vanishing game

the vanishing game
KATE KAE MYERS
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
How it Starts
One: Marathon
Two: The Envelope
Three: Watertown
Four: The Cellar
Five: Escape
Six: The Alley
Seven: Stalker
Eight: The Deal
Nine: Seale House
Ten: The Message
Eleven: The Tower
Twelve: Flowers
Thirteen: Condolences
Fourteen: Conversation
Fifteen: Getting Close
Sixteen: Catching Up
Seventeen: Another Clue
Eighteen: Dixon
Nineteen: The Painting
Twenty: Charred
Twenty-One: Interrogation
Twenty-Two: Shadows
Twenty-Three: Truth
Twenty-Four: Monopoly
Twenty-Five: Noah’s Story
Twenty-Six: Cipher
Twenty-Seven: Jason December
Twenty-Eight: The Request
Twenty-Nine: Confession
Thirty: Lies
Thirty-One: Recognition
Thirty-Two: Fight
Thirty-Three: The Assignment
Thirty-Four: “X”
Thirty-Five: Jack
Thirty-Six: The Enemy
Thirty-Seven: Memories
Thirty-Eight: Freak
Thirty-Nine: Sunset
Acknowledgments
Imprint
To my family
How it Starts
Life is a series of shallow breaths. And in any breath,
everything can change.
Breathe in.
Eating the last of the cereal with my brother, Jack.
Running away from home.
Breathe out.
Joking around while we washed dishes. Firing a gun.
Breathe in.
Taking boring notes in history. Getting pulled out of
class by the school counselor. Hearing the news about
my brother.
Breathe out.
All in a shallow breath.
The high school parking lot of Troy Tech filled with kids
hurrying to their cars. They were eager to beat each other
onto the street but desperate to get ahead of the buses.
Since it was the Friday before spring break, the general
feeling was of being paroled from prison. Lucky for me I’d
gotten out of the counselor’s office a couple of minutes
early, which meant there were only three cars ahead of my
beat-up little Civic. I inched forward, wanting my freedom
like everyone else. Maybe wanting it more.
My cell phone hummed and I checked the text. It was
from Brooke, wanting to know if I was going on the camping
trip. Six of us roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. Telling
ghost stories. Trying to make each other laugh. Could I ever
laugh again? I didn’t think so.
If Jack were still alive, we’d both be going. But three
weeks ago my twin brother was in a fatal car accident.
Since then, everywhere I went the pain of losing him went
with me. It wore me like a backpack, slapping a rhythm of
heartache against my soul with each step.
I didn’t really want to go camping, but the thought of
hanging around all week with my foster family depressed
me. Even worse, I knew the memories of Jack’s presence
in the house would cause a constant grieving whisper.
The car ahead of me turned onto the street and I slid
through the stop sign after it. Ten minutes later I pulled into
the driveway of the large two-story house where my brother
and I had lived for the last three years. Going through the
door, I heard the sounds of a cooking show on TV and little
kids wrestling with the family dog. It smelled like oatmeal
brownies. Jack’s favorite.
“That you, Jocelyn?” my foster mom called from the
kitchen.
Before I could answer, Marilyn peeked around the corner,
an oven mitt on one hand and a spatula in the other. She
blew at her bangs to get them out of her eyes. “Did you
decide if you’re going camping?”
“Yeah. I think I will.”
“Good.” A timer beeped, drawing her back into the
kitchen. She called to me over her shoulder. “Hey, a letter
came for you. It’s in your room.”
I opened the hall closet, grabbed a sleeping bag, and
headed upstairs. Going into my room, I dropped the bag on
the floor. My mind was on the camping trip; what to pack,
what to wear, what to avoid talking about. I noticed the
letter. Probably more college stuff, I thought.
Picking it up, I stared at it, my lips parting in a silent
gasp. A tremor passed through me: the aftershock
following an earthquake.
It was from Jack.
One
Marathon
Staying in the shadows of buildings whenever possible, I
ran along the sidewalk. The soles of my shoes slapped the
wet concrete and beat out a desperate chant: get to him …
get to him … as car engines droned in the distance. I wove
my way down side streets and across open walkways, out
of breath by the time I turned onto Arsenal Street, which
connected with Watertown’s public square. Caught in the
muted circular halos of the streetlights were swirling spirals
of rain. They reminded me of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, my
brother Jack’s favorite painting. At any other time I would’ve
appreciated the abstract beauty, but just then all I could
think was, it’s way too bright out here.
Rain soaked me to the skin. Blinking through a blur of
watery mascara, I stepped up the pace. A bank sign
displayed the time: 10:07 p.m. I was three hours away from
the safety of home, and more afraid than I’d been since
leaving this upstate New York town nearly five years ago.
Even as the rain plastered my T-shirt to my body and stung
my face, my mind was somewhere else. The white noise of
fear blocked out any pain.
Two cars were coming down the road, their low beams
like penetrating flashlights. I stepped back into the
shadows, my heart hammering and lungs aching. After they
drove by, I bolted across the wide street. Entering the
public square, I ran past the Lady Spray fountain, its water
hissing under the rain. I skirted the large brick buildings that
faced the central plaza and felt less vulnerable in their deep
shadows. A few seconds later I darted down an alley, then
crossed the deserted parking lot of a bank. Only two more
blocks! As I ran, one desperate question kept circling
through my head: will he still be there?
Noah Collier was a guy of habits, and because of those
habits I knew there was a chance I’d find him. A minute later
I rounded a corner and caught sight of my goal: a poorly lit
parking lot. My eyes tore around the lot and relief surged
through me when I saw his black Jeep Cherokee.
I studied the gray-stone building. He was still inside,
sparring at his martial arts dojo, but there was no way I
could simply walk in and try to find him. Instead, I’d have to
wait. How long, though? I couldn’t just stand around and be
a target for whoever had been following me. I hurried to his
car and pushed aside the wet strings of hair that hung in my
face. I grabbed the door handle. It was locked. Then I
thought about last night when I’d been spying on him. He’d
hauled several boxes out of the back end of the Jeep.
Going to the rear, I opened the hatchback.
I shoved away a case of bottled water and climbed in. It
wasn’t easy—at nearly six feet, I was tall for a girl. I curled
up on the floor and shut the door, then lay in the dark, trying
to catch my breath and listening to the rain pummeling the
roof. Maybe this was better anyway, since he probably
wouldn’t like finding me in his passenger seat.
Although it was a relief to be out of the rain, the sense
that someone was following me brought more anxiety as I
realized what a vulnerable position I was in. Crammed
beneath the hatch with no weapon and hardly able to move,
I couldn’t defend myself. I strained my ears for the sound of
approaching feet through the downpour. If I’d been tailed,
then whoever was out there would be here in the next few
seconds. My adrenaline surged again, and I seriously
considered peeking out the window. I didn’t, though, and
after a couple of minutes it seemed possible that I’d gotten
away.
Now that I was lying still my body started to cool off. It
didn’t take long to get chilled, and I found myself wishing
Noah would get here soon. Of course what I’d do then
wasn’t exactly clear, since he might not give me much time
to explain. Shivering, I tried to get comfortable. While I
waited, my thoughts were a dazed blur. How had this
happened?
During the entire day that I spent spying on Noah, I hadn’t
planned on actually talking to him. But less than an hour ago
my car had been stolen from the parking lot of an Internet
café. Inside it was nearly everything I’d brought with me
when I traveled from my foster parents’ house in Troy,
including my money, clothes, cell phone, and net-book. Now
all I had left in my pockets were a couple forms of ID, the
key to my missing car, and the envelope that had made me
decide to come here in the first place.
Even more unnerving, instinct said someone was
following me. Instinct, it seemed, was honing its blade on
my nerves, warning me that whoever had taken my car
wasn’t going to let it end there. Asking Noah for help was
the only plan I could think of, since going to the local police
was not an option.
The sound of a lock springing open startled me, and I
caught my breath. Was he finally here? The driver’s door
opened and a harsh white light glared from overhead. I
squinted and scrunched lower. What now? I already knew
Noah was a guy who wouldn’t react calmly to my hiding in
his car, no matter what I had to say. Jumping up from the
back of his Jeep when he didn’t expect it might get me a
fist in the face, or worse. I decided to keep still.
He climbed in and slammed the door, extinguishing the
dome light. The engine started and a song I didn’t
recognize pounded from the radio. The Jeep pulled out of
its parking space and moved from the lot into the street.
We accelerated. Shadows began to glide in and out of the
windows like dark, filmy bats. If I’d been uncomfortable in
the cramped back end before, once we got moving the
jostling made it even worse. The luggage area of a Jeep
wasn’t exactly meant for passengers, and I needed to move
because pins and needles were starting in my feet. I didn’t
dare rise high enough for him to catch sight of the top of my
head, so I carefully tried to readjust my position. As we
turned a few sharp corners I had to brace myself. It was
also stinking cold in the back, and if he happened to be
running the heater up front, none of the warm air was
reaching me.
The drive lasted about ten minutes, but it seemed a
whole lot longer. Hiding in the back of a car belonging to a
guy I hadn’t talked to in nearly five years was way outside
my comfort zone. Would he even recognize me? I’d
changed a lot. As I listened to the rain, the radio, and the
swish of windshield wipers, I tried to think of what to say
when we came face-to-face.
“Hi, Noah. Believe it or not it’s me, Jocelyn Harte, and I
think we really need to talk. I know it’s been a while, and we
didn’t part on the best of terms, since you told me if you
ever saw me again you’d kill me, but we were only kids
back then and you didn’t really mean it, did you?”
Sure. That would work.
We left the center of Watertown and drove along
Woodard Hill Road, which ran beside the Black River. I
should have felt relieved, knowing I was safe from my
pursuer, but I didn’t. Instead, I worried about how alone I
was. No, not alone. Worse. Dependent on a guy who had
no idea I was hiding in the back of his car.
In time the Jeep slowed and swung left, and after a few
more minutes we turned onto a driveway and came to a
slow stop. I heard the garage door slide up; then we pulled
forward. The droning rain suddenly stopped, and the inside
of the car was lit by the glaring overhead bulb. The garage
door closed behind us. Noah turned off the engine and the
radio fell silent. I kept very still, lying low and pressing
against the back of the seat. I analyzed each noise.
The driver’s door opened. Noah got out and slammed it
shut. I heard his feet crunching on gritty concrete and my
ears strained for every sound. I knew it would be much
smarter for me to wait until he was inside before
approaching him. I wouldn’t dare knock on the door leading
from the garage into his half of the duplex, but I could slip
outside, go around to the front, and ring the bell.
He walked away from the Jeep. I heard a door open and
close. For a few seconds I breathed a little easier, though
my heart was still pounding. I crawled to my knees and
peered out the window. I was alone. The hatchback couldn’t
be opened from the inside, so I climbed over the backseat
and got out. I scanned the garage and saw two doors. One
led inside, the other to the backyard. That was where I
needed to go, but I’d have to be quiet so he didn’t hear me.
I knew from spying on him that the other half of the duplex
was empty. At least there wouldn’t be the problem of
avoiding nosy neighbors.
I’d taken only a few steps when the soft sound of grit
crunching on cement startled me. Spinning around, I saw
Noah’s large frame half a second before he slammed into
me, knocking me back against his Jeep. The jolt sent a
crack of pain up my neck and I cried out. He squelched the
sound by wrapping his hands around my throat. I struggled
against him, but he had the arms of an orangutan. I couldn’t
reach him with my blows and he easily avoided my kicks.
Fighting him didn’t work, so I desperately tried to explain,
but his hands gripped harder until only a few grunts and
gasps escaped me as my body fought for air. He had me.
There was nothing I could do.
Frantic, I dug my fingers into his hands, but with no result.
I couldn’t think of anything else to do but offer him the name
that might set me free. I looked into his angry face and
began to repeat two important words over and over again.
No sound came out, and I probably looked like a grounded
fish with its mouth flopping open and closed, but I kept
trying. I repeatedly mouthed the two words as clearly as I
could, looking up at him with wild eyes.
Why didn’t he get it? I was inches from his face! Couldn’t
the idiot read lips? Blood was now pounding in my ears like
some roaring surf, and my face felt swollen and hot. A dim
haze began to cross my eyes. He was going to kill me!
I dropped my hands and stopped struggling, staring up at
him in one last effort before unconsciousness settled in. I
begged him with my eyes, but it didn’t work. Pleading for
help was something I’d never been good at. Besides, it
was hard to come across as helpless when I was pushing
six feet and staring into the eyes of a guy who barely had
two inches on me.
The iron grip around my throat eased just enough for me
to pull in a couple of breaths. His face moved closer to
mine. “You have two seconds to explain.”
I opened my lips to speak, horrified when no sound made
its way out of my windpipe. His fingers began to tighten
again. I salvaged every last bit of strength I had and
croaked, “Third freak!”
Noah dropped his hands like I was made of hot coals. He
stepped back and stared. Several expressions crossed his
face: astonishment, doubt, and then anger. I didn’t pay
much attention, though, because my body was too busy
gulping in air with delirious greed. My limbs were trembling,
and I felt myself start to slide down the side of the Jeep. He
leaped forward to catch me, but I swung my fist up with all
the strength I could find. It contacted him quite hard in a
rather sensitive area and he doubled over, landing on his
knees with a groan.
We sat that way for a while, my back against the tire and
my rear on the cold concrete floor and him slumped nearby.
We stared at each other, but neither of us said a word.
Two
The Envelope
I was grateful for the heat coming from the gas fireplace as I
sat on the raised hearth, drying my hair with a small towel.
Except for one dim lamp, the flames gave off the only light.
Shadows hovered in the corners of the room and bumped
their heads on the ceiling.
Glancing around, I saw that Noah’s half of this older
duplex had worn carpet, walls in need of paint, and
windows with cheap aluminum casings. A shabby
bookcase was against one wall, crammed with
paperbacks, and the furniture looked a bit beat up. Despite
all that, everything was orderly.
From what my brother, Jack, had told me, I knew that
Noah used to share this place with a roommate until the guy
moved in with a girlfriend. Noah got stuck with the lease but
had enough money to get by.
Jack and Noah had been best friends since we were
kids. They were a couple of computer geniuses who ended
up making a security program together. It was bought out
by a company that also hired them as part-time
programmers.
Thinking about Jack caused an uproar of emotions
inside me. For three weeks now I’d lived with the grief of
losing him, and it was like having my heart crushed beneath
a heavy stone. Until the envelope came.
“So what the hell happened to you?” Noah asked from
the corner of the couch.
“Please don’t swear.”
“Still a prude, huh?” When I didn’t answer he added, “Hell
is technically a place, not a swear word.”
It was an old debate. I sat in silence, my neck still
throbbing from the brutal squeeze he’d given it. My voice
was now throaty in a semi-sexy way that bothered me. I
didn’t look at Noah but felt his eyes drilling a hole through
me.
“Okay, so what the heck happened to you?”
I ran my fingers through my soaked hair. “It’s been a
rough day.”
“That’s not what I mean, Jocey,” he said, calling me by
my childhood nickname. “You don’t look anything like you
did. What’s with all the makeup and blond hair?”
“I grew up! What’d you think? That I’d stay a dorky kid
forever?” My eyes flitted to the nighttime windows that were
weepy with rain. “Close the curtains, will you?”
Noah paused a few seconds before giving in. He jerked
the drapes shut and sat back down. “I wouldn’t have even
believed it was you if it wasn’t for those two little moles on
your neck. They look like a vampire bite. I used to sit and
stare at them, you know, and fantasize about biting you
there.”
A memory came to mind—the first time Jack and I saw
Noah. It was in the boys’ bedroom at our new foster home,
Seale House. He was kneeling beside a black garbage
bag cut open into a large rectangle. Using clear packing
tape, he’d been meticulously pleating it into a cape. All
these years later, sitting by his fireplace, I couldn’t
remember how long his Dracula phase had lasted.
Eventually it was replaced by the Darth Vader—Luke
Skywalker combo, and later by a black ninja.
My fingers fluttered up to my neck. “I never knew that.”
He smiled, though it wasn’t a pleasant let’s-renew-ourfriendship
sort of grin. If anything, it made me uneasy. I
tossed aside the towel I’d been drying my hair with. The
heat from the fire was comforting since my clothes were still
damp.
“I’m surprised you came back here. You hate this town.”
“I didn’t plan to. But then, after the accident …” My voice
trailed off and I couldn’t finish. I listened to the quiet murmur
of the rain.
“Jocelyn, I’m sorry about Jack. Really sorry.”
A painful lump tightened my throat. I nodded, biting my
lower lip.
“When Jack and I were chatting online,” Noah added, “he
told me that a year after you two left Watertown, you ended
up in foster care again. And that’s where you’ve stayed.”
up in foster care again. And that’s where you’ve stayed.”
“The Habertons are good people, and their home is
nothing like Seale House. They’re a large Catholic family
and we live in Troy, just outside Albany. Brent is a doctor at
the hospital there. Marilyn is the mom, and she’s great.
They both are.”
“You call them by their first names?”
“Yes. They suggested it, since we were so much older
than their other kids. They’ve done a lot for us. Even got me
and Jack into a private tech school, so he could be a
programmer and I could focus on digital art. I took classes
in the morning and did an internship in the afternoon. My
hours were completed two weeks ago, though. I’m back to
a regular school schedule now.”
“Were you doing graphic design?”
I nodded. “Jack did the same kind of internship, but of
course he was programming for ISI.”
“He told me a little about your high school and your foster
parents. So do they know you’re here?”
“No. It’s spring break. I was going camping with friends
but decided to cancel and drive up here instead.”
“So why’d you come back to Watertown, Jocelyn? And
why’d you do a crazy thing like hide in the back of my car?”
His voice sounded wary, and silence hung between us
again. Unsure about telling him my reasons, instead I said,
“Are you still mad about what happened the night I left
Seale House? I was just a kid, you know.” He looked away
and I stood. “This was a mistake.”
“Sit down. We’re not done yet.”
I hesitated, studying him with apprehension. He added,
“Why are you so jumpy? I’m not going to hurt you.”
Unexpected tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision
the way the rain had done earlier. It both horrified and
humiliated me, and I turned into the shadows to hide. He
got up from the couch and came over, standing next to me. I
didn’t look at him but felt his nearness the way I felt the heat
from the fire.
“You never cry.” His voice sounded unnerved.
“I’m not crying,” I lied. He was right, though. I’d never
been a crybaby. But three weeks ago when I got the news
that Jack was dead, I’d been heartbroken. Then yesterday,
when I’d found that envelope, hope had soared like a
sparrow winging its way to the sun. Going from such
despair to that teetering height had left me dizzy. It also
threw me into a panic. I was desperate to get to Jack and
find out what had happened to him. I drove up to Watertown
and started spying on Noah, believing my brother would
come to the one guy he’d always trusted. But when he
didn’t show up, my world felt like it was sinking into a
chasm. That was why it didn’t take much for the tears to
start coming.
Noah caught my jaw in his fingers and turned my face to
him. I saw his lean features swimming through the wet blur
and jerked away, which freed a tear to spill down my cheek.
I brushed it off. He put his hand on my shoulder and pushed
me down onto the hearth. This time he sat next to me.
“You don’t need to worry. A lot has happened since those
days, and I’m not that boy anymore.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once upon a time there was a boy called Freak who
became my hero.”
He shook his head. “Don’t, Jocey.”
“I remember my first night in Seale House. Hazel Frey put
Jack and me down in the cellar. We were so afraid. Jack
usually tried to tell me everything was going to work out. But
he was quiet. Miserable, like me. You’re right, I don’t cry,
but that night I did.”
“Kids were always terrified of the cellar.”
“It wasn’t just about being scared. It was more about
hope being squashed like a spider under a shoe. Seale
House seemed so big and impressive. For the first time in
a long time there was a little bit of hope. But when Hazel
locked us in the cellar, we knew what she was going to be
like.”
The large house had grown quiet. Jack and I were sitting
together in the dark when we heard the lock turn. The door
at the top of the stairs opened and a little light came
through. Then a boy we’d seen before came creeping
down the steps in a Dracula cape. He had a flashlight.
“Here,” he said in a low voice, handing us paper plates
filled with cold roast beef and dinner rolls.
He told us his name was Noah, and then he showed us
a large cardboard box. Opening the flaps he said, “You
can use what’s in here.”
The anxiety inside me eased a little as he pulled out
blankets, pillows, and a flashlight. Tossing this last to Jack
he added, “Don’t leave it on all night. If the batteries run
down I have to sneak new ones from the junk drawer.
She’ll notice if we go through them too fast.”
Digging out a short stack of graphic novels from the
box, he handed them to me and I smiled. “Thanks, Noah.”
“Just be sure everyone’s gone to bed before you use
this stuff. Because if Hazel finds out, she’ll go ballistic.”
“I can still see you sitting on the bottom step, explaining how
we needed to wait until Hazel got zoned out on her
marijuana. After that we could open the box. While we ate,
you sat and talked with us, do you remember?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It seems like yesterday to me.” I shifted a few inches
away from Noah to look at him. “You asked if I was a boy or
a girl, and I was embarrassed.” A couple of days before
coming to Seale House, my mother had cut off my hair, the
only thing that showed I was a girl since I looked so much
like a tall, awkward boy. “I was okay with your question,
though, since you were being kind. I remember sitting on a
pillow while you told us all about vampires.”
Noah blew out a sigh. “I’m tired. Does this have a point?”
“I want to know what’s wrong with Seale House.”
“Other than it’s half burned down now?”
“Exactly.” I rolled my head once to relieve the tension in
my neck. “How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. Someone probably lit a match.”
“Whoever burned it down must’ve really hated the place.
Guess I can’t blame them, because there was something
wrong with Seale House. Something scary. Maybe it had a
poltergeist.”
“Poltergeist?”
“Ghost, kid-eater … whatever you want to call it.”
Noah studied me like I was nuts. The flames etched his
face with flickering tattoos. “That was all pretend. Just little
kids making up stories.”
“Sure. I’ve been telling myself that for years, trying to
escape from a place that doesn’t want to let go.”
“That’s crazy! Why are you pulling up all this junk from the
past?”
“Believe me, Noah, meeting you again was the last thing I
planned to do. But I got in some trouble tonight and didn’t
know where else to go.”
“What happened?”
“My car was stolen, with almost everything I had still
inside it, including my phone and money.” I didn’t add that I
was also sure someone had been following me. “So can
you just help me for now, until I figure out what to do? Then
I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend this unhappy
evening never happened.”
“Fine. But first tell me the real reason you came back to
Watertown.”
This was the Noah I remembered, never willing to let
anything go. I took in a deep breath and then slowly
exhaled. “I’m looking for Jack.”
Noah’s expression grew withdrawn. “Jack’s dead.”
“If you say so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrugged. “I got a newspaper clipping in the mail about
the fire at Seale House. It came in a Jason December
envelope.”
“That’s not possible!”
I dug the damp, folded envelope out of my pocket and
handed it to him. There was the name printed in block
letters on the top left corner. It felt as if we were once again
two kids handed a riddle.
It was a humid July morning. Noah and I were sitting in our
hiding place high up in the branches of the giant pine. No
one could see us. Weeding the flower beds was done, and
we didn’t need to start making lunch for the younger kids
until noon. That meant we had one golden hour to
decipher the clues. Jack had vanished but left a note
challenging us to a game.
“If you are reading this,” I read aloud as Noah peered
over my shoulder, “then it means you’re close to finding
me. This clue leads to the final piece of the puzzle. There
are pages where it is hidden, but it is not in a book. It is in
plain sight, but do not take your time or it will be torn away.
You must find me soon. —Jason December.”
A warm wind swayed the branches and stirred the scent
of pitchy pine as Noah and I sat there, struggling to
understand the clues. It wasn’t until we analyzed the name
“Jason December” that Noah finally figured it out.
“Got it!” He pulled a stubby pencil from his pocket and
wrote on the back of the letter. J(uly) A(ugust)
S(eptember) O(ctober) N(ovember) December. “It’s the
last six months of the year.”
“That’s right!” I gaped at Noah with newfound respect.
“You’re as smart as Jack.”
“Smarter.”
I didn’t argue as we scurried down the tree and headed
back to Seale House. We now knew that the last clue
would be taped behind the calendar in the kitchen. It was a
glorious moment.
After that, every treasure hunt Jack sent us on and
every message from him came with the code name Jason
December. It was our secret and only the three of us knew
what it meant.
Noah, who had been studying the printing on the envelope,
finally looked up at me. “Why are you smiling?”
My mouth fell sober. “Just remembering the first Jason
December letter.”
I started to cry for real this time, no longer caring what
Noah thought of me. I didn’t look at him, but I sensed from
his stiff posture that he was uncomfortable.
“I think he’s still alive, Noah.” I shoved down the sob until
my voice was steadier. “And I know that if he’s in trouble
he’ll come to you. You’re his best friend.”
I didn’t confess that I’d been spying on him, hoping Jack
would show up.
“He’s not still alive.” Noah’s voice was quiet. “He couldn’t
be.”
“It’s because of you Jack ended up working for ISI and
pushing himself so hard. And maybe it’s because of them
he got in trouble. What if something happened to really
upset him or make him want to disappear?”
Noah just looked at me, shaking his head. His
unwillingness to accept my theories caused my sense of
purpose to falter, since he knew my brother better than
anyone except me. I thought of the many times Jack had
stayed up late chatting online with Noah, renewing a
friendship that meant everything to him.
It had started more than a year ago, when Jack
reconnected with Noah through a social network. After
catching up on the past, they began gaming and instant
messaging each other. Avid programmers, they worked on
coding together, including making a security program that
could latch on to invading hackers, tracking and identifying
them. This was a big accomplishment and got some
serious attention in several programming clans. Then one
day they were approached by a company named Internet
Security, Inc.
Impatient, I checked the time on the dashboard of my
Civic. I didn’t want us to be late for first period again, or
we’d lose lunch privileges and get stuck on campus.
Ready to honk the horn, I was relieved when Jack ran
through the front door and practically dove inside the car.
“I told you to hurry!” My voice was cross as he slammed
the door. Pulling away from the curb and stepping on it, I
added, “Ms. Biddway is going to shoot lasers out her eyes
if I’m late to class again.”
“Forget her. Guess what I just got?” He didn’t wait for my
answer. “An e-mail from ISI. Do you remember how they
asked Noah to program for them? Now they want me too.”
“How are you going to find time for that?”
“Easy. The e-mail said they’ll contact the school to see
if I can start an internship with them at the new semester.”
“No way!”
“Since my grades are good, I’m sure the principal will let
me. And you won’t believe how much they’re offering to
pay.”
Working for ISI had made both Jack and Noah pretty good
money for guys their age, a payoff they’d been happy to
get. It had also tied up a lot of Jack’s time, so there’d been
a price.
My thoughts came back to the present, and I studied
Noah’s uncertain expression as he examined the creased
newspaper clipping that had been inside the envelope.
There was a photo of Seale House dated the day before
Jack’s accident and a caption beneath. I’d practically
memorized it.
Police say a historic home on Keyes
Avenue was partially destroyed when fire
broke out early this morning. The house
was currently unoccupied and in
foreclosure. Cause of the blaze is being
viewed as suspicious by fire officials,
and an investigation will follow.
Flipping it over, Noah looked on the reverse side but saw
no note. “Honestly, I don’t know what to make of this.” He
stuffed the clipping back in the envelope and handed it to
me.
“Spend the night if you want.” He pointed at a door down
the hall. “That’s a second bedroom. The laundry closet is
next to it, so feel free to use the dryer for your clothes. And
some T-shirts are in the dresser.”
He stood and headed away from me. Over his shoulder
he added, “In the meantime, try to get your head together.”
I didn’t bother to thank him. Now I realized Noah didn’t
believe me. Did he think what I’d shown him was a hoax?
For a few seconds my confidence that my brother was still
alive wavered like a candle flame in a cold draft. But then I
mentally sheltered that hope, unwilling to let Noah’s
faithless logic extinguish it. Besides, there was one thing I
now knew for sure, and it was a bit of information I was very
glad to have: Noah hadn’t been the one to send me the
envelope from Jason December. Since only Noah, Jack,
and I knew about that code name, no one else could have
sent it. My brother was alive and somewhere in Watertown,
because the postmark showed it was sent from here.
Why Jack had faked his death and sent me this clue was
baffling. And yet I knew he wouldn’t have let me suffer like
I’d done these last weeks without a reason. Once I found
him, he’d tell me everything.
Three
Watertown
I woke from a dreamless sleep to see muted morning light,
and peered at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly
eleven and another overcast day. Lying there relaxed, my
mind turned again to my brother. My twin, Jackson Harte,
and I were the only children of our mother, Melody. Insisting
we’d nearly killed her during childbirth, she’d immediately
demanded that the doctor tie her tubes.
Jack and I were both tall and looked a lot alike, except
my eyes were blue and his were brown. Coming from a
fine-boned, five-foot-three mother, we could only guess
about our father. We never knew him and Melody wouldn’t
talk about him. More than once Jack and I made up stories,
always assuming he was tall. During one of our ongoing
games of make-believe, we decided he played center for
an NBA team.
“Which one do you think he could be?” I asked as we
watched the playoffs on TV. I was ten and kept studying
the brief glimpses of faces the cameras showed, hoping to
find an obvious resemblance to the man who might have
contributed to our DNA.
“Narrow it down,” Jack replied. “It’s none of the Hispanic
guys. At least not for you because of your blue eyes. My
dad might be, though.”
“Hey, brainiac, did you forget we’re twins?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!”
“Not if Mom had sex with two different guys on the same
day.” He laughed at my expression. “It can happen, sis. I
read about it in the newspaper.”
I glanced away to hide my expression. A few minutes
later I left the front room and went into our tiny, shabby
bedroom. Outside the window dry pellets of snow, hard as
salt crystals, hit the panes.
“Hey,” Jack said, coming into the room. “Five minutes
ago you said she probably slept with the whole basketball
team, remember?”
“It’s not that.” I turned away from the brittle snow to look
at him. “What if it’s true and we’re only half brother and
sister?” The idea that Jack and I might not share 100
percent of our DNA was devastating.
He shook his head. “We didn’t get our brains from
Melody, right? She couldn’t finish a word search to save
her life. That had to come from our dad.”
I smiled and nodded in agreement because I
desperately wanted to believe that was true. He came over
and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Guess what? I
have a puzzle for you. Think you can figure out the clues?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not going to be easy. No hints this time.”
“I didn’t need any last time.”
The memory made me smile to myself and then fight back
tears. Jack was the only family member I’d ever loved or
cared about. He protected my sanity, the same way I
protected his. In the whirlwind childhood of Melody’s
neglect and her boyfriends’ brutality, we gave each other
the mutual nurturing an only child would never have had.
There wasn’t any sibling rivalry between us. Sometimes
there were teasing words, but nothing ever meant to cut.
My brother’s sudden death had left a huge hole in my life.
My grief was intense. Visits with my therapist didn’t help,
even though he kept assuring me healing took time. What
saved me was getting the unexpected envelope from Jason
December. I just needed to keep going and figure out
where Jack was.
I climbed out of bed and winced because my neck was
sore from Noah’s chokehold last night. Going into the
bathroom, I saw my clothes had been laundered and were
neatly folded on top of the hamper. Had Noah washed and
dried them out of kindness, or because he didn’t like the
idea of a pile of soggy stuff left on his bathroom floor? I
figured it was the second reason. On top was a new
toothbrush, comb, and an envelope with my name on it;
cash was inside. Though I should have felt grateful, it left an
unpleasant taste in my mouth. Maybe Noah gave me the
money to make sure I got out of his house and didn’t bother
him again.
After showering, I wiped the foggy mirror and examined
my face. For a second or two as I stood there, I caught a
glimpse of the young girl I once was as she hid just behind
my reflection. Like a ghostly hologram, Jocey faded in and
out, her image overlaid by my slimmed-down face and
recent ice-blond highlights. During the last few years I’d
spent a lot of time trying to make her vanish, though coming
back to Watertown was bound to resurrect her. Once again
I was that preteen girl with dishwater hair, a flat chest, and a
defensive expression. I’d been so gangly, awkward, and
such a late bloomer that I was sometimes still surprised by
what I now saw in the mirror.
I grabbed the blow-dryer, working on my hair. It was long
and shiny. At age twelve I deeply hated having short hair
and made a silent promise to myself that someday it would
be long. I never let anyone butcher it again.
Turning off the blow-dryer and refocusing my eyes on the
mirror, the old Jocey’s image finally faded away. Now, at
almost eighteen, I admitted there’d been a plus to my
unattractive looks back then. Considering all the men that
drifted in and out of Melody’s life, if I’d been pretty like my
mother I’d likely have gone through much worse stuff than I
had. But because all they saw was a tall, scrawny kid that
could’ve passed for a boy, they left me alone. The best of
them ignored both me and Jack; the worst had a cruel
streak we avoided by becoming invisible.
I smoothed my hair and wished for some clips to pull it
back. It would have also been nice to have some lipstick
and eye shadow, but even at my worst I was so much
prettier than my younger self had ever been.
After dressing, I left the bathroom and walked through
Noah’s house. I realized he was gone and shoved down
hurt feelings. He’d probably skipped out to avoid seeing
me. Going into the kitchen, I raided the pantry and ate a
bagel. Then I called a taxi, which took twenty minutes to
show up. I locked the front door behind me. It had been a
mistake to come to Noah for help. My car was still missing,
along with everything I needed to get back home, but if I
could just find Jack it would be okay. My brother and I had
always taken care of each other. Even if he was in trouble,
the two of us would work it out together.
I had the driver drop me off in the middle of Watertown
and spent the afternoon visiting places where Jack and I
had gone as kids. This included a couple of computer and
game stores, our favorite fast food places, and the Flower
Memorial Library that I’d once loved. I didn’t learn anything
new, but it helped me feel less anxious, as if I were getting
closer. Eventually I ended up at an Internet café and paid to
check my e-mail for anything from Jack. I was soon
disappointed. After that I searched the web for an hour,
checking out his favorite forums. No sign of him.
There was nothing left but to take the loathsome next
step. I started the long walk to Keyes Avenue. It was time to
face the one place I’d been avoiding.
Nearing twilight, I wandered down familiar streets leading
into the older neighborhood. To the west the troubled sky
was an odd shade of brownish purple. It reminded me of a
growing bruise. Opposite, in the east, distant rain clouds
hung like layered scarves of dark gray. A new storm might
be coming to town, though whether it would bring another
downpour like last night, I couldn’t be sure.
As if drawn by a magnet, my feet led me back to Seale
House. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, I
studied the oversize house that dominated the
neighborhood. It had steps going up to massive double
doors, and a front of pink stone that turned terra-cotta in the
lowering light. Shadows deepened on the porch, dimming
the glass panels in the doors and obscuring the windows.
For a second there seemed to be a silvery movement
behind one darkened pane. I told myself it was just the
reflection of a passing cloud.
The house that had once looked so beautiful on the
outside was nearly ruined, charred black on the east side. I
couldn’t help but stare at it with a thrill of miserable pleasure
like the one I felt two years ago after learning that Melody,
my vicious mother, had finally partied herself to death.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds, wanting to
block it out. Yet even with my eyes closed the house stayed,
seared onto my retinas as if it had the power to give off UV
rays. Once again I was twelve years old.
We moved up the pebbled cement walkway. A sound like
a contented sigh escaped me as I looked at the grand
house in front of us. I heard Jack’s teasing voice just low
enough for the social worker to miss his words. “You’re in
love.”
I didn’t bother to tear my gaze away from the large porch
and pink stone that shimmered pale in the direct
afternoon rays.
“So are you,” I whispered back, knowing what he was
thinking because I could hear it in his voice. We were both
hopeful that foster care wouldn’t be so bad after all. In fact,
maybe it was going to be great.
He shrugged, turning playful. “Think we’ve died and
gone to heaven?”
We reached the porch steps before I could answer.
My eyes slowly opened. After all these years I finally formed
an answer and murmured it out loud. “No, Jack. We died
and went to hell.”
