouldn’t have run. Or maybe she should have gone back to the hall to see who had left Dr. Isaacson’s office. What was she doing here eating lunch?

What had she done with her notebook? For a moment she was so frightened she felt dizzy.

Emily took two deep breaths, trying to steady herself so that she could think clearly. She pictured herself leaving Mrs. Comstock’s room, notebook in hand. She had spoken with Dr. Bonaduce and Mrs. Hill, and her notebook? Yes, she’d been holding it at the time.

Then she had walked down the hall, had stopped at Dr. Isaacson’s office and gone inside. The table … the little table by the door … she distinctly remembered putting her notebook on the table.

Had it been noticed? Had someone found it?

Shoving back her tray, Emily rushed through the dining room and lobby and down the hall.

This time she knocked at Dr. Isaacson’s door and waited, terrified at the idea of coming face to face with him. But no one answered.

Again Emily knocked, a little more loudly, and when no one came she tried the knob. It turned easily, and the door opened.

Emily took just one step inside and stopped. Her
heart beat faster, and she suddenly felt sick. Her notebook was gone.

“Is this yours?” A low voice spoke behind her.

Emily whirled, choking back a scream.

Dr. Hampton stood before her, Emily’s notebook in her outstretched hand. “Your name is on the cover,” she said.

Too frightened to answer, Emily simply nodded, accepted the notebook, and clutched it to her chest.

Dr. Hampton’s voice was calm and easy, but her gaze drilled into Emily. “You apparently left it on the table during your last appointment with Dr. Isaacson,” she said.

“H-he didn’t give it to you?” Emily managed to ask.

“No. I stopped by his office a little early, thinking he might be back from the staff meeting. I saw the notebook and thought I’d take it to the lunchroom to give to you.”

“I didn’t see you in the lunchroom,” Emily whispered.

Dr. Hampton smiled. “You saved me the trip. I had just stepped into my office to get my handbag when I heard someone knock at Dr. Isaacson’s door. I glanced out to see who it was, and luckily it was you.”

“Well, uh … thank you,” Emily said, glad that her voice was returning. She wondered if Dr. Hampton had looked through her notebook and seen the notes she’d written about her project, which included Dr. Hampton’s name. It might be best to tell her as much as possible right now.

“For my English project I’m writing interviews with the staff members here at Camp Excel who were at the educational center when it opened in 1993,” Emily said. “You and Dr. Anderson and Dr. Bonaduce and Mrs. Comstock and Mrs. Hill.”

“And Dr. Isaacson, of course.”

“Oh, yes. Dr. Isaacson.”

Dr. Hampton’s gaze seemed to deepen. “It’s a fine project, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave me out,” she said. “I didn’t join the educational center until it had been well established.”

“But—” Emily stopped short. Mr. Anderson had named Dr. Hampton among those who had been with the center from the start. Had he been mistaken? Or was she lying?

“Were you there eight years ago?” Emily asked.

“Closer to seven. And you?”

“Ei—” Emily quickly caught herself and said, “My parents never took me to the center. We live in Houston, not Dallas.” As she had done so many times, she hunched her shoulders and ducked her head, letting her hair fall in front of her face.
Is she the one?
Emily wondered.

“There you are, Emily. We’ve been waiting and
waiting
for you.”

Emily straightened, pushed back her hair, and saw Taylor standing next to Dr. Hampton. Maxwell was right behind her.

“I forgot my notebook,” Emily said. As she began to edge around Dr. Hampton, she said, “Thanks again for getting my notebook back to me. I’ll see you at my session tomorrow morning.”

“Sooner than that,” Dr. Hampton said.

Maxwell added, “Dr. Hampton’s going with us to tour the cave. I saw her name on the sign-up sheet.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dr. Hampton answered, her eyes still on Emily.

“Um … great,” Emily said.

She tried not to flinch as Dr. Hampton gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and returned to her office.

“Hurry up, Emily,” Taylor said. “Put on your swimsuit. Coach Jinks has got kayaks lined up on the beach. It looks like fun.”

Coach Jinks, the hair on his muscular legs bleached to a golden sheen over his tan, pranced up and down the short beach in front of the kayaks, beaming at the campers who were clustered around the narrow boats. “Today we’re going to try out the kayaks,” he said. “If they don’t sink we’ll use them to hold kayak races.”

Nobody laughed, but he didn’t seem to care. “You can all swim, right?”

No one disagreed, so he went on. “Wear life vests anyway. The current out there can be strong, and I feel lazy this afternoon. I don’t want to play lifeguard.”

He counted off a dozen of the swimmers standing closest to the water, who included Emily and Taylor, and handed them life vests. “Pick your kayaks, push them out into the water till they float, and climb in. Watch what you do with the paddles so you don’t accidentally clobber your neighbors. And don’t go too far. Be back in twenty minutes so the next group can have a turn.”

Emily climbed into a red kayak with a bright yellow number thirteen on the nose. Unlucky number? Or lucky? As she glided out into the deeper water, the little boat sailed smoothly. The hot afternoon sun gilded the water that rippled in a fan along both sides of the kayak, and the steady rhythm of the double paddle as it dipped and rose was hypnotizing. Emily relaxed, loving the motion, loving the water.

She glanced back at the shore, surprised that the people on the beach had shrunk to tiny stick figures. “Don’t go too far,” the coach had said, so Emily swung her
kayak in an arc to the right. She’d head upstream for a while and circle back.

The beach was soon out of sight, and she looked for familiar landmarks. There was the little dock, a rowboat still tied to one of the posts. There was only a small break in the thick forest and shrubbery that crowded to the water’s edge. From her spot out on the water Emily couldn’t detect the path she had taken.