The Vault of Dreamers (35 page)

“Thanks,” I said. She had just proven that everything I’d said on camera was a lie,
but whatever.

“I wish I could believe you,” Janice said. “It’s an amazing idea.”

“That’s okay,” I said, but my voice came out flat.

She came to sit next to me on the bed while Paige lingered near the door.

The dean had to have some way to seal off the bottom of the pit. A false floor of
some kind. But then, that didn’t explain why had he bothered having the false floor
open at all. He had no reason to ever expose the opening.

“Rosie, are you all right?” Janice asked.

“Of course.”

“About Linus and everything? You were pretty tight with him.”

“I thought I was, anyway,” I said.

“He’s a moron,” Paige said.

I glanced over at her. “I guess.”

“I mean it,” Paige said. She arched her back against the wall. “You have an incredible
imagination, and when you figure out how to do everything you want, it’s going to
be unbelievable.”

“So you think I should stay here?” I asked.

“Obviously,” Paige said. “You’d be an idiot not to.”

Janice nodded. “I think so, too. We’ve all been feeling horrible since Burnham fell,
and you were right there, part of it. It’s a crazy time, but it’s going to get better.”

Another tap came on the door, and Dr. Ash leaned in. “We have a call on the line from
Rosie’s mother. Can you ladies excuse us?”

I got another hug from Janice before she rose from the bed.

“Thanks, guys,” I said.

“We’ve got your back,” Janice said. “Anything you need.”

“Thanks.”

Dr. Ash let them pass before her out the door. Then she handed me a phone and slipped
out again herself, taking my dinner tray.

“Ma?” I said.

“Good gracious, Rosie,” Ma said. “What a day it’s been. What was that outburst with
Linus all about?”

Cafeteria noises sounded in the background as she spoke, and I remembered Friday was
her night to work a shift at the prison.

“Ma, you know they can hear me.”

“So what? I’m asking for the truth. I need you to be honest, with me and the cameras.”

I glanced absently at a camera button on the picture frame opposite me. The picture
itself showed the letters of the alphabet formed by different animals: A for Alligator,
D for Dolphin.

“I’m not crazy,” I said.

“You’re something, anyway,” she said. “Hold on a second.” A mechanical, blending noise
came on, and then grew dimmer, as if Ma were moving around a corner. Then the noise
abruptly stopped, and Ma’s voice was softer. “Larry thinks we should bring you home.
He thinks you really have a screw loose up there and you’d be better off back home
with the family.”

“Seriously? Larry wants me back?”

“He’s worried about you,” Ma said. “He says that artsy place is ruining you. He thinks
you’d be better off here, working at McLellens’ and making your own little films on
the side. He says McLellen would pay you more because you’re famous now. You’d bring
in customers.”

That was about the last thing I expected from Larry, and yet it made total sense,
too. I pulled my legs up on the bed and crossed them, pretzel-style.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Do you agree with him?”

When she answered, her voice was more thoughtful. “What I don’t understand is why
you were out of bed last night in the first place,” Ma said. “I can’t believe you
risked your entire education to see a boy.”

“I didn’t.”

“No. I can see that,” she said. “And that’s where I’m stumped. Because either you
really have seen all these things you say about people underground, or you’re seriously
disturbed.”

“Then you believe me?” I said and my heart twisted with hope.

The phone gave a bumping noise, as if she were switching ears. “I don’t know which
is more likely, honestly,” Ma said. “I don’t know which would be worse.”

I turned to gaze out the window at the rain.

“You’ve been talking to Dean Berg, haven’t you?” I asked.

“Yes. Several times today. He cares about you, clearly. I have no doubt about that.”

“There’s no way I’m going to have him as my guardian,” I said.

“We need to think about this carefully,” Ma said. “He’s not going to let you stay
unless you sign a contract.”

I had agreed to stay earlier, in the trustees’ meeting, but that was before I told
everyone what I knew. I couldn’t stay at the school now that the dean knew how much
I had discovered.

“Then I’m coming home,” I said. “I guess that’s decided. Simple.”

A soft tapping came from her end. “I’ve been put in a terrible position,” Ma said.
“I’m going to look like a monster if I agree to this contract.”

