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“Unbelievable!” Kyle said.

“That can’t be right,” I said.

“Yeah. See, Montgomery A. Ryder,
sixty-three, from Baltimore, June 19; Montgomery J. Ryder, thirty-four, from Poughkeepsie,
New York, June 23; Montgomery F. Ryder, fifty-six, Sarasota, Florida, June 25.
It goes on to the last one, Montgomery L. Ryder, fifty-one, died on July 27 in
Wichita, Kansas. It has your dad’s date of death as June 28.”

“That is way spooky,” I said. “I mean,
eleven Montgomery Ryders--it’s not like John Smith or Tom Johnson. It’s not a
common name.”

“Let’s see how many died the year before,” Kyle
said, as he navigated the page.

“None,” I said reading the results, “check
the year after.”

“None again,” Kyle said. After checking all
the years since and ten years prior, we found only one other Montgomery Ryder
death nine years before my dad died. Then we checked for any Montgomery Ryders
currently living.

“Oh my God,” Linh said, as we all stared at
the monitor. Not one Montgomery Ryder was alive today.

“It’s too weird,” Kyle added.

“Guys, I think something is really wrong
here.” I felt sick. “Come on, there were only eleven people on the planet with
my dad’s name and they all died when he did? All of them?”

Kyle started pulling up obituaries. Within
half an hour we had printed copies of every one of them. Their ages ranged from
thirty-one to seventy-four. Three died in accidents and eight of natural
causes, either stroke or heart attack. “Nate, how exactly did your father die?
Like where was he and who was he with?” Kyle pressed.

8

Monday, September 15

Every month during the school year I had to
meet with my guidance counselor, Mrs. Little, whose duty was to make sure I was
coping with all my “problems”: the death of my father, being raised by a single
mom, and, especially, having a brother in the nut house. Today was our first
meeting of my junior year. She had also been Dustin’s counselor, so she was
extra worried and cautious about me.

“Good morning, Nathan. How are you doing, pal?”
She must have been my mom’s age but dressed and acted like a generation or two
back. Her brown hair done in a
lovely
1950s style always amused me.

“Fine.”

“Are you really?”

“I’m good, really good.”

“Okay. And how’s your mother?” she asked in
an uncaring tone.

“She’s good, too.”

“Did you enjoy your summer?”

“Yeah, it was nice.”

“Okay. I need to ask you some serious
questions. Just take your time and try to answer truthfully.” She started
typing as she talked, turning the monitor so I couldn’t see it. “You know we’ve
touched on these issues before, but now that you’re the same age, well, at that
age when your brother’s difficulties got out of hand, we need to keep a close
eye.”

I nodded.

“Nathan, do you think you are able to
easily tell the difference between real and unreal experiences?”

Absolutely not, I thought. “Yes ma’am,” I
answered.

She stared for a moment to be sure she
believed me. I didn’t think she was convinced. “Okay, and have you experienced
any instances of seeing things that were not there?”

Just about every day. “No.”

“No hallucinations of any kind?”

“No.”

“Good.” She half-smiled and continued to peck
away on the keyboard. “What about hearing things? Voices? Strange music?”

“Mrs. Little, I’m a teenager, I hear
strange music all the time.”

Another half smile. “Not what I mean,
Nathan. I think you know I meant inside your head, voices or sounds that
weren’t real, that no one else could hear, just you.”

What would happen if I told her about the
voices? Just ask Dustin. “No, ma’am.”

“You look tired. Are you having trouble
sleeping Nathan?”

“No, I stayed up too late over the
weekend.”

“Are you using drugs of any kind?”

“No.”

“Are you sure, Nathan, because your brother
sat in that very chair and said no to the same question less than a week before
he was, well, sent away.”

“I’m not Dustin, Mrs. Little.”

“Of course not, but do you ever think you
are him?”

Oh my God. How did she get this job?
“Aren’t you supposed to be
helping
me?”

“Do you believe I am trying to hurt you? Do
you believe anyone is trying to harm you? Do you think people are out to get
you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Nathan, the fact is that your grades are
not what they should be. You test well, but the last few years you’ve barely
maintained a C average.”

“I’ve always gotten As in history.”

“Yes, well . . . ” She dismissed it as if
history didn’t count for some reason. “You’re having trouble paying attention
in class, and some of your teachers say your thoughts jump around and that you
seem distant. Schizophrenia has been found to occur more frequently in teens
with a family history of the disease. It’s much better if we can catch it
early, not when it’s too late.” She paused to make eye contact. “Like with your
brother.”

“Do you have any more questions for me,
Mrs. Little? I’d like to get back to class.”

“You can go, Nathan, but please try and
remember I’m on your side. You can come to me anytime.”

Faking a “thank you, Mrs. Little” would
have been a good idea, but not slamming the door behind me was as much as I
could muster.

After school I rushed over to Sam’s house,
a geologist who lived across the street, two houses down. I’d taken care of his
lawn since I was eleven or twelve. With everything going on, I completely
forgot to cut his grass over the weekend. It wasn’t like he would fire me or
anything--we were buddies--but I wanted him to know it would be covered.

“Hey, how was school?” he greeted me, while
pulling a laptop case out of his car.

“Sam, sorry I didn’t get your grass done
this weekend.” I pushed my mower up his driveway.

He looked over his yard and shrugged. “I
don’t think they’ll kick me out of the neighborhood. No worries.”

“How was Canada?” He was often going to
exotic locations around the world--the Ukraine, Alaska, South America, North
Africa--always in pursuit of oil.

