Authors: Jennifer Ellis
Dr. Ford turned off the radio.
“
Have you been in to see your mother recently, Mark?
”
Mark stared out the window. He knew that adults expected responses to these kinds of questions, and Mark had been going to see his mother with Mr. Sinclair every third evening at seven o
’
clock sharp. His mouth twitched almost involuntarily with the urge to provide a detailed report of the time and duration of his visits. But he had a strong feeling that he shouldn
’
t tell Dr. Ford this, so he clamped his teeth tightly over his tongue and focused on the passing scenery. They had reached the center of town and were passing the Square of the Mother, the small park that occupied the middle of the downtown business district, where there was a weird statue a woman, probably the Virgin Mary, that creeped Mark out.
“
I
’
m sure you have,
”
Dr. Ford said finally.
“
How is her recovery coming along? I
’
ve been in to see her a couple of times myself, of course, but I was thinking maybe you might have noticed something different than I have. Is she doing well, do you think?
”
This stymied Mark. He hadn
’
t noticed much at all, except that his mother remained unable to speak and had only just started to relearn how to walk. He couldn
’
t quite understand why this could possibly be of interest to Dr. Ford, so he decided not to respond.
“
Has she given you any new drawings lately? She was always quite the artist.
”
Mark now had no idea what Dr. Ford was getting at, and this talk was making him very uncomfortable. He knew that in theory, Dr. Ford and his mother had once been married. But that was before him, and despite the existence of Sandy as evidence, Mark still didn
’
t quite believe it. And besides, his mother couldn
’
t draw at all.
So he shook his head. That was the safest choice.
“
And how are Marian and Peter? Any more political events?
”
Mark shook his head once again. He was about to launch into an explanation regarding the types and uses of contours in order to avoid the continuation of these disturbing questions, but then realized that he didn
’
t want to draw Dr. Ford
’
s attention to the fact that there might be an extra contour line next to the Moon River on the now missing wall map of Coventry, in case Dr. Ford hadn
’
t noticed it.
He decided that talking about the different types of drainage patterns would be more appropriate. He had just covered dendritic and centripetal patterns, and was about to launch into the finer aspects of radial drainage, when Dr. Ford pulled over several houses down from the Sinclairs
’
.
“
It looks like Marian and Peter are home. That
’
s unfortunate. They
’
ll probably want to chitty-chat, and I need to get back to the college and find Sanome. Perhaps you could just run in and collect the maps for me and bring them out. No need for me to disturb them. I know they
’
re busy with the whole resignation thing and all. We wouldn
’
t want to trouble them, would we? Since they
’
re being so kind about putting you up?
”
Mark stared up at the Sinclair residence. Sure enough, the blue van sat in the driveway and the kitchen light was on.
Mark opened the door and eased his way out of the vehicle.
“
Don
’
t forget to bring back my maps. I know you were interested in the larger map. I might be able to find a copy of it for you once I get back to campus.
”
*****
“
Mom says Mark is home. Simon
’
s home too. And we
’
re to stay right here. Dad is coming to get us
—
immediately. She didn
’
t sound very impressed,
”
Abbey said.
“
At least Mark is there. She seemed to believe me about us walking Sanome with Sandy, and Sanome getting hurt. I told her we got on the wrong bus and ended up at the hospital and were just waiting for the next bus and didn
’
t want them to worry. I
’
m not sure if she bought any of that last bit. But anyway, we
’
re not to get on the bus. We
’
re to wait.
”
Caleb glanced at his watch.
“
Are you thinking what I
’
m thinking?
”
Abbey surveyed her broad-shouldered twin. Even with the day they
’
d just had, he still maintained a look of sunny insouciance, which made the grimmer Caleb she had met in the future all the more, well, grim.
“
Probably not.
”
“
We should go and see Mrs. Forrester while we
’
re here. Dad
’
s going to take at least fifteen minutes to get here.
”
“
I don
’
t know, Cale. Mom was pretty emphatic that we should stay put.
”
“
We
are
staying put. We
’
re staying at the hospital.
”
He headed off, forcing Abbey to follow.
“
How is seeing Mrs. Forrester going to help us?
”
“
It probably isn
’
t. We should go by and say hi though. Be neighborly.
”
“
Well we
’
d better hurry; we don
’
t have much time.
”
Mrs. Forrester had been moved to a lower care ward, and Abbey and Caleb wound their way through the maze of equipment and bodies in the hall, trying not to gape at some of the elderly, slack-jawed patients in hospital gowns who had been wheeled out to occupy the corridor.
Mrs. Forrester was staring out the window of her room, but turned as they entered and lifted her lips in a faint half-smile, her hand emerging from beneath the covers to take Abbey
’
s. Another elderly woman with flame-red hair slumbered in the bed next to Mrs. Forrester
’
s.
