Authors: Tom Dolby
The Trust (23 page)
L
auren was last in line as the four of them were led into the next room. It was octagonal, with black-and-white-striped walls, a glossy white floor, and a dimmed chandelier in the middle. She braced herself for what was to come.
On one side, standing in a row, were their mentors: Charles, Emily, Anastasia, and Hunter, who had been Thad’s mentor.
On the other side was Parker Bell, standing with Katherine Stapleton, the Administrator.
“I think we all know why you four are here,” Parker Bell said. “You have been a disappointment, and so we have decided to grant your wish to be released from the Society.”
“Wait,” Nick said. “What about Phoebe? You promised that Phoebe would be released as well.”
“Miss Dowling will be released by proxy. Her mentor is here. You will all be witness to her de-initiation.”
Anastasia looked as if she was wiping away a tear.
“My five Infidels,” Mr. Bell continued. “I’m sure you know by now that we have called you that. An infidel is a person who doesn’t believe in a religion. You also know the word
infidelity
. Being untrue. Not being faithful. All of you lack faith. You lack faith, and you lack trust.”
To his left, the four mentors looked dour, as if they, too, had failed.
“Hector, open the doors.”
One of the Guardians opened two of the panels. It revealed an unfinished basement, at the center of which was a giant furnace with an iron door.
“Mentors!” The four mentors stepped forward. They each held forward a plastic mask, the ones from the Night of Rebirth that had each Initiate’s face printed on them. Emily handed Lauren’s to her, and Anastasia handed Phoebe’s to Lauren as well. Hunter handed Thad’s to him. Charles had both Nick’s and Patch’s masks, even though Patch had never been part of that night. He handed one to each of them.
Hector opened the iron door leading to the furnace room. “As you burn the masks,” Parker said, “you will destroy your identity as a member of the Society.”
“Should we do this?” Lauren asked Nick quietly. The heat from the furnace was flowing into the room, raising its temperature.
“I think so,” he said.
Each of the four of them went forward, one by one, and threw his or her mask into the opening of the furnace. The toxic smell of burning plastic was released into the air.
“Now, the scrolls,” Parker said.
The Administrator handed out five scrolls, each representing one of the members, to them. Again, Lauren took Phoebe’s for her. They were the same scrolls they had been shown at the Night of Rebirth.
At Parker’s direction, they each threw the scrolls into the furnace. With an ominous clang, Hector closed the door, which fanned the flames even more.
“The burning represents your forgetting—your forgetting all that went on in the Society. You’ve experienced consequences inside the Society, and now, outside the Society, if you reveal your exploits, you will experience consequences as well. You may wonder why we aren’t asking you to sign nondisclosure agreements.” He paused. “I think you understand that all of this is above the law.”
“What about our tattoos?” Patch said. “How do we get rid of them?”
“We can’t remove your tattoos. You are welcome to try. But as I understand it, faint traces will always remain with you.”
He turned to Nick. “I won’t ask for a copy of that ridiculous film that you all made. I know there are multiple copies out there, and confiscating one copy won’t change that. But I can assure you, if the Society ever sees that film in the public domain, there will be grave consequences for all five of you. If I were you, I would destroy all the copies. That’s the only way you can ensure that your heirs don’t do something silly with them someday.
“Charles, I believe we’re done here. Please escort these four back up to the street.”
In a few minutes they were back on the street. The entire thing had happened quickly, but Lauren still found herself hyperventilating. Her face was warm from the heat in the room, and the cold air outside was bracing. She held on to Thad, as she felt faint.
“That was quite a production,” Patch said.
“I don’t even know what to think about it,” Thad said. “I guess they couldn’t just cut up our membership cards or something, right?”
Nick smiled grimly at Thad’s attempt at a joke. Of course, they all knew that they had no membership cards. They had nothing to prove they had ever been members at all, Lauren realized, except for the tattoos on their necks, markings that could have been obtained at any tattoo parlor.
“Can we start walking?” Lauren said. “I swear, I never want to go down this street again.”