The light was fading fast. I reminded myself that the only
thing worse than going in Seale House would be going
inside when it was dark. No amount of desperation could
make me enter it after the sun went down, so I started
across the street. Mentally routing the quickest path, I told
myself, “Just get in, see if you can find something, and get
out.” It wasn’t like I had to stick around.
There were only two times that any of the foster kids ever
There were only two times that any of the foster kids ever
used the double doors fronting Seale House: when they
came there to live and when they left for good. Veering to
the right, along the side of the house that wasn’t charred, I
passed oleander bushes and prickly holly plants
guaranteed to discourage kids from climbing out the
windows. I looked up at the panes of old glass that blindly
reflected my image. My racing imagination made it seem
as if they were eyes watching me through cataracts. I
glanced away and noticed the grass was longer than I’d
ever seen it. There were also weeds in the flower beds,
something that had never been allowed during my time
here. I slipped through the space between the worn wooden
fence and the house—a tight squeeze since I was no longer
twelve.
Near the back corner of the house was the small side
door that we kids had used so many times. I put my hand
on the knob, half expecting some sort of electric jolt but
there was nothing except the feel of cold metal. It was
locked, of course. I closed my eyes for a couple of
seconds, remembering how Jack had done it: twist the
knob to the far left, lift it up, and jiggle it a few times. The
hinges were loose, which allowed just enough movement to
slide the lock out of its slot. It popped free and the door slid
open without a sound. This was worse on my nerves than if
it had made a loud creak. Jack and Noah had kept the
insides of those hinges well oiled so we could sneak out
and Hazel Frey wouldn’t hear us. But who had kept it
smoothly working in the years since the foster home had
been closed?
I entered the small coat room and then crept up two steps
and through an open archway into the kitchen. It was dim in
the house but not dark, so I could still see. There was a long
worktable in the center of the room, different from the one
Hazel Frey had owned. Shards of crockery and glass were
strewn across the floor as if someone had gone on a dishhating
rampage. Chairs were upended; one lay in splinters,
and the ancient gray linoleum was warped and water
stained.
The smell of greasy smoke covered everything. I asked
myself how Seale House had allowed this, remembering
the few times some of the little boys had tried to light the
curtains on fire. The flames would immediately go out, as if
the house was extinguishing the fire. Little Dixon had called
it a magic trick. Just thinking about it gave me the creeps.
I hurried across the kitchen, ignoring the crunch of broken
glass beneath my shoes. The dining room still had the
same sideboard, table, and benches from years ago, but
the mirror now had a large spiderweb crack in its center.
The smell of smoke grew stronger, and it tickled my throat
in an unpleasant way. Turning, I was startled by shadows.
For just a second it seemed I saw my old roommate,
Angry Beth. She was crouching down, holding one of the
knives she’d stolen from the cutlery drawer. Her close-set
eyes shimmered in the dark as her wavy red hair seemed
to fade into the wallpaper. My heart raced at the memory,
even though I knew that’s all it was. Angry Beth became a
shadow again, but I could still feel her malice. She was so
full of hate. Not really for me, unless I got in the way, but for
everyone.
My body was so tense by then that I could hardly force
myself to keep moving. My ears strained for the sound of
her harsh whisper, even as I reminded myself that Beth
couldn’t be here now. Certainly she’d grown up and moved
on, the same way I had. My heart thudded like crazy
anyway. Not far to go.
A few steps more and I faltered, frozen by the sound of a
voice speaking low. It came from another room. Unlike
Beth’s ghost from the past, this person was real.
Four
The Cellar
One voice became two, the pitch and drop of garbled
conversation entwining with the sigh of the wind. I turned in
the direction of the sound and saw a flickering light.
Flashlights? Then I realized nothing cast that kind of yellow
glow except open flames. Had someone come to Seale
House planning on finishing its destruction? My first instinct
was to volunteer my help until I remembered that people
who were up to no good, as Hazel Frey would have said,
were seldom friendly. So I stayed in the darkest part of the
shadows and moved quietly, just the way I’d learned to do
during my months spent here.
“Like a mouse,” Jack cautioned.
“Right … a six-foot mouse,” I whispered in reply.
He grinned. “You’re not six feet tall.”
“Not yet.”
The memory of my brother’s playful voice made my heart
hurt, but I told myself to focus. I moved forward and peeked
around the corner. The large front room was opposite the
entryway’s double doors and had been the nicest place in
the house. Reserved for visiting guests and social workers,
the only time children were allowed in was when we dusted
the furniture or politely brought lemonade or tea to Hazel
Frey’s visitors. Now, though, the once-lovely room had a
blackened east wall, ruined furniture, and some strange
visitors.
There were five kids a little bit younger than I was. They
were dressed in black tees that advertised bands or had
slogans I couldn’t quite read. They wore tight, low-crotched
jeans, chains, and piercings galore. Their hair was either
dyed black or bleached white, and they wore eyeliner a
mummified Egyptian would be proud of. At first glance I
thought they were all boys, but watching them from the
shadows it looked like a couple might be girls. Luckily for
me, they were mesmerized by a small fire. Its light distorted
their features and seemed to make tribal images leap
across the walls.
The windows were covered with a heavy coating of soot,
making it dark inside, and lace curtains hung in melted
clumps. A soft wind drifted through the burned section of
roof and stirred the flames, causing cinders to spiral
upward. What would Hazel Frey think, seeing this? Five
years ago, she wouldn’t have even let these kids through
her front door. And yet here they were, making a campfire
in the living room. I guessed they were from the
neighborhood, content to sit in a burned-out house and
have their anarchist ritual. A couple of them joked with each
other in slangy murmurs, while the others stared at the
flames with fascination and sipped from dark bottles. I
quietly stepped back. Instinct said to take off and come
again tomorrow after they were gone, but I was afraid that
once I left Seale House I might not find the nerve to return. I
turned away. Next stop, the cellar.
I went back to the kitchen and tried not to think too much
about where I was going. Across from the staircase that led
to the second floor and next to the bathroom was a closed
door. I reached for the knob and felt my adrenaline spike,
since what lay below was scarier to me than the fire starters
in the other room. Going down in the cellar was the most
unnerving task I could take on, but my desire for the truth
forced me to keep going. Opening the door slowly so it
didn’t squeak, I slipped into the dark. My heart started
doing an unpleasant little tap dance.
As much as I didn’t want to go down the steps, it was the
only option left. I knew that if Jack had left me a message
somewhere inside Seale House, the cellar was where he
would put it. At first I had assumed the newspaper clipping
about the fire was just my brother’s way of letting me know
what happened. And that he was telling me to find Noah.
Now, though, I figured the clue was more direct than that.
He’d probably meant for me to come here all along, and
instead I’d been overthinking it, the way I usually did.
I left the door open a crack, too scared to close it all the
way, and stared down into the inky black well. Snatching the
keys to my missing car from my pocket, I fumbled until I
found the tiny LED on the chain. I pressed the button and a
small, circular blue light relieved the darkness, showing the
rough board steps just below me but nothing else. Still, it
was surprising how that tiny bit of light helped ease my
dread as I moved forward.
Halfway down a new idea came to me. Could Jack
possibly be so frightened that he was hiding in this cellar? I
couldn’t image such a thing, but anxiety spurred me on.
“Jack?” I called in a loud whisper. “You down here?”
There was no answer.
“Jack?” I tried again.
“Why do you have to hide it here?”
“I hate it when you whine,” my brother said, though there
was nothing hateful in his tone. If anything, he sounded
cheerful.
“Stop acting so tough. I know you’re as scared of the
cellar as I am.”
“You’re wrong, sis. I love this place. So many good
memories of our first days here, you know? Besides, this
is the perfect hidey-hole. Who’s gonna come down here
and snoop around? Even Beth is spooked by the cellar.”
Jack didn’t answer, and I felt really dumb. Of course my
brother wasn’t hiding down here! Was I crazy? Cold, dank
air rose up to greet me. I would have shivered if I hadn’t
already been sweating. It wasn’t until I reached the final
step that I noticed I’d been clenching my teeth and
breathing through my nose. The tiny LED didn’t dispel the
deep gloom as it glanced off stacked boxes and old
furniture. A sheet-wrapped Christmas tree made me gasp
when the light first hit it. Beyond those things, I knew, was
the massive oil furnace that glowed hot during winter but lay
like a hibernating ogre in the warmer months. Around the
corner and farther back was the darkest spot the children
were most afraid of, a wall of moist black dirt next to the
cement foundation. That’s what gave the cellar its earthy
smell of decay. I grimaced. It had been years, and yet the
odor was both familiar and sickening.
Seven-year-old Dixon had been more terrified of the
cellar than anyone, screaming us all awake because he
had nightmares about it. According to Noah, Dixon was
sure the dead bodies of disobedient kids were buried in
that moldy earth. Outwardly we all scoffed at such an idea;
secretly, we half believed it.
I peered into the farthest shadows and shone my tiny light
around. It confirmed that Jack wasn’t down here. In a way
that was a relief. Even though I was anxious to find him, it
would have been horrible if his situation was so desperate
that he was forced to hide in this cellar. I just needed to see
if he’d left a message for me in his secret hiding place.
I circled around the wooden steps, ready to slip beneath.
My plan was thwarted by several boxes stacked under the
stairs. Holding the light between my teeth, I grabbed one
and dragged it away as the car keys jiggled against my
chin. The box was heavy, probably filled with books or
something stupid like bricks. I grunted and slid it away,
hoping the sound of cardboard scraping across cement
didn’t carry to the floor above. The blue light flitted like crazy
as I worked to free the space under the stairs.
I climbed beneath, crouched down, and focused the light
on the bottom step. It was the only one that was a solid
wood box; the others above my head were nothing but
boards. Staring at it, I realized that I’d forgotten to get a
screwdriver. Prying the facing off would be nearly
impossible, but I had to try anyway. I detached the LED and
held it in my mouth as my fingers used one of the keys. It
was awkward to reach under the steps, but I worked the key
back and forth, trying to slide it between the boards. I was
making a little progress when I heard something. I stopped
to listen.
Feet stomped across the upper floor and someone
screamed or laughed; I wasn’t sure which. There were
angry voices followed by a crash, as if someone had
smashed another kitchen chair. The cellar door suddenly
jerked open, and I clicked off my light. Instinct told me that
being found by those edgy kids wouldn’t be a good thing,
but I didn’t want to stay in an uncomfortable crouch under
the stairs either. Especially not in the pitch black. The only
light I could see was a little flicker, and I worried that the fire
was spreading. Maybe the kids carried torches made from
furniture legs.
They were silent now, and yet I doubted they were gone.
Were they standing at the top of the stairs, looking down
into the darkness the way I’d done ten minutes ago? Were
they daring each other to enter the cellar in some sort of
creepy game, or did they suspect I was here? I didn’t move
as my eyes focused on the slight flicker of shadowy grays
from above.
Waiting, waiting … but who was up on the stairs?
Despite the cold concrete sucking the warmth out of my
body, my underarms were drenched and my face felt hot.
Was it just my imagination trying to send me deeper off the
high-dive of fear, or was someone up there actually waiting
for me to move? I was making little breathy sounds, so I
clamped my lips together and inhaled the dank cellar smell
through my nose. My ears strained for any sound. I’d almost
convinced myself that my imagination was taking me for a
wild ride when there was a creak as someone took a step
down.
Whoever was up there seemed to be listening. A new
idea came to me, more terrifying than facing a whole pack
of hostile brats. If they shut and locked the door, I’d be
trapped down here. One thing I knew for sure about this
place: there was only one way out. I was ready to leap from
under the stairs and stage a confrontation using my little
blue light until a new sound caught my ear. It was the slick
slice of a switchblade gliding out of its handle. Since
fifteen-year-old Beth had flicked her knife blade out so
many times during the nights in our shared room, that
sound was forever cut into my memory. Change of plans. I
stayed still. My legs and back began to ache, and I forgot
about the hidden box.
Fear started to swell like a wave, and the dank cellar
darkness became suffocating. I squeezed my eyes shut.
After the social worker left, the red-haired girl named Beth
was told to take us upstairs. She showed us the two large
bedrooms, each with three bunk beds: six to a room. They
were spacious, with simple furniture, and had big windows.
Coming downstairs after unpacking, we saw dinner was
being served. Several kids gathered quietly on the
benches beside the long dining room table. The last thing
we’d eaten had been cereal for breakfast that morning, so
we eyed the roast, gravy, and steamy mound of mashed
potatoes with anticipation.
“I imagine you’re hungry,” Hazel Frey said. She looked
like a grandmother, with bland features and a helmet of
gray-brown hair. We nodded and she smiled in a cold
way. “That’s too bad then.”
I noticed that some of the children were looking at us
with sorry eyes while others ignored everything but the
food. “Come with me,” Hazel said, and we went with her to
the door next to the stairs.
She flipped a light switch, opened the door, and led us
down. A single dim bulb above the stairs lit the way, and
once we were at the bottom she pointed to an ugly quilt
made of rough polyester squares.
“Just so you know, there’s something the children who
come here need to learn before anything else. That’s the
Seale House rule. We have only one and it’s this: don’t do
anything that bothers me. If you break my rule, you skip
dinner and spend the night down here. So you can see
what it’s like, you get to try it out your first night here.”
Hazel turned and tromped up the stairs as we gaped
after her. She slammed the door and locked it. The light
went out, plunging us into darkness.
I had tried so hard to forget the months we’d lived at Seale
House. I told myself that some of the eerie occurrences
inside these walls couldn’t be real, but now as I crouched
under the stairs, my ears and eyes straining against the
relentless black, something happened that once again
skewed my reality. There was a slight stirring of air at my
back, as if caused by a movement in the dark. Someone or
something inched in close behind me.
A chill tightened my scalp and the space under the stairs
felt claustrophobic. For a few seconds I couldn’t move,
paralyzed by doubt and dread. My mind screamed: It’s not
real! But I could feel hot air ruffling the hair against my neck
even as I sensed the skulking, nearly forgotten being from
so long ago. Reason demanded that I reach behind me and
prove nothing was there except empty space. And yet what
if I touched something slimy or decomposing?
I shoved down a sob, frozen in place as the presence
slowly sucked away my energy. Although the blood was
roaring in my ears, I could still hear its breathing. Was it
going to lunge and clamp the back of my neck in its jaws?
Forgetting the angry kids upstairs, now caring only about
escape from this dungeon, I tumbled from beneath the
steps. Seconds later a sharp pain seared my upper arm. I
screamed and bounded up the stairs, trailing a piercing
wail behind me that sounded unearthly, even to my own
ears.
At the top of the stairs there was a gray outline of the
open doorway and someone standing there. As I came up,
screaming like a demon, the guy staggered backward. I
slammed into him and he landed on the floor, but I kept
moving. The sun had vanished and the fire in the front room
was burned down to embers, but compared to the inky
black of the cellar, I could see well enough. Now that I’d
stopped screaming, I could hear others running at me from
different directions. I lunged into the shadows next to the
staircase that led to the second floor. From my hiding place
I could see a boy with a switchblade jump to his feet and
turn in an anxious circle. There was a shiny glint from his
knife as he stabbed at the dark.
His blade should have scared me, but I studied it with
detachment. Compared to the thing down in the cellar it
seemed harmless. My upper arm throbbed with pain, and
my throat ached as I forced myself to breathe quietly. Over
the hammering of my heart I heard a low rumble, and for an
anxious second wondered if the beast was going to come
charging up the stairs. A flash of lightning silvered the
windows, and I realized it was only thunder. Another storm
had arrived at Watertown.
Wind rattled the eaves as three other kids gathered
around their friend. I heard guttural cursing and it seemed
wise to slowly back up the stairs. The years melted away
and I once again recalled the cautious code Noah had
taught me and Jack to help us avoid the creaky boards. I
began counting silently to myself. Four, five, six … move to
the far left and step up. Seventeen, eighteen, back to the
right with a giant step. Glance around the corner. If the way
is clear, take the steps two at a time up to the landing.
So far so good. Then I heard something from my past
that pegged the needle on my already overstimulated
anxiety meter.
“Jocey … ,” a low voice called as the boy ascended the
stairs behind me. “Jocey, where are you?”
Five
Escape
The smell of stale smoke filled the second floor. Both walls
in the hallway were scorched, but one was burned through
and part of the eaves had collapsed. Wind blew inside as I
hurried past.
I slipped into the boys’ bedroom, now empty except for a
braided rug, a stool, and some cardboard boxes. As I
silently closed the door an image came to mind of Noah
and Jack motioning me to the window. Hurrying there, I
glanced over to where the bunk beds had been.
Beautiful Dixon, who was seven, sat up. His pale curls
were mussed from sleep, the covers pulled up to his chin.
There was worry in his eyes.
Across the room a boy huddled in a pile of blankets. He
had the sallow face of a street kid who, in self-defense,
had learned to keep his back in a corner. His cold eyes
showed a soul sickness and festering cruelty. His real
name was Conner, but we called him Corner Boy.
Until that moment, I’d forgotten about him. All my therapy
sessions with good old Dr. Candlar, which had included
many details about the Seale House kids, and I hadn’t even
thought to include Corner Boy. The part he’d played had
nearly destroyed me—he was the reason I ended up
running away from Seale House. Yet I hadn’t remembered
him until now. Were there other misplaced pieces of my
past I’d also lost?
I forced back the memories and raised the narrow
window blinds. Lightning flashed and thunder shivered the
panes. My fingers flipped the old metal latch, but then I
paused at the sound of muffled voices in the hallway. I still
wasn’t sure if that kid with the knife had really said my
name. How could he know who I was? Even creepier, why
had he decided to drag me into this ghoulish game of hideand-
seek?
Only twenty minutes inside Seale House and already a
freakazoid kid with a switchblade was chasing me, I’d had
a run-in with the phantom in the cellar, and a childhood
ghost reminded me of something I must have really wanted
to forget. It was too much, and I started to feel like I’d fallen
through some sort of time-warp wormhole in a cosmic joke.
I almost laughed until I tried to open the window and it didn’t
budge.
Out in the hallway I could hear some doors banging open
as voices wafted and waned like an angry wind. Shoving
my full weight against the window, I got it to creak, but it
didn’t slide up. Another flash of lightning and the glass
glowed bright, my reflected image vanishing for that
second. Thunder followed and I shoved harder. Had Hazel
Frey learned the truth about our secret exits and nailed this
one shut? But if that was true, then why had the cloakroom
door opened so easily? What if Seale House let me in but
didn’t want me to leave?
I grabbed the small stool with both hands. The lightning
came again. I anticipated the thunder that would follow and
swung hard. The stool hit with a crash that was swallowed
by the boom. Glass flew everywhere, one piece slicing the
side of my hand. It stung but wasn’t serious. I knocked the
shards out with the stool and climbed out onto the narrow
ledge just as the bedroom door banged open.
The cold wind stole my breath. I pulled myself up onto the
roof the same way Jack, Noah, and I had done dozens of
times. Of course on those nights the moon usually lit our
way and there was no strong wind. I scrambled up to the
peak and walked carefully along, telling myself not to look
down because that was what Noah had always cautioned.
The wind tugged at my feet and whipped hair in my face,
but I inched forward, determined.
I took in several gulps of air, refreshing after the smell of
smoke and damp ashes. Glancing back, I saw the
silhouetted shape of the boy, like a large, hunched-over
monkey, scrambling up to the top of the roof. It skittered
across the worn shingles with no difficulty at all. Was the kid
insane, going that fast? I pushed myself forward, trying to
hurry along the peak even though the wind made my legs
tremble. I was making good progress toward the familiar
place where the peak met a second overhang. Just then,
the toe of my shoe snagged a curled shingle and I fell
forward, landing hard.
Charred boards snapped and a portion of the roof gave
way beneath my hands. I cried out, my arms flailing for a
handhold as shingles and weakened rafters fell with a loud
clatter to the surface below. Barely able to steady myself, I
grabbed wood that crumbled away like blackened matchsticks.
The dark maw threatened to swallow me. I backed
away from the hole. If I hadn’t slipped and hit that place on
the roof with my hands, I would have stepped on it and
fallen through the attic to the second, or even the first, floor
below.
My pursuer laughed like a crazed hyena. The inhuman
sound spurred me to clamber around the cave-in.
Thankfully, the hole also slowed switchblade boy and gave
me time to reach the second roof.
I crossed the next peak, then headed down the side. It
was nearly impossible to see, as heavy clouds smothered
the moon, but in an odd way it was also like reading a longforgotten
map. Next stop was the huge birch tree with
branches that met the roof and made a natural ladder.
Unfortunately, the map had changed in the years I’d been
gone. I stood at the edge of the roof and shoved the windwhipped
hair off my face. Far below was a pitiful tree
stump, all that was left of the big birch.
Before I could think what to do, I was pelted in the back
by something hard. Spinning around I saw the boy throw a
shingle at me like it was a Frisbee. I ducked and moved
sideways. A third glanced off my shoulder, stinging, but it
barely registered because just then a burst of wind lifted me
off my feet. I lost my balance, fell forward, and hit the roof.
Suddenly I was sliding down the steep eaves, rocketing
earthward as my cheek, jaw, and hands scraped against
the rough surface of the shingles. The hem of my shirt was
snatched up, the roof scratching my stomach too, until my
feet slammed into the gutter. It stopped me from going over
the edge.
A white knife of lightning sliced the sky and thunder
boomed overhead. I clung to the roof, my palms stinging.
Another hyena laugh drifted down from somewhere above
me and I sensed he was coming. I imagined his knife
brought down full force through my back, puncturing my
heart.
Scuttling sideways like a frenzied crab, I moved to the
corner of the house and slid over the edge. Windy dust
stung my eyes and my vision blurred, but I focused on the
vibration of the guy’s tromping boots. I swung my feet back
and forth in the empty air, trying to feel for the oversize
water pipe attached to the gutter. Once I connected, I let go
with my right hand and grabbed it. Cautious, I transferred
my weight to the pipe just the way I’d done years ago. It had
been scary back then. Now it was terrifying.
I clutched the pipe and started to slide down, but it pulled
away from its rusted fittings. Weighing quite a bit more than
I did at age twelve, and also knowing the brackets were a
lot older, it shouldn’t have surprised me. And yet, when
Seale House’s water pipe tossed me away, I took it
personally. Fear and anger collided as I experienced the
gutclenching sensation of falling. The pipe slowed my
descent but not enough for an easy landing. I hit the ground
hard, my hip taking most of the blow, and had the air
knocked out of me. For a few horrible seconds I struggled
to get my lungs working again, finally pulling in a painful
lump of air.
I sat up, my body shrieking in protest as I studied the line
of black sky and gray roof. If switchblade boy was up there,
I couldn’t see him. That worried me more than if he’d been
shouting and waving his knife. I forced myself to my feet; my
legs trembled from the shock of the fall. Thankfully, nothing
seemed broken. I moved as fast as I could, but my legs felt
like rubber. Heading around the side of the house, past
evergreen bushes and beneath giant maples, I finally
reached the front yard. I sprinted across the soggy lawn to
the sidewalk.
Behind me the front door banged open so hard that one
of the glass panes shattered. Over my shoulder I saw the
kids scurry outside like cockroaches swarming from a
hiding place. Some leaped down the steps two at a time;
others hurtled over the porch railings. They were coming
after me.
Six
The Alley
I took off running, my gut screaming: Get out of here!
The kids chased me, and though I couldn’t figure out why
they were so hostile, I didn’t dare stop and ask. I had long
legs and a new burst of adrenaline, so I was able to keep
ahead of them. Again I felt that strong blend of fear and
anger. What did they want? Were they mad because I’d
crashed their stupid campfire party?
Their boots clunked on the concrete behind me, but that
was all. They didn’t swear or yell at me to stop. Any of that
would have made it less scary than this silent pursuit.
I turned a corner and sprinted across two unfenced
yards, the grass making a squishy sound beneath my
shoes. The wind died down, and the nighttime world now
seemed a black-and-white canvas of abstract shadows. My
heart and legs were pumping as I pushed forward and tried
to ignore the scrapes that stung my face, stomach, and
palms. I zigzagged my way through the neighborhood. My
lungs felt like they were bursting.
I hit a physical wall, but hearing the footsteps behind me
pushed me beyond it. I didn’t dare stop because instinct
said they meant to hurt me. Glancing behind I saw that even
though they’d fallen back, they were still coming. What were
they, mindless alien zombies?
The residential area merged into business streets. This
end of Watertown had definitely received a facelift since I’d
been here last. Although some of the buildings were
familiar, enough had changed that I felt like a stranger. I
desperately hoped my pursuers would get winded and fall
back. Trying to lose them, I darted between buildings,
through an alley, and around two more corners. After
another block I couldn’t see them, so I stepped into the
deep recess of a door belonging to a closed art supply
shop. The large awning made it dark inside the shadows,
and I doubted anyone could see me. It was a good place to
hide and catch my breath. My lungs burned as I swallowed
and tried to shake off the tremors in my arms and legs. I
couldn’t explain, even to myself, why their chasing me had
taken on a creep factor beyond anything I’d felt in a very
long time.
I squatted down to rest and listened for the thump of
approaching boots. The only sound I heard was distant
thunder rolling away and the drone of a passing car or two. I
shivered. My chest continued to heave and my lungs felt
seared, but relief washed over me. I’d been able to elude
those kids, which seemed a miracle. Like the blustery wind
and thunder that had moved on without leaving rain, maybe
they were all hot air, too.
I slowly stood and eyed the dark scene. My mind raced.
What should I do now? Going to Seale House had turned
out worse than I could have imagined, and I hadn’t even
been able to open Jack’s hiding spot. That meant I’d gone
into the cellar for nothing. Frustrated, I raked my fingers
through my wind-knotted hair.
Careful to make sure no one was watching, I slipped
from the doorway and stayed on the darkest parts of the
sidewalk. After passing a long row of closed businesses, I
turned down an alley and skirted a smelly Dumpster with
mounds of soggy newspapers next to it. Glancing at every
suspect shadow along the way, I darted across an empty
street and ran down another alley. This one was darker than
the last. Too late I saw that a chain-link fence and a jumbled
mountain of cardboard boxes turned it into a dead end. I
started to retreat.
“Why did you come back?” a reedy voice said.
Startled, I spun around. A gasp died on my lips as
someone surfaced from behind a rusted Dumpster. Like a
stalker in a bad dream, the boy who’d chased me across
the roof now stood blocking my way. His build was thin and
wiry; I was taller and outweighed him, but had no illusions
as to any advantage I might have. Draped in nighttime gray,
his face was hidden, though there was enough light from
the street for me to detect a vicious glare. Behind him four
others emerged like wraiths from the gloom. I backed away
and scanned the alley. Buildings on either side were
lightless, the steamy smell of fried rice and hot oil coming
from nearby.
“Who are you?” I was surprised by how calm my voice
sounded.
“You don’t remember me?” His tone was hurt, though
whether it was sincere or faked I couldn’t tell.
“You seem familiar. Wait, I know. Did you star in the
Village of the Damned remake?”
He pulled the switchblade from his pocket and pressed a
button. The blade shot out, glinting wickedly in the dim light,
and I said, “Guess not.”
“I’ve missed you, Jocey.” Strange shadows streaked his
numb face like tears on a mannequin.
“Jocelyn,” I corrected. “Which one are you? Martin or
Georgie? Or maybe little Evie dressed like a boy?”
He moved closer until I could see his features more
clearly. Looking past the heavy eye makeup and piercings
on his lip and eyebrow, there seemed to be a familiar
overlay. He’d been so little back then, a blond boy wearing
Spider-Man jammies. A weird sort of sadness touched me.
“Georgie. You’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw
you.”
“So have you.”
“I’ve been gone a long time. How did you know it was
me?”
“You were standing across the street and then sneaked
around the house. You went in the cellar. What other girl
would do that but you?”
The others were inching closer, hesitant now because of
our conversation.
“But why were you at Seale House? There hasn’t been
foster care there in years.”
Georgie’s face was still blank and he didn’t answer. Now
that I’d stopped running the cold had started to seep into
my bruised joints. I shivered.
“What do you want?”
He lifted the knife like it was a prize. “Your heart.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean that as a figure of speech.”
“You shouldn’t have done it, Jocey.”
“Done what? I shouldn’t have given you my dinner roll
under the table? Or checked behind the toilet for earwigs
before you went pee-pee? Maybe I shouldn’t have said I
was the one who chipped Hazel’s china bowl so you didn’t
have to spend the night in the cellar.”
Georgie took a step forward and I stepped back, hesitant
dancers. He faked a lunge with the knife and I jumped.
“What’s wrong with you, Georgie? You’re not a killer!”
Maybe he was, though. The others were coming closer,
and a sinking sense of my fate came over me, the heartsick
surrender in a nightmare when there’s no way out. Worst
case scenario: I wouldn’t wake up from this black dream.
Georgie lunged with the knife for real this time.
I leaped away, barely escaping the blade. Stumbling into
the waterlogged boxes, I fell backward and gazed up at
Georgie. His mannequin features broke into a nasty grin,
his eyes full of hate. He raised the knife. Desperate, I
kicked out, my foot connecting with his knee. He howled
and staggered back. I turned and scrambled over the
boxes, going for the fence as the roaches swarmed. One of
them slugged me in the back so hard that it knocked me
against the chain link, which rattled.
Georgie raced forward as I tried to climb. The fence wire
cut into my fingers, but I pulled myself up anyway. Glancing
over my shoulder, I saw him swing his arm in a fierce arc.
The deadly blade headed straight for my back and I braced
myself for the blow.
A loud gunshot rang out and Georgie spun around like a
marionette on twisting strings. He collapsed, his knife
skittering across the pavement. One of the girls started
screaming. I vaulted over the top of the fence and dropped
onto some metal barrels with a painful thump. Rolling off, I
crouched behind the barrels and peered through the jumble
of cardboard boxes. At the far end of the alley there was the
outline of a man backlit against the sulfur glare from the
streetlight. I couldn’t see his face or make out much else,
but when he fired another shot the kids forgot their fallen
friend and vanished. My heart hammered so fast that my
breath came in tiny, terrified gasps. For just a second I
studied the distant silhouette of the man who had saved me
until he disappeared around the corner.
Rising and peering through the fence, I saw Georgie lying
still. There was no longer any hatred in his eyes. Blood
seeped from his head and made dark swirls on the
pavement. For one tiny moment he was again the little boy
who’d slept with an ugly toy dinosaur and been afraid of
earwigs.
“Georgie,” I whispered, his name catching in my throat.
I turned away and fled past Dumpsters and a parked
delivery van. I tripped once, my knee smashing against the
asphalt, but I jumped up, afraid to stop. I ran blindly.
The edges of reality began to evaporate and it seemed
as if I were drifting on a tiny dissolving iceberg in a boiling
sea. In time I found myself crouched once more in that
darkened shop doorway with its umbrella awning. I was
shaking.
An approaching siren screamed as a cop car zoomed
past with flashing lights. By the time my mental cogs finally
started grinding again, I knew that I needed to get moving.
Seven
Stalker
Once I was sure no one was watching me, I slipped through
the shadows and began running again. I couldn’t keep it up
long, though. Fatigue overwhelmed me and it was all I could
do to simply walk. I moved aimlessly, not knowing where I
was heading. Although no one seemed to be following me,
several times I jumped at harmless shapes in the dark.
Buildings and shops became a blur. The rainless storm
was gone and gray clouds were thinning against the black
sky. The still air grew cold. I had on a long-sleeved shirt but
no jacket. I rubbed my arms, wincing at my aches.
In time I found myself in a busier area of town; there was
more traffic, and pedestrians traveled between shops or
headed to bistros. Some of the stores began to look
familiar, and then I noticed I was on Factory Street. As if on
autopilot, I headed for Soluri’s Pizza, happy to see it was
still in business. The hearty scent of pizza hit me when I
entered.
I made my way to the ladies’ room. The girl in the mirror
looked back at me with frightened eyes and a scratched,
dirty face. It was clear that sliding down the roof had done
more damage than I’d realized, since there was an ugly
abrasion on my cheek and jaw. I ran water until it was
warm, gently washing my scrapes. It stung and I grimaced,
patting my skin dry with a paper towel. At least most of the
dirt was gone by the time I was done, though the scratches
looked worse.
Someone tried the locked door, startling me. I quickly
worked at straightening my tangled hair with my fingers, but
without much success. Leaving the bathroom, I passed a
mother waiting with her little girl. At the back of the pizza
place I scooted into the corner of a dimly lit booth. Couples
and a few families were scattered throughout the place,
eating or talking. I envied their associations and their pizza.
I also wished I had more money left than two dollars, since
I’d spent Noah’s cash on the cab and Internet access. A
waitress with short black hair came over, and I ordered
cinnamon hot chocolate, the house specialty and all I could
afford.
How many times had Jack, Noah, and I come here after
leaving the library or running errands for Hazel? We loved
this place. Pizza was always a favorite for my brother and
me, but Melody seldom bought any. She was obsessed
with watching what she ate so she could fit into her tight
jeans. Whenever Jack and I had a chance to buy pizza, we
did.
I recalled sitting in this same booth and playfully blowing
the paper wrapper off a straw. It had hit Noah in the
forehead and we all laughed. On that day, the three of us
were really excited. A local business had donated two
computers to Seale House. There were no games installed
on them, only operating systems and some basic wordprocessing
programs. And, of course, Hazel would never
think of buying any software or paying for Internet access,
so there wasn’t much we could do with them. Most of the
other kids quickly lost interest, but we had decided to learn
programming. That day we did some research on the
library’s Internet and checked out a couple of books. Jack
and Noah were serious about it; I was just happy to be with
them.
My thoughts were interrupted by laughter from a group
entering the restaurant. As they came closer and made
their way past occupied tables, my glance became an
uncomfortable stare. There were three guys and two girls.
And one of the guys was Noah. I didn’t recognize the others
but decided they must be some of the high school friends
he’d told Jack about.
There was a stocky kid wearing a black T-shirt with RIT
printed in orange on the front. A girl with long hair was
hanging on the arm of a boy in a baseball cap. The other
girl had short auburn hair, pretty skin, and prettier makeup.
She was talking to Noah and smiling. He nodded at
something she said, then glanced up, his eyes locking on
mine.
Noah raised a questioning eyebrow. The girl stopped
talking and turned to follow his gaze. She studied me, her
expertly lined eyes fringed with the best fake lashes I’d ever
seen. A couple of seconds later her glossy lips tightened as
if she were sucking on a lemon.
Aware of my own mussed hair, scraped cheek, and
complete lack of makeup, a blush crept up my face. I gazed
down at my mug of hot chocolate and didn’t look up again.
A few seconds later I heard him say, “If this is your idea
of stalking, it’s not funny.”
With the noise in the restaurant, I hadn’t heard him
approach. But there he was, standing by my table and
studying me with a closed expression.
“I’m not stalking you!” I glanced over at his friends who
were starting to sit down—all except the girl. She glared at
us, her hands on curvy hips.
“Right,” he said.
A flare of anger made me slide across the seat to get
out, but Noah blocked my path. He sat down on my side of
the bench, forcing me back. “Chill, will you?”
Scooting away from him, I folded my arms. “Go back to
your friends.”
“What happened to your face?”
I didn’t answer and didn’t make eye contact.
“Jocelyn?”
Reaching for the mug of hot chocolate, I wrapped my
fingers around it and took a swallow.
“You’re white as a ghost and that scrape looks bad.
What’s going on?”
“I’m not stalking you, Noah. How would I even know you’d
be here tonight?”
“I always come on Wednesdays for the house pizza, and
sometimes my friends do too. Jack knew that.”
“Well, he didn’t bother to tell me. Like I even care what
you do.”
The girl motioned to Noah to come back. She widened
her eyes in an inviting way and mouthed something.
“Order without me,” he called, and she turned around in a
huff and sat down.
“Who’s she?”
“Sasha.”
“You two dating?”
“Not yet.”
