Chapter 13: Papers

Joan hid Kit in the one place the Rask family had no key to.

It was the Tern bay at the Institute, behind the rescue vehicle's cradle, in a crew cot she kept for night shifts.

My badge was dead, so she walked us in through the loading dock herself.

"Eight forty," she said, checking her watch. "Your father said nine."

"He'll come early."

"Then we'll be here early too."

Kit sat on the cot with his bare feet in a pair of Institute socks and a mug of Joan's terrible coffee.

He had not stopped shaking since the lobby.

"He had his hand on my neck," he said.

"I know."

"I was twelve the last time. I thought I'd forgotten what it felt like."

"You hadn't."

"No." He looked at his hand, the clean one, the one with no bandage. "I haven't."

At 8:51 the dock bell rang.

Joan went out to the loading apron, and I stood in the dark behind a stack of pallets where I could see her.

Two orderlies in blue scrubs stood at the gate.

A van with a clinic logo idled behind them. A third man stood beside the van in a gray suit, holding a clipboard.

Quist's folder was under the gray-suit man's arm.

"Ma'am," one orderly said. "We're here for a patient, Kit Rask. We have an emergency evaluation order."

"This is a federal research facility," Joan said.

"The order is signed."

"I'm sure it is. This is a restricted dock. Do you have a visitor clearance from my office?"

"We didn't know we needed one."

"You do."

"Ma'am, we're on a clock."

"Then you're welcome to stand in the rain and be on it."

Quist stepped forward, smiling.

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