“
Hey, Mrs. Forrester,
”
said Abbey.
“
How
’
s it going?
”
Mrs. Forrester squeezed Abbey
’
s hand.
“
Mark is doing fine,
”
Abbey said.
“
But you probably already know that. Sandy also looks like she
’
s adapting well to being back at home.
”
Abbey decided not to mention the blood in Dr. Ford
’
s office, the fact that Dr. Ford was missing
—
and probably up to no good
—
Simon
’
s likely trip to juvie, or Sylvain
’
s unfortunate finger injury.
In fact, as she thought of all the things that she couldn
’
t tell Mrs. Forrester, the tears collected in the corners of Abbey
’
s eyes, and she had to sniff really loudly to contain herself.
Caleb cut in, his red hair a flash of color in the drab room.
“
So, we can
’
t stay for very long, Mrs. F. But as you can probably guess, there are a lot of strange things going on. Everyone seems to be looking for something
—
files, maps, trees, parallel universes, fingers
…
Any guidance you could give us?
’
Cause things are getting a little, well
…
exciting.
”
And dangerous, Abbey thought. But hadn
’
t Mrs. Forrester
’
s advice led them straight to Dr. Ford last time? Should the woman really be trusted? Yet with her soft white hair all around her on the pillow, her pink cheeks and kindly smile, how could they not trust her?
Mrs. Forrester squeezed Abbey
’
s hand twice, and there seemed to be greater urgency to her squeezes this time.
“
Do you need your paper and pencil?
”
Abbey asked. Mrs. Forrester nodded, and Caleb grabbed the notebook and pen on the bedside table and passed them to her. Mrs. Forrester took the proffered items and scrunched up her forehead, staring at the blank piece of paper in concentration. Abbey pulled out her phone to check the time. 3:20. Their dad would be arriving shortly, and when he did, they had better be in the lobby.
Mrs. Forrester made some initial lines on the paper, frowned, scratched them out, and turned the page in the notebook. She tried a second time, but again seemed unhappy with the result and proceeded to scribble it out. Caleb wandered over to the window, presumably to watch the parking lot for the arrival of the van. Abbey tried not to get too antsy. She looked over Mrs. Forrester
’
s shoulder at the failed attempts, but all she could see was a bunch of closely spaced short parallel lines.
On Mrs. Forrester
’
s third attempt, Abbey started to get panicky. They had to get downstairs. She considered saying something but didn
’
t want to upset Mrs. Forrester, who seemed to be trying her hardest.
The red-haired woman had woken up by now and was watching the proceedings with interest. Her flamboyant makeup and hot pink bed dress matched the brilliance of her hair.
The fourth piece of paper ended up crumpled up beside the bed, and Mrs. Forrester
’
s face was scrunched with frustration. Even Caleb had started to dart looks over his shoulder as if he was concerned about the time.
“
She has a hard time thinking of the words,
”
the woman in the bed put in.
“
She can think of things related to the words, but not the words. Sometimes it helps to give her something to look at.
”
Abbey grasped for anything she could give Mrs. Forrester to look at, and her hands fell on the card that Ian had given Caleb the night before. She pulled it out of her pocket and thrust it in front of Mrs. Forrester.
“
Does this help you at all?
”
Mrs. Forrester
’
s eyes widened a bit at the card and then swiveled back to her notebook. Abbey wondered if she could read the numbers that Caleb could, or just the one that Abbey was able to read.
With her brows knitted in concentration, Mrs. Forrester moved the pencil across the page with great determination.
Caleb approached.
“
We better go. I saw the van on the highway just before the exit to the hospital.
”
Abbey glanced at Mrs. Forrester. She was still working away determinedly, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth between her teeth as she drew.
“
You go down,
”
Abbey said.
“
Stall. Say I had to use the bathroom. I
’
ll be there in a few minutes.
”
“
Roger!
”
Caleb replied.
“
That
’
s thinking, Ab. We
’
ll make an operative out of you yet.
”
Caleb sauntered out, and Mrs. Forrester worked interminably on her drawing.
“
You look an awful lot like your brother, dear,
”
the woman from the other bed said, interrupting Abbey
’
s efforts to view the drawing from the side.
“
We
’
re twins.
”
Abbey tried to smile nicely at the woman.
“
No, not him. Your older brother.
”
“
My older brother?
”
Abbey repeated, dumbly. Had Simon come to see Mrs. Forrester? Abbey and Simon looked nothing alike.
“
It must be your beautiful red hair,
”
the woman said.
“
Much like my own.
”
She patted her elaborate hairdo and let out a cackle.
“
Except a little more natural of course. He
’
s in here a lot
—
such a kind boy. I
’
m assuming you
’
re Francis
’
s grandchildren?
”