“That is scary precise information.”
“Look here. This is Forgetown,” he says, and focuses in on Kansas. He sets up an evolving cycle, showing sales of a drug over a period of decades. The circles fluctuate, but generally get bigger. He runs it through again. “The Forge School is a consistent customer of our sleep meds,” he says. “They buy in batches eight times a year so the product is always fresh, but look here.” He stops the map on an image when the circle is as large as my thumbnail. “Sometimes there are extra orders on top of the normal sales. The number of students doesn’t change, so why the sudden increase?”
I puzzle over the map. “Maybe Berg needs extra meds for his dreamers,” I say. “Or he could be buying the meds at the school and using them someplace else.”
“Possibly. I have something else, too, but it’s a little sick.”
“Fine with me,” I say.
He brings up another map of the United States. This one has several dozen pinpoints spread all over the country, from L.A. to Bangor, Maine, and from Ft. Lauderdale to Bellingham, Washington.
“These are Forge School alums. And these,” he pauses to type, and a dozen of the pinpoint dots turn red. “These are suicides and accidental deaths of anyone who was ever on the show, whether they made first cuts or not.”
“Like Emily Thorpe, the singer from our year,” I say.
“Exactly.”
I lean in, fascinated and sad, as if the misery behind the dots gives them gravitational pull. “I met her in the chapel basement, right before the cuts,” I say. “She was in bad shape. She was in a car accident a few weeks later.” There are twenty-one dots, and when I check the date range, they’re all within the past five years. “This is awful,” I say softly. “The trustees said the number of suicides was more like seven or eight, but this is way more.” It doesn’t take a genius to realize the numbers are much too high for one small school. I turn to Burnham. “Why don’t people care more about this? Why aren’t they looking into it?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “We all signed the waivers. Students and their families can’t legally hold Forge accountable for anything. I’m not sure they even realize there’s a pattern.”
“But people should be warned. Students should know they’re risking their lives when they go to Forge.”
“Would it have stopped you?” he asks.
I think about how desperate I was to go to the school. I would have believed I could beat any odds. “Probably not,” I say. “I didn’t leave even after I knew wild things were happening at night.”
He leans back. “There’s a curious thing about statistics,” he says. “People only believe them when it’s convenient.”
I pull my feet up on the couch and sit cross-legged. “I’m not sure what this proves. Why are you looking into all of this?”
“My parents wanted me to see if there was a correlation between the suicides and Fister drugs,” he says. “So far, I can’t find one, but I can’t rule it out, either. We designed the twelve-hour med specifically for the Forge School. Maybe suicide is a long-term side effect. My parents insist it’s not. They think there’s a separate cause.”
“Like the mining,” I say.
“My parents are skeptical about the mining,” he says. “But they do think there’s an unknown separate cause.”
I consider him with a new sense of appreciation. “You’ve been trying to prove me right, haven’t you?”
“I was always curious about what was going on at Forge,” he says. “At first, when I went there, I felt a kind of responsibility because Fister drugs were being used. I wanted to see for myself that everyone was fine at night, you know? So I stayed awake with the antidote a few times, and then one night, I saw Dr. Ash giving one of the other guys an IV. It looked like he was having a seizure. That didn’t seem right. When you started looking for your ghosts with cameras everywhere at night, I realized you must have discovered something, too.”
“That’s when you gave me your note.”
“Yes. I thought we could work together to figure out what was going on. But then we fell,” Burnham says. He frowns for a moment. “Why do you think Berg got involved with the dream mining? Why would he risk it?”
“For money maybe.”
He shakes his head and sets aside his computer. “He must have a better reason. Some personal reason. How much do you know about him?”
I consider what I know. “You once told me he went to medical school and law school. He has an ex-wife and two kids. Twins. They’re about our age, and they live in New York. He also has a vacation place in Colorado where he pretends to keep me. And he likes to watercolor.”
He laughs. “Like, paint?”
“Yes,” I say, and I look absently toward the glass door. Evening has arrived without me noticing it, and a couple of small lamps have come on by the deck. “I talked to Berg a couple days ago. He said something disturbing, some question about me getting enough stimulation. He seemed to suggest that he let me go on purpose. He’s still into mind games.”
“It is strange that there’s no news about you,” Burnham says. “Do you think Jenny and her sister decided not to call the hotline?”
“Maybe Berg bought them off somehow,” I said. “It’s weird. I feel like he’s just waiting for me to do something before he pounces out from nowhere and grabs me again.”
“My sister Sammi said the contract you signed with Berg that made him your guardian wasn’t legally binding. She thought it was just a gimmick for the show.”
“Then why weren’t my parents able to get me back from him?” I say. “Your sister’s theory doesn’t help.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“He’s after me. I can feel it.”
“Our security guy will tell me if anyone steps on our property,” he says. “You’re safe here.”
For now, I think. I’m not sure I’m really safe anywhere. “I’d love to spy on Berg for a change.”
Burnham takes off his glasses and rubs the lenses with a corner of his shirt. “Funny you should say that. I’ve tried to hack into the Forge computer system to dig around, but I can never get far. It runs on a closed network.”
“But they’re always collecting viewer data for the blip ranks,” I say. “Can’t you get in that way?”
“That’s a separate system,” he says. “I can’t get to anything private, like Dean Berg’s or Dr. Ash’s files. The best I managed was to disarm the swipe locks of the doors once.”
“What if you could get onto Berg’s computer directly?” I ask.
“Then I’d be in, but I’m never going back to Forge.” He rubs his eyes.
“Tired?” I ask.
“A little.” He puts his glasses on again and aims his gaze toward the deck.
A red-tailed squirrel is poised on the picnic table, dissecting a nut so the shards of hard peel scatter around him. Burnham’s place is so peaceful that I ought to be able to relax a little. But I can’t. I’m wired all the time. Edgy.
I check around once again, reflexively looking for cameras. The corners of the walls and furniture are clear, and the white ceiling has no bumps or eyes along its seams.