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  “I was doing my homework,” he said. “Then all of a sudden I got this really bad pain in my stomach. It really hurt. And then I started hearing someone in my brain.”

  Quietly, calmly, Ralph pressed for more information. “What—what exactly did your brain tell you?”

  Michael cuddled closer. “I heard a kid’s voice. I think it was that little girl I told you about—the one they made me burn, even though she wasn’t even mere at the clinic? But you know what’s weird? You want to hear what she called me?”

  I don’t think I want to hear this. The barriers are breaking down. He’s making contact . . .

  “What—what did she call you, Michael?”

  “Peter,” the boy replied. “How come? My name is Michael.”

  Ralph squeezed Michael tighter. “Michael, let’s go home,” he said, helping his son to his feet. “There’s something we have to do.”

  “What’s the matter?” Michael sensed his father was terribly afraid of something.

  “We have to get away from here,” Ralph said. “Don’t ask questions, Michael. Just trust me. Trust me, because I am your father and I love you.”

  Michael frowned at him, wondering why he’d stressed the words “I am.” But he didn’t say a word as his father led him home.

  Because it was Emalina’s day off, it was empty. Ralph left Michael in his room and went to retrieve two suitcases from his own bedroom closet. He opened one on his bed and took the other to Michael’s room.

  “Just pack a few clothes and some toys and books,” he ordered. “And don’t forget a sweater.”

  Michael just stood his ground. “Where are we going?”

  “Away,” Ralph said. He looked terribly sad. “Michael, I’ve made a horrible mistake. I realized that after your mother disappeared, but now I’m trying to make up for it.”

  “Make up for what?”

  “Michael, there’s no time for questions,” Ralph snapped. He steadied himself. “Pack your things. I’ll explain everything later.” He turned to leave the room, but Michael stopped him with another question.

  “How’re we going to get past the gates? You know they don’t let anyone out without a permit.”

  A humorless smile cut across Ralph’s face. Here, at last, was something over which he had control.

  “Did you forget I’m the one who designed that fence?” he asked. “I know exactly where to turn off the alarm.”

  Michael nodded and went to his dresser. None of this made sense: not the frightening vision he’d had, not his father’s sudden weird behavior. But he trusted his Dad, and if there was some reason they had to run away, he’d go along. Within five minutes, he had packed up everything.

  He met his father out at the car, his backpack hooked around his shoulders and his small suitcase held tightly. The night was moonless and filled with stars, the autumn air so chilly he could see his breath. Ralph took the suitcase and put it in the trunk with his own. Michael climbed into the passenger seat, and his father got behind the wheel. Ralph handed him a blue folder.

  “Hold this in your backpack,” he said. “It’ll explain a lot of things later, and it’ll just slow us down if I have to drag my briefcase along.”

  He started the engine.

  “First stop, back to my office,” Ralph said. “I’ll go into the cellar and cut a few wires. We’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes, Michael. And then, when I’m sure we’re not being followed, I’ve got a long story to tell you.”

  He drove ever so slowly along the dark road. When he reached the administration building, he left his son in the car and went inside. Two doors and a long flight of metal stairs took him down into the cellar. It was filled with crates of equipment and building materials. Drugs had been locked in a tall cabinet that reached clear up to the twenty-foot ceiling. On the mechanical end of Dr. Adams’ experiment, Ralph had never really known what the drugs were for. But he’d heard rumors, whispers that medication had been given to the children over the years to keep them under control.

  Except that now, some of them were building up a resistance. Michael had shown it ever since his mother vanished, in his visions of his real parents and his insistence that he felt close to someone outside the LaMane Center. Jenny Segal’s invisible prison was starting to crumble away, too. From what Ralph had heard, she was also seeing visions of her real parents. And Tommy Bivers had fought back when forced to make a toy do terrible things. He hadn’t blindly obeyed Dr. Adams and his colleagues.

