Six (21 page)

Parker nodded. “If we each take some, it won't take too long to go through them.”

“What are we looking for?”
signed Emma.

“His name, I guess,” said Parker. He picked up the stack that had already built up and shared it out between them.

*  *  *  *  *  *

“I guess it was too good to be true,” said Michael glumly. They were sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of papers.

“We could have missed it,” said Parker. “Maybe we should check again.”

Emma shook her head and unmuted Effie.
Solomon Gladstone isn't an easy name to miss. Maybe we should look at other hospitals.

Parker looked up at Emma, and his eyes widened.

“That's it!” he shouted. He leapt up and ran over to the computer. “They would have changed his name!” He looked up at the screen and found Solomon Gladstone's birthday.

“Twenty-seventh May, 1948,” he muttered. He scribbled the date down on a piece of paper and ran back over to Michael and Emma, who were both looking at him with bewildered faces.

“Look again, but this time ignore the names. See if you find anyone with this date of birth. They might not have changed that.”

“Ohhh,” said Michael, clearly impressed. “Good plan.”

Parker sat down and picked up the first pile of papers, and the three of them began their search again.

Emma found a match after only a couple of minutes. She held the paper up with a wide grin on her face.

“It's a woman,” said Parker flatly.

Emma turned the page and read the notes. Her smile disappeared.

Parker gave her an encouraging smile. “We'll find it,” he said. He picked up another batch of papers.

This time Parker was the one to find the match. Before Parker said anything, he checked—it was a man. Michael and Emma had picked up on his excitement, and they both rushed around to have a look.

“Simon Grimm,” said Parker, reading the name out loud.

“Simon, Solomon,” said Michael. “They sound kind of similar.”

“And same initials,” said Parker.

There were no other details about Simon Grimm on the page that Michael had printed off, and Parker was eager for Michael to try to find out more from the hospital computers. Michael, however, insisted they should look through the rest of the records first, in case there were any other matches. Parker reluctantly agreed.

There were none. As soon as he was finished with the last of the papers in his stack, Parker grabbed the one with Simon Grimm's name on it and jumped up.

“You'll be able to get more information about him?” he asked Michael.

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Do you really need to ask?”

“All right, all right,” said Parker. He followed Michael over to his computer and watched, jittery with nerves, as Michael checked the notes he had scribbled down earlier, detailing how he had hacked into the server of Plotter Kill Psychiatric Center.

“What a horrible name,”
signed Emma.
“Why would they do that?”

Parker translated for Michael as he answered her via Effie.
I know,
he said, shaking his head.
They probably feel bad enough without hearing that all the time.

“It's the name of the river there. Plotter Kill River,” said Michael as he typed.

Parker laughed as he told Emma. Emma, however, didn't seem to find it the slightest bit amusing.

They didn't
have
to name it after that,
said Emma. Parker shrugged and nodded in agreement.

They could have just made up something,
she continued.
Something happier. Like the Sunshine Center. Or Hope Hospital . . . Or . . .”

Emma stopped as Michael turned. He was smiling. “Found it.”

“Print it off.”

“Already done,” said Michael. He walked over to the printer, picked up the single piece of paper, and then placed it on the desk. The three of them crowded around to read it.

“Simon Grimm,” muttered Parker. “Same date of birth. Admission date . . .”

They all looked up at the same time.
“Three years ago!”
signed Emma.

It was him, thought Parker, feeling as if he might burst with excitement. It was definitely him.

“Previous address,” continued Parker. “Unknown.” He read on. “Delusional Disorder? What does that mean?”

Michael reached over to his keyboard and searched for the term. He turned the screen for Parker and Emma to read.

“  ‘Delusional Disorder—a serious mental illness in which a person is unable to distinguish what is real or otherwise. People with delusional disorder often have the false belief that they are being persecuted in some way. They often attempt to make contact with legal authorities. In extreme cases, people with delusional disorder can find themselves alienated from friends and family—either because they don't believe their concerns are being treated seriously or because they believe the people around them are somehow involved in the conspiracy against them.'  ”

“Wow,” said Michael.

Parker felt himself go pale. “Read the notes section.”

Michael glanced up at Parker and then began to read the rest out loud. “  ‘Patient is highly dangerous. Extremely high risk of violence, particularly to unfamiliar persons. Only named staff may enter his room. Escape risk: high. Security level: maximum.'  ”

Parker read the notes and then reread them, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

Finally he turned to Emma and Michael. “Well, this makes things a little more difficult.”

“You
think
?” said Michael.

Emma tapped Parker on the shoulder.
“Maybe he wouldn't be like that to kids. I mean, if we're nice.”

Parker rolled his eyes.
“You think they haven't tried being nice to him?”
he signed back.

“What did she say?” asked Michael.

“She thinks if we're nice to him, he won't hurt us.”

Michael started laughing, then saw Emma's face and stopped abruptly. “That's a nice idea,” he said to her, “but I don't think it'll work.”

“You have a better idea?”
asked Emma.

Michael nodded. “Yep. We try something else.”

Parker and Emma shook their heads—on this point, they were both in complete agreement.

“We
have
to go, Michael,” explained Parker. “My dad said I could trust him.”

“Your dad obviously didn't know this guy was some kind of an ax murderer.”

“It doesn't say he's an ax murderer anywhere,” countered Parker.

Michael scrunched up his face. “It kind of does, actually.”

“No. It doesn't. And even if he were—which he's not—what choice do we have? It's our dad, Michael. You'd do the same.”

