statistics.”
“Like I did?”
“Did you, Rouge? It was regrettable that you had to leave Princeton, but understandable with your father’s death, all the family debts—and your mother’s health problems. Now that year in baseball was a fascinating quirk. But I found it more interesting that you became a policeman. And now with your recent promotion to BCI investigator, you seem to have found your calling. You were quite literally born to do this work.”
Rouge shifted in his chair. He was feeling naked and not liking it at all. Though the director persisted in his Santa Claus persona, the doppelganger seemed darker now.
“Surprised, Rouge? Did you think we’d lost interest in you? Oh, no. We’re always collecting data.”
“I need to know more about the girls.” He turned to a new page in his notebook. “Could they outsmart the average adult?”
“Don’t count on it. Gwen Hubble has the higher IQ—close to yours. However, she’s very literal—no good at subterfuge.” He sorted through the papers in her file. “Based on extensive psychological profiles, I predict that she will physically and emotionally shut down in any fearful situation. I’d say her prospects of finding her own way home are rather bleak.”
“And Sadie Green?”
“Completely different story. Sadie once managed to outwit the school nurse and the village police. She faked her own death with an arrow.”
“That was her?” Rouge remembered the day, only three weeks ago: Two of the village cops had come back to the station at the end of their shift; one was laughing, and the other man’s face was red with humiliation. Chief Croft still tormented the poor rookie who had called for the county meat wagon. The town’s youngest officer, Billy Poor, had never suspected that the arrow in the child’s chest might be a prop decorated with fake blood—not until the little girl jumped up and ran away laughing. Patrolman Poor had sworn that the child’s eyes never blinked, and this had been his criterion for a corpse.
Rouge made a drawing of an arrow at the top of a clean page in his notebook. “Is Sadie a good student?”
“The worst. She daydreams in class, and she’s late with all her assignments. The child has a grisly imagination and absolutely adores bloody violence. But we’d still like to have her back.”
“Could Sadie have engineered the disappearance? She seems to have a—”
“Not her style, though she is a bad influence on Gwen Hubble. No, I’d say faking a kidnapping is much too subtle. Sadie only goes for the gold—the death scene. I think she needs the immediate gratification of scaring the shit out of people.”
The word “shit” was not in this man’s vocabulary, and Rouge wondered if Sadie had also been a bad influence on Mr. Caruthers. “Exactly how smart is this kid?”
“I’d say we were evenly matched. When Sadie and I lock horns over some disciplinary problem, she only beats me half the time.”
“Didn’t you say she had a scholarship? That puts her in David’s IQ range, right?”
“Not even close. Sadie won her tuition waiver with a comic book.” Mr. Caruthers reached out to the corner of his desk and opened another file. He handed Rouge a small homemade magazine of crayon drawings and little paragraphs carefully penned inside white balloon shapes. “I hope you had an early lunch. It’s gross. She was seven years old when she made it.”
Rouge thumbed through the comic book of brilliant colors and outrageous pictures. All the bizarre cartoon characters had rather interesting ideas on how to kill one another with the maximum amount of mutilation.
“I don’t know what goes on inside that child,” said Mr. Caruthers. “There’s no test for it.”
Rouge closed the comic book and held it up to the director. “Are you saying this was her entrance exam?”
Caruthers shook his head. “Sadie failed the exam. She’s very bright, but she missed the cutoff score by more than just a
“Like I did?”
“Did you, Rouge? It was regrettable that you had to leave Princeton, but understandable with your father’s death, all the family debts—and your mother’s health problems. Now that year in baseball was a fascinating quirk. But I found it more interesting that you became a policeman. And now with your recent promotion to BCI investigator, you seem to have found your calling. You were quite literally born to do this work.”
Rouge shifted in his chair. He was feeling naked and not liking it at all. Though the director persisted in his Santa Claus persona, the doppelganger seemed darker now.
“Surprised, Rouge? Did you think we’d lost interest in you? Oh, no. We’re always collecting data.”
“I need to know more about the girls.” He turned to a new page in his notebook. “Could they outsmart the average adult?”
“Don’t count on it. Gwen Hubble has the higher IQ—close to yours. However, she’s very literal—no good at subterfuge.” He sorted through the papers in her file. “Based on extensive psychological profiles, I predict that she will physically and emotionally shut down in any fearful situation. I’d say her prospects of finding her own way home are rather bleak.”
“And Sadie Green?”
“Completely different story. Sadie once managed to outwit the school nurse and the village police. She faked her own death with an arrow.”
“That was her?” Rouge remembered the day, only three weeks ago: Two of the village cops had come back to the station at the end of their shift; one was laughing, and the other man’s face was red with humiliation. Chief Croft still tormented the poor rookie who had called for the county meat wagon. The town’s youngest officer, Billy Poor, had never suspected that the arrow in the child’s chest might be a prop decorated with fake blood—not until the little girl jumped up and ran away laughing. Patrolman Poor had sworn that the child’s eyes never blinked, and this had been his criterion for a corpse.
Rouge made a drawing of an arrow at the top of a clean page in his notebook. “Is Sadie a good student?”
“The worst. She daydreams in class, and she’s late with all her assignments. The child has a grisly imagination and absolutely adores bloody violence. But we’d still like to have her back.”
“Could Sadie have engineered the disappearance? She seems to have a—”
“Not her style, though she is a bad influence on Gwen Hubble. No, I’d say faking a kidnapping is much too subtle. Sadie only goes for the gold—the death scene. I think she needs the immediate gratification of scaring the shit out of people.”
The word “shit” was not in this man’s vocabulary, and Rouge wondered if Sadie had also been a bad influence on Mr. Caruthers. “Exactly how smart is this kid?”
“I’d say we were evenly matched. When Sadie and I lock horns over some disciplinary problem, she only beats me half the time.”
“Didn’t you say she had a scholarship? That puts her in David’s IQ range, right?”
“Not even close. Sadie won her tuition waiver with a comic book.” Mr. Caruthers reached out to the corner of his desk and opened another file. He handed Rouge a small homemade magazine of crayon drawings and little paragraphs carefully penned inside white balloon shapes. “I hope you had an early lunch. It’s gross. She was seven years old when she made it.”
Rouge thumbed through the comic book of brilliant colors and outrageous pictures. All the bizarre cartoon characters had rather interesting ideas on how to kill one another with the maximum amount of mutilation.
“I don’t know what goes on inside that child,” said Mr. Caruthers. “There’s no test for it.”
Rouge closed the comic book and held it up to the director. “Are you saying this was her entrance exam?”
Caruthers shook his head. “Sadie failed the exam. She’s very bright, but she missed the cutoff score by more than just a
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