Ox turns and begins shambling, not toward Commons but toward the classrooms.

"Ox! I'm not messing around here. I need in your cell."

"Nah. Mr. Allenby will be pissed."

"Two Blow Pops."

"Nah."

"Two Blow Pops. Two Heath bars."

"Two more Heath bars. On top of escort pay."

"Right. Agreed."

"Okay. Let's go."

I don't know if I'm more pissed at Ox for outmaneuvering me or at myself for spilling the beans on Jack.

"Ox, don't tell anybody else about Jack. Please. He's just a kid."

"What? Oh. Yeah. That's fine."

"Really?"

"Really what?"

"You won't tell anyone?"

"Anyone what?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

Sloe-Eyed Norman waves us back through after the metal detector grants us passage. Silence means assent. I bound up the stairs, three at a time. Ox takes them one by one, so I'm waiting for a minute before he gets to the second floor. Norman, who's neatly enclosed in a windowed booth, watches us. I wave.

Norman waves back, picks up a magazine, and starts to read. But he doesn't turn back to the Commons.

We reach Ox's room. A couple kids, Miller and Smetana, are futzing around at the end of the walkway, most likely playing craps. I can't understand why Norman lets them toss dice against the wall all morning and watches us so closely.

All the cell doors are open except for one. Mine. Jack's.

They're here, not in some Admin office or classroom. They're here.

I peek through the wire-crosshatched window. There's Jack, sitting on the bed. Quincrux sits across from him, at the desk. Booth stands facing the door.

I duck my head back, hoping Booth didn't see me.

But something's wrong. When I peeked into the room, Booth didn't react. In fact, he looked ... I don't know. Vacant. Somewhere else.

I peek again.

"You gonna use my room, Shreve? What's up?"

I hold up a finger for silence.

Booth stands in the room, off to the side, looking at the window in a thousand-yard stare. His mouth is open, and drool is spilling from his bottom lip.

What the hell is going on here?

I turn, dash into Ox's room, and jump to the top bunk, putting my ear to the vent.

FIVE.

On the inside, in the quiet of the morning, sound can travel. All it takes is a listener to give it meaning.

"An unfortunate occurrence, yes? But luckily for you, your former foster brother will live. It's possible he will walk again, too, after years of painful therapy. Does this make you happy?"

"No. Yes." Jack is quiet for a bit. I'm trying to picture the way he looks, to imagine myself in the room, sitting next to Quincrux and looking at Jack on the bed. He's tamped down his hair, and his hands are between his knees. Not exactly hidden, but out of sight.

Silence and rustling echo down the dull metal walls of the vent.

"You are not a vocal youth, this I will say."

More silence.

"I'd like to ask you to do something for me. Observe this glass of water. You see?"

"Sure. It's right there."

"Please move it, if you will."

There's a pause, and then Quincrux says, "No, no. From over there."

"How can I move it without getting close to it? That doesn't make any sense."

"No matter. Here I have a series of cards with symbols on them. I am going to hold them up, and I want you to tell me what the symbols are. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

I hear the clasps of the briefcase and then the ruffling of poster board.

"First card."

"You're not going to show it to me?"

"No. You need to divine the answer."

"Divine?"

"Perceive, then."

"How can I know what's on the card if I can't see it?"

"That is a good question. A very good question. How indeed?"

"I can't."

"Try."

"Um ... is it a ... square?"

"No."

"A triangle?"

"No."

"A circle?"

"No." The cards ruffle again, and Quincrux sighs. "Well, this isn't working. Is it, Mr. Graves?"

"No, it isn't. I don't understand what you want."

"Obviously not. Let us move on to other matters. The word you're searching for is polydactyl. Indeed, it is a word you've been searching for all your life. It is my honor to present it to you."

"Polydactyl? I don't understand."

"Supernumerary digits. It's a congenital condition that occurs once in every five hundred births. However, multiple instances of polydactylism in one person, well ... this is considerably rarer. Exceedingly rare, occurring in less than one in one hundred thousand births."

"You're not really with the Department of Health and ... whatever ... are you?" For a moment my heart goes out to the little dude. He's showing backbone, he is. Get him, Jack.

"Ah!" Quincrux talks in the same inflectionless way Jack does. His "ah" sounds like a sigh. Like he doesn't care one whit about what's going on, he's just doing his job. Or maybe he wants to die and all life is just misery. Misery and unhappiness.

That's frightening to think about.

"No, Mr. Graves. No, I am not affiliated with the Department of Health and Human Services. Should anyone wish to contact the DHHS to confirm my employment, I say to him, feel free to exercise your curiosity. My employment will be confirmed. However, you have guessed correctly. I have never once entered the DHHS building."

There's a shifting, a cough. A grunt.

"My apologies. One moment. Allow me to readjust Mr. Booth."

"You didn't do anything."

It's Quincrux's turn to remain silent.

"Why's he just standing there like that?"

"In your case, perfect postaxial polydactylism. Perfectly symmetrical. Now, may I ask you a few personal questions? Yes?"

"I ... I guess."

"How many toes do you have?"

"Twelve."

Holy crow. Jack's got stuff sprouting everywhere.

"Are they postaxial? Do you have two pinkies or two big toes?"

"Pinkies."

"Postaxial, then. Any malformations? Will you remove your shoes so I might see?"

After a moment, I hear the clop of a shoe dropping. In my mind's eye I can see Jack's bare feet bristling with angry toes.

"Ah! That looks uncomfortable." Quincrux chuckles, a dry sound. "Diphallia?"

"What?"

"Do you have more than one penis?"

The way Quincrux asks this, with a little trill at the end, surprises me. The suit's been deadpan this whole time, but with that question he showed his interest. He's not bored anymore.

Creep.

"I'm afraid silence is not a suitable answer. Please disrobe so that I might observe."

"No."

"I can compel you."

"No."

Don't do it, Jack. I'm going to get Norman.

Something is happening now. I can feel it through the cinder-block walls. A struggle is going on in there, even if I can't hear anything. I'm about to jump down and get Norman when Quincrux says, "So, you are not as docile as you seem."

"I don't know what you're talking about."