The room was empty except for the Asian couple from the bus. The wife, sitting still as a stone, stared at the floor with a haunted look in her eyes, while the husband rested a comforting hand on her arm. When he glanced up, he gave Sage a tired smile. Not wanting to appear unfriendly, she smiled back, then made her way toward the receptionist.
“Yes?” the receptionist said, putting down a sheet of paper. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for my sister, Rosemary Winters,” Sage said. “She’s a student here, but my stepfather got a call yesterday that she was missing.”
The receptionist’s forehead creased with confusion—or maybe it was distress, it was hard to tell. “Hold on for just a moment, please,” she said. She picked up a clipboard, lifted the first sheet of paper, and ran her finger along the next page. After putting the clipboard down, she gave Sage an efficient smile, then picked up the phone and pointed toward the waiting area. “Please take a seat. Someone will be with you in just a moment.”
“Thank you,” Sage said. She chose a seat near the desk, straining to listen in on the phone conversation. When the receptionist turned her back and whispered into the receiver, dread settled like a rock inside Sage’s chest. Maybe there was bad news about Rosemary and the receptionist didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Then the receptionist hung up, wrote something down, and avoiding Sage’s gaze, busied herself looking through her desk. Sage clasped her hands together and tried to calm down. No. She wasn’t going to think like that. She was imagining things. The receptionist never looked up at the Asian couple either—and why would she? Judging by the size of Willowbrook, she probably saw hundreds of people a day. And she had work to do. There was no time to get emotionally involved with every person who walked in the door.
While she waited, Sage couldn’t help but picture her sister in the same room, her mother and Alan talking to the receptionist, then someone taking Rosemary away. Had her mother asked to see where her daughter would be staying? Had she asked if she’d have her own bed, a private room, or roommates? Had she even cared? Sage’s eyes flooded. Rosemary must have been beyond terrified and confused.
She thought about asking the Aisan couple what they knew about Willowbrook. The sign on the road said it was a school, but it felt more like a hospital. Or worse, an insane asylum. She picked at her fingernails, anxiety quivering in her stomach. It was ridiculous, of course—as absurd as the stories about Cropsey—but she couldn’t stop thinking about the other rumors she’d heard growing up. There was the story about doctors experimenting on kids there, and the one that said Willowbrook was built on Staten Island because poison from the Fresh Kills landfill seeped out of the ground, providing more retards for scientific research.
Before she got the nerve to ask the Asian couple any questions, a door opened at the back of the room and a man in a white uniform entered with a boy of about ten years old in an oversize flannel shirt, scuffed boots, and trousers held up by shoelaces. Maybe it was the man’s brush cut or the hard angle of his jaw, but he looked aggravated as he led the boy across the room by the arm. The boy walked with his head down, his hands fidgeting beneath his chin, his fingers oddly crooked. A terrible foreboding quickened inside her. The man in the white uniform was no teacher. He was an orderly or an attendant of some kind, the kind you’d see in a hospital or insane asylum. The Asian couple got to their feet and rushed over to the boy.
“Oh, Jimmy,” the wife said, taking his fumbling hands in hers. “We’ve missed you so much.”
“Yes,” the husband said. “How are you, son?”
Jimmy stared at them blankly, his mouth twisted to one side.
“Say hello to your parents, Jimmy,” the attendant said.
“Hello, parents,” Jimmy said, his tongue lolling out of his mouth at the end of each word. His voice was lower than Sage expected. Maybe he was older than he looked.
Concern creased the mother’s face and she put a gentle hand on one side of Jimmy’s head, where something dark, like dried blood, lined his jaw and neck. “What happened to his ear?”
“He was roughhousing with one of the other boys and got bit,” the attendant said.
“It looks like it needs stitches,” the mother said.
“I’ll mention it to his doctor,” the attendant said, his voice filled with indifference.
“What about the new sneakers we brought last time?” the father said. He pointed at the boots on Jimmy’s feet. They looked two sizes too big and were missing the laces. “Where are they?”
The attendant looked down at the boots as if noticing them for the first time. “I’m not sure,” he said. “He must have lost them.”
The father shook his head, disgusted. “That’s the third pair this year.”
“Can we take him outside for a minute?” the mother asked. “It’s been snowing, but the fresh air will do him good.”
“I didn’t bring his coat,” the attendant said. “Maybe next time.”
“I can get his coat,” the father said. “Just tell me where it is.”
“You know parents aren’t allowed in the wards, Mr. Chan. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“I know you have,” Mr. Chan said. “What I want to know is why? Why won’t you let us see where our son lives? What are you trying to hide?”
“We’re not hiding anything,” the attendant said. “But it can be upsetting for the other residents to see parents in the wards, especially those who never get visitors. You’re welcome to visit with Jimmy right here, like you always do.”
“And why do we always have to let you know when we’re coming or else Jimmy’s not allowed a visit?” Mr. Chan said. “Perhaps you can explain that to me too.”
Mrs. Chan had already taken Jimmy by the arm and was leading him toward the toy room off the waiting area, lovingly rubbing one hand along his shoulders.
“I don’t make the rules, Mr. Chan,” the attendant said. “If you have a complaint, you need to take it up with one of the doctors or a member of the administration.”
“Oh, I plan on it. The parents’ association just met with one of your doctors and we’re going to get to the bottom of this, you can bet on that!”
The attendant shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”
Mr. Chan shot him another angry look, then followed his wife and son into the other room. The attendant watched until they were settled before turning to leave, then noticed Sage and hesitated, a strange look on his face. Instead of exiting, he went over to the receptionist and leaned over her desk, talking quietly. The receptionist nodded and glanced at Sage. The attendant looked over at her again, then left through the door at the back of the room.
Apprehension gnawed at her insides again. What had they said about her? That there was little hope Rosemary would be found? That they needed to get someone to tell her she was dead? Or was it something else entirely?
She got up and approached the receptionist. “Excuse me,” she said. “But I got the feeling you and that man were talking about my sister. Is there something you can tell me? Anything at all?”
The receptionist shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know for sure what’s going on, but someone will be out shortly to speak to you.”