I glanced over at her stiff back. “I don’t want to mess up
what you’ve got going. Let me out and you can eat with your
friends.”
He shook his head. “They can do without me, and you
should stay.”
“Why?”
He studied me with an expression that was familiar and
yet oddly out of place on his more mature features. “Jack’s
not around to look after you now. He wouldn’t like it if I let
something happen to you.”
I shook my head with disbelief. “Neanderthal. Move so I
can get out.”
“What’s wrong now?”
I just looked at him.
“Okay, Jocey, I’m sorry if everything I say annoys you! At
least stick around for pizza. You can tolerate me that long,
can’t you?”
“Let’s get clear about something. I only came in this
place because I happened to recognize it from when we
were kids. I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight
or I would’ve kept going.”
“When did you get so touchy? You were a lot easier to
hang with at twelve.”
The waitress came back again and he ordered a
medium pizza. After she left I looked at him. His unreadable
gaze made me feel even more uncertain than last night.
He pointed at my face. “Are you going to tell me what
happened?”
“I went to Seale House and it wasn’t a good experience. I
sort of … fell. Satisfied?”
“Why would you go there? Are you that determined to dig
up old ghosts? Nobody even lives there now.”
“Not unless you count the cellar beast.”
I could tell he thought I was joking.
“Did you go inside?”
“Yes.”
Noah raised his eyebrows. “It’s probably not even safe in
there because of the fire.”
He was right about that. I was still shaken by how many
close calls I’d had. Most of all, I was horrified by what I’d
seen happen to Georgie. Thinking about the shooter made
me even more worried for Jack.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” I decided to ask him something I needed to know.
“I’ve been wondering who told you about Jack’s accident.
That he was … gone.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t find out right away. Jack didn’t come
online for a couple of days. He just wasn’t there, you know?
At first I thought maybe he was busy working, but then ISI
sent me a report about what happened.”
The waitress dropped off a drink for Noah and he took a
gulp.
I said, “I should’ve called, but I just couldn’t.”
“That’s okay.”
“At least ISI was decent enough to tell you.”
“Yeah.” He stared down at his drink. “A week ago I quit
working for them.”
“You did? Why?”
“Mainly because when Jack died, it was like letting the
air out of a life raft. Without him, I didn’t want to stay. I mean,
we found our love of computers together in the first place,
right? Both of us were so excited about programming. And
then about how ISI was interested in us. Now that he’s
gone, it’s not the same.”
Noah could be so difficult and prickly at times, but his
loyalty to my brother really touched me.
A few minutes later the waitress brought over a steaming
pizza layered with sausage, ham, and glazed onions. Noah
dug in, lifting a piece that trailed cheese. He glanced at me.
“You want some, don’t you?”
My pride battled my stomach and quickly lost. I grabbed
a slice and ate. For a while we were too busy chewing to
talk.
There was a burst of laughter from his friends and I
glanced over at them. Sasha was talking with a lot of
energy, smiling at the stocky guy who seemed uninterested
in her flirting. Maybe it was apparent to him she was trying
to make Noah jealous.
I reached for another slice, starting to feel better now that
I’d warmed up and wasn’t so hungry. In the sane setting of
the restaurant, the bizarre events at Seale House and in the
alley seemed almost unreal. I considered telling Noah what
had happened to Georgie. Right away I tossed the idea. He
hadn’t seemed to really believe me about the Jason
December letter, and I didn’t have the energy left to try and
convince him of anything else. Once I was full I just sat
there, ignoring the throb of a beginning headache.
Distracted, I picked at a piece of shingle grit embedded in
my palm.
Noah caught hold of my hand, moving it closer to the
light. “Your palms are chewed up, too? All this from just one
fall?”
I pulled away and grabbed my mug, finishing off the last
of my drink. He was still studying me with uncertain eyes as
I set it down. “Thanks for the pizza, Noah.”
“You need to get something on those scratches,
especially the one on your face. I have a tube of
antibacterial gel at home.”
I didn’t answer and he added, “I think you’d better spend
another night at my place.”
A slow pounding in my temples grew—bad headache
was on its way. I wasn’t sure what to do, because the last
thing I wanted was to impose on Noah again. But if I was
going to go back to Seale House in the morning, I needed
a safe place to stay overnight.
He looked into my eyes. “I can see you’re trying to think
of a way to turn me down.”
“Am not.”
He dug some ones out of his wallet for a tip and slid out
of the booth. “Let’s go.”
I paused for a couple of seconds, watching him stop at
the other table and say a few words to his friends. The guy
in the baseball cap glanced in my direction and smiled,
though his girlfriend glared at me for her friend’s sake.
Noah left them, heading to the cashier, and I admitted to
myself it would be stupid to let pride stop me from having a
safe haven for the night. Scooting out of the booth, I hurried
past his friends, not looking at them, and followed Noah to
the parking lot.
This time I got to sit in his passenger seat, which was
much more comfortable than my last ride. Driving away
from the center of town, we didn’t talk. He played the radio,
and I watched the dark scenery stream by. My thoughts
swirled in a slow eddy of disquiet. Who killed Georgie?
Had that man saved me from Georgie’s knife, or was he
shooting at me and missed, hitting Georgie by accident?
Most of all, what about Jack? My brother had faked his
death for a reason, and now I knew for sure that something
serious was going on.
Tomorrow I would head back to Seale House and check
out Jack’s hiding spot. A slight shiver passed through me.
When I did go back, I would be better prepared. I finally
decided it was best not to worry about the cellar any more
tonight; I’d save that for tomorrow. In the warmth of Noah’s
car I even tried to convince myself that the scary stuff in my
old foster home must have been triggered by childhood
fears.
Once we got to his place and went inside, Noah said,
“You look tired. Why don’t you turn in?”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to use some of that antibacterial gel on your
face.”
I headed to the bathroom and the first thing I did was toss
down three ibuprofen. Then I doctored my scraped face
and hands the best I could. Going into the room where I’d
slept last night, I dug one of Noah’s old T-shirts out of a
dresser drawer and tossed it on the bed. It was clean and
didn’t have the smoky smell from Seale House like my
other stuff. I took my clothes off and threw them in a corner.
Eager to collapse between the sheets, I reached for the
shirt but paused when I caught a glimpse of myself in the
mirror. There were welts and bruises in several places on
my skin. In the muted lamplight I examined the growing
bruise on my hip where I’d landed after my fall, as well as
the other bumps and cuts. Then I glanced down at the sore
on my upper arm and sucked in a startled breath.
Moving closer to the mirror, I recalled the sharp pain as
I’d rolled from beneath the cellar stairs. I stared at it and all
my terror during those minutes rushed back.
Outlined in clear purple bruising was a giant bite mark.
Eight
The Deal
The road twisted away like a white-gray ribbon, the
landscape heavily draped in nighttime shadows. Our truck
rattled along as we drove near the edge of a steep cliff.
Above us the moon was a lopsided orb and the sky
shimmered with stars.
My mind couldn’t process all my worries. Our mother,
Melody, was muttering to herself in partial sentences as
she drove, blurting out bits and pieces of regret, anger,
self-satisfied revenge, and heartache. Sometimes she
laughed with vengeful derision, at other times she wept or
sang odd little songs that weren’t musical. During the
years past, even in all the bizarre ranges of her emotions,
I’d never seen anything like this. It scared me. Even more
frightening—Jack was sick and couldn’t help me with her.
He was slumped against the passenger door, asleep
with his head resting on the window, his breathing shallow.
His fever was so high that his forehead was red. I wished
he would wake up and be himself again, because he was
the one who knew what to say to Melody.
Jack was always the calm voice of reason who
managed to keep our mother’s dark fears away. I was only
the witty jester who tried hard to make Melody laugh.
When she did laugh, and when she was happy, it was
better for all of us.
The old pickup shuddered at the high speed and jerky
turns. Peering through the cracked windshield, I noticed
red rust on the hood that seemed to be inching closer. A
chill went up my spine as I sat between sleeping Jack and
pitiful Melody. It was now clear that the red on the hood
wasn’t rust at all, but blood. The dented hood was stained
with it, and that stain was coming at us like creeping
fingers. The air we rushed through picked up a drop, which
then hit the windshield. Another followed, and then more,
until it was like red rain splattering the dirty glass.
Melody didn’t slow her one-car chase, but she
screeched louder, more determined than ever for us to
keep going. She turned on the squeaky wipers, smearing
the blood until we were driving blind. The truck started to
shudder as if it had a sudden heart attack, and the tires
whined as they hit the shoulder. We flew over the edge of
the cliff, out into the black night. I opened my mouth to
scream, but my terror was so high pitched that no sound
came out.
The dream jerked me awake. I lay still with my heart
thrumming away as it always did following that nightmare.
After a few deep breaths, my pulse started to calm. It was
morning. Light filtered through the ivory curtains. The sky
had cleared and cheery larks performed in the nearby
trees, a total contrast to my dark dream.
I crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. All my
aches and pains made me wince. After downing more
ibuprofen, I took a long shower and sluiced away the sweat
caused by the bad dream. The shooting from last night
went through my mind again, more terrifying than my
nightmare, and once more I wondered who the dark man at
the end of the alley was. How had he happened to be there
just as Georgie’s knife was ready to rip into me, and why
had he killed him?
There seemed to be no answer. I sighed in frustration
and shut off the water. Toweling myself dry, I checked out
my face. It looked a little better but not great. Then I
examined my other bruises and scrapes and the mark on
my arm. A night’s sleep hadn’t made it look any less like a
bite, and I tried to remember when I’d had my last tetanus
shot. My guess was about four or five years ago.
I decided to worry about it later and got dressed in my
same sage-colored shirt and wrinkled jeans. More than
ever I missed my luggage and my stolen car. I had worked
for months to earn enough money to buy that battered little
Civic, and I wondered if I’d ever see it again. Plus what
would my foster parents think when they found out? I hadn’t
planned to tell them about this trip upstate, but now I’d have
to. They would be upset that I’d come here on my own, and
disappointed in me for lying about going camping with my
friends. Disappointment from Marilyn and Brent was worse
than being grounded.
I left the bathroom and followed the smell of food and the
sound of Noah’s voice. The smell was delicious, the voice
angry. I found him in the kitchen. His boyhood interest in
cooking had obviously continued, and for some reason I
found this comforting. The Noah from my past had spent a
lot of time preparing meals, sometimes even taking a
double shift, and we were always glad when it was his turn
to cook. Seeing him working at the stove made it seem like
the old Noah had come back, at least until he swore and
then shouted into his cell phone.
“I said I’d take care of it!” He disconnected, shoved the
phone in his pocket, then turned and caught sight of me.
His scowl deepened. “Eavesdropping?”
“My favorite hobby.”
He pointed to the table, which was set with purple plates
and glasses filled with orange juice. I sat down as he
scooped scrambled eggs into a shallow bowl and came to
the table. Seeing the strips of bacon on a plate close to me,
I understood what the delicious smell had been. Bacon was
another food Melody never let us buy. It was sweet revenge
that because of my height, which she’d only made fun of, I
could eat whatever I wanted and not worry about weight the
way she had.
I took several pieces of bacon, some toast, and a helping
of eggs. After one bite I said, “Delicious. I’m glad to see
you still like to cook.”
He didn’t answer, just chewed in silence, and I wondered
if he was mad because of the phone call or mad at me for
listening in. There sure wasn’t much of the boy I had once
known left in Noah. He seemed so much harder. Not only
that, but when we were kids, I’d been slightly taller. Since
we’d been apart he’d grown and actually had a couple of
inches on me now. He had also filled out in the chest and
arms, with muscles I hadn’t seen five years ago.
As kids, there were two things about Noah that had
always intrigued me. The first was the low sound of his
voice, which had mellowed even more now that he was
older. Even when he was angry, the tone of his voice drew
me to him. The other was his eyes; they were intelligent in a
thoughtful way, and the color was amazing. I’d noticed them
that very first day at Seale House, even before he came
down to the cellar and the three of us became friends.
His eyes were a shade of brown that wasn’t chocolate or
coffee, unless you added a whole lot of cream to the cup.
But saying they were light brown didn’t explain them at all.
Maybe if I could only pick one word, I’d say warm. He could
be angry or upset and scowling like a murderous vampire,
but still that color called to me in a dozen different ways. I’ve
never seen anyone with eyes like Noah’s.
“Jocey, if I help you out with a bus ticket, will you go back
home?”
I pulled my gaze away from him and looked down at my
plate, dismayed to see I’d eaten nearly all my bacon and
hardly tasted it.
“That eager to get rid of me? You’re the one who insisted
I come back here last night.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you. It just seems like your grief
over Jack is keeping you from thinking straight.”
“I get it. To you I’m just a big problem. Maybe that’s all I
ever was. Jack’s annoying sister who tags along.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Third freak, third wheel.”
Instead of denying it, Noah smiled and shook his head.
“What?”
“Not a freak anymore, are you? Remember how those
girls at school teased you?”
A quick memory took me back to the misery of my school
year in this town. “Nessa, Monique, and Tabby? And who
was that other one … Geena?”
He nodded. “If they could see you now, I guess they’d
shut up fast. You’re prettier than any of them ever dreamed
of being.”
“Why are you acting so nice?”
“Not nice, just honest. We were always straight with each
other, weren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“So when I tell you to go home and deal with your grief,
you can see I’m being honest.”
“Do you think the envelope from Jason December is a
fake? Like some sort of sick joke?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
I put down my fork and stood. “Listen, Noah, I appreciate
your putting me up here for two nights and cooking this
breakfast. But I need to keep looking for Jack.”
“How will you do that with no car or money?”
He was right, and though I hated to ask for help, it didn’t
seem like I had much choice. “Any chance you’d give me
another loan? I’ll pay you back when I get home. I have a
small savings account.” I showed him my crystal watch with
its turquoise jelly strap, the only thing of value on me. “It cost
almost a hundred, new.” I didn’t add that it had been an
early graduation gift from Jack.
“It’s not my style.”
“Okay. Thanks anyway.”
“Giving up so easily?”
“What do you want from me, Noah? Just to keep on
playing some stupid game? Because if that’s all you want,
I’m tired of it.”
“Calm down.”
“You talk about trust, but trust is the last thing you’re
willing to give. You don’t believe the Jason December
envelope is from Jack. But I promise you I didn’t make it
up.”
“I never said you did.”
“Then who sent it to me? Did you?”
“No. Of course not.”
I didn’t say anything else, just stood beside the table and
stared down at him. At last he shook his head and
shrugged. “I’ve tried to think who sent it. I can’t figure it out.”
“Did you tell someone else about the Jason December
codes?”
“No.”
“There are only three people who knew that name: you,
me, and Jack.” Grabbing the envelope out of my pocket, I
threw it on the table. “Look at the facts, why don’t you? It
has a Watertown postmark, mailed to me in Troy. That’s
why I dropped everything to drive up here. What else could I
do? I had to try and find out if he might still be alive.”
“He’s not. I read a copy of the accident report that ISI got
from the police.”
“Which could’ve been faked.”
“But why?”
“Maybe he’s in serious trouble but can’t contact us
directly. He sent me that envelope for a reason. I have to
figure out why.”
Noah seemed to be going over my points, putting the
facts together. He picked up the envelope and examined
the postmark. I almost held my breath, hoping so much that
he would accept what I’d told him.
He pushed away from the table and stood. “Okay. What
do you want?”
“I need to go back to Seale House. If Jack left me a
message, it’ll be there in his hiding place.”
“What hiding place?”
“One that only Jack and I knew about.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I thought we shared
everything.”
“Not this.”
“So the two of you had a secret I didn’t share. No big
surprise, I guess. Tell me something, and don’t lie. If you
look there and find nothing, will you accept Jack is gone for
good?”
“Guess I’ll have no choice.”
“All right then, I’ll help you.”
Relief washed through me. “I need some cash for a taxi,
a flashlight, and a screwdriver.” I went over to the counter,
grabbing a knife from the butcher block. “And this.”
“Put that away. Hell, Jocey, you’re making me nuts!”
“Please don’t swear.”
Noah crossed the room, standing beside me and
encircling my wrist with his fingers before taking the knife
away with his free hand. The warmth of his touch startled
me. For a couple of electric seconds he stared into my
eyes and neither of us said anything.
He let go of my wrist, turned to the counter, and put the
knife back in its block. “Tell you what. I’ll drive you to Seale
House myself and we’ll both look in your secret hiding
place. When you see there’s no message from Jack, you
go home. Deal?”
“Sure.”
“But no knife. And you help me do the dishes before we
go.”
Nine
Seale House
“Just so you know, I think it’s a mistake not to take a
weapon with us,” I said as Noah parked his Jeep Cherokee
in front of Seale House.
“Try not to let your childhood fears get to you.”
He turned off the ignition and we got out of the car.
Overhead, a white jet stream left a swelling gash across the
cheek of the sky. Wind whipped my hair in my eyes and
made me grateful for the lightweight fleece jacket Noah had
loaned me. He wore a similar one but in a different shade. It
made us look like one of those disgusting lovesick couples
who show their commitment by dressing alike.
We walked up to the wide porch. The memories of Seale
House seemed even more alive to me than yesterday.
There were so many children, like Georgie, who dotted the
landscape of my Watertown past. But besides Jack and
Noah, there were three who stood out most in my mind: the
one I feared, the one I feared the most, and the one I feared
the most for.
The first of these three had been Angry Beth, the oldest
girl in the foster home. I couldn’t even guess how many
times I’d tried to talk to her, ending up having one-sided
conversations I was never sure she even listened to. She
was like a simmering tea kettle on the verge of shrieking,
and she desperately wanted to hurt someone. We were all
relieved when she finally decided to start hurting herself
instead of us.
Corner Boy, the one I’d feared the most, had been
forgotten until yesterday. Thinking about it now, I admitted
there were lots of reasons to try and forget him. And the
child I’d been most afraid for had been seven-year-old
Dixon, a beautiful but damaged little boy who followed me
around like a lost puppy. One of these three, I knew, was
dead. The other two had vanished from my life on the
wretched, snowy evening when I ran away.
Noah and I climbed the steps and crossed to the front
door, which was still ajar after last night’s chase. He went
inside and I followed. My eyes and ears searched for any
sign of the cockroach kids. Walking past the ashes of their
dead fire, Noah paused to glance at it. By the time we
reached the cellar door my mouth was dry.
“It sure smells in here,” he said, meaning the smoke.
“I know. Want me to carry the screwdriver for you, since
you’ve got that big flashlight?”
“No. You’ll end up holding it like a weapon. I don’t want
you to panic and stab me in the butt.”
I scowled at his back and made a rude comment, but
secretly I knew he had a point after what happened the last
time I was walking behind him with a sharp tool.
“You said it’s down here, right?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door and turned on the flashlight, which
did a much better job of lighting the steps than my little LED
had.
“Noah,” I whispered, creeping down the stairs after him,
“it might be a little late to bring this up, but there’s
something down here. It bit me on the arm.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“I mean it. I’m not making this up!”
By now we had reached the bottom steps. “Since you’re
being such a wimp, Jocey, let’s look around first.”
“No, that’s okay …”
Ignoring me, Noah walked through the cellar and shone
his flashlight beam across every inch. He even unveiled the
fake Christmas tree with its few remaining ornaments and a
broken candy cane. Next he headed to the loamy
graveyard, where Dixon had been sure the corpses of bad
kids were buried. A minute later he returned with a bored
expression.
“There’s nothing dangerous down here, unless you count
the poisonous mushrooms growing in the dirt back there.”
“Okay.” I tried to look self-assured but wished I’d never
told him about the now-absent cellar beast. I turned to
Jack’s hiding place below the stairs. “Under here.”
I climbed beneath the steps and asked for the
screwdriver. This time he handed it to me. I pointed at the
boxed-in bottom step, and Noah shone the light on it. This
revealed something my little LED hadn’t: fresh hammer
marks. Although the piece of wood that made up the facing
had many old marks on it from when Jack had opened and
closed it years ago, there were also fresh scrapes. Noah
didn’t seem to notice, but it gave me a little bit of hope as I
used the screwdriver to pry it open.
Finally the board came off, and he aimed the light inside
so I could see. “Look, Noah!” I reached in and pulled out
Jack’s beat-up metal lockbox. “I told you!”
“Uh-huh.”
I suddenly became aware of how close he was crouched
behind me in the tight space under the stairs, and I felt even
more flustered. Why, I asked myself, was I getting nervous
just because he was kneeling so near, even if his breath
did stir the strands of hair resting against my cheek? At
least he wasn’t the cellar monster.
“So you found an old container. That doesn’t prove
anything.”
He backed away and we both came out, studying the
locked box. We were about to head up the steps when a
noise stopped us. From somewhere overhead came a
crazed howl that lasted for several seconds, followed by the
sound of someone walking around.
A hiss of irritation threaded its way through me. “Not
again!”
“What do you mean?”
“Turn off the light!”
He did and we were plunged into darkness, but that
didn’t stop Noah. He grabbed my arm and whispered,
“Come on. Let’s go see what’s going on.”
I thought about Georgie and his creepy friends. Georgie
was dead, but I figured the others were still plenty
dangerous. “I don’t think we should.”
We were halfway up the stairs when we heard the door
ahead of us slam and a lock turn, accompanied by a long
sob. We were trapped in the cellar. Fear rose in me, worse
than acid, and I wanted to scream but my throat closed up.
Little croaking sounds emerged that would’ve been
humiliating if I hadn’t been too terrified to care.
Breaking away from Noah’s grasp, I surged past him and
up the stairs, fumbling for the knob. I started to pound on the
door but the sudden light from Noah’s flashlight stopped
me. He turned me around to face him, and in the
illumination of the beam his features looked elongated,
reminding me of his vampire phase.
“Stop panicking.”
“We’re trapped down here! They locked the door!”
“I know. Slow your breathing or you’re going to
hyperventilate.”
He reached down and took the screwdriver. “Hold the
flashlight.”
I took it from him and did my best to keep it steady,
embarrassed by the tremors that shook my hands. As he
worked I strained my ears for any sound, but whoever had
wailed and locked the door was silent now. I just hoped they
weren’t waiting on the other side with more evil plans.
Noah finished taking the knob apart in record time. I was
impressed. “Why didn’t you ever teach me that?”
“I didn’t figure it out until after you left.”
He opened the door, shining his light into the next room.
No one was there. We didn’t hear any voices, but there was
the sound of a door closing and we both looked into the
kitchen.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Oh, come on!”
Noah handed me the screwdriver. “Be my backup in
case they come this way. Feel free to stab them in the butt.”
His fearlessness irritated me as I stood in the dining
room, watching him walk off and wondering why he’d never
been afraid. All of the Seale House kids had lived with
varying degrees of fear, from Corner Boy’s fake bravery to
the quivering terror of little Dixon who came and sat on my
lap at the first sign of trouble. Every one of us had been
sinking in emotional quicksand, and every one of us had
looked to Noah for safety.
Hazel Frey ran Seale House like a military commander.
Charts ruled every task. They listed all of our rotating
chores, homework shifts, what we ate for meals, and even
when and how long we showered. Heaven help the kid who
misread the chart or messed up. And though the social
workers praised her for such organization, I’m sure they
didn’t know how fast and cruel her punishments could be.
To Hazel, foster parenting was an income and nothing
more. I don’t believe she had even a drop of kindness in
her brittle soul. She put on a good show for the social
workers though, since they never seemed to figure out the
real reason we worked so hard at weeding the flower beds
or shoveling the snow.
My mind drifted along that path as I waited in the gloom
of the unlit room. Where was Noah? My eyes started to
react to the strain and I closed them for a moment.
“You’re a liar,” Corner Boy whispered in my ear, startling
me awake. “No one believes you.”
It was a humid summer night and some of us older girls
had been allowed to sleep on the covered porch at the
back of the house. I’d been in such a deep sleep that it
was like swimming up from the bottom of a murky pool.
His breath in my face stunk. I knew he never brushed his
teeth, only pretending to do it when Hazel checked the
boys during their nightly ritual.
“Get away from me.” My voice was thick with sleep.
A sliver of moon peeked just beneath the eaves. Its
rays covered the other sleeping forms in watery light but
didn’t dispel the shadows on Conner’s face. No breeze
stirred the air, and except for distant crickets the night was
still.
“You shoulda told her the truth!”
I felt confused, still hardly awake. I’d told Hazel the truth,
just not the “altered truth” Conner had tried to blackmail
me into saying.
“Your boyfriend is still sleeping upstairs. So is your
brother. Who’s gonna stand up for you now, ugly?”
He lunged at me with his hands, his long, dirty nails
digging into my face.
My eyes flew open, my cheek stinging. Where was I? I
found myself in another part of the house—not where I’d
closed my eyes. A dizzying nausea welled in me; I
struggled to squelch it. How had I ended up in this room? I’d
been downstairs waiting for Noah to return, and my eyes
seemed to close for only a second. What was happening?
Had Corner Boy’s hostile ghost somehow managed to
transport me, or had I fallen into a strange fit and traveled
up here like a sleepwalker? Panic surged through me, and I
turned around. The door was open. I stumbled toward it. At
the threshold I stopped, grabbing the doorjamb to steady
myself. My face felt hot with fear, and my heart was
galloping away like a horse in a death race. Still, a stubborn
determination took control of me. At that moment I hated
Seale House as much as I feared it, and I also loathed the
feeling of dread that had been my frequent companion all
those years ago.
“You’re not going to win!” I whispered.
If Seale House had transported me here to the second
floor, then I was going to face whatever it had to dish out—
bite marks and all. Forcing myself to turn back around, I
studied my surroundings. At first it seemed to be an
unfamiliar room with nothing more than faded wallpaper
and water-damaged furniture. These windows let in more
light than the downstairs ones, but the film of soot on the
glass filtered the morning rays and turned them gray. A
small circular table with a warped top sat near the center of
the room. Flowered chintz curtains drooped from their rods,
matching the soggy overstuffed chair in the corner. Some
parts of the walls were charred, and the room reeked of
smoke. Turning in a slow circle, it was suddenly clear where
I was. I sucked in a startled gasp. This was Hazel Frey’s
private room, the last place on earth I wanted to be. It was
nearly as frightening as the cellar.
I thought I smelled the sweeter reek of marijuana and
wondered if Hazel had been the one to start the fire by
falling asleep with her toke. Why had Seale House brought
me to this room that had been a forbidden place during my
childhood? Then, before I could even come up with a
theory, there was a creak behind me. Spinning around I
saw someone standing in the hall, just outside the doorway.
It was a girl with bleached yellow-white hair and eyes so
darkly shadowed and lined that for a second it seemed they
were empty sockets.
“This is getting old,” I said.
Her heavy eyeliner was smudged and tears had left stain
marks on her cheeks, the makeup of a sad clown. I tried to
guess her age and figured if she’d been friends with
Georgie she might be fourteen. She looked younger,
though.
“Why’d you come back?” she asked.
“For some answers.”
The girl nodded as if we were on the same page. “Who
killed Georgie?”
“How would I know? Someone just showed up and
started shooting.”
“I think it’s your fault.”
“Everything usually is.”
“What’s in the box?”
I looked down. My hands were clenching Jack’s dusty
metal box. I’d forgotten I was still holding it. “I don’t really
know, but you can’t have it.”
She pulled a long chain from her pocket as she stepped
through the doorway and began swinging it back and forth.
Soon it was whizzing through the air in a blur, making a
deadly figure eight. Staring at me, she came nearer. I, of
course, backed up.
“Your face is bleeding,” she pointed out.
“Is it?”
“Just a scratch, but I can take your eye out with my chain.
Do you believe me?”
I did believe her. I watched the chain, which was now
whirling like a propeller.
“Give me the box and you get to keep your eye.”
There was a quick movement behind her, and a fist
slammed into the back of her head. She staggered
forward. The spinning chain fell limp as her knees hit the
floor. Noah strode forward, snatched the chain from her
hand, then grabbed her neck, jerking her to her feet.
“I’m counting to three. If I see you again today, I take you
out.”
He let go, shoving her away from me. Like the startled
cockroach she was, she skittered around him and through
the door. Once she was safely out of range we heard her
howl with rage and spew some filthy language in our
direction.
“I thought I told you to stay downstairs,” he said.
Having caught a glimpse of the same dangerous Noah
who had choked me in his garage, I didn’t even know what
to say. Being around the kinder side of him last night and
this morning had lulled me into forgetting how tough he
could be.
“Your cheek is bleeding. What’d you do, bump the
scrape?”
“Something like that. Did you see anyone else?”
“No. She must’ve been the one we heard, because I
checked everywhere. The house is empty. Why are you in
Hazel’s room?”
I lost my nerve to stay and figure out what was in Seale
House’s nasty bag of tricks. “Let’s just get out of here,
okay?”
“First open the box.”
“I can’t. It’s locked.”
He took it from me and set it down on the small trinket
table that had lost its trinkets. Picking up the screwdriver
from the floor where I must’ve dropped it, he shoved it in the
latch and popped the lid open. The two of us bent over the
box as if we’d become those long-ago kids focused on
solving a mystery. I picked through the contents: marbles in
a yellowed ziplock bag, a few dusty coins, Magic cards,
tokens from an old gaming parlor, a pair of black lacquer
chopsticks we’d bought from a Chinese shop, and beneath
it all a brown envelope. With shaking fingers I picked up this
last item. It was blank except for two words written in the top
left-hand corner: Jason December.

Ten
The Message
I insisted we leave Seale House before opening the
envelope, not explaining that I was afraid of being
transported to the cellar or roof against my will. We headed
for his Jeep and sat inside, out of the wind. I put the
battered metal box on the floor and stared at the brown
envelope for a couple of seconds.
Lifting the flap, I pulled out two sheets of square paper
printed with strange groupings of letters in several
directions.
“Look, Noah. It’s a ciphertext.”
I eagerly studied the letters and bits of words. There was
no obvious message, but that was to be expected. Turning
the papers around, I tried to form a few sentences but it
was useless. Whatever clues might be hidden there, they
wouldn’t be easy to figure out. I also knew that even though
it would probably take time to find the answer, it wouldn’t be
impossible.
Noah took the papers from me, examining each one. He
didn’t say anything, just rotated them one at a time and
stared at the writing with his mouth in a grim line. I knew he
was struggling to accept the obvious truth: Jack had left us
this clue, which meant he must still be alive.
Noah handed back the papers. “I know you’ve got it in
your head now that Jack is alive, but think it through,
Jocelyn. He could have hidden that box under those stairs a
long time ago. Maybe months or even years ago.”
“I’m glad I don’t have a yellow balloon.”
“What?”
“Because you’d try to pop it, wouldn’t you?”
Putting the paper and the puzzle pieces back in the
envelope, I opened the car door and the breeze rushed
inside. “Thanks for your help.”
“How are you going to get home?”
“I’m not going home. I only agreed to leave if there was
nothing for me in Jack’s hiding place, remember?”
“So what’re you going to do? You don’t have any money,
or a car.”
I paused, having forgotten about that in my new
excitement. “I’m not going to worry about it until after I
decode this.”
Noah turned the key in the ignition and started the
engine. “Close the door.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to need my help.”
He was studying me with those warm brown eyes, though
his expression wasn’t very warm. I looked away. “It’s been
so hard. I think about my brother all the time. Every morning
I wake up and feel like a ton of bricks is crushing my heart.
Then the envelope came.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, or you wouldn’t want to take this away from
me.”
“I’m just being a realist.”
“When were you ever a realist, Noah? When you were
dressed as a vampire or a ninja? When you played Luke
Skywalker and I was Chewbacca? You and I have lived in a
world of make-believe our whole lives.”
“We were kids back then. It’s time to grow up, Jocey.” He
rubbed the place between his eyebrows as if he had a
headache. “I’d like to believe Jack is alive just as much as
you. But if he’s not and this is all some big hoax, we’ll both
be taking another painful hit.”
I understood what he meant, relieved to at least see the
human side of him again. I closed the door. “You’re right. I
do need your help.”
He put the Jeep in gear and we drove away from Seale
House in silence, my fingers occasionally stroking the
envelope like it was a treasure. We got back to his place
and Noah led me into his computer room. It was small,
dominated by a computer desk with a ton of tech
accessories.
“Give me the papers,” he said.
I handed them over. Noah ran them through a scanner
and then pulled up a computer program I wasn’t familiar
with. He set it to analyze the letters as text.
“Where’d you get that?”
“A programmer friend of mine made it and let me have a
copy. It’s a really good decryption tool. This might take a
while, though.”
I grabbed the papers from the scanner and sat down at a
small worktable next to the desk. As I picked up a notepad
and pencil, Noah pushed himself over in a wheeled office
chair. “You think you can solve it faster than my program?”
“I’m just playing around. Do you remember the treasure
hunt the two of you made up for our thirteenth birthday?”
“Sort of. When was that?”
“July first. Did you know that Jack and I were born in
Toronto? That means we have dual citizenship until we turn
eighteen this summer. Our birthday falls on Canada Day, a
big holiday there.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I always loved it if we happened to be in Canada on our
birthday. They had parades and fireworks. Anyway, we
turned thirteen the year we were staying at Seale House. I
gave Jack a book of logic problems, his favorite kind of
puzzle. But that was nothing compared to the quest you
guys sent me on. Remember that?”
“Yeah. You were so excited.”
“It was the most fun birthday ever. Even if it did take me
all afternoon to figure out the clues. Neither of you would
give me any hints. You know, I still can’t believe you hid one
of the secret messages in Mr. McCloskey’s backyard. His
dog almost bit me.” I paused and smiled, remembering that
dog almost bit me.” I paused and smiled, remembering that
marvelous day. “It was worth it, though.”
“For a bunch of dollar-store junk we called presents?”
My smile faded and I studied Noah, wondering how he’d
gotten so jaded. “To me, it was all treasure.”
“I guess we look at things differently.”
“I guess. You live with a bunch of books and computer
stuff. But you’re alone. Are you happy, Noah?”
“Don’t start playing head games with me. You won’t win.”
The computer beeped and we looked at the monitor. The
program displayed a diagnostics box that declared no
match found. Noah scooted over to the computer, punched
a few keys, and the screen cleared. “I’ve got another older
decryption program, but it’s a lot slower. And if this one
didn’t crack it, I’m not sure my second one can.”
I turned back to the paper. Picking up the pencil I began
jotting down the few small, unrelated words that were
scattered throughout. As the computer processed the data,
Noah began to work beside me with his own pencil,
scribbling notes and anagrams. It gave me a sense of dèjá
vu to work out clues together.
Next I wrote two new lists of word fragments that started
with capital letters and lowercase. Nothing made sense.
Then I grouped them based on the direction they were
written. Again, nothing. I worked through several variations,
and also read them backward. All I got was gibberish. More
than an hour passed, and Noah left to make lunch while I
continued to work. I was starting to get a headache but
couldn’t tear myself away to go find some ibuprofen.
He set down a tray of drinks and ham sandwiches. “Still
biting your nails, I see.”
“No calories at least,” I replied, though I dropped my hand
to the table, self-conscious.
We ate in silence, my eyes constantly straying to the
encryption. “Why did Jack make this so hard?”
“Maybe it’s all a deception.”
I glanced up, noticing how his eyes were focused on my
face and not the papers. It almost seemed like he was
more interested in analyzing me than the clue. “What for?
Just to lead me to a dead end? Jack wouldn’t do that. He
always had a purpose to what he did. There’s a message
in here somewhere. I just need to figure it out.”
When the computer program came up with nothing, Noah
closed it. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn.”
“It’s not really surprising, is it? Jack didn’t leave this clue
for your computer. He left it for me.”
Noah picked up one of the papers and studied it
thoughtfully. Laying it back down on the table, he folded it in
half, parallel to the words, and creased it.
“What are you doing?” I reached for the paper but he
snatched it away.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Then print a copy! Don’t mess up the original.”
“Stop fussing, will you? Just watch.”
He folded it a second time, so that the row of words
became the only visible part of the paper. He then made
several other folds with the narrow strip, always making
sure the letters stayed visible.
