Clarice Conrad Home Book Report

Chapter Nineteen

Processed meant filling out more paperwork than I’d ever done before in my life. After two grueling hours, my reward was a new cell phone in a “morrokide” case — and an ID badge with “The Agency,” written across the top, my name, Keegan Sumner, Trainee S1, on the bottom, and in the middle, my mug shot.
Then, after signing my name for the umpteenth time on the umpteenth non-disclosure, legalese, whatever document, Miss Bleckart ordered me to report to Clarice Devereaux, my Handler, after school on Monday for training. Handler?
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Sunday morning after sleeping in, I woke up exhausted.
Not sure why, except for the fact that my whole life had just been turned right side up, or upside down, or inside out, I couldn’t

Above the porch, the set-in stained glass window with its four rounded petals reminded me of Mount Rose Elementary school back home in Reno. For a split second, I smelled dry desert sunshine mixed with dust—the smells of home. Happy memories of my childhood tumbled through me like a sagebrush in the desert winds. One of the church doors was open. On impulse, I went in., passing through the foyer, into the chapel, and looked around. The place was unoccupied. The Spanish style of the church continued inside, with its high ceiling and exposed wooden beams, made more ornate with zigzag shapes set in between the trusses. Ten cathedral-shaped, stained-glass windows, five on each wall, depicted scenes from Jesus Christ’s life, emphasized by a pair of small stained glass rectangular windows placed above the cathedral windows. Nothing else adorned the cream-colored walls. “Hello, you're either late for the midmorning service or early for the evening Bible study.” A man’s voice came from behind me.
My heart leapt into my throat and I turned around. “I’m sorry, the door was open and I

Max is quite the character, isn't he? He quite livens up the place, if you know what I mean.” Eli gave me a friendly smile. “Now if I could get him to actually come to a service.” He headed for a doorway that opened to a set of stairs.
Did he know about EEIs, too?
“Brooklyn, show this young man where he can wait for his friend. I’ve got to unload more boxes.” He passed through a doorway, and his footsteps going down the stairs to the basement, echoed against the walls.
Brooklyn pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a balcony. “You can wait for Max up there.” She followed the pastor down the stairs.
Well, if they knew about EEIs, they weren’t saying. Remembering the tons of confidentiality papers I signed, I didn’t dare ask.
Needing to go, but wanting to stay, I hesitated. The quietness of this sanctuary called to me. I stayed. The upstairs led to a balcony full of the same oak benches mellowed with age as the rest of the unoccupied chapel. Reasoning it to be the best place to watch and wait for Max, I sat in the middle of the bench against the back wall underneath the four-petal stained glass