Computer Jack came bursting into the room in his usual flustered, goggle-eyed way, carrying an open laptop.
“What?” Caine snarled.
“I hacked it,” Computer Jack said proudly. When he got blank looks in reaction, he said, “Nurse Temple’s laptop.”
Caine looked nonplussed. “What? Oh. Great. I have bigger problems. Give it to Diana. And get out.”
Computer Jack handed the laptop to Diana and scuttled from the room.
“Scared little worm, isn’t he?” Drake said.
“Don’t mess with him. He’s useful,” Caine warned. “Drake. What did you see exactly when the girl…vacated?”
“The first one, I wasn’t looking right at her when it happened. The second one, I kept my eyes on her. One minute there, the next gone.”
“At one seventeen?”
Drake shrugged. “Close enough, anyway.”
Caine slammed his hand down on the desk. “I don’t want close enough, you idiot,” he shouted. “I’m trying to figure this out. You know, it’s not just me, Drake. We all get older. You’ll be there someday too, waiting to disappear.”
“April twelfth, just one minute after midnight, Drake,” Diana said. “Not that I’ve memorized the exact day, hour, and minute or…” She fell silent, reading the computer screen.
“What?” Caine asked.
Diana ignored him but it was clear that she had found something of great interest in the diary of Connie Temple. Diana rose with swift, feline grace and yanked open the file cabinet. She pulled the gray metal box out and placed it almost reverently on Caine’s desk.
“No one’s opened it yet?” she demanded.
“I was more interested in Nurse Temple’s laptop,” Caine said. “Why?”
“Be useful, Drake,” Diana ordered. “Break this lock.”
Drake grabbed a letter opener, inserted the blade in the cheap lock, and twisted. The lock broke.
Diana opened the box. “This looks like a will. And, ah, this is interesting, a newspaper clipping about the school bus thing we’ve all heard about. And…here it is.”
She held up a plastic folder protecting an elaborately printed birth certificate. She stared at it and started laughing.
“That’s enough, Diana,” Caine warned. He jumped up and yanked the birth certificate from her hand. He stared, frowning. Then he sat down hard, like he was a marionette and someone had cut his strings.
“November twenty-second,” Diana said, grinning spitefully.
“Coincidence,” Caine said.
“He’s three minutes older than you.”
“It’s a coincidence. We don’t look alike.”
“What’s the word for twins who aren’t identical?” Diana put her finger to her mouth, a parody of deep thought. “Oh yeah, fraternal twins. Same womb, same parents, different eggs.”
Caine looked like he might faint. Drake had never seen him like that. “It’s impossible.”
“Neither of you knows your real father,” Diana said. Now she was playing nice, as close to sympathetic as she ever managed to be. “And how many times have you told me you don’t seem to be anything like your parents, Caine?”
“It makes no sense,” Caine breathed. He reached for Diana’s hand and after a hesitation, she let him take it.
“What are you two talking about?” Drake demanded. He didn’t enjoy being the one person not in on the joke. But they both ignored him.
“It’s in the diary, too,” Diana said. “Nurse Temple. She knew you were a mutant. She suspected you had some kind of impossible power, and she was obviously onto some of the others, as well. She suspected you of causing half a dozen injuries where no one could ever figure out a cause.”
Drake barked a laugh, catching on. “Are you saying Nurse Temple was Caine’s mother?”
Caine’s face blazed in sudden rage. “Shut up, Drake.”
“Two little boys born on November twenty-second,” Diana said. “One stays with his mother. One is taken away, adopted by another family.”
“She was your mother and she gave you up and kept Sam?” Drake said, laughing in his enjoyment of Caine’s humiliation.
Caine swiveled away from Diana and extended his hands, palms out, toward Drake.
“Mistake,” Diana said, though whether she was talking to Drake or Caine wasn’t clear.
Something slammed Drake’s chest. It was like being hit by a truck. He was lifted off his feet and thrown against the wall. He smashed a pair of framed prints and fell in a heap.
He made himself shake it off. He wanted to jump up and go for Caine, finish him quick before the freak could hit him again. But Caine was there, looming over him, face red, teeth bared, looking like a mad dog.
“Remember who’s the boss, Drake,” Caine said, his voice low, guttural, like it was coming from an animal.
Drake nodded, beaten. For now.
“Get up,” Caine ordered. “We have work to do.”
Astrid was on the front porch with Little Pete. It was the best place to get some sun. She sat in the big white wicker rocker with her feet propped up on the railing. Her bare legs were blazing white in the sunshine. She had always been pale and was never the kind of person who obsessed over a tan, but she was feeling the need for sunlight today. Days with Little Pete tended to be spent indoors. And after a couple of days of that, the house was turning into a prison.