“You’re doing origami?”
“No. Don’t you remember making a shuriken?”
Watching him crease and fold, I recalled lunch hours
spent on the playground and quiet times in the school
library. The three of us created messages by folding two
papers into small pointed packets.
“Chinese throwing stars?”
He nodded. “Our school’s note-passing craze, weren’t
they? Except, of course, we usually put the writing on the
inside. Work on that other sheet of paper if you remember
how. Make it a mirror image of this one. You were right
when you said Jack wouldn’t give you a code that takes a
decryption program. He’d make sure you already had
everything you needed to figure it out on your own. I
should’ve taken myself out of the equation.”
He waited for me to finish, then grabbed my folded piece
of paper and laid it crosswise atop his, working to insert the
points a little like the way flaps on a cardboard box are
when you layer them closed. If done right it would make a
star with four points. I leaned in, eagerly watching and
giving bits of advice that annoyed him.
He completed the star and we both looked at it with
disappointment. The letters that were still visible didn’t
make sense. “You realize you’ve just ruined those papers.”
Noah ignored me, taking it apart. He switched the two
strips and made it back into a shuriken.
His smile was smug. “There.” He turned it so I could read
the writing.
Each abutting edge of paper formed half a word, and
now that it was put together four words jumped out at me:
Just then the stale air in the room felt too warm. “The
Peace Tower! That’s where we went on our big field trip,
right? Anybody in Mr. Montclaude’s French class got to go.”
I remembered our excitement at having a day off from
school and riding the bus across the Canadian border.
Ottawa was just north of Watertown. We spent the day
touring Canadian Parliament, where French was often
spoken. It also included a trip to the top of the Peace
Tower.
Noah said, “But that’s at least a couple of hours’ drive.”
“So? It’s where we’re supposed to go.”
“And do what, exactly? Find Jack? Think he’s been
sitting on a bench all this time? Just hanging around,
waiting for you to decipher this clue and show up?”
I was determined not to let him burst my yellow balloon.
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yeah, but what about you? They won’t let you across the
border without one.”
I stood up, digging in my jeans pocket and pulling out two
cards. “I always keep ID on me, just in case. I learned that
the hard way the last time Melody took off. See? My driver’s
license and a passport card.”
I held the second one out for him to examine. “This will let
I held the second one out for him to examine. “This will let
me cross any U.S. border. My foster parents got it for me a
couple of months ago so we could visit Niagara Falls.”
Noah blew out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’re
determined to go to Ottawa?”
“Yes. And you, of course, are going to drive me there.
You’re just as interested to see where this leads as I am.
Think of it as a fun road trip.”
Flipping the star over, I missed whatever rude comment
Noah made because on the back were more words.
“Look at this!”
“What’s the Hall of Olbil?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of
that.”
“I don’t know, but if it’s important we’ll figure it out when
we get there.” I picked up the star and put it in the envelope
with the puzzle pieces. Then I smiled at Noah. “Thank you
for figuring it out. I don’t know if I could have.”
He returned my smile though his eyes were still somber.
“You’re welcome.”
This was progress, as was his willingness to drive me
into Canada.
Once we were in his Jeep, we rode in silence, the strong
east wind making tree branches and flower baskets sway.
Some of the areas of Watertown we passed through were
familiar to me, others seemed unknown, yet everywhere we
went there were whispers of memory.
“Why did you stay here?” I asked.
“It’s where I grew up.”
“Exactly. So why not leave?”
“I didn’t want to.”
I just stared at him. “Come on, Noah. We talked about
getting out of here all the time. Remember how we picked
our favorite places to go? Jack’s changed every other
week. Sometimes he wanted China, other times Scotland
or Greece. But your dream was California. You said you
wanted to live on a warm beach and never shovel snow
again.”
“So? You always wanted that place on the Canadian
shore. You’ve never been there, have you? Where was it
you were going to live?”
“Charlottetown, on Prince Edward Island.”
“Oh right, because of all those books you were reading. It
didn’t happen, though. Instead, you ended up living in New
York the same as me. Life never turns out the way you think
it will when you’re a little kid.”
“That’s sort of fatalistic, don’t you think? We still get to
make choices. When I turn eighteen in a couple of months,
I’m going to do a lot of things I’ve always wanted to. And I’m
definitely not going to stay stuck in one place my whole life.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “You’re sure Miss Chatty today,
aren’t you?”
I didn’t like the nickname given me by Angry Beth any
better now than I had all those years ago. However, the
retort on my lips was replaced by a startled yelp when a
large rock, thrown from a passing vehicle, slammed into the
windshield.
Eleven
The Tower
The three cockroach kids looked out of place in the lightblue
Ford Focus they were driving. Not that they should’ve
been driving at all—they were probably underage. I didn’t
have much time to think about that because another rock
crashed into the windshield, leaving a quarter-size chip.
Noah braked. I caught a glimpse of two black-haired boys
hanging out the side windows, the rubber tubes of their
slingshots flapping in the air. They grinned like demons and
flipped us off as their car sped away.
Noah pulled the Jeep onto the side of the road. We both
stared at the cracked windshield. He grabbed his cell
phone and entered the car model and license. Then he
called the police and made a complaint. He was on the
phone for a bit and I waited while he gave all the
information. Ending the call he turned to look at me. “Is
there something you want to explain?”
The way Noah skewered me with his glare made me feel
like a worm on a hook. “What do you mean?”
“At Seale House this morning, I figured that girl showing
up was just a fluke. But now another attack? Why do I get
the feeling there’s more to those kids trying to take you out
than just coincidence?”
“I ran into them last night when I was looking around,
okay? They’re the ones who built a fire in the front room. I
think they might’ve started the first fire too, but I’m not sure.”
Peering down the road, I kept an anxious watch for the
blue Ford in case it came back. “Do you remember
Georgie? He was with them. Of course, he wasn’t a cute
little boy anymore. And he wasn’t exactly happy to see me,
either.”
“No kidding.”
“He tried to stab me.”
When this confession caused no reaction from Noah, I
decided to get it over with. Plunging in, I gave him a quick
recap of what happened. Retelling it forced me to think
about the unknown shooter as well as Georgie’s fate. Even
though Georgie had tried to stab me, the memory of his
death tightened my stomach in a queasy knot.
“And you waited until now to tell me this?”
“At first you didn’t seem to believe me about the Jason
December envelope. I was afraid to tell you this other stuff.”
He put the Jeep in gear, pulled back onto the road, and
accelerated. “There wasn’t anything in the news about a kid
being shot. In Watertown, that kind of thing would be big.”
“Maybe the police are keeping it quiet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Frustrated, I slammed my palm against the dashboard.
“Fine! I made it all up, along with those kids throwing rocks
at your windshield.”
Noah didn’t say anything else for a while as we drove
along, me sitting in the passenger seat with my arms folded
and him watching the road. I pretended not to care.
He shoved a CD in the player and we let the music
separate us. My thoughts drifted to school and Ms. Chen’s
English class. I’d already gotten an extension for turning in
my essay on Mary Shelley. I was supposed to finish writing
it during spring break and e-mail it to her before Monday,
but the rough draft was still in my netbook. Which was in my
car. Which had vanished.
I decided not to think about it since there wasn’t anything
I could do. Instead, I listened to Noah’s music, realizing how
similar his tastes were to Jack’s.
The traffic grew heavier and slowed as we approached
the border. We waited in one of the lines inching forward to
the booth ahead of us. The man at the window asked to
see our passports and then asked a couple of basic
questions as to why we were coming into Canada. Noah
told him we were planning to tour Parliament and we’d be
back by nightfall. After wishing us a nice visit, he motioned
us through.
I slumped against the seat. More relaxed now that we
were on our way to the Peace Tower, I closed my eyes as
stress began to ebb away. Soon drowsiness took its place.
I fought it for a while, but finally gave in.
Waking a while later, I sat up and rubbed my forehead.
“Where are we?”
“About half an hour from Ottawa. Let’s stop and get some
snacks and drinks.”
We pulled off at a small roadside market and bought a
few items. Ten minutes later we were back on the road,
driving past lush trees until we reached the outskirts of the
large city. The April weather had warmed, and as we got
closer we passed several helmeted bicyclists in spandex.
Driving into Ottawa, Noah had to keep putting on the
brakes because a small bus ahead of us was stopping for
passengers.
Driving in the slow stop-and-go traffic, we made our way
to the massive government buildings in the heart of the
capital of Canada. I gazed out the window at the towering
structures and carved stonework. Many of the copper roofs
were green with age, the same hue as the Statue of Liberty.
I thought that Parliament and its Centre Block seemed
more like English castles than government offices.
“I forgot how impressive this is.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Have you been back here since our field trip?”
“A couple of times. Ottawa has a lot more sports and
entertainment than our little town.”
Our goal, the Peace Tower, rose from the front of the
Parliament building. It had four clocks, one on each side. It
also had a carillon, an observation deck, and the Memorial
Chamber honoring those who had died in Canada’s wars.
The traffic worsened this close to Parliament, but Noah
finally found a parking spot several blocks away. We got
out and he put money in the meter. I kept the brown
envelope with me, paranoid about leaving anything in his
car now that mine had been stolen.
We headed down the sidewalk, passing two white cop
cars with blue and red stripes. RCMP, I remembered,
meant Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A minute later we
went through a wide wrought-iron gate and around the
Centennial Flame, where an eternal flame burned in the
center of the flowing water. Nearing the tower I looked up,
studying the imposing carvings. Gargoyles stared back at
studying the imposing carvings. Gargoyles stared back at
me.
“Where do you want to start?” Noah asked.
“Since the clue says ‘north west’ I’m thinking we should
try the observation deck.”
We entered through the visitors’ door that was around the
corner from the main entrance into the Parliament building.
After waiting in line, we reached the monitored area. It was
similar to airport security. We had to empty the stuff in our
pockets into plastic bins, send our shoes and everything we
were carrying past an x-ray scanner, and walk through a
detection gate. Then we headed up two flights of stone
steps. We passed by the center court, which was full of
amazing carvings, stonework, and stained glass.
“It’s like a medieval castle in here,” I said.
We hurried up the steps that veered sharply along the
interior of the tower and paused to look down through
arched windows at the center rotunda. At the top we came
to a line of visitors waiting for the single elevator that went
up the tower. There were several people ahead of us
chatting in French with their tour guide. After a few minutes
we went in with them. Noah showed me the long, narrow
window at the back of the elevator, which let us see some
of the bells of the carillon as we ascended.
The tower was a lot taller than any other building in the
area and gave a great view of Ottawa and Parliament Hill.
From the observation deck there were five vantage points,
including one that looked down on the copper roofs of the
Centre Block. However, only one view interested me, and
that was from the windows facing northwest. We walked
over and looked out.
In the distance, the wide Ottawa River was dark grayblue
with sunlight glittering on its surface like scattered
diamonds. Directly across, on the far side of the water, was
a small city. From this distance it appeared as a miniature
model and was built right up to the brink of the river. I
recognized it. “That’s Gatineau, Quebec.”
“How do you know?”
“We stayed there for a few days before we came back
across the border and ended up at Seale House.”
From this far away everything seemed so small and
insignificant, yet one of my most painful memories came
from that place. I didn’t want to explain this to Noah.
“Do you think Jack wants us to go there?”
“I can’t see why. It was so long ago, and we were there
just a couple of days. I don’t remember the address and
wouldn’t know where to look.”
I stared down at the buildings in Gatineau. During our
field trip to the Peace Tower, Jack had recognized the
Quebec town and pointed it out to me. But that
conversation hadn’t really been important, so what was
Jack trying to tell me now? The only thing I could think of
was the field trip itself, and how we had stood in this exact
spot, unaware of the girls pushing in behind us.
“Get out of the way, beanpole,” Monique said. “You’re
blocking the view.”
Nessa laughed. “Yeah. Be considerate of us normalsize
people.” Two others, Tabby and Geena, joined in with
jeering comments.
I turned to look down at the four petite girls with their
long hair and shimmering eye shadow. “Oh, I’m sorry. I
thought you were still in the restroom stuffing your bras
with toilet paper.”
A few of the boys laughed, including Jack and Noah.
Nessa’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t even wear a bra, do
you, freak?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t think you ever will. In fact, I think you’re just a boy
who dresses like a girl.”
“At least I’m not a girl who dresses like a prostitute.”
Outraged, Nessa swung her purse at me, but Noah
stepped in and blocked it with his arm in an impressive
move. Her face turned red and she aimed for his head.
He snatched the purse from her and sent it sailing across
the floor of the observation deck. Along the way it
scattered lipsticks, tampons, and a comb. With a screech,
she called him several obscene names and then went
chasing after it.
During our school days in Watertown, our freak-dom had
become set in stone. The name freak, which cruel kids at
our small school had labeled Noah, was extended to Jack
and then me. They’d meant it to be hurtful, but we
embraced it and wrapped ourselves in the layers of
friendship that built a protective force field around us. Noah
was the first freak, Jack was the second, and I became the
third.
My brother was so impressed that a boy like Noah, who
was a bit older, was willing to be friends with him. He
admired Noah’s brains and fearlessness, silently grateful
for his friendship. Now, though, I grasped something else. It
wasn’t just us. Noah himself had been desperate for
someone to hang out with. An outcast at school, and living
in a household of withdrawn and wounded kids, he’d been
hungry for friendship with someone on his own level.
Someone who wouldn’t think he was weird for pretending to
be a vampire or ninja but who would, in fact, jump in with full
acceptance of whatever strange paths he decided to take.
No wonder that friendship had been so easily renewed
when Jack and Noah started chatting online.
“Remember what happened during our field trip here?” I
asked, still studying the view. “You stopped Nessa from
hitting me with her purse.”
“Yeah. Just one of the many times I had to step in
because your mouth got you in trouble. Do you think being
here has something to do with that?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked to the left and then the right, as far as the glass
would let me see. There was nothing special in either
direction. I turned away from the view and glanced around
the observation deck. My eyes searched the surrounding
area, hoping for a clue, but there was no hiding place.
Finally I got the paper star out of the envelope.
“Any suggestions, Noah?”
We both studied the front of it and then the back as I
flipped it over. “Why are those words spelled in part caps
and part lowercase?” Noah asked.
“Jack’s writing was like that through all the rows of
letters.”
“Yes, but when we put the shuriken together, ‘Peace
Tower’ and ‘North West’ looked right. There were capitals
at the beginning of each word. But the stuff on the back isn’t
like that.”
“True.” I peered at the code.
S e e
H a L L
O L b I L
R C
R
Turning it upside down I laughed. “This is so Jack! Look,
‘OLbIL’ isn’t a word at all, it’s a series of numbers: 7 1970.
He couldn’t write numbers right-side up in the column of
letters. We would’ve noticed them before making the star.
He wanted us to fold the paper into a shuriken so we could
find the other words first.”
“Think it’s a date? Maybe July 1970?”
“Could be.”
“Come on, let’s go.” Noah turned and headed for the
elevator.
“You know where the hall might be?”
“No, but I know where numbers are important.”
As we rode down in the elevator, the carillon tolled four
gongs that rang through our confined area. The vibrations
seemed to pass through me with foreboding. Why, when
hope was riding high, did I have an unexpected sense of
warning? Even after the last gong hammered its way
through the elevator and then faded to silence, my intuition
told me to leave the tower and do it now.
I tried to tell myself to ignore it, yet the fear didn’t fade.
Instead, it washed over me even stronger. The inside of the
elevator suddenly grew dim and the air suffocating. I
wanted to cry out a warning but my lips were sealed
together, as if stitched shut by an undertaker’s thread.
It was then that the walls began to collapse inward. They
pushed down on us and compressed the air—even the
molecules grew dense. The walls themselves started to
pulsate, the elevator changing. As I watched, it became like
the internal organ of some malevolent entity. Viscous
matter surged around us, and everyone in the elevator
panicked. A woman beside me screamed, trying to claw
her way out.
Hysteria rose inside me as Noah disappeared into the
gelatinous mass. Unable to move, I was engulfed by
steaming tissue.
Twelve
Flowers
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked. “You look upset.”
He was standing in the lobby just outside the open
elevator doors, and other than gazing at me with a puzzled
expression he seemed fine—no wounds, no missing
chunks of consumed flesh, not even a few pieces of gummy
tissue still clinging to his cheek. The elevator walls were no
longer made of pulsing jelly but of flat brown paneling, just
the way they should’ve been.
Noah and the other passengers had all gotten out, clearly
unaware of what had just happened. I watched the woman
who had, only seconds ago, been screaming in agony. She
stopped to snatch a brochure from her large handbag and
then wandered off like any tourist. Noah stared at me as I
stepped into the small lobby, my body still stiff with fear.
Something so bizarre had just happened in that elevator
that I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and I knew there was
no way of explaining it to him. He was obviously unaware of
what I’d seen, but if I tried to tell him he’d probably drive by
the closest mental clinic and boot me out without bothering
to slow down.
Struggling to shake off the apprehension that clung to me
like an icky odor, I walked through the foyer, faking
detachment.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
Ignoring his question, I turned around and stared back at
the elevator as the doors closed. It looked harmless and
normal. Noah touched my arm. “What’s going on? You’re
shaking and you look like you’re going to throw up.”
“I’m okay. Just got a little claustrophobic.”
“Claustrophobic?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go, okay?”
He studied me a few seconds more and then shrugged.
“Whatever. This way.”
I followed him through the open door of the Memorial
Chamber, relieved he’d dropped it. Though my heart rate
had slowed, my limbs still felt weak and my head was
buzzing with confusion. I told myself to just keep moving.
“Since we’re looking for a date,” Noah said, “I think this
might be the place to start.”
Gothic arches and high stained-glass windows made the
room look like a small chapel inside a cathedral. I
remembered this place from the field trip. There was a
beautiful carved altar on a raised stone dais in the middle
of the room. It had a glass-topped case of etched brass
with small statuettes of angels kneeling in each corner.
Going up the steps, I looked inside the case: The First
World War Book of Remembrance. Other glass cases on
lower stone stands were placed in a semicircle around the
room, with a handful of people looking at them. In total,
there were seven books that recorded the Canadians who
had fought and lost their lives in each of the wars. The
center one focused on World War II.
Noah whispered, “Out of those numbers Jack left us, I
don’t think the first 7 means July. I think it means the
seventh book.”
Nodding in agreement, I followed him past two elderly
women to the second altar from the right. “This one,” he
said. The nameplate declared: In the Service of Canada,
The Seventh Book of Remembrance.
“According to the inscription, it was started in 1947.”
“And it lists every serviceperson that died during
peacetime activities.”
Remembering snatches of the tour guide’s lecture during
our field trip, I knew that the pages were more like pieces of
art than just leaves in a book. The names of the lost were
printed in calligraphy-style font and the pages were
decorated with heraldic illumination and beautiful
watercolors. Peering through the glass, we saw the book
was opened to a page with the names of those who had
died in 1956.
“May I help you?” a raspy voice said from behind,
startling me.
We turned around and stared at a hobbity little man with
unruly tufts of white hair. He was short, barely coming up to
Noah’s shoulder, and had the largest earlobes I’d ever
seen. His red jacket stretched over a small potbelly, and a
name tag with a maple leaf on it was pinned to his lapel.
His name was Stuart.
Noah pointed to the case. “Is there a way to turn the
pages and find a different date?”
The man beamed at us, pushing up the glasses that had
slid down his nose. “So nice to see young people
interested in their past!” He dug inside his coat pocket and
retrieved a pair of white cotton gloves. “What date and
name are you interested in?”
“Nineteen seventy, with the last name of Hall.”
“Very good.” He pulled on the gloves like a doctor
preparing for surgery. “A relative of yours?”
Noah shrugged. “We’re not sure.”
Stuart nodded and then launched into a tour guide
dialogue about the history of the books, spewing details
that rattled past my head. It was difficult for me to focus on
what he was saying, mainly because I still felt so shaken.
The elevator experience had faded a little but continued to
bother me. The gong of the bells had warned that time was
ghosting away from us, and it was doubly important to find
my brother. The danger he was in seemed more serious
than ever.
Stuart retrieved a small brass key from his breast pocket,
unlocked the case, and lifted the glass lid. “Not too close,
now. Wait until I’m finished, and then you can look.”
He hunched over the book, a protective gnome, his
gloved fingers gently turning the pages. Noah smiled and
leaned into me. He whispered, “You’d think he was
defusing a bomb.”
Very aware of how close we stood, I smiled back at him
until he casually pulled away.
“Ha!” Stuart said with triumph, then glanced around and
lowered his voice as if embarrassed he’d forgotten to be
quiet. “Here it is.”
He replaced the protective glass, locked it with the key,
and then motioned to us. “Theodore Gregory Hall, 1970. Is
this the one you’re looking for?”
“I’m sure it is,” Noah said as we stepped closer.
“Then I’ll give you a moment to yourselves.” He looked in
the direction of a middle-aged couple who had just stepped
into the chamber.
“Thank you,” I murmured over my shoulder, turning back
to stare down at a page edged with a scrolling gold border.
Noah bent over the glass. “But why this name? Does
‘Theodore Hall’ mean anything to you?”
I shook my head. “No, but the name just above it does.
Remember the field trip? When we were here last time, the
three of us stopped to look at this book and it was on this
page. We saw that name.”
“Roswill Herbert Flowers?”
“Yes. And then Jack asked the teacher about it.” I stared
at the page, trying to remember his question.
“Oh, right … Wait a second. Did it have something to do
with Watertown? Like Flower Avenue?”
We looked at each other and said at the same time, “The
library!”
Noah tapped his finger on the glass. “Jack asked if this
was the man the library was named after. But Mr.
Montclaude explained that was someone else. A governor,
I think.”
I envisioned the plaque on the front of the large building
that I had entered dozens of times, including once
yesterday. “Roswell P. Flower Memorial Library.”
“That’s it.”
Excitement crept into my voice as it came together.
“Then this is the clue! Now all we have to do is go back to
the Watertown library.”
Noah turned away from the case to stare at me. He didn’t
say anything.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t tell me Jack sent us on this stupid road trip all the
way to Canada just to send us back down to New York!”
From across the room Stuart turned in our direction with
an anxious stare. “Shh,” I whispered, moving closer to
Noah. “Of course that’s what he’s done. Don’t you
remember how his clues always led us crisscrossing back
and forth?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “This is
ridiculous! Besides, what are we supposed to do when we
get back to the library?”
“Find a book written by someone named Theodore Hall,
of course.”
Noah scowled, his lips drawn into a tight line.
“Please don’t be angry.”
Shaking his head, he gave a weary sigh. “Let’s get out of
here, okay?”
He caught my arm and led me to the stairs. I glanced
down at the way his long fingers comfortably slid to my wrist
and then curled around my hand. Although Noah seemed
hardly aware of his casual touch, I couldn’t help thinking
how twelve-year-old Jocey would have been thrilled.
We headed out the main front doors of the Parliament
building and passed a throng of touring Tibetan monks in
orange togas. As we left through the main gates, Noah
glanced down at our linked fingers and looked almost
surprised.
We walked past shops and cafés. Red-and-white maple
leaf flags hung from balconies and flagpoles, and cars
inched down the packed road as drivers searched for
places to park. All kinds of shoppers and tourists passed
us. A dark-skinned man wearing a sombrero and a suit
made entirely of zippers got a nervous glance from a
woman in a tailored business suit. We heard a bagpipe
playing; in the distance was a guy in a kilt and full Scottish
attire. People stopped to watch him play and put cash in his
copper bucket.
A block-long flower market, its framework heavy with
bright hanging baskets, caught my attention. Workers with
watering cans and misting bottles catered to the plants, and
the sweet scent of flowers drifted on the breeze. I wished
we could stay longer and play tourist.
Once we got in the Jeep, it took us another half hour to
get out of Ottawa. Noah sulked for most of the drive back to
Watertown, and I couldn’t blame him. Jack had always
gotten a little too caught up in making outrageous clues for
his treasure hunts, but this was extreme. Why did my
brother have to make every clue so difficult and involved?
Not impossible, though. He never made it impossible.
I promised Noah that once I got home I’d send him some
cash for the gas, or that Jack would reimburse him. It didn’t
seem to help his grouchy mood, and he cranked up the
music. After that I didn’t say anything else, just watched the
sun sink behind the trees.
My mind wandered back to Seale House. No matter how
I tried to shove down memories of that place, one insisted
on surfacing: my last night there.
In the dull setting of my childhood, that single evening
stood out—all harsh sounds and flashes of color:
The radio playing.
White snowflakes falling outside the kitchen window.
Dixon’s blue-and-yellow pajamas.
His cry of terror.
The red of Hazel’s furious face.
A reedy voice reciting an awful poem.
Angry Beth hissing demands.
Fists hammering on the cellar door.
The heavy gun in my hand and its deafening blast.
Noah’s betrayed voice: “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill
you.”
Finally, we entered Watertown, and it was a relief the trip
was over. We drove down Washington Street and pulled
into the parking lot of the Flower Memorial Library. It was
unchanged from five years ago: a large, elegant building
with marble facing, an octagonal dome on top, and a series
of double columns in front.
“When Jack and I lived here, I loved this place.”
Noah didn’t answer.
We got out of the Jeep, stiff after the long ride, and went
up the steps. A plaque on the double doors showed the
hours. “They’re not open much longer,” Noah said.
“What time is it?”
“Eight forty.”
We found a bank of computers and sat down. I pulled up
the library catalogue and did an author search for Theodore
Hall. A long list of writers with the last name of Hall came
up, but none of them was Theodore.
“It’s not here,” I said.
“So I see.”
There were a lot of authors named Hall whose first
names started with the letter T, and I clicked on them all.
There were a variety of book titles, including novels. Others
were nonfiction about everything from sports to history.
There was even a picture book. None of the subjects
related to Jack though, and I knew he wouldn’t have left it so
unspecific.
“What now?”
Noah shrugged.
A new idea came to me. “Do you remember Theodore
Hall’s middle name?”
“No. We should’ve written it down.”
I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the memory book. A
few seconds later my eyes flew open. “It’s Gregory.
Theodore Gregory Hall.”
Clicking back several pages to the list of G names, I saw
there were several Gregory Halls. But when I checked, none
of their books seemed right, either. “Jack wouldn’t put a
clue in just any old book, especially not ones about dog
training or weight loss.”
Scrolling up the list there was the name Greg Hall, and I
clicked on it. Three nonfiction books came up:
The BASIC Conversion Handbook
Neuro-Linguistic Programming
Revision Control Reference: A Guide for
Application Source Codes
“Programming books,” Noah said.
“Yes! And what about that last one? It’s got the same
three letters as the clue on the back of the star: R C R. I’m
sure that’s it!”
I glanced at Noah. He was studying me more than the
screen and gave a grudging smile. “Smart girl.”
I enjoyed hearing the phrase that had, in the past, been
his positive appraisal of me. I was also relieved his earlier
irritation had softened.
After copying down the reference number, I exited the
library catalogue. We were ready to go find the book when
an unexpected voice behind us startled me.
“Hello, Noah. Who’s your girlfriend?”
Thirteen
Condolences
The guy standing behind us was in his early twenties, and
for no reason I could explain I felt an upsurge of anxiety. He
looked down at us and instinctively I stood, wanting to be on
an even level with him. Though he was a stranger, for an
odd second or two it seemed like I should know him.
He had a shaved head. Pale lashes and eyebrows gave
him a mildly surprised look, and he grinned at me with
swaggering self-confidence. Some girls might have found
him attractive, but I didn’t. Maybe it was the rubbery tan of
his skin that reminded me of Silly Putty, maybe it was just
my gut instinct, but I sensed he was not someone to be
trusted.
“What are you doing here?” Noah asked. It wasn’t until he
spoke that I saw he, too, was standing.
“Our boss wanted me to come see you, but you’re a hard
guy to track down.” Turning to me, he introduced himself
and offered his hand. “I’m Zachary Saulto.”
I looked down at his tan-pink flesh and just stood there.
Noah shifted his weight to move slightly in front of me,
and Saulto dropped his hand, though his smug smile
stayed in place.
“Tell Sam I don’t have anything else to say. I thought that
was clear the last time we talked.”
“You may not want to talk to us, but maybe Jocelyn does.
So what brings you to Watertown?”
“How do you know me?” I asked.
“I work for ISI, the company Jack interned for. I’d like to
offer my condolences about your brother.” His smile was
replaced by a falsely sympathetic gaze. “He was a great
kid who did good work. I can’t tell you how sorry we are that
he’s gone. He was a brilliant programmer.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s nice to finally meet Jack’s beautiful sister.” His eyes
seemed to glint with an insider’s joke.
“Let’s go, Jocelyn.” Noah took my arm.
“Don’t you want to hear what I have to tell you?” Saulto
asked him.
“No. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t work for you
anymore.”
Saulto stepped forward, blocking our path. “You signed a
contract when you came to work with us, you know.”
“So sue me.”
“We don’t hire losers at ISI. And in my book, a quitter and
a loser are the same thing.”
“Save your sports talk for the handball court.”
Saulto leaned near, the thick muscles of his chest
straining the fabric of his blue shirt. “Think about Jack,” he
said in a quiet voice.
I studied the guy’s glass-hard eyes and said, “What do
you mean?”
Saulto’s smile emerged again and he pulled back.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Very nice to meet you.
Jack never said much about you, but I wish he had.”
A low bell chimed, and over the loudspeaker a woman’s
voice announced the library was closing. Noah led me
away from Zachary Saulto. He didn’t follow, but a glance
back showed he was staring at us.
“What was that about?” I asked as we rounded a corner.
“Nothing. The guy is just full of hot air. Let’s go.”
“But we still have time to find the book by Greg Hall.”
“No. We don’t.”
I stopped walking and he turned to look at me with barely
concealed irritation. “The library is closing. We’ll come
back tomorrow.”
I couldn’t accept the idea of waiting all those hours
before getting the information we were so close to. I started
to backtrack. “I’m not leaving. Go ahead if you want, but I’m
staying. I’ll hide in the restroom and come out when it’s
clear if I have to.”
When I started walking away, Noah caught up with me
and grabbed my shoulders, turning me around. “Listen,
Jocelyn, now is not a good time. Whatever clue Jack left, he
meant for you to find and no one else. You don’t want to go
looking for it right now. Understand?”
He must have read the anxiety in my eyes because his
grip softened and so did his voice. “The library opens at
ten. I promise I’ll bring you back here first thing tomorrow.”
Glancing past Noah, I saw Zachary Saulto round the
corner and head in our direction. Suddenly his advice about
Jack’s clue being for our eyes only made sense. I gave in,
walking with him through the glass doors.
Fourteen
Conversation
We bought Chinese takeout, and by the time we were back
at Noah’s place, it was getting late. We sat at his kitchen
table, dishing the food onto our plates. I was tired, and all
my aches and pains from yesterday started to surface. I
dipped my egg roll in hot mustard, thinking about how much
the three of us had loved Chinese food. I remembered the
meal Noah and Jack made for New Year’s Eve, and how
we’d laughed at Jack’s awkward use of his new chopsticks.
The memory should have been pleasing, but instead a
melancholy mood crept in.
“You’re quiet. What happened to Miss Chatty?”
Shrugging, I ate a forkful of rice.
“I promised we’d go back to the library tomorrow.”
“Yes, I know. I was just thinking about my brother. You two
chatted online all the time, but you never got a chance to
get back together.”
“We planned to meet up for real, but stuff kept coming up.
Like when he got strep throat. I wanted to come see you
both, and I regret not making it happen.”
“Until Jack found you online, he missed you a lot. Both of
us wondered what happened after we left Watertown, but it
bothered him the most. I think he felt he owed you, in some
weird way. You were the guy always taking care of us kids.
The one who kept Seale House running.”
I stared down at my half-eaten egg roll. “The last time we
were together, he told me you were his closest friend.”
“Nothing can unite two people like early morning
insomnia. It was a bond Jack and I had that you never did.
You always slept like you were dead. But at three or four in
the morning, when no one else is awake, it’s a lot easier to
open up.”
I had a fleeting memory of rousing from a nightmare at
Seale House and going in search of Jack, only to find him
and Noah out on the roof. They were looking at the moon
with an old pair of binoculars they’d found in the cellar.
“In the early mornings,” he said, “when I couldn’t sleep, I’d
get on the computer. Jack was usually already there. We
started talking about all kinds of stuff. I think it’s easier over
the computer than face-to-face. Guess I ended up knowing
him better during this last year than even when we were
kids. One thing we almost never talked about, though, was
you.”
“Because you were still mad at me?”
“No, of course not. Jack just made it clear that talking
about you, other than in the distant past, was off-limits. He
didn’t want to discuss your current life or what you were up
to. I don’t know why exactly. I sort of figured he was being
protective. Maybe he thought I was still upset about how you
left Seale House. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that he
started to be more open to my asking about you.”
This was unexpected news. “Why did you want to talk
about me?”
“You were important to me, Jocey. The only girl from my
past I ever cared about.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.
“Jack told me about all the moving you two did. About
your mother and what life was like. It wasn’t hard to figure
out why you two ended up in the system.”
“What about you? Did you finally tell Jack why you were
sent to Seale House? You used to insist your father was
Count Dracula and he was forced to leave you behind
because Professor Van Helsing seriously burned him with
a cross.”
Noah shrugged. “That’s because the truth isn’t very
interesting. My mother was a drug addict whose dealer got
her pregnant. She didn’t really want me. I guess back then it
seemed less hurtful to make up a story instead of telling the
truth.”
I felt ashamed at having forced him to this confession.
Also, it made me a bit insecure to see he had moved on
and no longer let his past define him the way I still did.
“Can I ask something else, Noah?”
“Sure.”
“I feel confused, like there are missing puzzle pieces.
“I feel confused, like there are missing puzzle pieces.
And I’m not talking about the ones Jack left me. I’ve been
thinking about what happened today with Zachary Saulto.
He works for ISI the same way you and Jack used to,
right?”
“Yes. He was sort of my supervisor and sent me work. I
didn’t talk to him much in person, though.”
“Why did he say, ‘Think about Jack’? What does that
mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“But why did you quit working for them? And don’t tell me
it’s just because Jack died.”
He paused and it seemed as if he crossed a mental line.
“You understand my work for them, right? I mostly
customized the security program we’d already written.”
“The same thing Jack was doing.”
“They’d send us new programming assignments and
we’d specialize the coding for different companies who
purchased the software. But then something happened.
Jack sent me a strange e-mail the day before his accident.
There was just one sentence. It said that some of the ISI
programmers had written back doors into their security
codes.”
“Back doors so someone could secretly get through a
company’s security?”
“Yes. Which means they wouldn’t really be secure.”
“Is that illegal?”
“If they didn’t tell their clients, it is. I’m guessing ISI
wouldn’t want anyone knowing about it or they could get
sued in a big way.”
“But Jack never said anything to me about that.”
Noah shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t get the chance.”
“So how did he learn what other programmers were
doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would the people that run ISI have been threatened
because Jack found out? Would they have tried to stop him
from talking?”
“There’s no way to know that either. But when he died,
the whole thing made me nervous. I decided it was time to
quit programming for them.”
Noah’s cell phone rang. He looked at it and said, “It’s the
police department.”
He had a short conversation and then disconnected.
“That was Don Iverson. He’s a police detective and kind of
a friend of mine.”
“You’re friends with a cop?”
“Don’s okay. He was the officer in charge of closing the
Seale House foster care program. And he’s sort of kept an
eye on me ever since. He even helped me become an
emancipated minor so I could live on my own and not end
up in another foster house.”
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“Yeah. Anyway, seems the police picked up some kids
for underage driving. They might be the same ones who
rocked my windshield. Don asked me to come down to the
police station and identify them. Want to come?”
I stood and started clearing off the table. “I’m tired, and
I’m not really interested in seeing those brats again.”
“Okay. I’ll probably be back in about an hour.”
After Noah left, I downed some painkillers and soaked in
a tub of hot water. As I relaxed, my mind wandered across
the day’s events, including the strange experience of
finding myself transported to Hazel’s upstairs room. What
unique and frightening powers did Seale House possess?