The four of them started up the block.
“Lauren, can you do something for me?” Nick asked.
“Of course.”
“Please tell me where Phoebe is.”
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you, Nick,” Lauren said, turning to him. “She’s in LA. She went to stay with her dad for a little bit. Her mom called me this morning, actually. She was really upset that Phoebe left without calling her, and she was trying to figure out why. I told her it was because of Daniel. I know that wasn’t the only reason, but I think Phoebe would have wanted her mom to know that she doesn’t trust him.”
“Will you call her for me? Will you tell her what happened? I want her to come home.” He paused, looking behind them at the town house. “I want her to know that I tried to make things right.”
“I will,” Lauren said as she gave Nick’s arm a squeeze. “I promise.”
P
atch and Nick were walking north on Fifth Avenue, headed in the direction of the Met. They had parted ways with Lauren and Thad, who were going to hang out at Lauren’s apartment. She was still pretty shaken up by the entire ordeal, but Thad promised to keep her company. Now Patch and Nick were going to meet Genie at the agreed-upon place. Even in the crisp March air, what they had just been through didn’t feel real to Patch. Everything with the Society had an air of unreality to it—the rituals, the meetings, the parties—and the past hour had seemed the strangest of all. Patch was hopeful that they were free of the group, at least for now. There was still, of course, so much they would have to contend with. Patch didn’t know if he would ever have any sort of relationship with Parker Bell. He even wondered if Nick could ever be around his parents again. Perhaps Nick could move in with Genie and him—that is, if their father didn’t try to get them kicked out of the building or threaten them in some other way.
Patch sighed. It was all too complicated, this mess they had gotten themselves into, starting last fall. Or perhaps, because they had been born into it, they had never really had a choice. He wished they could run away from it all, from the Society, from their lives, from New York City. Maybe someday they would be able to.
For now, he decided that he had to be thankful for the important things. For the possibility that the Society would leave them alone. For Lia. For Genie. For Nick.
They entered the Met, cheekily paying a dollar—the usual twenty-dollar fee was merely “suggested”—and winking at the cashier as they were let through. The two of them had agreed to meet Genie in the Chinese Garden in the Astor Court, on the second floor, directly above the Egyptian wing. Patch didn’t exactly know why they had chosen this particular room at the Met; maybe it was because Parker Bell hated Chinese art, or so Nick claimed.
Genie stood in the middle of the little faux courtyard that had been re-created inside the museum, a replica of an actual seventeenth-century courtyard in China.
“Oh, thank God!” Genie said as she rushed forward to greet the boys. “I have been standing here biting my nails for the past half hour. I was ready to call the police.”
“Let’s go sit down,” Patch said as he took his grandmother’s arm.
“The Petrie Court?” Nick asked, referring to the café in the museum that looked out onto the park. Patch and Nick had spent a good portion of their childhood enjoying free hot chocolate from the friendly waiters there who were amused by the two little boys who were barely as tall as the tables.
When they arrived at the café, Patch looked up. “Nick, um . . .”
In front of them, outside the glass windows of the café, was Cleopatra’s Needle, the monument where Jared Willson had been killed. It was in the distance, but it was visible nonetheless.
“It’s okay,” Nick said, pulling out a chair. “It’s a monument. That’s all it is. Nothing more. What happened to Jared doesn’t change that.”
Patch got Nick’s point. They had to stop being afraid of everything. It was part of the argument Patch had overheard Nick and Phoebe having in the house in Southampton, and it seemed as if Nick had given it some thought.
Genie ordered hot chocolate for the three of them, and an assortment of miniature desserts, the fancy kind that were served on a tower of three plates. After the waiter left, Nick looked nervous.
“Patch, I need to tell you something,” Nick said, first looking at Patch, then at Genie. “Actually, I need to tell both of you something. I owe you both an apology.”
Patch frowned. “I don’t understand—what for?”