I was instantly wary again. “You just said we’re not.”

“Here’s the problem, Rosie,” she said. “I’ve always believed you. I know you’re a
truthful person. But supposing you’re wrong, just in case you’ve only imagined all
of this business and convinced yourself it’s true, then you need far more psychiatric
care than we can ever provide for you here. I don’t want you coming home and going
crazy and committing suicide like those other kids.”

“So you’re saying you want me to stay?” I asked. “For my own health? That doesn’t
even make sense.”

“You’re a genius, sweetheart,” Ma said. “Forge can provide you with more structure
and stimulation than anywhere else. That’s just what you need most.”

“I’m not a genius. Did Dean Berg tell you this?”

She laughed strangely. “He’s seen all kinds of kids like you, kids with incredible
imaginations. And he can get you the care you need. He can arrange for a therapist
to come right to the school for you. A private therapist, just for you.”

“Ma. I’m not staying.”

“And this contract, it’s actually a good thing,” Ma said. “The high stakes will help
your motivation. It will give you a chance to show you can follow the rules.”

I clenched the phone hard. “I’m not signing it.”

“And if, heaven forbid, you can’t follow the rules, Dean Berg will get you into the
best psychiatric facility in the country,” Ma said. “He knows people. He has connections,
and he’ll spare no expense. He promised me.”

She had already decided. I could hear it. She was turning me over to him.

“I don’t want to,” I said finally, my voice low. “Dean Berg frightens me.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she begged.

“Can I talk to Larry? Let me talk to Larry before you decide.”

“I’ve already told your stepfather.”

“Ma, what are you saying? How can you do this?” I demanded. “You’re always so weak!
Why are you standing up now, for the wrong thing?”

A gulping noise came from the other end of the line. “I’m scared for you, Rosie,”
she said. “I’m thinking of the years ahead. Don’t you see? My heart’s breaking here.”

I gripped the phone, while inside me, everything stilled.

Ma thinks we’re crazy
, my voice said.

My own mother. Ma wanted only what was best for us. For a long moment, I couldn’t
think at all. I couldn’t argue. I couldn’t breathe.

“Okay, Ma,” I said. “Don’t cry. I’ll be all right.”

“Promise me?” she said, her voice tight. “Please, Rosie, will you please be okay?”

“Yes.”

32

THE CONTRACT

THE DEAN’S OFFICE
felt smaller without the trustees, more hushed and private. Dean Berg took my umbrella
for me when I arrived, but I kept my sweater. Fake logs had been lit in the fireplace
to counter the chill of the drizzle, but when I reached for warmth, I felt none.

“How are you feeling?” Dean Berg asked me. His pale eyebrows lifted. “Dr. Ash tells
me you’re doing well.”

“I am, thank you,” I said. “And you?”

“It’s been a busy day,” he said. “Something warm to drink? Tea? Cocoa?”

“No, thank you.”

A light aimed at the mantel portrait now cast a glare that obscured the stern woman.
I saw from her label she was Lavinia K. Jacobs, the show’s founder.

The dean leaned back on the front of his desk, where he’d been earlier that day, and
his tweed blazer fell open. “That was quite a conversation you had with Linus this
afternoon,” he said.

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I understand he left for St. Louis.”

I nodded. That was what Linus had planned to do.

The dean sighed heavily. “I wish you had told us about your nightmares,” he said.
“It’s unusual for a student to have nightmares at all, and exceedingly rare for one
to remember them on waking, but clearly that’s what’s been happening to you. If I’d
known, I would have had Dr. Ash adjust your sleep medication.”

“She said the same thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, then?” he said.

I began a circuit of the room. “I didn’t know they were nightmares, did I? They seemed
real to me.”

The dean considered me, pursing his lips. “What do you think now? Did you really climb
down the clock tower and find a whole world down there? If you believe that, I seriously
question why you would want to stay here.”

We were negotiating. We were deciding how crazy I was, but no matter what I said,
he had methods to conceal his vault of dreamers. Of that, I was certain.

“You don’t need to worry,” I said.