Had those same dark powers somehow followed me into
the elevator of the Peace Tower? That idea was so weird I
shoved it aside, the same way I had tried to shove aside
the memories of other abnormal incidents from my past in
Watertown. I told myself none of it had been real.
Was it all in my head, like some sort of magician’s trick?
And yet a nagging voice persisted: what about Georgie’s
death? I’d seen the silhouette of the shooter who killed him,
and the angry girl this morning confirmed we’d seen the
same thing. Even the rocks thrown at Noah’s windshield by
Georgie’s friends helped prove it. I examined all the bits
and pieces that refused to fit together, believing if I could
only figure out the “why” of it all, then I’d understand
everything else.
With weary resignation, I finally let the water out of the
tub. I toweled off and scrounged another of Noah’s T-shirts
to sleep in, wishing for the tenth time that I had my luggage.
Outside, the wind picked up, sighing softly against the
house and whispering at the windows. More relaxed, I
turned off the light, climbed in bed, and fell into a deep
sleep.
The next thing I remember was being inside a tangled
dream. There were two images familiar to me. One was an
old woman, the other a scary man in a dark room. I had
dreamed about the woman for a few years but about the
guy only recently.
In my dream the woman was very old, her skin thin and
clear as vellum. Wisps of white hair lay on her forehead and
temples, and she wore a silver cross against a purple
blouse. As we stood looking at each other, a deep ache
filled me and yet instinctively I knew she wasn’t the cause of
it. Maybe she was only the witness.
Her fingers were bent and veins lined the back of her
hands. She gently reached out, touching me, first at my
temple and then at my heart. Although she said something I
knew was really important, the dream didn’t let me
understand her words. Before I could puzzle them out, she
faded into a murky fog and I found myself pulled into a small
dark room.
I was reclining on what felt like a dentist’s chair as a
heavyset man approached me. There was a glaring light
behind him that outlined his buzzed head, but his features
were in shadow. He held up something sharp. “Don’t be
nervous.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “This won’t hurt
too much.”
It was then that I heard Jack’s voice. “Jocelyn, wake up.”
I opened my eyes and lay in the dark, trying to calm
myself. Jack’s voice faded back into the dream, though for
a few seconds it had seemed real, which only added to my
confusion.
I stared up at the dim ceiling and tried to calm my nerves.
Listening to the low moan of the wind, I wondered if Noah
was back yet. The house was quiet, so I guessed he was
still gone. As the last of the dream began to fade and I
started to relax, a sound distracted me—a faint creak as if
someone was in the room with me and had just shifted his
weight from one foot to the other. Startled, my eyes
searched the blackness in the corners.
Shadows climbed and scurried across the wall:
headlights. As I lay there my nerves stayed taut, refusing to
accept that my anxiety was just a remnant of the dream. A
slight movement caught my attention, and I sucked in a
startled breath before realizing it was just the curtains. They
were stirring slightly in the breeze. But the window hadn’t
been open!
I threw back the covers and lunged for the door. A dark
form flew at me from the shadows and slammed me back
onto the bed. I struck at him but a blow from his fist made
my head reel, and within seconds he was pressing me
beneath his full weight. One hand cruelly twisted my hair
and pinned my head to the mattress, the other squeezed
my throat in a painful grip.
His shadowed face was directly above mine. As his
fingers tightened on my already bruised throat, his voice
snarled, “Tell … me … where … it … is!”
Fifteen
Getting Close
He twisted my hair with his fist, and my scalp was in agony.
The fingers and thumb of his other hand dug into the sides
of my throat as he put increasing pressure on my Adam’s
apple. Frantically I clawed at his arms and hands, but he
continued to choke me. He seemed some kind of psycho
phantom in a hooded sweatshirt, with oily hair hanging in
his face.
“Tell me where it is!”
When he eased up enough for me to pull in a breath so I
could answer, I let out a hoarse scream. He cut it off midscreech.
A couple of seconds later a fist hammered on the
bedroom door and Noah shouted. The guy squeezed
tighter, cursing me with such anger that his spit hit my face.
In a panicked flash I knew he was going to kill me before
Noah could get through the door, but this thought was swept
away by a frightening sensation. I felt his hand getting hot. It
scorched my neck as if an electric current flowed between
us. He snarled like a demon werewolf. Then, just as Noah
kicked the door in, he leaped off the bed and dove through
the open window.
Noah stumbled inside. After a quick check to see if I was
okay, he headed out the window. I listened to footsteps
running down the driveway. On trembling legs, I made it
over to the window. An engine roared to life. Shoving the
curtain aside, I peered out at the dark street. There was the
screech of tires and a car, with no headlights on, drove
dead center at Noah. He jumped out of the way. The car
zoomed past and disappeared down the road.
I left the bedroom, more stable on my feet by then, and
met Noah at the front door. He came in and locked it; he
was out of breath.
“That car almost hit you!”
“Yeah. But it didn’t.” He looked at me and then his
expression grew anxious. “You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m okay.” My voice was hoarse, and because of his
worried gaze I walked to the nearby mirror. He flipped on a
lamp and I caught my breath. The flesh on my throat was a
mess—charred and peeling.
Noah took me by the arm and led me to the couch. He
hurried to the kitchen. I heard water running. A few seconds
later he came back with a wet towel that he carefully placed
on my throat. The cold was soothing. “Rest for a minute,” he
said, heading back to my room.
I heard the window close and then saw him checking
other rooms. After he’d secured the house he came and sat
beside me. “Who was that, Jocelyn?”
“I don’t know, but this is twice someone tried to choke
me. It’s getting really old. You know nothing scares me
more than that.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about what I did to
you in the garage. I’d been on edge ever since quitting
work. When I figured out someone was hiding in the back of
my car, I thought Zachary Saulto was having me followed. I
was furious.”
It became clear Noah was more concerned about what
ISI might be doing than he had let on. He added, “Of
course, I had no idea it was you. Jack never e-mailed me a
current photo of you, even though I asked.”
I liked the fact that he’d asked Jack for a picture of me.
Why was my stupid brother so overprotective? It wouldn’t
have hurt him to send Noah my senior picture.
He stood, went to the windows, and checked the locks.
“No one should’ve been able to get in. The doors were
bolted. So were the windows. I’d just come inside when I
heard you scream.”
“That guy kept saying the same thing over and over: ‘Tell
me where it is.’ Tell him where what is, Noah? What did he
want?”
The frightened sound of my voice made me feel
ashamed, but I couldn’t help it. Something horrible was
happening all around me, and the more I tried to figure it
out, the more puzzling it became.
“Did you see his face?”
I shivered, rubbing my arms, my head resting against the
back of the couch. My poor scalp was still aching, and I
wondered how much hair the attacker had pulled out. “No, it
was too dark.”
Noah went and got a fleece throw, covering me.
“Thank you.”
He sat beside me again. “Any chance it was Zachary
Saulto?”
“No. This guy wasn’t bald. He had longer hair. That’s all I
noticed, except he had garlic breath. Not really helpful, is
it?” Noah reached for the damp towel. “Let me take a look at
this. Does it hurt?”
“A little. Not as much as it should, I guess.” I didn’t add
that this scared me even more, since I knew lack of pain
from a burn meant it was serious.
Using the corner of the damp towel, Noah carefully wiped
my throat. His fingers pulled away thin, charred pieces of
skin and he leaned in, his face close to mine. I studied him.
Noah had grown into the lean features that once made him
seem awkward. Now he had a sharp-edged look that was
compelling, especially with the dark stubble on his chin and
jaw. The boy I’d known hadn’t even needed to shave.
Though I’d secretly been in love with him back then, he had
now become far more mature and masculine than I ever
could have imagined.
Sitting on his couch that way, with his fingers gently
touching my neck, was strangely sensual—except for the
nasty little reminder of how a couple of days ago those
same fingers had choked me worse than the scary guy
tonight. Just then I didn’t want to think about that, instead
focusing on his brown eyes. For a couple of seconds I even
fantasized about him pulling me into his arms and holding
me the way I’d always dreamed. What would it be like to
press my mouth against his? Would he be shocked if I
kissed him?
His eyes met mine and I blinked, wondering if he’d read
my stupid girly thoughts. I focused on his grim expression
and all the fantasy stuff vanished right out of my head. “Is it
bad?”
“Not for you. Jocelyn, this charred skin isn’t yours. It’s
his.”
“What?”
I stood and hurried back to the mirror. He followed.
Gazing at my reflection I saw that my throat was red, like it
was sunburned, but only in the outlined shape of a large
hand. I turned to stare at Noah. My voice came out a
whisper. “What’s going on?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “I’ve got no answers.
Come sit back down. You’re really pale, and I don’t want
you passing out.”
He guided me to the couch and I slipped beneath the
blanket, pulling my legs up under me. Noah went into his
bathroom, then came back and sat beside me on the
couch. He unscrewed the cap on a tube of burn ointment.
“Lean your head back.”
I did, this time staring up at the circles of muted yellow
lamplight on the ceiling. He carefully applied the salve to the
red area. It was cold, letting me mentally outline the hand
that had felt so hot on my skin.
“There.” He put the cap back on the jar. “You’ll be okay.”
I sat up. “Will I, Noah? All these years I’ve worked so hard
to convince myself that the crazy stuff at Seale House was
nothing. Maybe just my overactive imagination. I grew up
and started living in the real world where logic rules
everything. Logic sets boundaries, and I like that. But now
it’s like I’m twelve years old again and have no control in my
life. Things are happening that I can’t explain.”
I grabbed my sleeve, yanked it up, and showed him the
bite mark. “Courtesy of the Seale House cellar.”
Noah peered at it with a concerned expression.
I said, “Tell me something. Do you think there’s a chance
Corner Boy is still alive?”
“No. How could he be?”
“I don’t know. But it makes me wonder if whoever
attacked me in the cellar was the same guy who came here
tonight.”
Noah said nothing at first, only stared at the bite mark.
“Why didn’t you show that to me before now?”
I shrugged, pushing my sleeve back down.
“Jocey, it seems like that guy got burned worse than you.
Is there any way you might have sent that heat at him to
protect yourself?”
“You mean like superpowers or something? That’d be
nice. Think I’ll develop x-ray vision next?”
“Okay, so it was a dumb question. I guess if you could do
that kind of thing, you would’ve done it to me in the garage.”
“Considering how weird this all is, it’s not that stupid to
ask. But in my life before and after Seale House, I’ve never
seen stuff like this. So how could it be me?”
Pausing, I thought over the strange dream I’d had before
being attacked. Noah must have noticed something in my
expression. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing … except that right before that guy
attacked me, I heard Jack’s voice. He told me to wake up.”
“You can’t really believe Jack came to you in a dream.”
“It’s not as lame as your superpower theory, is it?”
“Guess not.”
“Is there any chance tonight’s visitor was one of the kids
who rocked your windshield?”
He shook his head. “I just identified them at the police
station. They’ll be having a little vacation downtown until
their parents bail them out.”
“Then I’m running out of ideas. Why did that guy keep
asking where ‘it’ was? I don’t have any idea what ‘it’ is.”
“There are a lot of lunatics in this world.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve already met
my quota. Besides, this isn’t just one more random weird
thing. I think it’s all tied together.”
“Me too.”
I opened my eyes to study his concerned face. We sat
together, listening to the ticking clock, the gentle creaks as
the house settled, and the wind anxiously tapping its
fingernails against the panes.
“Noah, I’m scared.”
“Then maybe you should forget about the Jason
December clues and go home.”
“How can I? Abandoning Jack isn’t an option.”
“He wouldn’t want you to be in danger.”
“No, but what happened tonight proves I need to find him.
The fact that things are getting scary means we’re getting
close.”
Sixteen
Catching Up
Noah retrieved my pillow and gave me an extra blanket so I
could sleep on the couch—both of us were reluctant for me
to spend the rest of the night in the other room. Despite my
protests he also sacked out on the nearby recliner. Except
for a lamp in the corner, the rest of the lights in the living
room were off. It was dark enough to sleep but light enough
to still see.
More than once the frightening image of the intruder
invaded my sleep and jerked me awake. Each time I
glanced over at Noah, asleep in the recliner, and felt a little
calmer. He rested beneath a crazy quilt sewn in shades of
brown and faded gold. I remembered it from Seale House,
and when he first pulled it out I was a bit surprised that he’d
somehow gotten hold of it.
Eventually, after many starts and stops, exhaustion
forced me to sleep. Sometime later Noah touched my face
and said my name, waking me. His blurry image was
leaning over me, and as I blinked and looked up at him, he
asked if I was all right. He brushed my cheek and there was
wetness on the back of his fingers. “You’re crying.”
“I don’t know why.” I wiped the tears from my face,
embarrassed. Although I’d been in a deep, dreamless
sleep, a heavy sense of sadness still lingered over me. I felt
vulnerable that he’d seen it, but Noah’s expression was only
concerned.
Sitting up, I looked at the clock next to the mirror. It was
nearly four. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I’ve been up.”
I rubbed my neck, slowly moved my head to the side, and
then winced.
“What’s the matter?”
“That guy pulled my hair so hard he hurt my neck.”
Noah sat down next to me. “Let me give it a try.” His
fingers began to slowly massage the painful kinks.
“Have you been awake long?”
“A while, yes. It’s the early morning hours like this, when I
can’t sleep, that I miss Jack the most.”
“I miss him all the time.” I said it so softly I wasn’t sure he
heard me.
“Being around you sure brings up a lot of memories from
when the three of us were kids.”
The tension in my neck began to ease. I let out a slow
breath, now wide awake even though it was still dark
outside. “Yeah, I know. It’s strange the way life takes its
twists and turns. Think it was fate that brought the three of
us together?”
“Chance, maybe. I don’t believe in fate.”
His thumbs moved in circles on the knots, slowly
releasing the pain. His touch did more to me than he knew,
and I couldn’t help but respond to the warmth of his hands.
“Guess you’re right. It wasn’t destiny that threw us into the
foster care program. Just worthless parents who never
should’ve been allowed to bring their babies home from the
hospital.”
Noah chuckled, but the sound was mirthless. “You got
that right. From what Jack was telling me about your
mother, I’m kind of surprised she didn’t abandon you at the
first chance.”
“There were probably times she wanted to. But I think she
was more afraid of living without Jack than being stuck with
us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Melody’s life was a cycle of dating, mating, and
breaking up. All her relationships were doomed because
she was so wacked. Once the guys she got with saw what
was hiding under her pretty looks, it scared them off. Even
the decent ones couldn’t make it last. She dragged us with
her on that never-ending quest for men because she was
dependent on Jack. He helped guide her through
depression about her unhappy childhood.”
“I don’t have sympathy for people who blame their lousy
behavior on what happened when they were kids.”
“Me either. But Melody did have a hideous childhood.
She grew up in poverty and abuse on a dirt farm in
She grew up in poverty and abuse on a dirt farm in
Nebraska.”
I didn’t say anything else. Melody’s escape had come
when she was fifteen and met her cousin’s friend, Calvert.
He was fresh out of jail, only a few years older than she
was, and involved in a lot of bad stuff. They ended up
running away together, and Melody often talked about how
he’d been the one true love of her life. He eventually
abandoned her at a truck stop and took off with a woman in
a red convertible. It broke her heart. That happened three
years before we were born, and though she never talked to
us about our own father, the relationship with Calvert was
the one Melody could never let go of. She would retell the
story when depression swept her down to its darkest place,
and Jack was the only one who knew how to talk her out of
it.
These days, whenever I thought about my mother, which
was almost never, there’d always be this little knot of
loathing wrapped up in relief that she was dead and forever
out of my life.
“One time I asked Jack why you were so touchy about
swearing,” Noah said. “He told me it was because of all
your mother’s low-life boyfriends. You hated their bad
language. That true?”
“Yes. I despised the brainless jerks Melody always fell
for. I despised her, too, and everything she did. My main
goal in life was to make sure I never ended up like her.”
“So you’re still a virgin?”
I moved away from his hands. “Thanks. My neck is okay
now.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“I’m a virgin, yes, though I’m not sure why I’m supposed to
be ashamed of that. Those slobs who dated my mother only
cared about one thing. After I grew up and saw the same
pathetic reaction from guys, it was a big turnoff.”
“Not all of us are like that.”
“Not all, no. I’ve dated a few nice boys. Though if things
got serious, I ended it. I didn’t want to involve some poor
guy in all the stuff I was carrying around.”
“Excess baggage, you mean?”
“More like three suitcases, a couple of steamer trunks,
and a carry-on.”
He smiled when I said that.
“What about you, Noah? It’s not like you have anyone,
either. You live here by yourself. You don’t even own a pet.”
“I’ve had a few girlfriends, but it never lasted. I get bored.”
“That’s the problem with trying to fit into normal society,
isn’t it? After you’ve walked a crazy high-wire like the one
we were on, the rest of the world with its safety net seems
so unexciting. I don’t like pretending I’m the same as
everyone else. And I hate lying about my past to whatever
guy I start liking.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m ashamed, of course. Admitting my mother was the
world’s biggest tramp and that I never knew my dad is
humiliating. It wouldn’t exactly inspire any of the boys at my
high school to ask me on a second date.”
“Then you’re dating the wrong kind of guys, Jocey. Your
mother’s choices don’t have anything to do with who you
really are. Do you despise me because my mother was a
cold-hearted drug addict knocked up by her dealer?”
“No, of course not.”
“Was it Angry Beth’s fault her older brothers molested
her? Or Dixon’s, because his mother left him alone in a
filthy apartment for days?”
An image of Beth slipping a knife under her pillow came
to mind, and for the first time it seemed more sad than
warped. Then there was little Dixon who followed me
around, clinging to anyone who would be kind to him. How
many nights had he sat on my lap while I read him his
favorite story? I’d nearly forgotten that ragged old book,
The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat. He’d begged me
to read it to him all the time. We’d done that for so many
nights he’d ended up memorizing the words. The sad
feelings returned and I pulled the blanket closer.
“Noah, how’d you learn that stuff about them?”
“I was the only one Hazel trusted to clean her office,
remember? When I was in there I looked at the files. Just so
I’d know what to watch for.”
“Did you look at mine and Jack’s?”
“No. After that first night in the cellar, when we became
friends, it didn’t seem right. We’d built a little trust then. You
two listened to my vampire stories, and Jack talked about
his Artemis Fowl books. Besides, I could see you didn’t
have any weird behaviors that might be dangerous.”
“Always the caretaker, weren’t you?”
“Someone had to be, in that place.”
He was right. We’d lived in a world that spun on an
alternate axis, where everyone’s life was off-balance and
nothing was predictable. During the last few years I’d tried
to forget what it had been like when life took a group of
frightened children through the looking glass, into a world of
lunacy. Noah had been our strength.
“‘The time has come to talk of many things,’” I murmured.
“‘Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and
kings.’”
“‘And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have
wings,’” he finished with a smile in his voice.
I sat listening to the quiet, comfortable in the intimacy of
the early morning hours and understanding why it was
easier to share thoughts now than in the daylight.
Noah stretched and asked, “Are you hungry?”
Surprisingly, I was. I nodded and he said, “How about I fix
us an early breakfast?”
After taking more pain medication, I went to the kitchen
and helped him. He fried ham and made pancakes. While
we were eating, the glow of early dawn slowly began to
lighten the windows. I studied the pearly, overcast sky.
“You don’t eat enough,” Noah said when I turned down a
second pancake.
“It’s so early. I never eat breakfast until after nine. Let’s
just get ready so we can be at the library when it opens,
okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed around a mouthful of ham, then
plopped another pancake on my plate. “All I’m saying is that
you could use an extra five pounds.”
“Stop mothering me. It’s creepy.”
“Fine! I’m going outside to grab yesterday’s mail.”
He left the kitchen and I poured syrup on the pancake,
taking a big bite. Then I heard Noah call my name. I found
him standing by the open front door, staring out at the
driveway. Leaning around his shoulder to see what he was
looking at, I gasped.
“Is that your car?” he asked.
Seventeen
Another Clue
I stared at my tan Civic. The car sat innocently in the
driveway, and I could hardly believe it. I looked around the
quiet neighborhood. It was deserted except for an elderly
man dragging a garbage can out to the curb. We walked
over to my car. Peering through the window, I saw my
backpack on the floor of the passenger side. My makeup
bag and net-book were still on the backseat where I’d left
them three days ago.
I took the key out of my jeans pocket and headed for the
trunk. Noah held out his hand. “Let me do that.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know what’s in there, do we?”
Something grisly inside my trunk came to mind. Still, no
way I’d let him think I was chicken. I ignored his upturned
palm and shoved the key in the trunk lock, opening it. There
was nothing in there but my suitcase. Noah lifted it out while
I grabbed my stuff from inside the car. We went into his
house and he locked the door. I looked through my
backpack; nothing had been stolen.
I checked my cell phone. There were several texts and a
photo from the friends who had asked me to come
camping with them. They were standing together, making Ilove-
you and rocker hands.
There was also a voice message from my foster mom,
Marilyn, checking to see how I was doing. I shot her a quick
text saying I’d hiked to a place that got reception, but I’d
probably be out of touch for the rest of the time. Not to
worry, I was okay. Lying to her stank, but if I ended up
bringing Jack home, I knew all would be forgiven.
Noah asked if anything was missing from my suitcase. I
quickly searched through it.
“Not that I can tell. And everything’s still in my wallet,
including credit cards and cash. That doesn’t make sense.
Why would someone steal my car but not take anything?”
“And why did someone bring it here last night?”
“Was it a threat, or just an anonymous good deed?”
“I don’t think someone doing a good deed would’ve left it
without knocking on the door, because it’s upsetting not to
know how it got here. So whoever brought it back wants
you to know they’re on your trail. Which means it’s not safe
to stay here anymore. Especially after you were attacked. If
you want to change your clothes, do it now. I’m going to
pack a few things. Then we need to get out of here. You’ve
got ten minutes.”
“Okay.” I watched Noah, amazed that he wasn’t even a
little upset. If anything, his mood seemed lighter, like this
was exciting instead of dangerous.
I took my suitcase to the bathroom. Though I was relieved
to have my stuff back, everything now seemed suspect. I
wondered if the thief had gone through my clothes. He or
she probably had, even though it all still looked the same. It
felt like I was being forced to play a game that I didn’t want
to. Then I reminded myself it had been my choice to come
here in the first place. I could have tossed the Jason
December letter and called it a cruel joke, but I hadn’t.
Driving up here may have opened the door to all sorts of
weirdness, but if I really loved Jack and wanted to find him,
then I needed to be tough.
After my attitude adjustment I changed into clean clothes,
head to toe. Since the weather was even cooler and the sky
overcast again, I pulled on a dark gray long-sleeved shirt
and my favorite jeans. I ran a brush through my hair, wincing
at the pain, and then quickly put on some makeup. The
scrapes on my face had practically disappeared by the
time I was done, and my eyes stood out with the smoky
shadow and pencil I’d applied. Feeling more like myself I
smiled, until I saw the red marks on my throat. The outline of
my attacker’s hand was still visible and it bothered me.
Digging through my suitcase, I pulled out a long Chinese
scarf with streaks of plum and green, and beads on the
ends. I wrapped it around my neck a couple of times until it
hid the burn.
I finished packing everything together and headed to the
living room, where Noah was busy putting stuff in a duffel
bag. He looked up and stopped what he was doing,
studying me. I felt a little uncertain under his stare. “Is
something wrong?”
“Don’t leave anything behind that you might need. I’m not
sure when we’ll make it back here again.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.” He wore a cheerful expression in contrast to the
words.
We made sure the house was locked, and after a quick
discussion about which car to take, I gave in. We put our
bags and his laptop in the backseat of his Jeep. Noah
smiled at my obvious worry. “Just think of this as an
adventure.”
We stood together in his garage for a few seconds,
almost on the same spot where I thought he was going to
choke me to death. I was still afraid, but this time for
different reasons. He tucked a piece of stray hair behind
my ear. “Let’s go.”
We climbed in his Jeep. He turned the ignition over and
pressed the garage door opener. The mental image of
bullets flying in through the back windshield came to mind
and I scrunched down in the seat.
He peered over his shoulder as we backed out. “You
know, if someone was going to shoot you, they had plenty
of time when you were standing in the driveway looking at
your car.”
Embarrassed, I sat up and didn’t say anything as we
drove out of the subdivision and onto the main road leading
back into town. A couple of times I turned around and
looked behind us but didn’t see another car.
Noah flipped on the radio. Music from a quirky English
group came through the speakers. He hummed along.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked. When he raised a
questioning eyebrow I added, “Where’s the angry Noah
who bites my head off? You’re actually happy.”
He chuckled, though the sound was tinged with irony. “So
I’m feeling okay with all this. Is that a problem?”
“It’s as if you’ve been taken over by aliens.”
“Look, Jocey, the bond between you, Jack, and me was
always foursquare. So here’s the truth. In light of the two
always foursquare. So here’s the truth. In light of the two
pieces of solid evidence, I’m just very relieved to know
you’re not crazy. Don’t look at me like that. What would you
think if you were in my place?”
“I’d believe whatever you told me. We always believed
each other.”
“That was years ago. Since we met up again, you’ve told
me some crazy stuff. I had this suspicion you were making
it up and maybe even planted that clue in Seale House
yourself. But last night that guy attacked you. And your car
showed up in my driveway this morning. Proof you were
telling it like it is.”
“So you’re on my side now?”
He looked at me for several long seconds. “I’ve always
been on your side. And just knowing Jack is probably still
alive is huge. If he faked his death, he did it because he
didn’t have a choice.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
On the way back into Watertown, we passed the Urban
Mission with its huge mural painted along one wall. There
were colorful swirls and abstract faces floating across a
background of deep reddish pink. I remembered it from the
last time I was here.
Instead of heading straight to the library, Noah took
several meandering turns, his eyes frequently checking the
rearview mirror. After another ten minutes we pulled into the
parking lot of the library. We headed through the doors and
he turned back, his eyes scanning the handful of people
coming in after us. He seemed satisfied and went to the
information desk while I walked over to a directory. A cute
guy wearing rimless glasses and a library name tag came
up to me. He smiled and offered to help find what I was
looking for. Noah came back and chased him off with a
mean scowl.
“Stop playing Dracula,” I said.
“Then don’t talk to strangers.”
I bit back an annoyed reply as we took the elevator
upstairs. I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket that
had the book’s file number and felt a renewed sense of
excitement. We found the programming section and Noah
checked the numbers. He took a thick book off the shelf
checked the numbers. He took a thick book off the shelf
and we looked at the cover: Revision Control Reference
by Greg Hall.
“This way.” He guided me to an empty table behind
several tall shelves where we could have some privacy.
We sat down and he slid the book over to me. “Flip
through the pages.”
I did, finding a business card sandwiched close to the
spine. “This must be it.”
I closed the book as Noah and I read the small card
together. There were five groups of letters printed all in
capitals: U TREC ALERT LEGAL RYLA
“Which means what?” he asked.
“An attorney named Ryla? Hang on while I grab a phone
book.”
It took me just a minute to get one from a librarian and
come back to the table where Noah sat studying the card.
“You really think it’s a lawyer?”
“No, of course not, but when it comes to deciphering
Jack’s codes the first rule has always been to pyramid it.
Start with the broadest guess and narrow it down. This way
we won’t miss something. Make yourself useful and try to
anagram those letters, will you?”
Noah took the pen and paper I handed him. “Why
couldn’t he just leave us a note that said ‘meet me at the
bus depot’ or something?”
“I’d never follow a note like that, because it wouldn’t be
from Jack.” I glared at the useless Yellow Pages. “Under
the listing for attorneys there’s only a Rylund but no Ryla.
Think it might be a first name?”
“Probably not. If he wanted ‘U’ to ‘TREK’ your way to a
lawyer, wouldn’t he have spelled it with a ‘k’ not T-R-E-C?”
“Okay, then look at it backward. What’s CERT? Is it short
for ‘certain’ or you have bad breath, pass me a Certs
mint?”
Noah chuckled as I grabbed a nearby dictionary and
tried looking up CERT and RYLA but found nothing. He
tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up to see he was
peering so closely at the card that it was only a few inches
from his face. At last he handed it to me. “Take a look at the
decorative border.”
Turning the card to the light, I brought it close to my face
the way he had and squinted at the pale-gray edging that
was barely visible. If I held it just right I could see the border
was a line of tiny symbols:
“A male and female equation,” Noah said.
I lowered the card and reached for the pen and paper,
copying it down. “It’s repeated. He used the colon to
separate the main five symbols, the way he did on the
lantern clues that one time, remember? Okay, so what do
we have when we add a female, subtract two males, add a
male, and subtract a female?”
“Hollywood relationships?”
I looked up at him and laughed in surprise. “Noah, you
made a joke.”
“It happens once in a while.”
It was so rare I wanted to write down the date to
remember it. However, deciding not to say anything that
might set our touchy relationship on edge, I just smiled and
turned back to the equation. “There are lots of possibilities.
How do we know what it means?”
“Come on, Jocelyn, you’re the one who was always
inside Jack’s head. You should know what he meant. Is he
talking about relationships here? Are some of the people in
that equation you, me, and him? If so, who are the other
two? And is RYLA a woman’s name?”
“No, I don’t think so. To Jack, clues were about clues. He
would use the border equation to tell us how to solve the
letter clues.”
Noah studied the symbols and then grinned with
pleasure. “Think about the field trip. Why did we get to go?”
“Because of French class with Mr. Montclaude.”
“Yes. And remember what he stressed all the time?
Masculine and feminine articles, because the nouns are
gender specific. French basics of ‘le’ and ‘la’ are what I’m
guessing. Translate those male/female symbols on the
paper.”
I did as he suggested and ended up with: +la, −le, −le,
+le, −la. Taking the pen from me, he added the first ‘la’ in
front of U TREC and put it all together.
“Lautrec, I’m guessing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a who, not a what. Toulouse-Lautrec, the painter.”
“Good thing you always liked studying art in school.” I’d
never understood his interest in painters.
“Now, let’s subtract ‘le’ from ‘alert’ and we have …”
“Art!” My excitement began to grow. “Take away ‘le’ from
‘legal’ and we have ‘gal,’ then add the ‘le’ for ‘g-al-l-e’ …”
“Gallery,” Noah finished. “Minus the ‘la’ from the end of
RYLA and with the other letters it becomes gallery.”
“Lautrec Art Gallery.”
“I’ve seen that before. I think it’s over by the Paddock
Arcade.”
I let out a slow breath and smiled at Noah. He smiled
back with a very pleased expression. It was a special
moment, reminding me again of that remarkable day in the
pine tree when we solved our first Jason December letter.
“So it’s not far then?”
“No. And at least he’s not trying to send us back to
Ottawa.”
As we drove, my anticipation increased. “Have you been
inside the Lautrec Gallery?”
He shook his head. “And I can’t figure out why he’s
sending us there. It wasn’t even around when we were
kids.”
The wind picked up, scuttling wool-gray clouds across
the sky and churning the leaves on the trees. It took a
couple of passes down Holcomb Street before we found it.
The small gallery was a converted house of tan brick with
dark-green awnings. Paintings in the windows were
elegantly mounted on cloth-draped easels. Noah parked
and we made our way across the street. A bell jangled
when we opened the door and entered. I smoothed my hair
with my fingers.
Looking around, I saw that the gallery had an old-world
look. The dark wood floor gleamed, and there were art
pieces and antiques everywhere. A tiered display was
topped with brass sculptures, and paintings closely
covered walls that were papered in watered silk. Moving
deeper inside the shop we heard someone say, “I’ll see
who it is.”
A boy came hurrying through an arched doorway, a
cluster of paintbrushes in his hand. He wore a gray shirt the
same color as his eyes, and his hair fell in loose gold curls.
He looked young, only about nine, though I knew he was
twelve. I remembered what a pretty child he had been, and
now—despite the awkward preteen years—he was still
beautiful. Dixon stopped where he stood, a surprised smile
spreading across his face.
Eighteen
Dixon
Cold rain during the last week of May seemed a mean
trick. With the promise of summer so close and school
getting out soon, we should have been able to wear shorts
and flip-flops. But not here, in upstate New York, where
cold seeped its way down from Canada. I couldn’t wait to
be free of the stifling classrooms, the harassment from
snotty girls, and teachers who gave out boring worksheets.
I was on the bottom bunk doing my math homework.
Across the room Beth sat on her bed, alternately reading
a book and sending sly glances at me. Every so often her
hand slid under her pillow, caressing the knife I knew was
hidden there. I ignored her and worked on my fractions.
I sensed someone standing nearby and looked up to
see Dixon staring at me. His eyes were brimming with
wetness, which he blinked hard to hold back. Tears, he
knew, only annoyed Hazel Frey, and in the cruel pecking
order of foster care they were also a sign of weakness.
During Dixon’s few months at Seale House he’d learned
not to let the other children see him cry, but seeing
sympathy in my eyes, it was hard for him to keep back the
tears.
“What’s the matter?”
He held out a bruised finger that had deep teeth marks
on it. His hand was small and the imprints large, so I knew
it hadn’t been done by one of the little kids.
“Who bit you?”
“The n-new boy,” he whispered, stuttering.
“Do you mean the one who sits in the corner?”
Dixon nodded.
I got off the bed and headed down the hall to the boys’
room. Conner was sitting in the far corner, his knees
hugged to his chest, his eyes scanning the others in the
room. Jack and Noah sat on the top bunk, making notes
from their programming books, while Georgie and Spence
were building a tower with Legos. I walked up to Conner
but he ignored me and picked at a scab on his knee. I’d
overheard the social worker tell Hazel he was thirteen,
which was hard to believe. A lifetime of hunger and abuse
had stunted his growth, and he was the size of a ten-yearold.
“If Dixon did something to bother you,” I said in a strong
voice, crouching down, “then tell him to leave you alone.
In this house we don’t hurt each other. And we especially
don’t touch the little kids.”
Though he refused to make eye contact, I wasn’t willing
to move until he responded. He looked dirty even though
the social worker had forced him to take a bath and put on
clean clothes before coming to Seale House. There were
dark shadows under his eyes and his cheeks were
sunken. Bland, thin strands of hair lay limply on his brow,
and there were bruises on his scrawny arms and shins. I
began to feel sorry for him. He looked so pathetic sitting
in the corner, his face an unmoving mask.
I didn’t ask him “why did you bite?” since “why” was a
word that shouldn’t be used with foster kids. “Why” brought
up a bucket-load of garbage from the past that most of
them didn’t want to share and the rest of us didn’t want to
hear. Simple commands were best. “Don’t bite,” I stressed
again, my voice kinder this time.
I stood and started to turn away when Conner flew from
his crouched position and latched on to me, his teeth
sinking deep into my upper arm. With a yelp I staggered
back, dragging him with me. I slugged him hard on the
side of the head and the impact broke his hold. Pain shot
up my arm but there was barely time for disbelief to
register because he slammed into me, this time knocking
me down. He clawed at me, his teeth snapping in my face.
I managed to hold him back, but although I was taller than
him, he had the wiry strength of a lunatic.
Suddenly he was jerked away and Jack slugged him on
the jaw. It didn’t seem to faze Conner, who unleashed a
flurry of kicking and scratching so wild it took both Jack
and Noah to control him. It wasn’t until Noah had his arm
around Conner’s neck in a chokehold that the boy finally
stopped fighting.
“We don’t act like that around here.” Noah tightened his
grip. “Understand?”
Conner looked at us with bulging eyes before giving us
a sullen nod.
“Okay, let him go,” Jack said.
Conner scuttled back to the corner as the three of us
walked over and stood in a semicircle looking down at
him.
Noah stared at Conner. “If you don’t like it here, then run
away.”
The boy laughed, the sound reminding me of the
screech of a howler monkey I’d once heard at a zoo.
“Changing my plans now!” His high voice was creepier
than if he’d talked in Darth Vader’s low rasp. “Was gonna
get out of here tonight, but now gonna stay. Stay until I get
back at you!”
