Page 32 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Be nice,” I scold. “Ezra is my friend.”

The coloring book flips over, and a crayon scribbles:MINE MINE MINE.

“I’m allowed to have other friends,” I say.

The crayon snaps in half and clatters to the floor.

I flinch at the crack of it, my mind leaping to that last hypnosis session, the memory of being pushed down in the tub by invisible hands.

But that memory waswrong. Dorian would never do that to me.

I clear my throat, turning to Ezra. “I’m sorry.”

His lips lift in a half-smile. He’s looking into the cell, distracted enough to miss my doubt. “I’m just happy to see that he’s strong enough to act out like this.” He folds his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers against the opposite bicep. “Though I hope we can find a way to get him to cooperate.”

My good mood dampens. He’s right. Bringing Dorian back from the brink of nonexistence was only the first step in us being reunited.

“Can’t you let me bring him home?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You…you could tell the MRF he disappeared today and let me leave with him. Couldn’t you?”

Ezra opens his mouth, shuts it again. When he finally speaks, instead of an answer, he asks, “Why did he push you out of the cell?”

I blink. “What?”

“I saw him push you,” he says, studying my face. “Like he didn’twantyou to be there. Why?”

“I…” My mouth hangs open before I shut it and wordlessly shake my head.

“Have you remembered what happened that night?” he presses. “Do you know if he killed your parents?”

I flush under his scrutiny and lower my eyes. I believe, deep in my heart, that Dorian didn’t do it…but he’s right that I don’t know for certain.

“There are too many things we don’t know,” Ezra says when I don’t respond. “I’ve always suspected there was more to the story of what happened that night, but Dorian still isn’t communicating with us. He seems unstable. And like I said before, sometimes, spirits can warp. Lose themselves. I need to be sure that isn’t happening, and Dorian is harmless to you and the rest of the world, before I can think about doing something like that.”

I almost insist he is, but I stop short. Iamcertain Dorian is harmless to me. But the rest of the world?

“And if Icanprove that?” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet his again. “Then what? Will you help me get him out of here?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “If we do this right…” He turns and looks at Dorian’s cell, a fragile hope blooming on his face. “I’ve told you the MRF is different now. The new leadership is sympathetic. If we could prove that he’s harmless, maybe they’ll agree to release him.”

I stare at him, searching his face. I’ve been nursing a vague hope that Ezra would help stage an escape for Dorian if I could convince him he was innocent, but I never dared to dream ofthat.“You think that’s possible?” I ask. “This place, you think they would actually let him go?”

“I do,” Ezra says. “And I think it could change everything about the MRF’s future.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, nodding. It’s hard to make myself care about the MRF. But it means my interests and Ezra’s are aligned, for now.

“So where should we start?” I ask, gazing into the cell.

Dorian reappears, grabbing his rubber ball from the floor and beginning to toss it and catch it again, alternating between his four arms.

I can still feel those arms around me. All four hands touching, caressing, grabbing, like he can’t get enough.

Ezra squints through the viewing window, his brow furrowing. “Does he…? His arms. It almost looks like…”

“He has four of them,” I say, smiling. But Ezra’s startled look makes my grin fade. Surely that can’t be the most unusual thing Ezra has heard of in this place.

“But that’s…” He shakes his head, pushes his glasses up. “In the drawing you showed me, he only had two.”

“Yeah, he grew them later,” I say.

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