Page 87 of Ringer
“Wait.” She cried out from the bottom of a long tunnel of anger and fear. “Wait,” she said again, as both of them turned back to face her.
Dr. O’Donnell showed her irritation, but only briefly. She was busy playing a role. “Really, we should get them inside—”
“She said she would let me call my mom,” Lyra blurted out. Caelum tensed.
But Dr. O’Donnell looked at her with blunted astonishment: it was as if her polish was only a mask, and someone had elbowed it off.
“She promised,” Lyra said, feeling her way into the lie. If Dr. O’Donnell was going to make up a story, Lyra could get in there, could hook her hands around it and make it hers. “She said I’d be able to call if I got scared.”
Dr. O’Donnell licked her lips. “I never—”
But this time, the firefighters were on Lyra’s side. “For God’s sake, let the kid call her mom,” the man said.
For a half second, Dr. O’Donnell and Lyra locked eyes. Dr. O’Donnell squinted as if they were separated by a hard fog, and Lyra wondered what she saw. That Lyra was small and young. That she was stupid. That she wasdying. Just like Calliope, all those years ago, and the bird.It was broken,she’d said. It’s better to kill it.For weeks afterward Lyra had dreamed of the bird coming back to life, but enormous, and swooping down through the dorms to peck their eyes out, one by one.
Dr. O’Donnell even looked vaguely amused. Of course she knew that Lyra had no mother.
Of course she knew, or thought she knew, that Lyra had no one to call.
Maybe that was why she didn’t put up more of a fight.
She shrugged. “Okay,” she said. She took her phone out of her pocket, and, after punching in her code, passed it wordlessly to Lyra.
She’d been trained to memorize number series, of course, so that the doctors at Haven would be able to collect data points, would be able to track how quickly her mind was breaking up. And she’d been trained to observe, too: not intentionally, but she had been trained.
And in the real world, she’d been trained to lie.
Lyra pressed the numbers very slowly, making sure she got them right.
Now Dr. O’Donnell was frowning. “Honestly, this isn’t standard....”
But the firefighters said nothing, and stood there, watching.
Lyra brought the phone to her ear. She pressed it hard,the way she had with those seashells Cassiopeia had collected long ago, and her breath hitched. It was ringing.
Once. Twice.
Answer,she thought.Answer.
Dr. O’Donnell lost patience. A muscle near her lips twitched. “Okay. That’s enough.”
“Wait,” Lyra said. Her heart was beating so loudly she lost track of the number of rings.
Answer.
And then a fumbling sound, and a cough, announced him.
“Reinhardt.” His voice sounded rough, but also comforting, like sand.
She closed her eyes and watched his name float up from the darkness, resolving slowly, like a distant star captured by a telescope.
“Detective Kevin Reinhardt. Hello,” she said. Her throat was tight. It was painful to speak. When she opened her eyes again, Dr. O’Donnell was staring at her. Shocked. Hands hanging at her sides, limp, like old balloons. “You picked me up in Nashville. You gave me your number and told me to call if I ever needed help.”
It seemed that everyone was frozen: Caelum, watching her, and the firefighters, watching her, and Dr. O’Donnell, slack-faced and dumb. Only the insects sang, a noise that sounded to her like a motor.
She took a deep breath. She had never been taught how to pray, but she did pray, then, without ever having learned it.
“I need your help,” she said.