Nick took a deep breath. “I knew about you and me and the whole brotherhood thing before you did. My father told me about your mother and him and what happened the day after you were initiated on Isis Island. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how to deal with the information. It was too much to handle, and I had to make sure our friendship was solid again. And then everything with Palmer’s challenge—there was just never a good time.”
Patch looked at Nick angrily. “Nick, you could have told me anytime! Can I ever trust you? This is just like last year when you didn’t tell me what was going on with the Society—”
“Boys—” Genie interrupted. “You two have to trust each other. Frankly, you don’t have a choice. And for God’s sake, Patch, I kept that secret from you for nearly seventeen years. You think I didn’t know all that time? You think I didn’t want to tell you, that I didn’t agonize over every moment whether I was doing the right thing? Ever since your mother left, it was in my hands. I kept it from you as well. Nick didn’t tell you for a few months. You need to let it go.”
The platters of small desserts arrived, and the boys picked a few each, choosing miniature raspberry tarts and currant scones with lemon curd.
Maybe Genie was right. Maybe Patch needed to give Nick a break. Nick had tried to do what was right, and he was obviously under a great deal of pressure.
“What I want to understand is, what really happened between my mother and our father?” Patch asked. “Why would she do this? Why would she not have told my father—that is, Patch, Jr.—about it?”
“Your mother was ashamed,” Genie said. “But she wanted to have a child so badly. She and your father were not able to have children, or at least, they hadn’t been successful yet. When she became pregnant, we were all so happy. I had no idea at first. She only told me halfway through the pregnancy. It was a strange piece of news, but in the end, what mattered most was that she and Patch had a son.”
Patch nodded. “But why . . . why Parker? I mean, no offense, Nick, but he’s such a monster.” A monster, Patch thought, who was his real father.
Nick looked dismayed, though not surprised. He turned to Genie. “I can’t answer that,” he said.
“He was delightful back then,” Genie said. “So handsome and charming. All the ladies flirted with him. And in retrospect, he and Esmé seemed to have a curious connection. They hit it off. I think it was only later that your father became—I don’t know the right word—I guess he became nasty, hardened. Maybe Palmer did it to him.”
“And my father knew about it?” Patch asked.
“I believe he found out,” Genie said. “There was a fight between the two of them. It was a terrible time when that happened—it was like two halves of a family breaking apart. And then your father drowned. That weekend was supposed to be a reconciliation. And it never happened.”
“I need to show you something,” Nick said. “Both of you. Genie, you may have seen it, but Patch, I’m not sure if you have. It’s a memorial marker for your father, for Patch, Jr., on the beach.”
“I’ve seen it,” Genie said. “But I think Patch should see it as well.”
“I don’t ever want to go back to that house again,” Patch said. “I’m sorry, Nick. I just feel weird about it, after everything your father has done.”
“I understand,” Nick said. “I’m feeling pretty ambivalent myself.”
“Genie, I want to know more about my mother,” Patch said. “Before she went crazy.”
Genie sighed. “Patch, I feel like it’s not for me to tell you these stories. You never heard back from Esmé, did you?” Patch had left her a message but received no response.
“That’s right,” Patch said.
“I think we need to visit her,” Genie said. “I know you don’t want to, but it’s something we need to do. She was always so fearful that you would find out. I think having her know that you have learned about Parker, and that you understand—or at least, that you understand as best you can—I think it might help her.”
“Do you think she’ll ever be able to come home?” Patch asked.
Genie looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess we’ll see. But the first step is for us to go see her. I think we should do that more often, together. I’ve tried to protect you from it all these years, but you’re getting older, and it’s time that we try to make this work. You need to have some kind of relationship with your mother, fractured as it might be.”
“When should we go?” Patch asked. “Today?”
“I think we’ve had enough excitement for today,” Genie said, frowning. “Let’s take a break. How about tomorrow? Let’s do it tomorrow.”
Patch nodded. As he sat there with his grandmother and his half brother in the warmth of the Petrie Court, he started to feel that maybe, just maybe, the disparate threads of his life were coming together.