“No, I am worried,” he said. “I want you to be perfectly honest with me, because if
you’re truly hallucinating, we need to get you professional help. We’ll fully cover
the cost. It’s no fault of your own. You have no reason to be ashamed.”

Shame, is it?
said my inner voice.

“I’m not hallucinating,” I said.

Not at all
, she said.

Don’t distract me.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he said. “And you’re not having any headaches or dizziness
or déjà vus? Nothing unusual at all?”

“No.”

Little knickknacks and sculptures were posed among the books on the shelves, but no
family photos. On one narrow shelf, beneath a white camera button, lay a miniature
set of watercolor paints and a spiral-bound pad of art paper. I reached to open the
pad.

“You can leave that,” the dean said.

I glanced over at him. “Are these yours?”

“Painting helps me unwind,” he said. “Here I am, surrounded by all you artists. I’d
prefer you didn’t look at them.”

I left the pad untouched. “Do you have a family?” I asked, wondering if he’d tell
the truth.

The dean reached for a few papers behind him as he answered. “I have twins. They’re
eighteen. They live in New York with their mother, so I don’t see them nearly as much
as I’d like.”

“Did they ever want to come to the Forge School?” I asked.

“No. It’s not their thing.”

“What are their names?” I asked.

Dean Berg stroked a hand down his blue tie. “Why the interest?”

“I’m just thinking, if I’m signing a contract where you could be named my legal guardian,
I should know something about you. After all, you know practically everything about
me.”

“Brian and Emma,” he said. “But I don’t expect to become your legal guardian. That’s
not how this is supposed to work.”

On the next shelf was a small sculpture of a man crawling out from under a shroud,
and I traced the silky marble. His label read “Morpheus.” The dean liked nice things,
I decided.

“Why’d you get divorced?” I asked.

“My wife didn’t like me.” The dean straightened from his desk and stood to face me
as I moved nearer to the windows. “Anything else?” he asked mildly.

“No.”

When I came to the edge of his desk, I reached for a spherical paperweight made of
glass. It was heavy and etched with the continents of the globe. Little spiky Iceland
floated in a smooth sea of blue glass, and someone had placed a tiny gilt star upon
it. I wondered if it was a gift from Huma.

“Suppose we get down to business.” He passed me a sheet of paper. “Your parents have
approved these conditions and they have a copy. Please read them carefully.”

I set down the paperweight, skimmed my hand over the paper, and sank into his desk
chair. I expected him to tell me to get out of his seat, but when he didn’t, I began
to read.

1. Rosie Sinclair will conform to all Forge School rules, including proper ingestion
of her nightly sleep pill and remaining in her sleep shell from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00
a.m.

2. Rosie Sinclair will undergo complete physical and psychological screenings at Mr.
Sandy Berg’s discretion, and he will personally oversee any necessary medical care.

3. Rosie Sinclair will not leave campus for any reason without Mr. Sandy Berg’s express
permission.

4. Any breach of this contract will result in Rosie Sinclair’s legal guardianship
passing from her mother, Ms. Joan Sinclair, to Mr. Sandy Berg. Rosie will be promptly
expelled and removed from the Forge School. She will be placed elsewhere at Mr. Sandy
Berg’s discretion and fully cared for until her eighteenth birthday, at which time
she will be released.

At the bottom, a line was already filled with my mother’s signature, via Legalpen.
Two other lines were open for my signature and Dean Berg’s. I looked up to find him
regarding me.

“I thought it was best to keep things simple. Questions?” he asked.

“Number four is a bit open-ended.”

“Not at all,” Dean Berg said. “It’s a very straightforward agreement. Either you consent
to abide by our rules, or you don’t. The severe consequences are to ensure your compliance.”
He gave his ready smile. “We’re not going to be made to look like fools.”

I tapped the paper softly with my fingers. “Why am I so valuable to you? Why don’t
you just send me home?”

“All our students are valuable to me,” Dean Berg said. “We’re deeply invested in each
student’s success. You’ve had a rough couple of days here between the accident and
last night’s episode. Your outburst with Linus today was a sign, I feel, that what
you need most is compassion. I firmly believe, as does the board, that with the right
support, you’ll come through this difficult time very well.”