  Something was happening at LaMane. Ralph knew a rebellion was simmering, one that would certainly reach fruition when the pliable youngsters became defiant adolescents. He didn’t have to be psychic to know there’d be bloodshed. And he had no intention of letting Michael get hurt . . . Letting Peter get hurt.

  He shook his head vigorously, making his way around the shelves. Ralph had learned Michael’s true identity long ago, when, unknown to Adams, he’d been working inside an air-conditioning duct. He’d overheard the doctor talking about a couple in San Francisco, demanding that their daughter be kept under surveillance.

  “It seems she’s trying to contact her twin,” he’d said. “We can’t let that happen. We can’t let Stuart Morse know his son is still alive.”

  “He thinks Peter died in a plane crash,” a female voice had responded.

  “Let him go on thinking that,” Adams said. “No one must ever know that Peter Morse is still alive, living here with the Colpans. The Colpans themselves must never know where the boy came from.”

  Ralph had felt angered and betrayed to hear the words. Michael had been no orphan. He’d been kidnapped.

  Even now, three years later, Ralph’s hands clenched into fists at the thought. He’d told Risa about it, but she’d insisted he was mistaken. To her, Dr. Adams was a god, the one man who had brought a child to her when no one else could. And the thought that Michael wasn’t really hers was too much to even consider. She had spent every possible moment she could with the boy, playing games with him, teaching him to play the piano, drawing sketch after sketch of him.

  Ralph peered through the darkness and saw the gleaming edge of a long metal box. Stepping over a coiled-up hose, he went to it and opened a door. Hundreds of switches were lined up, controlling the outflow of electricity to every section of the center. Without hesitation, Ralph flicked three of them down. He had just cut off power to the electrified fence. It was just a matter of opening the gates and . . .

  From upstairs, he heard Michael’s screams. Ralph broke into a run, taking the stairs two at a time and crashing through the doorway. To his dismay, he saw Dr. Adams and two of his technicians. One burly man had Michael tucked under his arm, oblivious to the way he kicked and fought.

  “What are you doing with my son?”

  Dr. Adams smiled. “What are you doing sneaking around here?”

  “Sneaking around?” Ralph made himself taller, indignant. “Since when is it sneaking around to check the circuit box when the power was suddenly cut off in my house?”

  “You had to bring your son for that?”

  “I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

  Michael went on kicking and crying until Dr. Adams gave the signal to put him down. The young boy gazed over at his father, confused. His eyes asked what to do, but Ralph could only give his head a slight shake in response. They’d been caught, and only lies might save them.

  “Now that I’ve straightened things out,” Ralph said, “may I take my son home? It’s getting late . . .”

  The front door opened, and another man entered. He held up two suitcases. Ralph felt his heart sink.

  “Found them in the trunk,” the man said.

  Dr. Adams’ eyes widened. “You were going to run away. You traitor! You were going to betray us.”

  “No, I—”

  Adams silenced him with an uppercut to his stomach. Ralph doubled over with a gasp. Before he could react, Adams’ other fist came up to his chin? He stumbled back against the wall.
/>   “Traitor! No one leaves the center without permission. No one!”

  Lines of red radiated the ice-blue eyes, and Adams’ skin turned pale. As he ranted, he unwittingly gave Ralph a chance to catch his breath. Michael’s father leapt forward, knocking the doctor to the floor. They rolled across the tiles, punching, kicking. Summoning all his strength, Ralph pushed his hands up against the doctor’s jaw and started bending his head backward. Adams had him by the throat, shaking him.

  “Stop it!”

  No one heard Michael’s cry. This must be what the little girl he had heard in his brain meant. His father really was going to get killed.

  Unless Michael could do something . . .

  He’d made that same little girl burn herself once. He’d made a wooden donkey kick an innocent cat to death. But he’d never controlled an adult. Michael didn’t know if he could do it now, after years of failure. But he had to try. Dr. Adams was going to kill his dad.

  Michael swung around and looked at the three technicians. They were motionless, as if waiting for Dr. Adams to demand their help. The boy found the smallest one and locked his gaze on the man’s face.