He looked up at me, his expression blank. I expected to
see hatred or fear but there was nothing there, as if his
face were a plaster mask covering what really lay beneath.
It was downright spooky, and worry began coiling inside
me.
“Better watch out for your little dog too,” he said in his
girlish voice, his eyes moving past me.
I turned and saw Dixon standing in the doorway, his
eyes wide with fear. I left the room and guided him away
from the door. Jack and Noah followed. “Stay away from
him,” I said to Dixon as we stood together in the hall. He
quickly nodded.
I looked down at my arm. Conner’s teeth had bruised
and partially torn my flesh. The others anxiously studied
the bite mark, too.
“That one is crazy,” Jack said.
“The stinking little Erv shouldn’t even be here,” Noah
said, calling Conner by the private slang we often used.
“Maybe we should talk to Hazel.”
“She won’t listen. He’s another eight hundred bucks a
month.”
“And now that she’s sucking more coke up her nose,
she needs every dollar she can get,” I added.
“Shh!” Noah glanced down the hallway to make sure no
one else was around and then looked at Dixon.
The little boy slid his hand inside mine as Jack said,
“Noah and I will just have to keep an eye on Corner Boy.
We’re bigger than he is, and there’re two of us. Three when
you’re around, Jocey.”
Noah nodded. His dark expression showed he was
resigned to the task. Dixon moved closer to me and I
slipped my arm around his thin shoulders.
That night at the dinner table Conner sat down on the
end of the bench, sliding his plate close to him. He began
shoveling food in his mouth with his hand. Annoyed,
Hazel demanded he use his fork. The boy grudgingly did
so until she looked away, when he would hold the idle fork
in his right hand and grab food with his left. Other than
that, he seemed subdued enough. I wondered if being
forced to spend last night down in the cellar, in Hazel’s
tradition, was enough to keep his behavior under control.
After dinner and dishes, when the light was growing soft
in the rainy twilight, Dixon sought me out where I was
reading, a shy expression on his face. He handed me a
piece of paper with a drawing on it. There was a girl riding
a unicorn, flying past stars and the moon. “That’s you.”
Whenever he showed me his artwork I was always
surprised that a little boy could draw like that. I smiled. “It’s
really nice. One of the best you’ve done. Though I think
this girl is too pretty to be me.”
“No, that’s you.”
He was also holding his ragged book, and I lifted him
onto my lap. “You start first, and I’ll help you with the words
you don’t know yet.”
My chin rested against the softness of his curly hair as
he opened to the first page and started reciting the
memorized words. “‘The gingham dog and the calico cat,
side by side on the table sat. ’Twas half past twelve …’”
I glanced up from the ancient book’s faded picture as
Conner slowly passed by the door. His eyes washed over
us like oil sliding across the surface of water.
“Noah?” Dixon came closer.
“Hi. It’s been a long time. What are you doing here?”
The boy smiled. “I live upstairs with my mother. This is
her shop.” He turned to me and his smile faltered. Peering
up into my eyes, he slowly exhaled my name. “Jocey?”
For a couple of seconds I held my breath. Would he be
mad at me, like Georgie? Finally I said, “You recognize
me?”
Dixon ran forward and grabbed me in a hug around the
waist. I was touched, and I laughed.
He let go and took a step back. “You’re so grown up! But
your blue eyes are just the same, the way I always drew
them. Wow, Jocey, you turned out real pretty.”
I smiled. “It’s nice you think so. You’ve grown up, too,
though I’d recognize you anywhere.”
A woman came through the archway. “Dixon?” In those
two syllables I could hear her uncertainty.
Noah and I turned to look at her. She had marble-shaped
eyes in a narrow face, though stylish black hair and
mascara helped offset her homely features.
“Mom,” Dixon said. He set the paintbrushes on a table
and motioned her near. “I want you to meet my friends,
Jocey and Noah. I knew them back at Seale House, before
I came to live with you.”
She glanced at us with a troubled expression, but Dixon
didn’t seem to notice. “Where do you go to school?” I
asked, wanting to make it less uncomfortable.
“Right here. Mom homeschools me.”
I glanced around the art store with its antiques, knowing it
was a place other children would probably not be invited to
come play. What was it like for Dixon, alone for hours with
this older woman and not going to a regular school with
other kids? Was she good to him? Her eyes were cautious
as she studied us.
“Jocey was like a big sister to me,” Dixon said. “She
looked out for me.”
Her face relaxed a little.
“Do you still draw pictures?” I asked.
He nodded with a look of shy pride. “Mom gives me art
lessons.”
She looked at him with fondness. “He has a lot of talent.”
“I’m not surprised. I remember the unicorns you used to
make, Dixon. You drew better at seven than I did at twelve.
You must really like taking lessons.”
He nodded again, the smile still on his face. Beneath it I
caught a glimpse of the pain that had always been so much
a part of him. “Hey,” he said. “Where’s Jack?”
Noah and I glanced at each other. “You haven’t seen
him? He didn’t come here ahead of us?”
“No. Why would he do that?”
“Oh. Well, a little while ago he … disappeared. That’s
why Noah and I are here. He left us a few clues we’ve been
following. We’re trying to find him and thought he came to
see you.”
“Clues? Like the games you played at Seale House?”
“Yes, a lot like that. And one of them led us to this gallery.
When I saw you, I kind of guessed he’d visited you before
we got here.”
“No. He hasn’t, but I wish he would. I’d sure like to see
him again.”
Noah’s eyes scanned the walls that were packed with
artwork. “This is a nice gallery. Care if we look around?”
His mother followed Noah’s gaze. “That’s fine, though I
need Dixon to help me with something.”
She turned and walked away. Dixon followed. “I’ll be right
back,” he said over his shoulder.
I looked at Noah. “So why were we supposed to come
here? Just to see Dixon is still alive and okay? I mean, I’m
really happy he is. But what is Jack doing?”
“I don’t know. If you ask me, that’s been the question from
the beginning. It’s his game now. At this point we can’t do
much else except play along. Let’s look around and see if
he left us a clue.”
“Like what? I know nada about art, and even less about
antiques.”
“You don’t need to. Just look for something that doesn’t
belong.”
We started checking out the pieces we passed. There
were lots of still-life paintings: bowls of fruit, flowers, that
kind of thing. The rest were landscapes and portraits. There
were also delicate tables, spindly chairs with satin seats,
figurines, and other stuff I’d never waste money on. The
more I wandered around in this confusing place, the more I
wanted to slug Jack on the arm.
After several minutes Noah motioned to me. “What about
this?”
I walked over to where he stood. An acrylic painting hung
in a corner. It was a narrow abstract, about eighteen inches
long, six inches wide, and hardly noticeable. A combination
of splatters and swipes in muddy colors, it wasn’t
something I’d ever hang in my room.
“That’s ugly. And the artist wants a hundred dollars for it! I
could’ve painted that with a blindfold on.”
“Exactly.” Noah looked amused. He pointed to the initials
in the bottom-right corner. “J. D.”
“Jason December!”
He removed the painting and we both looked at the bare
spot, then at the back of the frame. It had a cardboard
backing sealed with tape, but nothing else. Noah carried it
up to the counter just as Dixon’s mother came through the
archway. “Can I ask about this?”
She looked a little embarrassed. “That was a special
request. It came in the mail a few days ago with a cashier’s
check for a hundred dollars. There was a note asking our
gallery to hang it for a week. If it doesn’t sell, I can take it
down. I’ve been promised another check for the sale price.”
I wondered why Jack was throwing around his savings
like that.
Noah said, “I’m guessing artists don’t normally pay you to
hang their work.”
“No,” she admitted.
“But doing that would be a smart business move,” I
added in a supportive voice, wondering how many sales
she managed to make in a month. Still, Dixon dressed nice
enough. Digging my Visa card out of my wallet and handing
it to her, I said, “We’ll take it.”
I was a little worried that I’d reached my limit on the card,
but it went through and she handed me the receipt to sign.
Noah said, “Do you happen to have the mailer it came in,
so we can check the postmark?”
“Sorry, that got thrown out.”
The front door opened and another customer came in. It
was an attractive guy with olive skin who looked about
thirty. He wandered to the far side of the shop.
After I paid for the painting, Dixon’s mother started to
wrap it in brown paper but Noah stopped her. “Don’t bother.
We’ll take it like that.”
“Can we say good-bye to Dixon?” I asked.
She glanced at the arched doorway behind her. “I’m
sorry. He had to run an errand for me.”
I was disappointed, and she must have seen. She
added, “Can you understand? It took almost two years for
his bad dreams to stop. So many nights he woke up
screaming. I don’t want it to start again.”
“Sure,” Noah said. “We understand.”
I nodded in agreement, feeling sad for Dixon.
We walked away and she left the counter to talk to the
other customer. He was one of those guys that practices
being casual in his good looks. He was dressed in soft,
loose-fitting slacks and a collarless cotton shirt. His brown
hair, on the longer side, had gold highlights and was
combed back from a face with strong features. The guy’s
stare followed me. Noticing his hand, I was startled to see a
gauze pad on his palm.
We headed through the door, my spine stiff with tension
as the wind snagged my scarf and lifted it. I turned to Noah.
“That must be him, from last night!”
“I know.” His free hand went to the small of my back,
guiding me across the street.
He unlocked the Jeep and tossed the painting in the
backseat. We heard our names being called and Dixon ran
to us. “Are you leaving?”
“We have to,” Noah said, his eyes on the gallery door.
“Oh.” The boy’s voice sounded unhappy.
It pulled me back in time to when he was little. “Are you
going to be all right?”
He nodded. “My mom is kinda shy around people she
doesn’t know, but she’s real good to me.”
Dixon’s mother came to the window, watching us with an
anxious face. For most other kids, such a possessive mom
would have made me concerned, but this was different.
Because of all the neglect during his early years, Dixon was
sort of an emotional black hole. No matter how much
attention and affection was poured into him, I knew it would
never be enough. So maybe that sort of smother-mother
was what he needed.
“I’m happy for you, then.”
Noah climbed in the driver’s seat. “Bye, Dixon. It was
good to see you again.”
The boy took a step closer to me. “Jocey, before you
take off I want to tell you something. I know everyone was
mad at you that night about what happened. I wasn’t. You
did it to save me. After I left Seale House I ended up in a
better foster home. That’s how I met my new mom. She was
their cousin and liked me right away. I came to live with her
and now she’s adopted me.” There was a sort of pride in
his voice I’d never heard before.
“That’s great. I’ve wondered about you a lot, Dixon.”
“Really? I worried when you ran away that night. I never
got to see you again and thought it was my fault.”
Noah opened my door from the inside and called my
name. I glanced up. The long-haired guy had stepped
outside the gallery and was walking to his car. “It wasn’t
your fault, and don’t ever think that, okay? Promise?”
“Promise.”
I gave him a hug and his thin arms went around my waist.
“Take care of yourself,” I whispered, finally breaking away
and slipping inside the Jeep.
I shut the door and Noah shifted into gear; we sped
away. I kept my eyes on Dixon until he went back inside the
shop.
Nineteen
The Painting
Noah treated the streets of Watertown like a racetrack, and
I was surprised he didn’t cause an accident or get pulled
over by a cop.
I kept my eyes on the road. “So you saw the gauze pad
on that guy’s hand?”
“Yes. Have you seen him before, other than last night, I
mean?”
I shook my head. “Why are we running away instead of
confronting him? He didn’t have a gun.”
“Don’t count on it. If Paul Gerard is armed we probably
wouldn’t see it.”
“You know him?”
“Yes. And a face-off wouldn’t be helpful. There’s no way
to make him tell us why he attacked you or what he wants.
My black belt skills won’t stand up against him.”
“You have a black belt?”
“Martial arts. Remember Don Iverson, the detective? He
got me into it, because he wanted to keep me from
spending so much time on the computer. Jack didn’t tell
you I studied martial arts?”
“Sure, but I just didn’t know you were that into it.” I couldn’t
help but smile. “You became the black ninja after all.”
Bracing myself as he ran a red light, I looked over at him.
“Noah, slow down. You’re making me nervous. So who’s
Paul Gerard?”
“He worked for ISI as a specialist.”
“Is he a programmer?”
“No. He does other kinds of security. His job included
giving orientations to new people the company hired. That’s
when I met him. Of course, all of that was before he quit.”
“He quit too?”
“Left more than a month ago because ISI had a problem
with him. But I don’t know what. I think he might have
embezzled money from them. Though if that’s true, they
kept news of it from getting out.”
“Sure, since a security company wouldn’t want their
clients to know they can’t protect their own assets. That
could lose them a lot of business.”
“Just one more reason I’m glad I bailed.”
“But what does Paul Gerard want from me? What’s the
‘it’ he kept asking about?”
“How would I know?”
I touched the scarf covering my throat. “Do you have any
idea how he burned me?”
“No … except when we met he talked about the deep
martial arts stuff that’s way out there. I guess he even
studied at a monastery in Nepal. Or said he did, anyway.”
“Are you talking about like what happens in movies?”
“It might just be made up. But when he was here training
me, I invited him to my dojo for a sparring session. He’s
very skilled. Even the owner of the dojo was impressed.”
“Great. So I stand no chance if he comes after me.”
“I think Gerard is trying to intimidate us. He wanted to
make sure we saw him just now, to let me know who
attacked you last night.”
I stared at the road, feeling that old creeping depression
as Noah drove past the city limits and headed in the
direction of Wellesley Island State Park. Situated along the
St. Lawrence River, and part of the Thousand Islands
region, it was green and lush.
We turned in and traveled for several miles. After looking
in the rearview mirror, Noah slowed and pulled onto a
narrow roadway. He followed it through thick groves of
trees to a picnic area, then turned the Jeep around, facing
back the way we’d come. With the overcast sky it was too
cold for visitors so there were no other cars. Noah turned
off the ignition.
He grabbed the painting from the backseat and used a
pocketknife to slice off the back. Taped to the canvas were
three things: a small plastic bag holding five puzzle pieces,
a narrow strip of red paper covered with letters, and a key.

We examined everything. The paper was the most
interesting. It was about a half inch wide with groups of
letters in blocked printing.
“There’s more on the back,” Noah pointed out.
I flipped it over, seeing different letters. “They look like
chopped-up words.”
He scrunched down in the seat. “Here we go again.”
“What do you mean?”
“How much longer is this going to go on? It’s one thing to
send us looking for clues like we were kids again. It’s
another when it involves somebody like Gerard.”
I studied his dark expression. “You’ve never been afraid
of anyone, Noah. Not even those senior bullies who chased
us with lit cigarettes. Why are you afraid of this guy?”
“I’m not afraid for me. I’m not the one Gerard tried to
strangle.”
“Oh.”
“I can probably defend myself okay. But it’s going to be
hard to try and keep you safe if Gerard wants to hurt you.
Don’t you get it, Jocelyn? He’s all hot to get his hands on
whatever it is that Jack is sending us on this crazy chase to
find. Which means we’re damned if we get it, damned if we
don’t. Either way, Gerard will come after both of us in the
end.”
My worry took a giant step forward in this scary game of
Mother May I. “What are we supposed to do? Should we
just drop all this and make a run for it?”
“No. We need the final prize. Whether it’s Jack or
something Jack left you. Otherwise, we’ve got nothing to
help us figure out what’s going on.”
He took the strip of paper from me, holding it between
his fingers and examining both sides.
“It’s a scytale,” I said. I could almost hear Jack’s voice
from all those years ago.
“See? It’s a simple system developed by the Spartans
during the fifth century. You just take a strip of paper and
wind it around a rod like this pencil. Make the paper
overlap. Then you write across it and leave a message.”
Noah and I bent close, watching him at work. He wrote
one or two letters on each overlapping edge of paper,
slowly turning the pencil to write several lines:
“Monique is stupid, Tabby is dumb, Geena is a
crybaby, Nessa sucks her thumb.”
We laughed as Jack unwound the strip of paper and
laid it out flat on the cafeteria table. The letters now made
no sense because they weren’t in their original order.
“And one really cool thing is you have to use the right
size of rod. If you write the letters around a thin paintbrush
but wrap it around a pencil that’s fatter, the letters don’t line
up. You can’t read it. That’s how the Spartan soldiers got
their battle plans back and forth. The messenger would
run miles with the strip of paper. He’d give it to a captain
who had the same-size rod as the guy who sent the letter.
If the messenger got captured or killed, the enemy
couldn’t decode the words.”
Tree branches swayed in the wind like the arms of hula
dancers, while thick clouds passed across the face of the
sun. Birds flew and dipped above us. How pleasant it would
be to come here for a picnic when the sun was shining and
no bad guys lurked in the shadows. I wondered if there
might ever be a time when my life was not haunted by the
past or threatened by the future.
Noah grabbed a pencil from the glove box and wrapped
the strip of paper around it, but no message appeared. “It
wouldn’t be that easy, would it?”
“Nope.”
“But there wasn’t a scytale rod hidden in the back of the
painting. And what about this key? It looks like it might be to
a post office box. Except whatever number was on it has
been scratched off. Why would he do that?”
I shrugged. “Probably because if Paul Gerard is looking
for the clues Jack left, then he wanted to make sure only we
could decipher them. He wants us alone to read the
message.”
Noah watched the movement of the swaying branches.
“So all we have to do is find the scytale rod.”
“Yes.”
He started the Jeep and we headed out of the park,
driving past willowy trees, ferns, and giant clovers the size
of a baby’s fist.
“Where are we going?”
“To get something to eat. It’s one o’clock and I’m hungry.”
I didn’t understand how Noah could think about food
when we had an unsolved clue, but I didn’t say anything.
Soon we were back on the main road heading into
Watertown. He parked behind a restaurant and opened the
door.
“Do you think it’s safe for us to stop here?”
“Nothing is safe, Jocey, but for now we’ve lost Gerard.
Besides, I’ve had time to think it over. He isn’t going to try
and kill you until after he gets what he wants.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Inside the restaurant, the hostess seated us at a booth
and gave us menus. I looked around. “I think I remember
this place. Didn’t we come here when we skipped school
and went to see a movie?”
“I’d almost forgotten that. It was my first time eating here.
They have the best roast beef sandwiches.”
The waitress came back and Noah asked me if he could
order for both of us. I let him. After she left he said, “Why
was it we skipped school that day?”
“It was September and school had just started. I hated
being back. For one thing, there was that nasty group of
girls. They were walking around with their glittery T-shirts
and new little boobies.”
I stripped the paper off my straw, fiddling with it. Noah
studied me with an interested expression. “They were
rotten to you.”
“To all of us, really. I used to wonder what was wrong with
them. Here we were just poor foster kids. They came from
decent homes and had whatever they wanted. All I wanted
was to be left alone with you and Jack.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“On that day when we skipped, remember how hot it
was? Everyone was groaning because normally it would’ve
been a lot cooler. We were trying to find some shade
during the lunch hour. Those girls had their little electric
fans, misting themselves with spray. Of course I was so
busy doing Star Wars dialogue with you and Jack that I
didn’t even see them coming.”
“Star Wars dialogue?” he asked.
“Don’t you remember? Jack and I were testing that
amazing memory of yours. All day long, if anyone talked to
you, you could only answer with a line from the original
trilogy. He made a bet that you couldn’t pull it off. A week’s
worth of dish duty was the prize. You were doing great.
Except I think you got in trouble with Mr. Farlen for saying,
‘Will someone get this walking carpet out of my way?’”
I laughed at the memory. “He wouldn’t have been so
insulted if it wasn’t for the bad toupee he wore.”
Noah smiled and his eyes took on a faraway look. “That’s
right.”
“During lunch break, when we were outside, you
responded to any question with a Star Wars answer. Some
of the other kids were starting to pay attention. They’d throw
out a silly statement and you’d come back with the coolest
stuff. Monique and the others couldn’t stand not being the
center of attention. They showed up and called us geek
freaks. Then they went off to fix their hair.”
“Jack was furious. He stomped over and chewed them
out.”
Now that we were talking about it, more images from that
day came to mind. “We were all mad. Even Beth, who’d
been standing with us. Remember how their bangs caught
on fire?”
Noah nodded. “They were putting all that hairspray on
with the hot sun shining down on them. Their hair just
ignited. It was hilarious. They were screaming and slapping
themselves in the head. Someone threw a carton of milk on
Nessa to put her out.”
“And then the lunch lady showed up and shouted at
everyone for laughing.”
During all the noise we’d slipped through the fence and
taken off. There was going to be an assembly after lunch,
and we knew no one would miss us. We went to the movies
and then came to this same restaurant to eat.
Noah leaned back with folded arms, smiling. “That was a
great day.”
“It was. But the thing is, until I came to Watertown I never
saw kids’ hair just catch on fire like that. Or curtains that put
fires out once they started. Or walls warp like in a bad
dream even though I was awake. Sometimes hidden things
would disappear, and the kids would be so frustrated. Beth
used to get furious when her secret switchblade vanished
from under the mattress. It showed up in her dresser drawer
or other places. Sometimes I found it under my pillow, and
that happened to Jack and Dixon too.”
I looked through the restaurant window, not seeing the
road outside but instead a distant memory. “Worst of all,
one time I dreamed about being down in the cellar and
getting attacked. The next morning I found bruises. Until I
lived at Seale House, stuff like that only happened on TV.”
I turned back to Noah, and there was reluctant
acceptance in his eyes. He said, “I hate to admit it, but
you’re right. Something strange was going on. At first I tried
to ignore it, but it seemed to get worse over time.”
“Any theories?”
“Maybe one, but it’s really out there.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “Tell me.”
“A couple of times I wondered if someone in the house
had abilities.”
“What kind?”
“Maybe some sort of mental powers.”
“I just don’t see how that makes sense,” I said. “From
everything I saw, it seemed to me that the problem was
Seale House itself. It was like the more controlling and
mean Hazel got, and the more dangerous Conner acted,
the more the house became that way too.”
He took a drink and then stared down at the ice cubes in
his glass. “I guess we’ll never really know. Besides, five
years is a long time. If stuff happened back then that we
couldn’t explain, maybe it’s not worth trying to figure out.
Especially now that Seale House is half burned down. I’m
just happy to be done with foster care. We should forget
about it.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do ever since I left. Until
Jack decided to drop me right back in the middle of it.”
The waitress brought the food, cutting off our
conversation, which seemed all right with Noah. The aroma
of the roast beef sandwich and fries made me hungry.
We ate in silence until I pushed my plate aside. Opening
the brown envelope, I dumped out the five puzzle pieces.
Two were edges and I snapped them together. “This looks
like a sidewalk.”
“Is that all you’re going to eat?”
“I’m full. You can have my fries if you’re still hungry.” I
focused on the jigsaw pieces, trying to find other matches
and disappointed when they didn’t fit.
He said, “Back when we were kids, you could put away
more food than either Jack or me.”
“I was also taller than you. You’ve caught up and then
some, if you haven’t noticed. It’s nice, by the way, not to
look down on the top of your head anymore. I got tired of
seeing your dandruff when you were a kid.”
I scooped the puzzle pieces back into the ziplock bag
and turned my attention to the red strip of paper that we
were sure must be a scytale. I grabbed the straw from my
drink and wiped it off. After wrapping the paper around the
straw, it was soon clear this wasn’t the right size either.
“This is so stupid! Why give us a scytale with no rod?”
Noah’s cell phone buzzed and he answered. “Hi, Don,
what’s up?”
I assumed it was his detective friend, Don Iverson.
“What?” Noah’s eyebrows drew together as he listened.
His face grew anxious. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
He stood, pulled some cash from his wallet, and dropped
it on the table. “Let’s go.”
I followed him from the restaurant, hurrying to catch up.
“What’s the matter, Noah?”
“My place is on fire.”
Twenty
Charred
Noah drove fast. We didn’t talk much along the way, and I
couldn’t blame him. I gazed at the road winding through the
trees as it led to his neighborhood.
We got to his street and saw emergency vehicles, a fire
truck and two police cars. Some of his neighbors stood
across the way, talking to each other and nodding with
concern as they watched. Massive black plumes of smoke
billowed skyward, blown at an angle by the wind. It caught
and scattered ashes through the hazy afternoon air.
Driving closer, it became clear that the detective’s
statement about his home being “on fire” hadn’t given a
complete picture. It was a lot worse than that. The walls
were still standing but badly charred. The windowpanes
had exploded, and much of the roof was either blackened
or caved in. Compared to this, Seale House’s fire was just
a little barbecue. I glanced at him with concern. He looked
stunned.
“Noah … I’m so sorry!”
As we pulled around the fire truck we saw that the garage
was more intact than the rest of the place. It seemed that
the heaviest damage had been at the back of the duplex.
The vacant other half was also seriously charred.
The garage door was partway up and an emergency
vehicle blocked the entrance. Saying nothing, Noah parked
on the far side of a police car. We got out and walked up
the driveway. The smell of smoke stung my nose, and I
knew that the black cloud was rising from water-doused
wood, not from an actual fire.
His books, DVD collection, computer, and everything
else must now be worthless rubble. If there were a few
things that hadn’t been burned, then they were probably
either heat-warped or ruined by water. Until now, I hadn’t
really thought about how important Noah’s little duplex was
to him. Nobody, except foster kids who were bounced
around like an unwanted dodgeball, could understand just
how much it meant to have a home and permanent
belongings. My heart ached at the ruin, and from his
expression I could see he felt like he’d been slugged in the
stomach.
“Noah,” a man called, and we turned to see someone
approaching.
“Don,” Noah answered in a depressed voice. He gave a
curt nod to his friend.
At first I was surprised someone so young could be a
police detective, though as he came closer I saw this was
an illusion. He was probably ten or fifteen years older than
h e looked—one of those men with a slender build and
young features. If it wasn’t for the gray at his temples, I
would have put him in his late twenties.
“We need to talk, Noah,” Detective Iverson said in a
clipped voice. He glanced at me, doing a speedy
assessment. “Who is this young lady?”
I quickly introduced myself, using my foster family’s
name. “I’m Jocelyn Haberton, visiting from Troy, New York.”
Noah hardly seemed to notice. “Jocey, this is Detective
Iverson.” His eyes continued to scan the ruined duplex.
The policeman nodded at me. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like
to talk to Noah alone.”
“That’s okay, Don. She’s been staying with me and we’re
good friends. She can hear whatever you have to say.”
The detective thought this over, looking at me again. I
didn’t think he approved of a girl staying with Noah.
“Yesterday when you came into the police station and
made a complaint, you said you had no idea why those
teenagers threw rocks at your windshield. Is that the truth?”
“Of course. Don, why are you here if this is just a routine
fire?”
“Not routine. Neighbors heard a loud explosion. The back
part of your house, farthest from the garage, has the most
damage.”
“A bomb?”
“Seems like it.”
Noah and I looked at each other, shocked. Paul Gerard
had attacked me last night and then come to the art gallery
today. It was too much of a coincidence. He had to be the
one who set the bomb. I could see the same conclusion in
Noah’s eyes.
The detective was closely studying us. “What is it?”
Noah glanced away. “A bomb. Why would someone do
that?”
“You tell me. Who would have a reason?”
“I don’t know, Don. I’ve lost everything, haven’t I?”
“I believe so. At least you weren’t inside. You might have
been injured or killed. And it’s fortunate the other half of the
duplex was empty.”
Noah tried to hide the major sense of loss he felt. “I’m so
sorry,” I repeated, as if those pathetic words could
somehow ease the misery of losing all his possessions.
“What’s going on?” Noah asked as his eyes scanned the
emergency vehicle parked in the driveway.
Iverson glanced back at the garage. “You and I have
known each other for almost five years now. I’ve kept a
watch out for you since those first troubles at Seale House.
You know that. I helped you stay out of foster care, like you
wanted. You’ve even been to my home and had dinner with
my family.”
A shadow of concern crossed Noah’s face. “Yes.”
“And I’ve been pleased you could turn things around and
make a better life for yourself. Especially since the odds
were against you. But if it wasn’t for the kind of young man I
know you are, we wouldn’t even be having this
conversation.”
“I don’t understand.” For the first time Noah was more
focused on his friend than on the house. “Am I in trouble
because my house caught on fire?”
“Come with me.”
We followed him up the driveway and past my car, which
had a damaged hood. The heat had caused the tan paint to
bubble and the windshield to crack. My poor little car! I’d
worked so hard to earn enough money to buy that Civic,
and I took good care of it. Now it looked awful. What would
Brent and Marilyn say, since they’d been nice enough to put
me on their insurance? Would this cause our rates to go up,
me on their insurance? Would this cause our rates to go up,
even though I hadn’t been responsible for the damage? I
dreaded driving back to Troy and showing them.
Skirting the large emergency vehicle, we ducked under
the half-open garage door and went inside. Several
policemen worked in one corner. Coming closer, Noah and
I peered down at the object of their focus, and I gasped. All
worries about my car went right out of my head.
One of the forensic officers began snapping pictures of a
singed but recognizable corpse. It was Georgie.
Twenty-One
Interrogation
The minutes crept by as I sat on a hard bench at the police
headquarters while Noah was in a room being questioned.
Detective Iverson had asked me for identification, and
luckily I still had my high school photo ID card in my wallet.
I’d been able to go by my foster family name of Haberton in
our small town of Troy, and though the police ran a
computer search nothing showed up. However, if they
learned my real name, Jocelyn Harte, then they might find a
whole file on me under the local foster care system. Worst
of all, I’d gotten in big trouble my last night at Seale House.
Jack and I had left Watertown the next day, but after five
years, was I still listed as a runaway?
Seeing Georgie’s body had been horrid and forced me
to relive what happened in the alley. I figured at least Noah
must finally believe me about Georgie getting shot, though
there was little satisfaction in that. Detective Iverson was
grilling Noah in another room. What if he slipped up and
told the police I’d seen the shooting? How would I be able
to explain everything that happened? Cold dread filled me. I
rubbed my arms and winced at the spot that was still sore
from the bite.
The door finally opened and Noah came out with Don
Iverson. Neither said anything. I walked with them until we
were in the main lobby, where the detective glanced at me,
then turned a long stare on Noah. I studied him too. Just
then he seemed so young to me, a guy who always acted
mature for his age but inside was still a kid who’d been
through a lot.
“This is far from over, Noah,” Don said. “You’re not to
leave the area, understand?”
“Yes.” He was trying to look calm but it was an act and it
showed. I felt even sorrier for him.
“You’ll call me if anything else happens.” It was an order.
“Sure.”
“Wait here, then. I’ll have an officer drive you back to your
car.”
“Thanks.”
After one last look at us, Iverson left. I exhaled with relief.
“What happened?”
Noah glanced at me and kept his voice low. “He
questioned me, okay?”
“What did you say?”
“Hell, Jocelyn, what do you think? I lied to cover your butt.
If they knew you were with Georgie when he died, they’d run
your prints. Which are probably still in the computer from
when you were in foster care. Then you’d be screwed,
right?”
I didn’t say anything, feeling a little numb. An officer came
to get us. Noah and I sat in the back of the patrol car. We
rode in silence, looking at the long afternoon shadows
predicting sunset. Noah’s withdrawal made me feel
dejected, and the closer we got to his place the more I
dreaded seeing his ruined duplex again. I wanted to say
something that would help him feel better, but with the cop
listening in, it was too awkward. Instead, I reached out with
hesitant fingers, sliding my hand into his. He didn’t look at
me, but after a second or two his fingers closed around
mine.
The officer dropped us off and drove away, as Noah and
I stood in front of his place. The street was empty, except
for a distant garbage truck banging its way up the street.
We walked through the open garage and I averted my gaze
from where Georgie’s body had been. Noah reached the
door leading into the house and opened it, the smell of char
stinging our noses. I started to offer more words of
sympathy but he stopped me. “Stay here.”
I didn’t argue but waited in the garage, feeling exhausted,
thirsty, and depressed. He wasn’t inside long. After he
came out, I trailed him back to the road where he’d parked
his Jeep hours ago. “There’s nothing left?”
“Nothing worth trying to save.”
I stopped on the sidewalk, watching him kneel down and
check the underside of his car. Next he looked inside, soon
surfacing with a small black transmitter from beneath the
dashboard.
“Did Gerard put that there so he could follow us?”
“Who else?”
He walked over to a neighbor’s trash can, tossing the
transmitter in a cardboard box full of junk. We stood on the
sidewalk and watched the garbage truck amble toward us
until it stopped and picked up the trash. As the truck drove
away, Noah climbed in the Jeep and turned over the
engine. I continued to stand there, looking at him through
the passenger window. He pushed the button and it rolled
down. “Are you getting in or not?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No. I want to go off by myself and give Gerard a reason
to get rid of me for good.”
“Oh.” I opened the door and climbed in. He drove away
from his place, not looking back. I picked up the brown
envelope that I had hidden between the seat and the gear
console.
“I was afraid they were going to arrest you,” I confessed.
“Don still believes in me. He said that even if I’d killed
that kid, the last thing I’d do is leave the body in my garage.
Let alone start my own house on fire. What he wants to
know, and what I didn’t tell him, is who tried to frame me.”
“Maybe you should have. Someone needs to stop
Gerard.”
Noah shook his head. “There will be time for that once
we get what Jack wants us to find. But if the cops get
involved, I’m afraid it’ll all unravel. We’ll never figure out
what’s going on.”
Soon we reentered the Watertown city limits, passing
familiar buildings. The sun began to set, turning the clouds
a fiery ocher.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to Seale House. We need to find the rod that’ll
work with the scytale clue.”
“I don’t want to go there, Noah.”
“We haven’t got a choice. There has to be some sort of
dowel that’s the right size to wrap the paper around. The
only place I can think it would be hidden is at Seale House.”
We drove along in silence, watching the sky change from
bloody to muddy, a reflection of our moods. Opening the
envelope, I drew out the red strip of paper and unfolded it. I
stared at the mystifying letters printed on either side. Jack
had always planned out every detail and supplied us with
whatever was needed to solve his clues. This was so unlike
him. We turned onto Keyes Avenue. Noah pulled up in front of
Seale House and shut off the engine. He pointed to the red
paper. “Better bring that with us, so we can try it out on
whatever we find.”
I studied Seale House, backlit as it was against the
discolored sky. Its pillars and brickwork caught the hues of
sunset and cloaked the porch in shadows. “This can’t be
right. It doesn’t make sense that Jack would set it up this
way.”
Noah sighed. “Try to get your nerves under control, will
you?”
A tiny idea blossomed in the back of my mind. I
unsnapped my seat belt, knelt on the seat, and reached into
the back.
“What are you doing?”
“I think I know what Jack wants us to use as the rod.” I
grabbed the metal box from the floor. Turning around, I
plopped down and flipped open the lid. I picked up one of
the black chopsticks and looked at him with a triumphant
smile.
“Don’t tell me we’ve had the rod all this time?”
“Of course we have! Jack wouldn’t have done it any other
way.”
I wrapped the red paper around the end of the chopstick,
letting each layer overlap a quarter of an inch so that the
correct letters matched up. We slowly rotated it, reading the
words that slanted diagonally around the stick:
CHEATGRASS RAGWEED NETTLE
BRIAR
BE CAUTIOUS OF SHE WHO WAS
THE LIAR
Unwinding the paper, I flipped it over and rewrapped it
around the chopstick to read the other part of the clue:
TARES OF HAZEL WEEDS THAT
STINK
HER STORY IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK
We looked at each other. This was the most surprised I’d
been. “Jack wants us to see Hazel?”
“That can’t be. What are those numbers on the bottom?”
I rotated the scytale farther and we read: TWO SIX NINE
“We’re probably going to need them to find Hazel, just
like we needed the name of the Lautrec Gallery to find
Dixon.”
Noah shook his head. “It seems to me there’s a huge
difference between meeting up with Dixon again and going
to look for Hazel. Jack’s sense of humor is getting old.”
“I can’t imagine him wanting us to see her again either.
But he must have a reason.”
“Yeah. Like he’s gone off the deep end.”
“Don’t say that.”
