Michael Grant - Lies

“Well, you can stay with us for a while,” Mary said. She gave the girl a hug. “Francis will tell you the rules, okay? He’s that big kid over in the corner.”

Jill turned away reluctantly and took a couple of hesitant steps toward Francis. Then she turned back. “Don’t worry: I won’t sing.”

Mary almost didn’t respond. But something about the way Jill had said it…

“Of course you can sing,” Mary said.

“I better not,” Jill said.

“What’s your favorite song?” Mary asked.

Jill looked bashful. “I don’t know.”

Mary persisted. “I’d like to hear you sing, Jill.”

Jill sang. A Christmas carol.

What child is this who laid to rest

on Mary’s lap is sleeping?

Whom angels greet with anthems sweet

While shepherds watch are keeping…

And the world stopped.

Later-how much later, Mary could not know-Jill sat down on an unoccupied cot, cradled her doll close, and fell to sleep.

The room had fallen silent as she sang. Every child standing stock-still, as if they’d been frozen. But everywhere eyes were alight and mouths formed dreamy half smiles.

When Jill stopped singing, Mary looked at Francis.

“Did you…”

Francis nodded. There were tears in his eyes. “Mary, you need to catch some sleep, hon. Eliza and I will handle breakfast.”

“I’m just going to sit down, rest my feet for a while,” Mary said. But sleep took her, anyway.

Francis woke her what seemed like mere minutes later. “I have to go,” he said.

“Is it time?” Mary shook her head to clear it. Her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus.

“Soon. And I have some good-byes to say first,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “You’re a great person, Mary. And another great person has come to see you.”

Mary stood up, not really following what Francis was saying, just knowing that someone was there to see her.

Orsay. She was so slight and fragile looking Mary instinctively liked her. She seemed like one of the kids, almost, one of the littles.

Francis touched Orsay’s hand and almost seemed to bow his head as if in prayer for a moment. “Prophetess,” he said.

“Mother Mary, the Prophetess,” Francis said, performing a very formal introduction. Mary felt like she was meeting the president or something.

“Orsay, please,” Orsay said in a soft voice. “And this is my friend, Nerezza.”

Nerezza was very different from Orsay. She had green eyes and olive skin and hair that was black and lustrous, gathered in a sort of loose wave on one side. Mary did not recall having seen her before. But Mary was trapped in the day care most of the day; she didn’t socialize much.

Francis grinned a little nervously, it seemed to Mary.

“Happy rebirth day,” Nerezza said.

“Yes. Thank you,” Francis said. He squared his shoulders, nodded to Nerezza, and to Orsay said, “I have some more people to see, and not much time. Prophetess, thank you for showing me the way.” And with that, he turned away quickly and left.

Orsay seemed almost sickened. As though she wanted to spit something out. She nodded tersely to Francis’s back and gritted her teeth.

Nerezza’s face was unreadable. Deliberately, Mary thought, as though she was concealing an emotion she felt strongly.

“Hi…Orsay.” Mary wasn’t quite sure what to call her now. She’d heard kids talking about Orsay being some kind of prophet and she had dismissed it. People said all kinds of crazy things. But clearly she’d had some profound effect on Francis.

Orsay didn’t seem to know what to say next. She looked at Nerezza, who quickly filled the void. “The Prophetess wishes to help you, Mary.”

“Help me?” Mary laughed. “I actually have enough volunteers for once.”

“Not that.” Nerezza waved that off, impatient. “The Prophetess would like to adopt a recently arrived child.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her name is Jill,” Orsay said. “I had a dream about…” And then she trailed off, as though she wasn’t quite sure what the dream was. She frowned.

“Jill?” Mary repeated. “The little girl who was terrorized by Zil? She’s only been here a few hours. How did you even know she was here?”

Nerezza said, “She was forced out of her home because she was a freak. Now her brother is too scared and weak to care for her. But she’s too old for the day care, Mary. You know that.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “She’s definitely too old.”

“The Prophetess would care for her. It’s something she wants to do.”

Mary looked at Orsay for confirmation. And after a few seconds, Orsay realized it was her turn to speak and said, “Yes, I would like to do that.”

Mary didn’t feel quite right about it. She didn’t know what was going on with Orsay, but Nerezza was clearly a strange girl, brooding and even, it seemed to Mary, a little tough.

But the day care didn’t take older kids. It couldn’t. And this was hardly the first time Mary had temporarily sheltered an older kid who then found another place to get her meals.

Francis seemed to have been vouching for Orsay and Nerezza. He must be the one who had told Orsay about Jill while Mary was sleeping.

Mary frowned, wondering why Francis had been in such a hurry to leave. Rebirth day? What was that supposed to mean?

“Okay,” Mary said. “If Jill agrees, she can live with you.”

Orsay smiled. And Nerezza’s eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Justin had wet his bed sometime in the night. Like a baby. He was five years old, not a baby.

But there was no denying he had done it.

He told Mother Mary and she told him it was no big deal, it happened. But it didn’t used to happen to Justin. Not when he had a real mommy. It had been a long time since he had peed the bed.

He cried when he told Mother Mary. He didn’t like telling her because Mother Mary seemed like she might be getting sick or something. She wasn’t as nice as she used to be. He usually told Francis if he had to. Some nights he didn’t pee because he didn’t drink any water for practically all day. But last night he’d forgotten about not drinking water. So he had, but just a little.

He was five now, older than just about all the kids at the day care. But he was still wetting his bed.

Two big girls had come and taken the singing girl away. Justin had no one to take him away.

But he knew where his house was, his real house with his old bed. He never used to wet that bed. But now he had a stupid bed on the floor, just a mattress, and other kids stepped all over it, so that was probably why he was wetting his bed again.

His old house wasn’t very far away. He’d gone there before. Just to look at it and see if it was real. Because sometimes he didn’t believe it was.

He had gone to check and see if Mommy was there. He hadn’t seen her. And when he opened the door and went inside he had gotten too scared and he had come running back to Mother Mary.

But he was older now. He’d only been four and a half then, and now he was five. Now he probably wouldn’t be scared.

And he probably wouldn’t pee in his bed if he was at his real home.

SIX

57 HOURS, 17 MINUTES

DAYLIGHT, BRIGHT ANDclear.

Sam and Astrid walked through the Mall. It didn’t take long. There was the fish stand, already almost bare, with just two small octopi, a dozen or so clams, and a small fish so ugly, no one had yet been brave enough to buy it.

The fish stand was a long folding table dragged from the school cafeteria. Plastic bins were lined up, the gray plastic kind that were used to bus dishes. A droopy cardboard sign held in place by duct tape hung from the front of the table. It read, “Quinn’s Seapreme Seafood.” And below that, in smaller print, “An AlberCo Enterprise.”