  Take out your gun. Take out your gun. Take . . .

  To his surprise, the man began to reach for his holster.

  Shoot Dr. Adams!

  Instantaneously, the man raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The shot missed, richocheting off the stone wall and jetting through a window. The fight broke up as both men looked around in horror. The other technicians came forward, leaping at their partner and wrestling him to the ground. Adams leapt to his feet, but Ralph reached up and grabbed him around the knees.

  “Run, Michael. Get out of here. Get out!”

  Michael stood still for only a split second until his sneakers seemed to take on a life of their own. Then, in the confusion of the fighting grown-ups, he broke into a sprint and disappeared through the front doors. He heard them open up behind him, but he didn’t stop to investigate. He just kept running, not knowing where to go, hardly able to see for his tears.

  Then he saw Jenny Segal’s house. Her bedroom light was still on. Maybe he could hide with her until his dad came. With a quick look over his shoulder to be certain he’d lost his pursuer, he scrambled over the Segals’ fence. He crouched down low and pressed himself into the shadows beneath his friend’s window. Carefully, his heart pounding, he raised himself up.

  Jenny was alone. She was lying on her stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed, as she read a book. Michael tapped on her window.

  Jenny’s eyebrows went up when she saw him. She rolled off the bed and came to open the window, helping him inside: “What are you doing back here?” she whispered. “You sure do like to take chances.”

  Michael swallowed hard. “Jenny, something bad’s happening. My dad and I were trying to run away, but Dr. Adams caught us.”

  Jenny shook her head. “Why were you trying to run away? I thought—I thought we were going to make plans.”

  “I don’t know,” Michael said. “But Dad said we had to go now. He was going to explain when we got out. But Dr. Adams has him now. He was trying to kill him. Jenny, remember when I told you I thought something was really wrong about this place?”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Well, I was right,” Michael said. “I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know we’ve got to get away, tonight. My dad told me to run and hide. Jenny, do you want to come?”

  Jenny hushed him and went to her door. Opening it carefully, she looked down the hall and saw the reflections of TV lights flickering on the wall. She closed the door again.

  “Climb back out the window,” she said. “I’ll get some things together. We can meet by the school. You know, that playhouse?”

  “How’re you gonna get out?”

  “I’ll tell my parents I’m walking the dog,” Jenny said. “Go on, Michael. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  Michael went to the window, but stopped and turned.

  “Tommy oughta be with us,” he said. “If something bad is gonna happen . . .”

  “Okay,” Jenny said. “See if you can get him. We’ll all meet at the playhouse.”

  Michael climbed out the window. The alley behind the Segal house was deserted and dark. Whoever had been chasing him had either given up or gone in another direction. But Michael kept to the shadows as he hurried to Tommy’s house. He was not as lucky there as he’d been at Jenny’s. Tommy’s room was dark, as was the entire house. Michael was about to give up and leave his friend behind when he heard faint voices. Carefully, he walked around to the other side of the house. Tommy and his parents were sitting at a picnic table, illuminated by two glowing citronella candles. Tommy’s father had set up a telescope, and they were all star-gazing at the autumn sky.

  Michael had to get to his friend. He’d been successful in controlling one adult tonight, if only for a few seconds. Not knowing if he could do it again, he tried. He glared at the back of Mr. Bivers’ head, commanding him to get up and go into the house.

  Instantly, Tommy’s father rose. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “I’ll bring out some pop.”

  Without Michael’s influence, Tommy’s mother also got up.

  “Hot chocolate would be better,” she said. “I’ll make us some.”

  When the adults were in the house, Michael rushed over to his friend.

  “Huh?” Tommy jumped.

  “Dr. Adams tried to kill my dad.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Something bad is gonna happen and my dad knew it,” Michael said. “He told me to run and hide. You know those feelings you’ve been having. The ones we’ve all been having. We’re right, Tommy. The grown-ups are going to hurt us; and we have to run away.”