“Cold. I’m home for a couple of weeks and
then back out again.”

“Where you headed next?”

“North Dakota, I’m afraid,” he sighed, as
if it was the most awful place he could think of. He was away more than he was
home and in addition to paying me to do all his yard work, he gave me an extra
fifty dollars a month to keep an eye on the place, take in mail, water house
plants, feed his fish, that type of thing. But it was cool because Sam had a
massive DVD collection and didn’t mind me borrowing them. We were both huge
classic film fans--Hitchcock, Spaghetti Westerns, Steve McQueen--our taste
identical.

“Is Lisa going to be staying here next
trip, or do you need me?”

“No, she’s coming with me and . . . it’s
Liz.”

“Sorry, I can’t keep them all straight,” I
said, half serious, but we both laughed. Sam was a bit of a womanizer, and
sometimes one of them would stay at his place when he was away.

“Hey, let’s catch up later. I’ve got to get
changed for a date.”

“Liz?”

“Kristy.”

“Hope you keep them all on a spreadsheet.”
I laughed.

“Good idea.” He smiled, as he went inside.

It was always nice when he was back home.
Sam filled in for my dad and older brother in the most relaxed way. And there
were plenty of weeks when I saw him more than my mom. He was in his mid-forties,
about the same age my dad would have been. Other than his short hair, he even
looked a little like him, six-one, six-two, a fit, avid jogger. Dustin used to
say, “Dad probably sent Sam to keep an eye on us.”

9

Tuesday, September 16

Amber Mayes was seventeen and one of the
prettiest girls at Ashland High. She was a senior and I, a mere junior, so she
was out of my league even if she wasn’t the daughter of a movie star. Everyone
seemed to know that her father had bought her a perfectly restored vintage 1969
VW convertible bug on the day he filed for divorce. Because her mother, Ivy
Mayes, was a well-known actress currently on a TV series shooting in Portland,
most of the horrible divorce details were covered on the Internet, cable news,
and worst of all, in the local newspaper. Amber and I had been in classes
together for half our lives but were never really close. I was walking a block
from school when she pulled over in her turquoise bug, “Nate, you need a ride?”

I didn’t mind walking, but Amber was truly
irresistible, even if she was only being nice to me because her older sister had
been dating Dustin at the time of his breakdown. Now we shared the bond of
“broken home, family in crisis.”

“I’d never miss a chance to ride in the
coolest car in town.” I regretted my words as soon as they were out. She didn’t
think the car was cool.

“How long ’til you get your license?” she
asked, as we cruised up the street with the top down.

“In like nine months. My mom is making me
wait until I’m seventeen on account of Dustin freaking out right after he got
his.” I knew it was precisely 264 days, but I didn’t want to sound like a ninth
grader.

“Well, if I still have this guilt-mobile on
your birthday, maybe I’ll sell it to you cheap.”

“Cool.” Just then a moose jumped in front
of the car. “Watch it,” I yelled, as I braced my hand on the dashboard.

Amber stomped the brakes, “What?” she
shouted.

I don’t know what it really was, a sign for
the park, a low-hanging branch, it didn’t matter; I’d clearly seen a moose, but
nothing was there. With just about anyone else I would have made up some excuse,
but for some reason I found it impossible to lie to Amber. “I thought I saw a
moose.”

“A moose in downtown Ashland? Do you see
moose often?” she asked, with not a trace of sarcasm. She resumed driving and
turned off the main road to cut over to my street.

“No, first time it’s been a moose.”

“You mean this happens often?”

“Yeah, well, it’s no big deal. My eyes just
play tricks on me every so often.”

“Have you ever looked up any of the
animals?”

“Why would I?”

“To see what they mean. Animals all have
meanings. Maybe your guides are trying to give you a message,” Amber had a bit
of a reputation, some kids called her “New Age Mayes” because of her
not-so-secret obsession with psychics, reincarnation, and crystals.

“You’ve lost me.”

Amber pulled over and started playing with
her iPhone. “Here you go,” she read, “The moose is predominately a solitary
animal known to have an uncanny ability to camouflage itself, otherwise known
as shapeshifting.” She looked up at me. “It’s the symbol of creativity and
dynamic forms of intuition and illumination. This is the important part. The
moose teaches us the ability to move from the outer to the inner world.”

“Why is that the important part?”

“I don’t know, Nate. Do you?” Amber’s green
eyes filled with excitement. But this was nothing new. They always looked like
she was seeing some spectacular party that only she’d been invited to; it was
part of what made her so dazzling.

“How would I know?”

“Nate, I don’t think about things before I
say them. I just let it flow. You should try it. I feel like you’re always
censoring yourself.”

“Look, I’m dealing with a lot of stuff
right now, and I don’t need a bunch of recycled Hollywood psychological garbage
thrown at me.”

“Wow! There you go. Does that feel better?”

“It would take a lot more than that to make
me feel better.”

“How long have you been seeing animals?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, you said that already. That’s how I
know it
is
a big deal.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why, what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Do you think you’re going to end up like
Dustin?”

“Do you think you’re going to end up like
your mother?”

“I think I liked you better when you
censored yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go to my house.”

“No, I really should get home.”

“Too bad because I’m kidnapping you.” Her
mother wasn’t home; she never was. Her sister was a freshman at the Academy of
Art University in San Francisco, studying acting. Amber mostly lived by herself
with an old housekeeper who had come by three times a week since she was six.