“This is crazy, Jocelyn! It’s not fun anymore, if it ever was,
and I’m tired. I’ve lost everything.” He swore softly, and I
could hear the hurt in his voice.
“Jack didn’t mean for that to happen. I know it! You’re his
best friend, Noah.”
“Yeah? Well, a best friend doesn’t take you on a trip
down memory lane when your past was hell. When I finally
see him face-to-face, I’m just as likely to slug him as hug
him.”
I felt wretched. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon and
twilight was growing deep around us. Seale House looked
even more threatening in the lengthening shadows. “At
least we don’t have to go in there now.”
He looked away and rested his wrist on the steering
wheel. I studied the outline of his profile, drawn to him more
than any guy I’d ever met, even when he was angry. He
wasn’t as handsome as a few of the boys I’d dated, but
there was something in his features and the curve of his
mouth that pulled me in like a magnet.
I forced myself to stop drooling over him, not wanting him
to look at me and see how I felt. “So, what do you want to
do now?”
Noah never had a chance to answer. A shot rang out,
cracking the back windshield.
With a cry I ducked down as Noah turned over the starter
so hard it made a grinding noise. The engine roared and
he stepped on the accelerator. The Jeep leaped away.
Twenty-Two
Shadows
In the thirty minutes following the shooting, I saw areas of
Watertown I’d been completely unfamiliar with. Noah,
however, seemed to know nearly every road and alley. We
traveled a twisting path, sometimes driving fast, sometimes
slow, even parking for a while behind a grocery store where
we could see if someone was following us. In time it grew
dark and thick clouds masked the face of the moon.
“Paul Gerard has to be the man who killed Georgie,” I
finally said.
“I agree.”
“But why did he save me from Georgie’s knife when he’s
so against me?”
“Hmm. Well, maybe it’s because if you die, there goes
his only chance to track down your brother.”
“Oh.”
“He must’ve stuffed Georgie’s body in his trunk and
afterward dumped it in my garage. Then he set off the
bomb.”
“I’m sure you’re right. What I can’t figure out, though, is
how he found us again. You got rid of that tracking device.”
“Because I was careless. I drove back to our old
neighborhood and was focused on the scytale.”
“I should never have come to you for help. I’m sorry,
Noah.”
“Stop apologizing, will you? Besides, we can’t be totally
sure it was Gerard who shot at us just now. Seale House is
a gathering place for Georgie’s friends, and I’m wondering
if it was one of them. Did you notice any of those kids
carrying a gun?”
“All I’ve seen so far is a switchblade, a chain, and
slingshots. You’d think if they had a gun they’d have shown
it off before now. Of course that doesn’t mean they couldn’t
have gotten one. In a way, it’d be a relief to think it was one
of them. Then Gerard wouldn’t seem so all powerful.”
“He’s not all powerful.” Noah was trying to reassure me,
but his voice wasn’t convincing.
Gerard had managed to get inside Noah’s locked house,
and then he had stood there watching me while I slept. I
could still feel his choking grasp and the heat from his hand
that left the burn on my throat. A shiver ran through me. I
reached for my jacket in the backseat and pulled it on.
“Noah, I need to use the bathroom and get a drink of water.”
“Me too, and it’s time for dinner.”
We stopped at a fast food drive-through. “It’s not safe to
go inside?”
He shook his head. “The lights are too bright and it’s like
a fishbowl. Don’t worry. I’ve got a place where we can hang
out.” He handed me one of the drinks.
Ten minutes later we were in an older neighborhood off
Leray Street. The area was lined with oversize trees. Noah
pulled up in front of a small town house that had a FOR SALE
sign on the lawn. He got out and went to a keypad,
punching in numbers that made the garage door slide up.
Driving inside, we parked next to an older Toyota. He
turned off the engine, then grabbed a flashlight from under
the seat.
“Where are we?”
“A place I agreed to keep an eye on until it sells. Stay
here for a minute.” He got out and pushed a button to close
the garage door. I watched him disappear inside the
house.
I slumped down in the seat. Princess Leia would be so
ashamed of me. Although I’d been willing to take on the
make-believe role of a complaining Chewbacca during our
childhood charades, I’d always secretly dreamed of
grabbing a gun, kissing the guy, and shooting
Stormtroopers just the way she had in the DVD we’d
replayed dozens of times. But at the moment I was so
drained and stressed, and in such need of a bathroom
break, that I didn’t much care if he went off and did the male
let-me-check-it-out thing.
The small overhead light in the garage door opener shut
off, plunging me into darkness. I sat listening to the wind
and breathing in the scent of fast food growing stale. Noah
didn’t come back right away. I tensed, wondering if Gerard
really was all powerful. What if he somehow knew Noah
might come here? I opened my door. The car light dispelled
some of the gloom and I stepped down. I shut the door and
darkness returned. With some irritation I told myself that the
next time Noah said “stay here” I’d slug him on the arm.
A flashlight beam preceded him as he stepped through
the doorway. “It’s clear.” He opened the back end of the
Cherokee. “Grab what you need and let’s go inside.”
We packed a bunch of stuff through the door, the beam
from his flashlight leading the way. “There’s no electricity or
furniture, but at least it gives us a place to rest for a while.
The bathroom is around the corner.”
I used the tiny LED on my keychain to make my way
there. Afterward I found Noah in the empty front room. He
was eating one of the chicken sandwiches we’d ordered
and tossed me mine. I opened the wrapper and took a bite,
surprised by how hungry I was. Glancing around the room, I
saw that the flashlight gave off just enough light to see the
corners. Nothing was hiding in this small place, and if the
carpet was old at least it seemed to have been recently
cleaned. There was also the faint scent of new paint, but it
wasn’t too bad.
“Whose house is this?”
“Just someone I know.”
“And he won’t mind us crashing here?”
“She won’t care, no.”
I thought this over, wondering if Noah was talking about
one of his old girlfriends he broke up with because he found
her boring. After we were done eating he went into the hall
and rummaged around in a linen closet. His flashlight sent
jiggling beams back at me. He returned with several old
quilts. “It’s good the painters didn’t throw these out. They
won’t be much to sleep on, but at least they’ll give a little
padding.”
Noah tossed me two, both timeworn and smelling slightly
of stale smoke. He unfolded and layered his blankets,
making a padded cot. Grabbing a couple of shirts from his
duffel bag, he fashioned a pillow. “Better do the same. The
batteries in this flashlight aren’t going to last all night.”
I untied the scarf from around my neck and exchanged
my jacket for a comfortable sweater. Then I did as he
suggested, making my own place to rest and finally
stretching out. Once this was done, he doused the flashlight
and darkness engulfed us. Staring at the ceiling I said, “No
way I can sleep.”
“After everything you’ve been through, I figured you’d
want to crash.”
“I keep thinking about the fire. And Georgie’s body, just
tossed there like that.” A slight shiver passed through me.
“Then there are the clues. I want to figure them out, but my
brain is too fuzzy. I know I can’t.”
“Wait till tomorrow.”
“Yes, you’re right.” I felt discouraged and in need of
reassurance. “You know, in spite of everything, I still believe
Jack is alive. Do you?”
“Honestly, Jocelyn, I don’t know what to think. After the
first clues it seemed you were right. But this has gone on
too long. I just don’t see why he’d be leading us on like this.”
A car drove down the street, its engine a low purr and its
headlights briefly changing the darkness to a muted gray. I
turned on my side, trying to get comfortable in this
unfamiliar place. I studied Noah. He must be homesick.
“So, since neither of us is sleepy,” he said, “how about
you tell me what you’ve been doing this last year?”
It secretly pleased me he was interested. “Not much to
tell. Going to school in the morning and doing an internship
in the afternoon takes up a lot of time. Plus my foster family
likes to plan outings on the weekend. I help with the younger
kids when we go. Jack used to come a lot of the time too.”
Sadness washed over me, but I didn’t want Noah to see.
“And if I get a chance, I also like to hang with my friends.”
“What are they like?”
“Cool, in their own way. Mostly tomgeeks.”
“Tomgeeks?”
“Not tomboys exactly, but girls into geeky computer stuff.
Get it?”
He smiled. “Yeah. You’d fit right in with that. Any guy
friends?”
“A few. There’s a group of us. I was supposed to go
camping with them.”
I wondered if they were having fun roasting
marshmallows and talking about their favorite computer
games. “Sometimes we have what we call geek-togethers
at one of their houses. A couple of the guys network their
computers for multiplayer games. Except we won’t have a
chance to do that for a while. After the break we’ll all be
busy getting ready for graduation. Between senior projects
and finals coming up, we won’t have any free time.”
Noah studied me.
“What?” I said.
“You’ve changed a lot since the days we were together. I
mean, in some ways you’re the same and I see the old
Jocey. But you’re different, too. More self-confident.”
I smiled and shrugged. “It helps being able to live in one
place. I guess some of the things I’m happy about would be
small stuff to other kids. I like eating dinner at the table with
a normal family, even if they’re not really mine. I like having
my own room. Clean clothes and decent shoes when I need
them. And not being on the free lunch program. I don’t mind
being in foster care, as long as it’s with someone like the
Habertons.”
“Can I ask you something I’ve always been curious
about?”
“Sure.”
“How did you and Jack end up at Seale House? I never
asked when we were together. Back then no one wanted to
talk about why social workers put them in foster care. It was
something I wanted to bring up with Jack when we were
chatting, but the timing never felt right.”
Swirling patterns of light slid across the wall as another
car drove by. Finally I said, “It was because of Erv.”
Noah slowly sat up, staring at me through shadows.
“Jocey, you’re not telling me that Erv was a real person, are
you?”
Twenty-Three
Truth
“Noah, don’t go in there,” Georgie warned, “’cause Juliann
just Erved all over the bathroom floor.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Noah looked at Jack and me
and said, “This flu keeps spreading, we’ll be mopping up
Erv five times a day.”
We laughed and he couldn’t figure out why we thought
vomit was funny. To Jack and me, and soon the rest of
Seale House, the grosser something was, the more Ervy it
was.
Slimy cafeteria stroganoff: “Ugh! It makes me want to
Erv.”
The mold growing in the fridge: “That’s just Ervy!”
Dog mess on the sidewalk: “Careful, don’t step in the Er-
v!”
A chewed-up three-legged tomcat: “Oh, look at that poor
little Erv.”
Nessa’s new perfume: “Did somebody pass an Erv?”
I could feel Noah looking at me in the dark. Jack and I had
never explained our inside joke. “But I thought Erv was a
word you two made up. Now you’re telling me it was
someone’s name?”
“Yeah, well, I guess it was just our way of getting revenge
on a guy we despised.”
“Who?”
“Melody’s boyfriend. The reason we ran away.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
Through the shadows I could barely see the line of his jaw
and cheek. He didn’t say anything else, and I appreciated
him not pushing me.
“Before we came to Watertown, we lived outside Boston.
We stayed in this tiny apartment and didn’t have much, but
it was okay. I liked my teachers, and so did Jack. We had
some nice friends.”
A mental image of my brother from back then came into
my head, his shaggy brown hair and eyes almost too large
for his face. At twelve, his knees were always skinned. He
could look so solemn, until he smiled in that mischievous
way of his.
“Back then, Melody worked as a waitress. Until one day
after she had a huge fight with her boss. When he wasn’t
looking, she stole money from the cash register and took
off. She picked us up from school, dragged us home, and
told us to pack in a hurry. We never got to say good-bye to
our friends and teachers. Or even get the stuff out of our
desks. Then she drove to New York, just one of the many
places she took us. Once we finally got to Syracuse, she
left Jack and me with Cheryl, her cousin.”
“What was that like?”
“Not bad. Cheryl was single and worked as a legal
secretary. I remember she lived close to the library and
cooked lasagna, and she had a cat named Minkie. She
was nice and didn’t mind having us around. We hoped we
could stay. While she was at work we dusted and
vacuumed, and made sure the dishes were always done. It
seemed like it was going to work out. But Melody came
back for us like an unwanted boomerang. She always
came back. Until the last time, when Jack and I were
fourteen.”
I brushed the hair from my forehead. Talking about my
mother always made me angry. “Melody was excited
because of this new guy she met. Erv. She’d say stuff like,
‘Wait until you meet Erv. He’s really handsome. He drives a
black Jaguar and has a French accent.’ She blathered that
way the whole trip up to Gatineau, Quebec.”
“Is that the city we could see from the Peace Tower?”
“Yeah. It’s where he lived. But before we met Erv, Melody
said she wanted us to look nice. At least that was her lie to
us. Being stupid kids, we believed her. She started out by
buying us some new clothes. Jack and I got the same kind
of jeans and T-shirts. Then she took me to the hair salon.”
I paused, uncomfortable. “Do you really want to hear all
this, Noah? It’s kind of boring.”
“Sure I do.” His tone was kind and showed he knew the
story was deeper than I wanted to go. That helped me keep
talking.
“Back then my hair was down to the middle of my back. I
knew it was kind of scraggly, so at first I didn’t mind getting
it trimmed. But then my mother told the hair guy to cut it
really short, like a boy’s. I tried to say something, but
Melody gave me this icy stare. She’d knock my head off if I
didn’t just sit there and shut up. The man asked if I was
okay with cutting it short, and I only nodded.”
I could still see the long pieces of my hair dropping to the
floor and feel the sadness at being so powerless. “Even
though I felt like crying, I didn’t. Melody sat there watching,
nodding and smiling like it was great. ‘How cute!’ she kept
saying. I knew she was lying.”
I stared into the darkness and wondered why the sharp
edge of that memory still sliced away at me.
“You used to hate your short hair. I remember you
couldn’t wait for it to grow.”
“That’s why I wear it long now. Anyway, after we met up
with Jack and he saw what she’d done, he pretended my
haircut looked okay. But I saw his first reaction. He was just
trying to make me feel better.”
“Why did Melody cut your hair like that?”
“Because Erv, her new guy, was on parole. He wasn’t
allowed to have little girls in his house. So she told him she
had twin boys and started calling me Josh.”
Noah swore. Just then I sensed that he hated her almost
as much as I did.
“Thanks,” I whispered, for the first time not objecting to
the colorful words he used to describe my mother.
“Did this Erv guy figure out you were a girl?”
“No, so I guess one good thing came from getting my
hair chopped off. Except I think his parole should’ve
forbidden him from being around all kids, not just girls. He
was mean. We’d never seen any of her guy friends have
was mean. We’d never seen any of her guy friends have
such crazy eyes.” I paused, recoiling from the prickly
memory. “We were there only a couple of days when he got
furious at us for eating the last of the Kix cereal. Erv
knocked Jack across the kitchen.”
“And, of course, your hag of a mother didn’t do anything.”
“Nothing. We knew we had to get out. Melody wasn’t
going to leave him, and we couldn’t stay. We got our stuff
together and climbed out the bedroom window. Our plan
was to go back to Cheryl, her cousin. But we only made it to
the border, where we got stopped. The Canadian officers
handed us over to the authorities in New York.”
“Because you had US passports?”
“Yes. They questioned us for a while. We had no intention
of telling them why we were in Canada or that we’d come
from Gatineau. We were also afraid to give them Cheryl’s
name, in case she had Melody’s phone number. Since they
couldn’t find any current info on our mother, a social worker
came and took us to Seale House.”
I stared into the dark and listened to the quiet settling
sounds of the house. “No matter how long my hair is or how
much makeup I wear, when I look in the mirror I still see
Jocey with her boy haircut. I don’t know if I’ll ever lose that
ugly part of me.”
Noah made his way over to me. “You listen to me. You’re
the most remarkable person I’ve ever known. Since you’ve
grown up, you’re beautiful, yes, but I don’t really care about
your looks. Never have. It’s your head and heart that’s
always gotten under my skin like nobody else could.
Understand?”
I heard the truth in his voice. All the feelings I had for him
from so long ago became as fresh as if we were kids
again. He was close enough that I could just make out the
concern on his features. Noah brushed a strand of hair from
my face. I sensed his uncertainty.
“What is it?”
“I want to kiss you.”
I let out a surprised breath. “Okay.”
He slid his hand beneath my hair to the base of my neck,
gently pulling me into him. I closed my eyes and we kissed,
fulfilling my secret five-year longing. His mouth was tender
and his kisses passionate. Images of a flaring vampire
cape and a black-clad ninja came to mind before we finally
separated.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that since I was twelve.”
He chuckled. “Glad you didn’t tell me that before I kissed
you. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“No, it was perfect. Do it again.”
Twenty-Four
Monopoly
The padding from the quilts wasn’t enough to make a
comfortable resting place. I slept fitfully. It was a couple of
hours after midnight when I roused from a dream. Melody
was crying about her lost love Calvert, and I slapped her.
She turned and ran into the dark, leaving me with the old
woman wearing the silver cross who touched my head and
my heart before fading away. I woke up just enough to know
how tired I was, my conscious mind barely breaking through
the surface. I turned on my side and sank back into a deep
sleep.
The next time I dreamed, it was a dream within a dream.
Once again I was at Seale House, standing in the girls’
bedroom, mesmerized by the walls. As young Jocey I’d just
woken up from a deep sleep. At first it seemed I must have
still been dreaming, because the wall had changed from
plaster to flesh, the slowly undulating side of a giant snake.
Spellbound, I reached out and felt its pulsing life force
beneath my fingertips. The beat was sluggish, like the
thump of a heart big enough to belong to a great blue
whale. Twelve-year-old Jocelyn’s breath got trapped in her
lungs as the wall continued to distort, taking on the
appearance of a malignant growth. Crying out in terror, I
staggered away.
Jerking awake, I found myself standing in a different
room, this time in the small town house. My hand was
against the wall, which pulsed beneath my fingertips.
Disoriented, I stepped back, my heart racing, my body
shivering with fear. I squeezed my eyes shut and reminded
myself of what Dr. Candlar always said during our therapy
sessions: realistic nightmares were simply my mind’s way
of dealing with past fear and pain. After I opened my eyes
and reached out again, there was nothing but a normal wall.
I heard Noah’s angry shout and hurried back downstairs.
In the dim morning light he was sitting up and breathing
heavily. His eyes were so furious that it reminded me of my
last night at Seale House, just before I ran away.
“Noah? Are you okay?”
He shook his head and ground the heels of his palms
into his eye sockets as if trying to wake himself. Had we
both experienced bad dreams at the same time? We’d had
enough stress during the last two days to give each of us
nightmares and then some. Once he lowered his hands he
seemed more himself, though his expression was still
angry. I asked what was wrong.
“I dreamed about Gerard setting that bomb. He was
grinning the whole time, and I wanted to kill him.” His voice
was enraged. Noah could be sarcastic and angry, but pure
hatred was something I’d seldom seen in him.
“I can’t blame you.” I sat down close by.
He grabbed the sweat-soaked hem of his shirt and
yanked it over his head, using it to wipe the dampness from
his chest before tossing it aside. In the growing light I could
clearly see the muscular outline of his torso and arms,
which only emphasized how much he’d changed since we’d
last been together. The awkward kid from five years ago
was gone, and if I’d been drawn to him during that gangly
phase, he was much harder to resist now that he was older.
Noah stretched his arms and back. “It’s just that I was
finally on my own, getting some stuff I wanted. Even if it
didn’t look like much. I should’ve gotten renter’s insurance,
but who thinks about that until it’s too late? Now
everything’s gone, including my computer and all the tech
accessories I bought.”
“It’s horrible.”
“I know it’s just stuff, but that’s pretty much all I’ve ever
had. I wanted to make a home for myself that was different
from Seale House.” He looked at me for a while. “It doesn’t
matter. We’re both safe. And at least I still have my laptop.”
“It matters, Noah. Of course it does.” I moved closer.
Reaching out and touching his face the way he had done
with mine last night, I leaned in for a kiss.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologized against my
lips, the last of his words smothered by the kiss. Slow
warmth spread through me in response to what his mouth
was doing, and my fingers traced the muscles of his chest
as he pulled me closer. We parted, and I felt flustered but
happy. He seemed better too.
The water in the row house was still turned on, but it was
freezing so we didn’t shower. We changed clothes,
dressing warmly since the sky was even more overcast and
the air in the house cool. I put on a black turtleneck that hid
the fading finger marks on my throat.
By the time we’d tossed our things back in the bags and
put away the quilts, there was enough light to read by. We
sat on the floor and laid out the clues, looking at the puzzle
pieces, the small key, and the scytale. We reread the verse
about Hazel, and then I picked up the key.
“When we first saw this, you said it looks like a post
office box key with the number scratched out. What if that
clue on the bottom of the scytale, two six nine, is the
number to a post office box?”
“Hmm … maybe.”
“I think we should try looking for it.”
“Do you know how many small postal outlets there are?”
“Then let’s start with the main post office over on Arsenal
Street.”
“Why there?”
“Because that’s what I’d do if I was hiding this clue for
you and Jack.”
“Okay,” he said at last.
We carried everything out into the garage and
transferred our stuff to the older-model Toyota that Noah
had the key to. Its windshield was grainy and chipped. The
teal paint was also rusting away along the bottom of the
car, deteriorated by years of driving on winter roads
crusted with salt. Apparently it had sat idle for a while, since
the engine didn’t want to turn over. Noah jump-started it with
battery cables from the Jeep, and then we climbed inside.
“Are you sure your friend will be okay with us using her
car?”
“Yes. She doesn’t need it right now, and we can’t ride
around in the Jeep because Gerard will be looking for it.”
Outside, the sky was a somber gray. The one sure thing
about April weather in Watertown was that it always
changed. Yesterday’s wind had given way to a strange
calm, and the clouds hung above us like soggy wool.
Noah said, “Let’s grab some breakfast first.”
“Yuck! It’s not even eight yet.”
“I don’t think you eat enough.”
“Whatever. Were you always so bossy and I just forgot?”
His expression seemed to withdraw from me a little. I
added, “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I know looking out
for me seems the natural thing for you to do. Back then you
were only a kid running everything at Seale House and
keeping us all going. Especially on those bad days when
Hazel was really stoned. You were a whole lot more of a
foster parent than she was. It’s one of the reasons I loved
you so much.”
As soon as that confession slipped out, I felt nervous and
a little uncertain; however, my embarrassment evaporated
when Noah reached out and took my hand in his. It was
surprising how comforting it felt to have his warm fingers
encircle mine.
We pulled into the drive-through of a McDonald’s. He
ordered an Egg McMuffin, and I agreed to juice and hash
browns.
The main post office was still closed, except for the lobby
with its wall of boxes. We got out of the Toyota and went
inside, where I took the key out of the envelope. It didn’t
take us long to find box 269.
“Here goes.”
I inserted the key and it turned, opening the box. Inside
was only one item, a brown envelope. Opening it, I saw a
handful of puzzle pieces and a half sheet of paper. We
walked to a nearby counter stocked with mailing stuff and a
chained pen. I put the puzzle pieces down and opened the
paper. Reading through a list of six clues, I laughed.
“It’s a logic problem.”
“Guess it was inevitable he’d leave us one, since they
were his favorite. I’m just glad it’s not encrypted.”
“Listen to the directions: ‘Five players are involved in a
sudden-death playoff of Seale House Monopoly. They are:
Jack, Jocelyn, Noah, Beth, and Hazel. Each player is
Jack, Jocelyn, Noah, Beth, and Hazel. Each player is
represented on the board by a different token: the
candlestick, the knife, the revolver, the poison, and the lead
pipe.’”
“Wait a minute. Those are the tokens from Clue, not
Monopoly.”
“So Jack bent the rules; let me finish. ‘In the final round
each player gets one last roll of the dice to see where they
end up. Can you figure out where each will be?’”
I flipped the paper over. “Here’s the list of clues.” He
looked at them too, and we read silently.
1. The five players are: the one with the
poison, the one who landed on Oriental
Avenue, Jocelyn, the person with the lead
pipe, and the player who ended up in Marvin
Gardens.
2. The player with the candlestick never
landed in Jail or on Oriental Avenue, while the
one with the revolver got stuck on the Chance
square.
3. Jack and Noah wouldn’t touch the poison.
4. Beth preferred the dark and so didn’t use
the candlestick. She didn’t go to Park Place.
5. Noah never visited Oriental Avenue.
6. Jack drew the card that said: Go directly to
Jail. Do not pass GO.
I said, “Look at that last clue. Is Jack hiding out because
he’s afraid of getting arrested?”
“I don’t know, but that would explain a lot.”
“What could’ve happened? My brother’s never done
anything to break the law.”
“Not that we know of.”
“Hey, I’m telling you he wouldn’t.”
Above the counter was a bulletin board with postal
information and other papers. I tore off a sheet, flipped it
over, and picked up the pen chained to the counter. To
solve it, I needed to draw a graph for the clues.
I glanced at the jigsaw puzzle pieces. “It looks like there’s
enough to finish that. Why don’t you see if you can fit them
together?”
Noah pulled out the ziplock bag from the first envelope
and dumped the rest of the pieces on the counter. We both
worked in silence for a while, and I became engrossed in
the clues as Jack’s player went to jail and my character
ended up stuck on the Chance square. That was fitting,
since so much in my life seemed to have happened through
chance.
“Heads up,” Noah said as someone approached the
door. We watched an older man in a red driving cap enter
the lobby and head for his postal box. Relieved it wasn’t
Gerard, I kept working.
“How’s it coming?”
“A minute more.” I crossed out boxes on my scribbled
grid and marked circles in the correct squares. “There,
finished. According to this, Beth ends up on Oriental
Avenue with the knife. No surprise with that, is it? And I’ve
got the revolver.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” We both remembered what
happened the night I ran away. “It looks like I’m on Marvin
Gardens. That’s clever.”
“Why?”
“The man Zachary Saulto works for is Sam Marvin. He’s
the founder of ISI. Didn’t Jack mention his name?”
“Yes, but I didn’t make that connection until you pointed it
out.” We paused, watching the older man pass by with a
handful of mail. He nodded at us and went out the door. I
turned back to the grid.
“You’ve got the candlestick, but Hazel has the poison,
which the third clue says you and Jack both refuse to
touch.”
“Drugs.”
I nodded. “You used to say, ‘Why does she poison
herself with that weed and powder?’”
Her addiction to marijuana and cocaine did more to turn
us kids against drugs than any school program ever could.
“Noah, what about that other clue? ‘Tares of hazel,
weeds that stink …’ Do you think Jack meant her tokes?”
“Probably, though what does any of this have to do with
finding Jack? Look at these jigsaw pieces. All his clues and
we’re still not there.”
The puzzle was nearly together, the edge pieces finished
to form a frame that still had a hole in it. The black-andwhite
photo showed a small, seedy-looking building with
narrow windows and a wooden door. Closer to the top,
where the name of a shop might be, there were four
missing pieces.
“Have you seen this place before?” I asked.
“Maybe. I can’t be sure. There are dozens of rundown
stores like that in the older sections of town. We could drive
around looking for it, I guess. Except I don’t know how long
that would take.”
“Too long, and we don’t have much time left.” I turned
back to the logic problem. “It just feels like we need to
reach the end soon. I know Jack didn’t leave us this logic
problem as a little bio about ourselves. I think he wants us
to find Hazel. Why else did he give us the scytale clue about
her? And since the logic problem puts Hazel at Park Place,
we need to figure out where that is.”
There was a phone book on the next counter over and I
grabbed it, thumbing through until I reached the listing for
businesses starting with the word “Park.” There were
several. Scrolling down I put my finger on Park Place
Assisted Living Facility and looked up. “How old do you
think Hazel is? Wasn’t she already in her mid-fifties when
Jack and I were there? So she’s maybe sixty? This might
be where she is.”
“Sixty only sounds old. It’s not like eighty.”
“But the only other Park Place business listed here is a
mortgage broker.” I scribbled down the addresses for both.
“If she’s not at the assisted living center, then we’ll try the
other.”
Noah shook his head. “I’m not going to look for her.”
Surprised, I stared at him. From his withdrawn
expression it was clear he was serious.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to, that’s all.”
“No, that’s not all! We can’t quit now just because you
don’t want to see Hazel again. You’re the one who said we
have to keep going to get away from Gerard.”
“Yeah, well, right now I’m more than ready to meet up with
him. I’d prefer a straight-on fight to all this running around.”
“But Gerard won’t fight straight. You already know that.” I
gathered up the clues and puzzle pieces, putting them in
the envelope. Then I headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Noah asked.
“Where else? To that Park Place facility since it’s not that
far from here.”
He caught my arm, turning me around. “Why are you
always so stubborn?”
“Why are you afraid to face an old woman who can’t hurt
you anymore?”
“I’m not.”
“Then take me there.”
“No.”
“Fine!” I shoved through the glass door and stomped
outside. The one thing I knew about Noah was that if he
said he wasn’t going to do something, he meant it. There
was no reason to waste time arguing. All the exasperation
I’d known as a kid returned. Fuming, I cursed his stubborn
nature. We were finally getting close, so why did he have to
turn chicken?
I took off walking. Just then there was a painful sting on
my upper arm, distracting me from my furious thoughts. I
slowed and grabbed the sleeve of my black shirt. I jerked it
up and stared at the bite mark on my arm. Small droplets of
blood oozed to the surface. The indents also looked
deeper and more bruised than ever. I ran my fingers across
the wound and winced at the thin layer of blood that tinged
my fingertips. Shouldn’t the teeth marks be healing by now
instead of getting worse? And why was it starting to hurt
again?
Overhead, the gray clouds were thickening. I heard the
distant rumble of thunder, felt the pressure in the sodden
air. A sense of dread washed through me, like when I was
in the elevator of the Peace Tower. It seemed as if all hope
was being sucked away into a black tunnel, threatening to
take me with it. Maybe Noah was right, wanting to end our
search. What good could come from Jack leading us back
to the woman I’d hated so much, second only to Melody?
I yanked my sleeve down and forced myself to start
walking again as the Toyota drove up beside me. Noah
rolled down the window. “Get in the car.”
“No.”
He swore a string of words. I swung around, hands on
hips, and tried to ignore the pain in my arm. I said nothing.
“You are such a royal pain!” he finally ground out.
“And you’re not?”
I could see him trying to control his anger. “All right! I’ll
take you to see Hazel. Just get in the damn car, will you?”
I climbed in and slammed the door as a peal of thunder
rolled across the sky. There was a loud pop and the
windshield started to crack. We both gaped at the line
rapidly working its way from the large chip in the upper
corner. It ran through the glass in a downward slant.
“What the hell?” Noah said.
We watched the crack form its own image of lightning. It
forked and then finally ended. Just then the eerie became
funny and I started to snicker. Noah slowly turned his head
to glare at me and I shrugged. “Don’t look at me! I didn’t
slam the door that hard. Maybe it’s all the low pressure.”
“Right.”
“I hate it when you’re sarcastic.”
He put the car in gear and drove, still studying the crack.
“I guess it was ready to go.”
“Yes, it’s a chipped mess. I just hope your girlfriend who
owns this heap doesn’t get upset.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
By the time we reached the Park Place Assisted Living
Facility, both of us were less irritated. It was the same
unspoken truce we’d often reached as kids after a fight.
The single-story building of white brick had a jutting
overhang and circular driveway. After parking we walked
through the sliding glass doors. I went to the information
desk and asked where we might find Hazel Frey. The grayhaired
man sitting there searched for the name and then
said she was in the Alzheimer’s wing. He gave us
directions down a hallway decorated with nice watercolors.
So Hazel had Alzheimer’s disease. Learning this about
anyone else would have made me feel pity, but it was hard
to wring out even one drop of compassion for someone
who had been so heartless.
We found the room, and the door was open. No one was
inside. “She’s not here,” Noah said.
I stepped in and he followed. The room had cream
wallpaper and a large window looked out on a grassy view.
There was a bed, a comfortable chair, a bureau, and a
television on a stand. A quilt in shades of blue and green
was folded across the foot of the bed, and on the wall were
three small paintings that had once hung in Seale House’s
front room.
“Let’s go,” Noah said.
“Just a minute, okay?” I glanced at a framed corkboard
that had a few papers and a card tacked to it, and then
paid closer attention to the shelves. On one were several
paid closer attention to the shelves. On one were several
trinkets that had sat atop the now-ruined little table I’d seen
in her upstairs bedroom at Seale House. The other shelf
had three framed photographs, which really grabbed my
attention. The first was of Hazel as a young woman, the
resemblance still there though her smile seemed out of
place. Another was of her at about age forty, sitting in a
chair holding a baby. The third was of a small child in
overalls.
“What are you doing in my room?” a raspy voice hissed
from behind us.
We turned. There was a woman in a wheelchair. She still
had the same helmet hairdo, but now it was grayer. Her
face was drawn, her sagging body more pear-shaped than
ever. Yet there was no mistaking those cold eyes as they
narrowed in accusation.
The nurse’s aide who pushed the wheelchair smiled at
us. She had a round, friendly face and a no-nonsense
expression in total contrast to her patient’s. “Look, Hazel,
you have visitors.” Her voice was cheerful as she nodded
and asked, “How are you doing, Noah?”
Tearing my gaze from Hazel’s grouchy expression I
turned to him, surprised. Did this woman know him?
Hazel shook her head in protest. “Get out of my room!”
“Now you stop that,” the aide warned in a firm voice.
“This is your son.”
Twenty-Five
Noah’s Story
It was the third weekend in October. The sky was bright
blue and cloudless, and the wind carried with it the cool
kiss of autumn. It stirred the leaves that littered the
forested ground, rustling them as if they were brittle paper.
I edged forward, making sure my footsteps couldn’t be
heard as I breathed in the smell. The dusty aroma of
dying leaves was a favorite scent of mine, next to rain and
movie popcorn. I scanned the dark tree trunks, looking for
Noah and Jack.
On this post-chore Saturday, the three of us were
playing a wicked game of hide-and-seek in the trees
behind the Seale House property. I was “it” and made sure
to check overhead limbs and behind fungus-covered
stumps. Peering through the trees, I knew the flash of dark
blue just beyond was Noah’s jacket. I moved fast, skirted a
rotten tree trunk, and crouched down behind a log. He was
making his way straight to me; I stayed low and waited.
Setting the trap, I snickered at the idea of his surprised
face when I popped up and grabbed him.
My thoughts were suddenly distracted by the uncanny
realization that someone was moving in close behind me.
I started to turn around when a stringlike object flashed
past my eyes and traveled downward. A wire tightened
around my throat with surprising speed and a startled
squawk escaped me. I grabbed at it, too late to get my
fingers between the wire and my skin. It grew tighter. My
arms flailed in desperation as it cut off my air. I tried to
slug the person behind me but couldn’t reach him. The
pounding of blood in my head filled my ears. I thrust my
feet beneath me and pushed with all my strength. It lifted
my attacker off the ground, the pain excruciating as the
wire cut into my skin. Still, he didn’t let go and dizzying
blackness engulfed me.
Unable to hold his weight, I sank to my knees. My head
buzzed and blood thundered in my ears. I was slipping
into unconsciousness when the boy behind me yelped in
pain and the wire went slack. Air made it into my windpipe,
but not soon enough to keep me from passing out.
In the odd place reached by fainting, I had a brief but
very real dream of a black silk cape slowly fluttering down
on me like a giant leaf. Awareness returned and I opened
my eyes. As Jack leaned over me, talking, my ears still
buzzed so that I couldn’t understand him. It was like he
spoke a foreign language. Above me the stark tree limbs
were backed by blue sky, and a single leaf fluttered on a
branch. I expected it to break free and drift down,
changing into a black cape.
“Noah!” Jack cried, his voice nearer to a sob than I’d
ever heard it. “Leave him and get over here!”
Soon Noah was leaning over me too, talking in his
beautiful low voice even if the words seemed mostly
garbled. I gazed up at the two boys I loved more than
anyone and then started to cry. After I lay there for several
minutes, my mind was finally able to understand what they
were saying and my strength returned. They helped me sit
up. As the dizziness passed, I looked around and saw my
attacker. Corner Boy’s face was a mess; his nose dripped
blood. He staggered to his feet and glared at me with
hatred. Noah leaped up, slugging him so hard that he
buckled.
