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he’d be devastated.
    When he opened the door, Leavitt was just as bald and just as droopy as he’d been a half hour earlier.
    “Let’s go,” he said curtly.
    They walked down the hallway in silence; Thomas gave Teresa’s door a wistful glance as he passed it. 31K. How many times had he seen that plaque on the door, wishing he could open it and meet the girl on the other side? What possible reason did these people have for keeping everyone separate? Surely it wasn’t mere cruelty? How could Dr. Paige be a part of such a thing?
    “Look,” Dr. Leavitt said, snapping Thomas’s attention back to the white walls of the hallway, the fluorescent lights above. “I know I’ve been a little unfriendly this morning. I’m sorry. Today’s project has been quite an undertaking, and we have a lot riding on it.” He let out a strangled laugh that sounded like a frog being electrocuted. “You could say I’m under a pretty fair amount of stress.”
    “It’s okay,” Thomas replied, not knowing what else to say. “We all have our bad days,” he added nervously. What could possibly have this guy so stressed out? He wasn’t the one taking all the tests.
    “Yeah,” Dr. Leavitt grunted more than said.
    They got in the elevator and the doctor pressed the button for a floor Thomas had never visited before. Nine. For some reason, that had an ominous feel to it. The ninth floor. Would it have felt so haunting if Dr. Paige were standing next to him? He had no idea.
    The doors opened with a cheerful chime, and Dr. Leavitt exited to the left. Thomas followed, quickly taking in a desk in front of glass partitions. Beyond that he could see the blinking lights of monitors and instruments. This floor was some kind of hospital unit, by the looks of it.
    Maybe something
had
happened to Dr. Paige—maybe they were going to visit her.
    Thomas tried to sound as nice and as at ease as possible. “So, can you tell me what’s going on today?”
    “No,” Leavitt replied. Then added a “Sorry, son” as an afterthought.
    Thomas followed Leavitt past the front desk and beyond the glass. They continued down the hallway, passing door after door, but aside from the medical monitors outside each room, none gave up any clues. The doors were all numbered, but they were closed, and the walls of frosted glass were obscured with floor-to-ceiling curtains, firmly drawn. Thomas could swear he heard voices coming from inside one room, and jumped at a sharp cry that left no doubt. He kept walking until an echoing scream came bouncing down the hall behind them. Thomas stopped and spun around to take a look.
    “Keep walking,” Dr. Leavitt directed. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
    “What’s going on?” Thomas asked again. “What’s wrong with that—”
    Leavitt grabbed Thomas’s arm—not hard enough to hurt, but not exactly gently, either. “Everything’s going to be okay. You have to trust me. Just keep walking—we’re almost there.”
    Thomas obeyed.
    —
    They stopped in front of a door identical to all the others, an electronic chart next to it with a bunch of information too small for Thomas to see from where he stood. Dr. Leavitt studied it for a moment, then reached to open the door. He’d just turned the knob when a commotion down the hall erupted in the silence.
    Thomas turned to see a door open, and a boy dressed in a hospital gown, his head bandaged, stumbled out, two nurses supporting him. He was staggering as if heavily drugged, and he fell to the ground. He then struggled back to his feet, fighting off the two people who had been helping him moments before. Thomas was frozen, staring at the boy as he fell again, then drunkenly clambered to his feet and attempted to run away, swerving from side to side as he headed straight for Thomas.
    “Don’t go in there,” the boy slurred. He had dark hair, Asian features, was maybe a year older than Thomas. The boy’s face was flushed and sweaty; a tiny red spot blossomed on the