  Tommy looked over at the back door. “How come you’re going now?”

  “I saw something in my head,” Michael said. “And then it really happened. At least, I think it really happened, and—”

  “Shut up,” Tommy cried. “I believe you. What—what’re we going to do?”

  “We’re going to meet Jenny at the playhouse,” Michael said. “Can you come?”

  “Sure,” Tommy said, excited to be on an adventure.

  With no further discussion, the boys ran out of the yard. By the time Tommy’s parents returned, he was nowhere in sight.

  The three children met as planned, hiding in the playhouse to discuss what had happened.

  “I always knew Dr. Adams was a creep,” Tommy said.

  “I thought he was nice at first,” Jenny agreed, “but lately he’s been scaring me. Ever since I saw that lady with the brown hair in my mind.”

  “Some Outsiders are trying to make contact with us,” Michael said. “I don’t know who they are, and I don’t know how they found us. But I do know we gotta get out of this place.‘’

  Tommy bent his feet up and fiddled with the laces of his sneakers.

  “I know how they found me,” he said quietly. “I called for help. In my head, I mean. Someone must have heard.”

  “Maybe it’s a trick,” Jenny said. “You know what we learned about the Outsiders, how they hate us. Maybe it’s a trap.”

  Tommy gritted his teeth. “And maybe that stuff about Outsiders is a big lie. I say we find out.”

  “We sure can’t stay here,” Michael agreed.

  “How’re we going to get out?”

  Michael stood up. “Gosh, I forgot something. My dad was trying to turn off the electric fence. Maybe it’s still off. If we hurry, we can get out.”

  “Someone’ll be at the gate for sure,” Jenny said.

  Michael smiled at her. “Can’t you climb?”

  Jenny’s head bobbed up and down. Picking up the satchel she’d filled with food, she swung it over her shoulder and followed the boys out of the playhouse. The school sat across the street from a long row of barns. Part of die fence ran behind them, hidden from view. Because all the lights along the fence were still out, Michael knew the guard i
n the watch tower couldn’t see them.

  “Power’s still off,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

  With one last look to be sure the way was clear, the children scrambled over the fence. It was twelve feet high and the bars were slippery, but they somehow made it over. Jenny’s food bag crashed to the ground, cans rattling loudly. All three froze to hear a grown-up’s voice.

  “Over here! I heard something!”

  “Crud,” Tommy whispered.

  “Let’s get going,” Michael urged.

  They helped Jenny gather up the food. Then, hidden by the darkness of the moonless night, the children started to run.

  31

  THREE SMALL CHILDREN WALKED ALONG A DESERT road toward distant mountains that reached far, far away from Kate Emerson. Two little boys and a girl: Joey, Chris, and Laura.

  “Please come back. I’m your mother. Come home with me.”

  Only little Joey turned around, waving sadly, pouting. Then his mouth opened soundlessly. A puff of blue-black smoke poured from the small opening. Joey’s skin went stark white, patches of black dotting him like a dalmation. Sparks flew from his fingers, and his hair stood on end. Then he collapsed, pulling Chris and Laura down with him. Kate started running, running as fast as she could, never reaching her children . . .

  Kate woke from the nightmare with a jolt. She looked frantically around herself, taking in the flowered curtain hanging from a track in the ceiling and the three chrome rails that shimmered in the soft light. She was still in the hospital. What was she doing here when Joey and Chris needed her. She tried to stand up, but gentle, strong hands pressed her back down again. Kate blinked a few times to squeeze the tears from her eyes and focused her gaze on her husband. Danny was standing at the side of the bed, his hands pressed against her shoulders.

  “Easy, Kate . . .”

  “Oh, Danny,” Kate whispered. “Something—something’s happened to the boys. And Laura. I saw Laura and she . . .” She frowned. “Chris and Joey? What’s happened to them?”

  “Shh,” Danny said softly. “I’ll explain everything in time. But you have to rest now, Kate. You aren’t strong enough.”