“Not sure I would,” said Michael. “Think about how worried I was about Aaron punching me. I'm not a fighter, Parker.”

“You don't need to fight.”

“You don't know that.”

“Well, no,” said Parker. “I guess I don't.”

He felt his wrist vibrate.

“We have to try to meet him, Parker,”
said Emma.

Parker looked at Emma and then Michael as he weighed his options. In the end Parker came to the conclusion that there was only one possible course of action. Michael was right, but Parker and Emma were desperate. Desperation was always going to win out.

“We have to go,” said Parker. “We don't need you to come. But could you help us get information on how to get past security?”

Michael nodded, and without another word he turned to his computer.

“They might have timetables or something,” said Michael, opening up one window and then another. Then he froze.

“What's up?” asked Parker.

Michael pointed up to the corner of the screen.

Message from Anteater.

Michael clicked on it.

I am okay. They let me go. Where are you?

Have more to tell you. Think I know how you can get to your dad.

The three of them looked at each other in surprise.

“What shall I write?” asked Michael.

He clicked reply and waited for Parker to say something.

But Parker didn't speak.

“Parker?” asked Michael, turning to face him.

“It might not be her.”

“But it's from her e-mail address,”
signed Emma.

“They had her phone. They could have checked her e-mails.”

Michael and Emma both mouthed
Oh
at the same time.

“May I?” asked Parker. Michael nodded and stood up to let Parker take his seat. Parker began to type.

Must check it's you. What is my father's name?

Parker clicked send. He turned to Michael and Emma, who both looked equally confused.

Before Parker had a chance to explain, the computer binged to notify them of a new e-mail.

It was from Anteater, and it contained only two words:
Geoffrey Banks
.

Parker stared at his father's name.

“But they already know that,” said Michael.

“Yes,” said Parker. “But Anteater didn't.”

He opened up the page of Cassandra's Army and searched for Anteater. Her profile had been closed down. Every one of her posts had been deleted.

Anteater was gone.

Parker had assumed that Michael was something of a wimp—happy to observe but quick to run if the situation turned on him. Given what Michael had himself told Parker, it was not an unfair assumption (and also quite understandable), but it turned out that there was something that could override this fear: the need not to feel left out.

At first Michael had agreed to do anything that he could to help them visit Solomon, as long as he didn't have to go anywhere near him. The following morning, however, while Parker and Emma were waiting for the cab that Michael had called for them (they figured that Brendan might draw the line at breaking into a psychiatric hospital in order to meet a violent madman), Michael told them that he had changed his mind.

“You really don't have to,” insisted Parker. “I don't know what's going to happen.”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, but Emma's . . . you know . . . Well, what if something happens and she doesn't hear it? And she's only ten.”

Emma lip-read this and thumped Michael in the chest.
“Tell him that ten for a girl is, like, fourteen for a boy,”
she signed to Parker.

Parker didn't have to translate—Michael was already apologizing profusely.

“You really don't have to come, Michael,” said Parker. “You've done enough. I need Emma to get me in there, but we've got a reason to risk this. You don't.”

“Yeah, well, it's fine. You'll probably need my help.”

Parker shrugged. “Sure.”

In truth he was delighted. Just because he had no choice about going on this crazy mission, it didn't mean that he wasn't a bit scared. Terrified, actually.

“Great!” said Michael, pulling out a large stuffed backpack from under the desk. “I packed some things in case.”

Parker and Emma stared at the bag.

“Is that a . . .
machete
?” asked Parker.

“It's not real. It's rubber.” Michael smiled. “But
he
won't know that.”

“What else?”
signed Emma.

“Walkie-talkies—seeing as I'm not part of the thought-reading gang. A laptop. Disguises.”

“Disguises?” Parker narrowed his eyes. “You didn't bring the frog masks, did you?”

Michael looked insulted. “No. Hats. Scarves . . . um . . . shields.”

“
Shields?
Really?” asked Parker.

“Did you read the notes on this guy?”

“Yeah. And I don't think shields are going to help.”

Michael looked deflated. Emma gave Parker a stern look.

“But maybe I'm wrong,” backtracked Parker. “Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Michael nodded and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.

“There is one more thing.” He smiled. “I found the codes for all the doors, including the one for a Mr. Simon Grimm.”

Parker's mouth dropped open. “What?”

He snatched the paper and looked down the printed list of numbers. At the bottom of the page was a date. The codes had been updated three days earlier.

He looked up at Michael, then down again at the paper in disbelief. “Why didn't you say something?”

“That's what I'm doing.”

“This is amazing, Michael!” Parker still couldn't quite believe it. Until now getting past the security doors had been the biggest hole in their plans.

“You're the best!”
signed Emma.

It was probable that Michael hadn't understood every word that Emma had just signed, but he certainly got the sentiment. The corner of his mouth curled into an embarrassed smile. He shrugged.

“Thanks,” he said. His phone beeped.

“Guess we're going to find out how much help they'll be soon,” said Michael. “Cab's here.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

They spent the cab ride revising their plan in order to include Michael. Only the first part of the plan was definite: arrive at exactly midday. Michael had checked the staff roster and found that that was the time when the most members of staff were having lunch. Apart from that, and the floorplan of the hospital that Michael had found (on which Solomon/Simon's small single room was marked with a large red X), they would have to improvise as they went along.

“We're here,” said the cabdriver.

Parker looked up from the papers spread out on his lap and saw that the cabdriver was already pulling up outside the building. They had been so distracted that they had failed to stop him on the main road. Already, thought Parker with a sinking feeling in his stomach, things were not going according to plan.