“Don’t,” I said in a raspy voice. “You already broke his
nose.”
Noah came back over. “Not us. You did that.”
I started to shake my head then stopped as it pounded
even worse. “He was behind me and I couldn’t reach him.”
“We saw him and started running. I thought we wouldn’t
get to you in time. Then his nose started bleeding and he
let go.”
“Maybe you head-butted him and didn’t know it,” Jack
added. Clearly shaken, he held up a homemade garrote
fashioned from a thin wire and two sticks. “He tried to kill
you, Jocey.”
I gazed at Corner Boy’s limp form and his shirt streaked
with blood.
“Can you stand?” Noah asked me.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Somehow we three made it back to Seale House with
Corner Boy in tow. Hazel was slicing beets in the kitchen
when we came in and Noah explained what happened.
Then he picked up the phone and handed it to her. “Call
his social worker and get him out of here.”
I was surprised by his bold demand and the fact that
Hazel didn’t get mad at him. She did, however, shake her
head. “He has to stay.” Hazel turned and coldly studied
Conner. “Get down in the cellar. You’re staying there for
the rest of the weekend. And no food, either.”
He gave her a slow, crazy smile. “Goody. I like it down
there.”
We knew he was lying because of the way his eyes
flitted back and forth like a frantic bug scurrying between
two dark corners. But he went downstairs and slammed
the door behind him. She locked it and turned the light out
just as Noah faced off with her.
“It’s not enough, Hazel!” His voice was firm, his eyes
serious. “Conner is dangerous. He’s not like the other kids
who are so scared they’ll do anything to stay out of the
cellar. No punishment will ever be strong enough to make
him mind. Especially if that’s the only punishment he gets
for trying to kill Jocey.”
Hazel barely glanced at me. “She can take care of
herself.”
A note of desperation crept into his voice. “For once,
can’t you do what’s right?”
She folded her arms across her flabby stomach.
“Young man, don’t you dare talk to me like that! You don’t
have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed for you.”
Hazel turned and stomped upstairs to her private room.
We watched her go, and Noah stared after her with icy
We watched her go, and Noah stared after her with icy
resentment. Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re
wasting your breath.”
“I keep waiting for her to change and start caring about
us more than she cares about getting high.”
I said, “She never will.” I had held on to the same sort of
hope for Melody until the incident with Erv forced us to run
away.
I made it through the glass doors of the care center and
outside, where I sucked in great gulps of air. Running
across the lawn, I found my way to a bench beneath a tree
and sank down. What I’d just learned clicked into place
more neatly than any puzzle piece Jack had left so far. For
the first time I finally understood so much about the young
vampire boy who had intrigued and bewildered me.
Everything he had done at Seale House now made sense.
I looked up. Noah was walking across the lawn.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
He sat down on the bench in a way that said he felt
defeated. “Most of the time she doesn’t remember who I
am. I just didn’t count on that nurse saying something.”
“That’s not what I mean. All the hours we spent together
as kids and you never said a word!”
“Why would I tell you Hazel was my mother, when you
both hated her? I wasn’t stupid.”
“Jack and I always just assumed you came to Seale
House like the rest of us, but you didn’t! Those photographs
of the little boy and the baby she was holding—were those
you?”
“Yes.”
I searched his face to find a resemblance to the pictures
I’d seen. It was slight. “A couple of nights ago, why did you
lie when I asked how you ended up at Seale House?”
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees,
interweaving his fingers. “I didn’t lie. I told you my mother
was a drug addict who got pregnant from her dealer and
never really wanted me.”
“But she’s so old.”
“Yeah, so? She was in her forties when it happened, and
too stoned to do anything about it until it was too late. I don’t
know why I wasn’t born damaged or brain-dead.”
“How’d she get Seale House?”
“She grew up there. Her mother died when she was little
and her father raised her. He was mean. She may have
seemed strong-willed, but she was always weak and
scared … trapped, I guess. She took care of the nasty old
guy for years until he died. Using drugs was how she dealt
with him.”
“So? Who didn’t have a hard life? At least she had a
home. Besides, when I was telling you about Melody’s past,
you said you didn’t have any sympathy for people who
blame their rotten behavior on a bad childhood.”
He sat up and looked at me with those fathomless brown
eyes. “I’m not making excuses for her, Jocelyn. I’m just
explaining.”
“How did she end up taking in foster kids?”
“I was about seven. Her inheritance money had gone up
in smoke, literally. All she had left was the house. It was
such a big place that someone suggested she use it for
foster care.”
“That was a happy day.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“All this time I thought you were being a hero. Standing
up to her for us and acting so brave. But you were really just
her errand boy.”
He looked away. “That’s not fair, Jocelyn. I was a kid
trying to get by, like the rest of you.”
I recalled that first night when Noah had come down into
the cellar to tell Jack and me where the blankets and
flashlight were. Jack and I believed he was just another
foster kid who’d learned how to survive in the system. We
didn’t realize how much more there was to his story.
“I guess you’re right. It must’ve been hard doing that
constant balancing act of keeping everyone in line. You
took care of her and ran the house too.”
“The worst part was seeing how all of you hated her. I
was afraid you’d hate me too, if you found out. When I was
little, Hazel and I learned the hard way what it was like. The
little, Hazel and I learned the hard way what it was like. The
first foster kids beat me up to get back at her. So after we
got a new batch of kids, she decided to make it look like I
was just another boy in the house. I didn’t have my own
room, and I called her Hazel the way everyone else did. No
one knew I was her son since we didn’t look alike. And
she’d given me her mother’s maiden name, Collier, as a
middle name. That’s when I became Noah Collier.”
“How did that make you feel, having Hazel deny you were
her kid?”
“It was a survival tactic, that’s all.”
“Come on, Noah. I was raised by a mother who didn’t
want to be bothered, either. Remember?”
He took a while to answer. “I sometimes wondered how
it’d be if she just let me be her son. I hoped maybe then she
might start to care about me, the way real moms do. But
even after all the foster kids went away, she stayed the
same.”
His unhappy expression reminded me of the times in my
own life when I’d secretly hoped Melody would someday
love me the way she loved Jack. Those kinds of desperate
dreams were always the wish of unwanted kids.
“What happened to Hazel that she ended up like this?”
“A bad stroke a couple of years ago. Then the
Alzheimer’s, and she really started going downhill. All her
past drug use didn’t help, either.”
“She’s the reason you didn’t move out of Watertown,” I
said with sudden understanding. “How can you be loyal to
her when she was such a terrible mother?”
“Guess I’m just a sucker that way. After all, I’m still
hanging out with you in spite of what you did.”
He stood, looking down at me with an expression I
couldn’t decipher. “So are we done talking about all this
crap? We need to figure out why Jack had us come here.”
It started to sprinkle, sweetening the smell of the humid
air. The last thing I wanted to do was see Hazel again. Why
had I been so determined to find her in the first place?
There were too many unresolved feelings churning inside
me, but I also knew that until I found Jack, most of them
needed to be shelved. When I did finally see my brother,
he’d have some hard questions to answer about bringing
us here.
“Okay,” I said at last, standing.
We walked back to the building, and I steeled myself to
face the old woman again.
Twenty-Six
Cipher
Hazel had moved from the wheelchair to an overstuffed
chair in front of the television, where she hunched forward
with her fingers clutching the remote control. The sound on
the TV was low. Her eyes were riveted as she shot through
the channels, a blur of soap operas, game shows, and
infomercials.
Noah pulled up the other chair and reached for the
remote, which she snatched away. “Hazel,” he said in a
gentle voice, “how about turning that off so we can talk?”
She shook her head, jiggling that cap of stone-gray hair,
eyes still glued to the passing channels. Despite her age
and mental deterioration, I still had the strongest urge to
smack her. Instead, I said, “Can’t you for once in your life try
to be nice to Noah?”
Her eyes flicked to me. “You’re that bad girl! You locked
the door, didn’t you?”
I refused to back down, instead staring at her with cold
dislike.
“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Noah said.
He indicated with a glance that I should start searching
the room. I moved out of Hazel’s line of sight, and her eyes
slid back to the TV screen. Noah tried again. “Hazel, do you
remember my friend Jack?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did Jack come visit you?”
“Jack in the Box value meal,” Hazel said, stopping on an
ad for fast food.
“Remember how Jack was really smart? He always got
good grades in school and helped me shovel the sidewalk.
We made those chocolate chip cookies you liked.”
No answer.
While Noah patiently tried to prod her memory, I looked
around the room. I started with the small corkboard, which
had a few papers and a card tacked on it. None of these
had a few papers and a card tacked on it. None of these
were clues, and the birthday card was from her insurance
agent. Hazel wasn’t exactly one of those nice old ladies
who got any sort of attention from people other than the
paid care center workers.
I again glanced at the photos and took in the details of
Noah as an infant and toddler. It touched me with a strange
melancholy. I felt irritated with Jack, since I would have
been happy to live my entire life without knowing the truth
about Hazel and Noah.
After scanning the knickknacks on the shelves and
dresser, I quietly opened one of the drawers. Searching
through Hazel’s personal items was unpleasant, but since
Noah was making no headway with his questions, I kept
going. There was nothing much in the first two drawers.
Opening the third, I looked under several pairs of old-lady
slacks. In the very back of the drawer I found a narrow black
leather box. I opened the lid. Inside, embedded in a foam
liner, was a polished steel knife with some red paper
wrapped around the handle.
“Thief!” Hazel shouted in such a familiar way that I
jumped. Turning, I saw her staring at me with angry eyes.
“Get out of there!”
“Calm down, Hazel,” Noah said. “I’ll take care of it.”
She threw the remote at me. I ducked as it whizzed past
and smacked into the wall. It clattered to the floor and the
back came off, batteries scattering.
Noah grabbed her wrist and shut off the noisy TV. “That’s
not nice! If you can’t be nice, then I’m going to tell the
nurses you can’t have your medication tonight.”
Hazel sank back, sullen. “But she’s digging in my drawer
and she’s going to take my pants.”
“No, she’s too tall to wear your pants.” He looked at me
as I closed the leather case and hid it behind my back. “Are
you going to wear her pants?” I shook my head and he
turned back to Hazel. “There, you see? She’s leaving your
pants right where they were.”
Hazel’s face all but folded in with a teary expression.
“Now my TV is broken.”
Noah went and gathered up the remote and its batteries,
putting everything back together. “There,” he said, handing
putting everything back together. “There,” he said, handing
it to her. She turned on the television, starting to channel
surf even before the picture came on.
He glanced at me and I nodded, slipping around the side
of the bed and heading to the door. Noah started to follow
when Hazel’s hand shot out. Her fingers grabbed his wrist
and they looked at each other. “I did it all for you, Noah. I did
everything for you.” Her voice wasn’t feeble or whiny
anymore, and her gaze was clear as she stared up at him.
“I know,” he said in a quiet voice.
A few seconds later she returned her attention to the TV
and began clicking the remote so fast that the images and
sound became a garbled blur. We left her room.
Outside, the pavement was soaked from a brief rain
burst, though the sun was now peeking out. I felt unsettled,
not only because of what I’d learned about Hazel and Noah,
but also because of seeing her as such a helpless person.
During my time at Seale House she’d been an enemy I’d
come to hate, and the passing years had only increased my
loathing for her. Now that Hazel was such a pitiful wreck,
some of the energy went out of my resentment. I wasn’t sure
how I felt about that. In a way it was deflating, like in the final
Star Wars trilogy scene when Darth Vader’s mask was
removed and he was just this old guy who didn’t look even
a little dangerous.
Once inside the car, I opened the narrow case. I took out
the knife and unwound three strips of red paper from
around the handle.
“Hazel’s never owned anything like that,” Noah said.
“Jack must’ve put it there.”
“I agree. Besides, it has these clues, so we know it’s
from him. Which means he was in Hazel’s room not that
long ago.”
“Either she was asleep or she doesn’t remember seeing
him.”
“Or she didn’t want to tell us. Look at these strips of
paper.”
Noah and I studied them. The first was covered with
printed letters, the second with a series of Roman
numerals. The third was blank.
“That one looks like simple substitution cipher,” he said.
I examined the groupings of letters. “You’re right. There
are a lot of Gs, which are probably either the letter T or E.
I’m guessing the double Zs are replacing an S or L.”
I grabbed a pencil, recopying the letters onto my
notepad. Then I started substituting letters to solve the
code.
EXTROL KXH XOOHZOL FTZZ ZOKH GI
HOKGU
GNCLG ZOKLG GNCLG BILG ICN KXYNA
MOGU
Taking the blank strip of red paper from me, Noah turned
it to the light. “This has some sort of imprint on it that I can’t
quite read, though I’m sure you’ll sort it out.” He tossed it
back to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything. These clues are just a bunch of kid’s stuff.
And why did he bother coming to Hazel’s room to hide that
knife?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll tell us when we find him.”
“Did you ever stop to think that Jack might be doing all
this because he’s had some sort of mental breakdown?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Listen to reason, will you? Nothing he’s doing seems
normal … at least not to me.”
“You’re upset that he led us to Hazel and I learned the
truth.”
“No,” he said in an annoyed drawl. “Because right now I
don’t really care what you think.”
We were interrupted by his cell phone. He looked at it
and then answered. “Hi, Don, what’s up?”
After a few seconds talking to his detective friend, he
scowled. “Oh, that. Yes, I know. I was going to take care of
it …” Noah’s glower deepened. “But do I have to right
now?”
I could hear the indistinct buzz of the detective’s voice
cutting him off. Noah said, “Yes, sir. Okay, I’ll head there in
a minute.”
Ending the call, he bit back a swear word.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sometimes Don can be such a pain! I have to go to the
courthouse.”
“Why?”
“He ran my name through the system and found out I have
an unpaid speeding ticket. It’s kind of overdue.”
“How much overdue?”
“A lot. He says because of the investigation into what
happened at my place, I need to get it cleared up right
now.”
He started the engine. As we drove, my thoughts
returned to our conversation on the bench. “Noah, I’m sorry
for what I said back there about you being Hazel’s errand
boy. Fact is, you probably had the hardest time of us all.”
He only gave a curt nod, but it was enough to make me
feel relieved I’d set things right. I picked up the knife and
turned it over. Examining every centimeter, I found nothing
but a high-quality blade with the brand name Cold Steel
etched into the handle. Putting it back in the case, I picked
up the clue with Roman numerals on it and counted how
many English numbers they represented.
XX-XV-XVI-XIX-V-VIII-XXXIX-
XI-XVIII-I-XIII-XXIV
Soon we reached the Jefferson County Courthouse,
parked, and got out. We entered the main lobby, and Noah
found the appropriate line. I went down a hallway in search
of a drinking fountain. On my way back I was surprised to
see Zachary Saulto, the guy from ISI who had talked to us at
the library. He had the same confident strut as last time.
Smiling at me, his Silly Putty face looked even creepier in
the fluorescent light. “How are you, Jaclyn?”
“Jocelyn, you mean. What are you doing here?”
“My boss, Sam Marvin, asked me to check in with you.
We heard about the fire. Are you okay?”
“Look, you can talk to Noah if you want. But I don’t have
anything to say.” I headed to the lobby and he started
walking beside me.
“Hey, we’re just trying to look out for Jack’s sister. We
owe him that. We’re concerned and want to make sure
you’re all right.”
“I got that part already. Anything else?”
He smiled again, pretending to be friendly—but he was
also blocking my path. “We think it’s important to give you a
heads-up about one of our past employees. His name is
Paul Gerard.” Saulto studied my expression, which I tried to
keep neutral.
“What about him?”
“Seems he and Jack had a run-in a couple of days
before the car crash.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a long story.” He moved a step closer and leaned in,
as if what he was about to say was confidential. “Basically,
Paul Gerard took something that belonged to our company.
Jack went to get it back for us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Your brother was very loyal to ISI.”
“What was it he went after?”
“I can’t discuss that. We have a security policy.” He
returned to his former stance. “We wouldn’t have let Jack
go meet with Gerard if we thought there might be a
problem.”
“Was there a problem?”
Saulto shrugged.
I really disliked the way he was dangling bits of halfinformation
in front of me. “So did Jack get what you sent
him for?”
“We’re not sure. Because of the car crash, there was no
way to find out.”
I didn’t say anything and he added, “Gerard is an
interesting guy. He used to be one of our best security
specialists. Then he started stealing from us and went to
work for himself.”
“If he stole from you, then why didn’t ISI involve the police
instead of my brother? Wait, let me guess. You didn’t want
to go public with the fact that you couldn’t protect your own
assets.”
Saulto ignored my sarcasm. “Sometimes it just happens
that we hire a bad apple, regardless of all the background
security we run. Gerard hasn’t tried to contact you, has he?”
I shook my head.
“Just so you know, the guy has always been a sucker for
tall, pretty blondes. But then so have I.”
“You’re not going to start flirting with me, are you?”
“I’m past starting,” he grinned, and I wondered if that
phony smile hurt his cheeks. “Tell me something, what do
you see in a computer geek like Noah?”
I studied Saulto’s shaved pink head. “His hair. I’m totally
into guys with hair.”
The smile disappeared and I moved around him. Under
my breath I added, “And brains.”
He hurried to keep pace with me as I entered the main
lobby. Noah was just leaving the traffic ticket counter,
stuffing a receipt in his wallet. He looked up and his
expression darkened. “What are you doing here?” he said
to Saulto.
“Sorry to hear about your place. Do you know how the fire
started?”
“I don’t like being followed by you, Zach. In fact, I just don’t
like you. So stay out of my way.”
They glared at each other until Saulto shrugged and
turned back to me. He held out a business card. “Again, if
you need anything, just call.”
I didn’t take it. “There is something I want.”
“What’s that?”
“The truth. If you guys are so concerned about me, then
be honest. Tell me what it was Gerard stole and my brother
tried to get back.”
“I’m really sorry, I can’t.”
I looked at Noah. “Let’s go.”
We turned away and I felt Saulto’s eyes on us as we left
the courthouse.
Twenty-Seven
Jason December
During the next few minutes, Noah kept an eye on the
rearview mirror while he drove. I told him everything Saulto
said, and wondered aloud what Paul Gerard had stolen
from ISI and how my brother had managed to get it back.
Noah and I agreed on one thing: Jack had most definitely
gotten it, which was the reason he’d faked his death. It was
also the reason Gerard attacked me and later set fire to
Noah’s house.
The more we talked, the more sober Noah’s face grew,
and I knew what he must be thinking. Saulto’s story
explained a lot, it just didn’t explain enough. We both felt
frustrated at getting closer but still being in the dark.
Remembering the livid sound of Paul Gerard’s voice and
how he’d choked me, I experienced a new wave of fear. He
must be certain that Jack had passed on the stolen item to
me, and the fact that we didn’t have it made our situation
really risky. If he cornered us, there was nothing for Noah or
me to bargain with. Zachary Saulto was being a stubborn
jerk by not telling us what Gerard had stolen. Noah and I
would have to finish this crazy scavenger hunt soon to figure
out what was going on.
Noticing I was unconsciously chewing on a fingernail, I
dropped my hand to my lap. Worrying was getting me
nowhere, so I told myself not to think about Gerard. Finally I
tossed Noah a mischievous grin.
“Isn’t Saulto the biggest sack of Erv you’ve ever met?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, he really is.”
“I hate it when big-headed guys like that come on to me.”
“You mean he was hitting on you?”
I secretly enjoyed his jealous glare. It was great to be
more to Noah than just his best friend’s sister. “Don’t worry.
I made it clear he’s not my type.”
We left the downtown area and I turned back to the clues.
On one of the strips I converted the Roman numerals to
regular numbers.
20 15 16 19 5 8 20 19 11 18 1 13 24
Noah glanced over at what I was doing. “Since none of
them are higher than twenty-six, they must represent
letters.”
I nodded in agreement. Scribbling an alphabet list, I
assigned a number to each letter. I started with 1 for A
through 26 for Z:
T O P S E H T S K R A M X
“I must’ve done something wrong.”
When we stopped at a light, Noah looked at the letters.
“Maybe they’re an anagram. Try switching them around.”
“Hang on. I see what it is.”
The light turned green and we started moving again. I
reversed the letters and wrote out the words. “Okay, got it.”
I showed the clue to Noah.
X MARKS THE SPOT
“You’re joking.”
I stared at the words, equally unsure.
“I know. It doesn’t make sense. Jack’s favorite phrase
from the third Indiana Jones movie was: ‘X never, ever
marks the spot.’ He wrote that more than once in his Jason
December notes. Why would he contradict himself with this
clue?”
I remembered the many times we’d watched those “Indy”
movies. Hazel didn’t allow cable or any rentals, but she did
own about twenty DVDs that we viewed repeatedly,
including the old Star Wars trilogy.
Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. The joke of the movie was
that X really did mark the spot, remember?”
After thinking about this for a few more seconds, I
decided to move on. Focusing on the other message that
we’d decided was a substitution cipher, I started swapping
out the letters in the puzzle. This one was harder and I kept
scratching out wrong letter choices until it was finally
decrypted. I stared down at two sentences, thinking this
new clue was about as bad as being told to find Hazel.
K n i v e s a n d n e e d l e s
w i l l l e a d t o d e a t h.
T r u s t l e a s t t r u s t
m o s t o u r A n g r y B e t h.
I read it to Noah. “What do you think that means: ‘trust
least, trust most’?”
“No clue.”
“Very funny,” I said, and he smiled. “Do you know where
Beth ended up?”
“No, but it’s not surprising the puzzle is about her. He left
us a knife, didn’t he? And she’s in the logic problem, too.
We should’ve known it would involve Beth. What about that
last clue?”
I picked up the blank strip of paper, tilting it to catch the
light, though I couldn’t quite make out the impressions. With
my pencil I rubbed the tip back and forth across my scrap
paper until there was a dark spot, then ran my finger over
the graphite. Just the way I’d done all those years ago on
my thirteenth birthday, I smeared it across the indented
paper until I could read a reverse template of the writing.
J u s t w h a t h a s J a s o n
D e c e m b e r d o n e?
C a n y o u f i n d h i s o b i t
i n t h e E v e n i n g S u n?
I read this aloud to Noah and tried to squelch my concern
about what it might mean. “Do you know what the ‘Evening
Sun’ is?”
“Probably a newspaper, because ‘obit’ means obituary.
But I’ve never heard of it. Anyway, this is the clue we need
to follow. The one about Beth doesn’t tell us where to find
her. And the other one could mean anything.”
“We should check the Internet.”
He drove onto a side road and pulled over. Reaching into
the backseat he grabbed his laptop, handed it to me, and
turned it on. Then he pulled back onto the road as the
laptop scanned for wireless service.
“I’ll head over by a couple of the larger hotels and see if
we can pick up their wireless signal. They don’t usually
require a password.”
About ten minutes later we made the connection and
Noah drove into the parking lot of a motel. He turned off the
engine and we got on the Internet. “Start with New York
newspapers,” he suggested.
After some searching we found The Evening Sun, which
was in Norwich. I said, “There wouldn’t be an obituary about
Jack in that newspaper. Norwich is down toward the bottom
of the state. The car accident happened on his way back
home from Albany, after a work assignment.”
“Let’s check it out anyway. Go into their archive section
and search by date.”
I did, and typed in March sixteenth, the date of Jack’s car
crash. We scanned the front page. Scrolling down, I paused
at an article: “Elderly Couple in Fatal Crash.” We stared at
the picture of a totaled car being towed from a river.
Scanning the names and circumstances, none of it was
familiar to me—except that their car had gone off into the
river the way my brother’s had.
“This doesn’t really have anything to do with Jack.”
I was ready to click on the next page but Noah stopped
me. “Yes it does. You know the report about his accident
that ISI e-mailed to me? That’s the picture they sent of his
totaled car.”
Twenty-Eight
The Request
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I spent a lot of time studying that photo.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing, that’s not Jack’s car. He
drives a Civic like me. Only his is a newer model and it’s
blue.”
“Did you see any photos from his accident?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t face them. No one in the
family wanted to.”
I didn’t add that the thought of reviewing the details of my
brother’s death made me afraid I’d go off the edge. “This is
a picture of a car crash from the same day he was
supposed to have died, and I feel sure it’s tied to ISI.”
“Either Jack wanted them to believe he was gone, or
they’re the ones faking his death.”
A small gasp of fear escaped me. “What if they have him
somewhere? What if they’re hurting him?”
“I don’t think so, because he left all these clues for us. He
couldn’t do that if he was locked up somewhere. But one
thing we do know: something happened on March
sixteenth. And it put him in such serious danger that either
he or ISI faked his death.”
I exited the Internet, turned off the laptop, and put it in the
back. I slumped in the seat as Noah started the engine. He
said, “Until we figure out the clues, we need to stop
guessing.”
“I can’t help it. And I can’t stop worrying.”
“Worry isn’t productive.”
In the past he used to say the same thing to me, though it
never seemed helpful. I sighed. “Okay then, what should we
do now?”
“That’s a hard one. Jack gave us three clues with the
knife, but none of them has enough information. The
newspaper told us something important, but what do we do
with it? As for the other two, we don’t know where the X is
that marks the spot, and we don’t know where Beth is,
either.”
“Beth! Why her? Even though she and I were roommates,
it wasn’t like we were friends. No one could be friends with
her. She was too messed up.”
We drove through the outskirts of town, both of us
somber, neither wanting to share our thoughts. Several
miles later, we ended up on a road lined on either side with
birch trees, silver maples, and willows. Cattails grew in
marshy spots and wild primrose edged the road, while
orange daylilies were just starting to bloom. At any other
time I would have enjoyed how pretty it was. Not now.
Eventually we passed through the tiny town of Alexandria
Bay and headed toward the St. Lawrence River. Noah
stopped the car at a grassy park and we got out. In the
distance there was a vendor selling food items from a cart
near the bike path. Its yellow-and-purple-striped awning
flapped in the breeze.
“Hungry, Jocey? Let’s get something.”
We bought drinks and bacon burgers from a woman in a
checkered vest. Heading down to the river, we found a
picnic bench beneath a maple. We sat on top of the table
like we’d done when we were kids, our feet on the bench. In
the summer the gray-green river would be filled with boats,
but under today’s cloudy sky there were just a couple of
sailboats.
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget about
my past,” Noah said as I bit into my hamburger. “But for the
last couple of days, it’s been like trying to avoid a bunch of
falling meteors.”
I nodded, sensing that he wasn’t just making small talk.
“It’s like Jack is forcing us to remember.”
“Yeah.”
We ate in silence for a while until I finally said, “I think you
want to ask me something. I just can’t figure out what.”
Noah smiled and I caught a brief glimpse of the boy who
had meant so much to me. “I guess it’s like having a sliver
come to the surface. Until you get it out, you know it’s going
to keep making you nuts.” His gaze drifted away to a
distant marina, where masts swayed gently along the pier.
“I want to know how it happened, when you did what you
did. Before you ran away.”
I stiffened, staring down at my now-tasteless hamburger
but not answering. He looked at me. “I think you owe me
that.”
“But you already know what happened.”
“No, I don’t. Jack and I were gone running errands,
remember? Hazel sent us to the post office. Then we
picked up those things that got left off her grocery order.”
“Maybe if you’d been there it wouldn’t have turned out the
way it did.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Noah said nothing and I waited,
silently hoping he’d withdraw his request.
I ran across the snowy ground, my feet tingling between
numbness and pain. The flakes had quit falling and the
night sky was clear, cutting the world in half: glittering white
on the ground, star-strewn black overhead. The frozen air
burned my nose and throat, pluming ahead of me as I
exhaled. Tears became icicles on my cheeks. Despite
the bitter sting of freezing weather, it was the pain
throbbing inside me that hurt the worst. I kept replaying
the look of betrayal in Noah’s teary eyes as he slowly
raised his head from his arms and stared at me with
hatred. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”
I finally opened my eyes. “What’s the point? It’s just going to
make you hate me all over again.”
Noah crumpled up the wrapper from his hamburger. Then
he reached out, taking my hand. He held it in his, studying
my chewed-up nails. He slid his fingers between mine. “I
could never hate you.”
“Back then, you said you’d kill me if you ever saw me
again. I thought about that when you were choking me.”
“Jocey, I was just a really scared kid. But from this end of
the telescope it’s okay. I survived, and so did you.”
“Conner didn’t,” I whispered.
Twenty-Nine
Confession
I was washing dishes and singing along with the Beatles,
holding all the wavering notes of “Ticket to Ride.” We were
only allowed to listen to Watertown’s oldie station, and to
make sure of this, Hazel had used Superglue on the dial.
“Your singing is so bad,” Beth said, though her tone was
mild. Her long, wavy red hair was pulled back with an
elastic band, and her eyebrows were so pale you could
hardly see them.
I grinned. “Aw, come on! You know I’m gonna make it
big someday as a rock star. Especially with this body.”
She just shook her head and I continued to sing.
Her criticism didn’t bother me, since I’d always known
my singing voice was more flat than not, and I took her
comment as a positive sign because she’d actually
spoken. I’d known Beth for a year now. We shared a
bedroom, and I had carried on so many one-sided
conversations with her I had lost count. Recently, though,
she’d started saying a few things to me, and she didn’t
seem so angry.
Outside the house the backyard snow was already a
foot deep in the bitter-cold world that was Watertown
during winter. Just beyond the kitchen window new flakes
were falling, whirling mist fairies that both enchanted and
dismayed. It was hard for me to believe there was already
so much snow on the ground when it wasn’t even
December yet. And despite the roaring furnace that was in
the cellar, the house always felt cold, especially on the
second floor. I already had a wistful longing for the days of
summer and early fall when we were free from the
confines of Seale House.
I took the plate Beth handed me and dried it. I wished I’d
been able to go with Jack and Noah on their errands.
More and more, I wondered how much longer life in this
house could go on without something bad happening.
Only this morning Georgie had tried to set the curtains on
fire again, and I’d watched them self-extinguish before
chewing him out. Two nights ago I woke up from another
dream, finding myself standing by the bedroom wall. It
undulated and pulsed beneath my palms like a living
organism. I had a fearful vision of it seeping out toward
me, engulfing me like the alien blob in the movie. Oddly
enough, all this upsetting stuff seemed to run parallel with
Hazel’s growing agitation and Corner Boy’s increasingly
warped behavior.
Since Conner had announced to everyone that he liked
it down in the cellar, the lie became his twisted truth. Soon
he was spending every free minute down there. If Hazel
tried to make him come up, he’d purposely break
something or hit one of the little kids to get sent back
down. At night he would sneak away, creeping down the
stairs to the strange nest he’d made for himself from rags
and old blankets. Sometimes Hazel would forget he was
there and he’d miss the bus. We didn’t bother to point this
out since he was such a problem at school. It was a relief
for us to have a break from him too, but coming home was
another challenge. All of us were careful about what we
said and did, determined not to do anything that might
upset him or get us sent into his lair.
Noah had several talks with Hazel about Conner.
Nothing changed. Once she had been such a stickler
about enforcing Seale House’s rules, but now she
seemed to have lost her determination. We wondered if it
was because of her drug use. Either the marijuana and
occasional snorts of cocaine weren’t giving her the escape
she craved or there was a problem with her supplier. We
didn’t know, and it wasn’t a topic we could bring up without
getting in serious trouble. But she didn’t seem to care as
much about what we did unless it crossed her directly, and
then she’d fly off the handle.
And she refused to deal with Conner. So far as she was
concerned, if he wanted to live in the cellar that was fine.
The radio moved on from the Beatles song to a Beach
Boys surfing number that seemed out of place in
November. I paused to look out the window. Twilight had
become a soft shade of violet and flakes began to
decorate the black trees with lace. Beth had finished
washing the knives and I was drying them. I wiped off the
butcher knife and put it back in the block, then reached for
the long carving blade when I heard a frightened cry. It
was Dixon, rounding the corner and running to me. He
wore blue-and-yellow pajamas, and his thin socks slipped
on the floor. I put the knife on the table and looked at his
frightened face.
“What is it, buddy?”
He grabbed my waist and clung to me in a desperate
grip as Hazel stormed into the room. She took hold of his
thin little arm. “Don’t you dare run away from me, you brat!”
Dixon struggled to keep his hold on me, but when she
jerked his arm he let go and cried out in pain. “How many
times have I told you kids not to run in the house? Now
you’ve broken that lamp, and I’ve had it!”
She dragged him to the cellar door. He started to sob, a
wet stain darkening his crotch. It made Hazel even more
furious. I dropped the dish towel and lunged for him,
grabbing his other arm. “Hazel—no, please! He can’t go
down there!”
A cloud of rage turned her ugly face red. “How dare
you!”
I’d never seen her so out of control, and I desperately
wished Noah and Jack would get home. Her voice turned
threatening as she commanded, “Let … go … of … him!”
Dixon was hysterical now, both from fear and from the
pain of being in a human tug-of-war. I shook my head.
“Conner is down there. Make him come up before you
send Dixon down.”
“Maybe,” she said, “Dixon will learn to mind and not pee
his pants. And maybe you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut
when you go down there with him.”
Using her free hand to open the cellar door, she
dragged Dixon toward the gaping darkness. She and I
were about the same height, and were equally matched in
our battle over Dixon, but I was afraid we might pull his
arms out of their sockets, so I let go. I heard Corner Boy
scurrying up the stairs, his muffled snicker crazed and
coldblooded as he waited just out of sight. Dixon
squealed like a terrified animal knowing he was going to
be eaten alive, and his arms flailed as he tried to escape.
I looked at Hazel’s unfeeling eyes. She was as inhuman
as a snake. A calm understanding came over me. I
absolutely could not let her do this. Lunging forward, I
slugged her in the stomach. Hard.
A little woof of air escaped Hazel as she doubled over.
Dixon leaped away and I rammed her, shoving her back
into the cellar, where she hit the steps with a thump and
tumbled backward. She had just managed to find her
voice and began screeching when I slammed the door
closed. I locked it with shaking hands. Dixon clung to me,
sobbing. Beth scowled and strode forward.
“You can’t do that!”
I snatched the carving knife from the table and pointed
it at her. Unable to find my voice, I gave it a little shake.
Knives were the one language Beth understood. Her
usually intimidating anger now seemed pale next to my
own livid feelings. She didn’t come any closer but she did
say, “You’re going to get in big trouble!”
Hazel must have gotten her feet under her, because
she started pounding on the door and screaming at me to
unlock it.
“Let her out,” Beth ordered, frantic.
I shook my head as other children came to see what
was happening. They looked at me with wide eyes, and
then at the door shuddering beneath Hazel’s hammering
fists. “Dixon,” I finally managed, putting my hand on his
curly head. “Go get me the phone.”
His sobs ebbed as he scurried over to the counter and
brought back the handset. Punching in 911, I waited until
the operator answered. Then I told her there was an
emergency and gave our address. Disconnecting, I
glanced around the room. The children were still staring at
the cellar door as if it were more fascinating than a movie,
while Beth furiously shook her head and Georgie stuck his
thumb in his mouth. I tossed the phone on the table but
kept the knife in my hand as I turned to face the door.
Hazel was still shouting and banging on it, this time with
such force that it seemed she might actually break it
down. If she did, then I knew I’d definitely need the knife.
Dixon came and stood beside me, staring at the closed
door as if it were some cursed portal that might at any
moment swing wide and swallow us all. Beth said in a
frightened, half-pleading voice, “She’ll kill you if you don’t
let her out. Open the door!”
“Not until the police get here.”
Suddenly we heard a startled squawk as Hazel’s voice
was cut off. I thought about Corner Boy’s homemade
garrote and wondered if he’d made another one during his
days in the cellar. Soon there came some noisy thumping
and thrashing that supported my theory.
Dixon stood with his hands in fists at his sides, his thin
little body stiff. “‘The air was littered, an hour or so,’” he
whispered, “‘with bits of gingham and calico.’”
Beth took a step forward. “Let her out, Jocey.”
More thrashing sounds drifted up to us from the cellar
steps and the door shuddered under a big impact. There
was a high-pitched squeal that could have come from
either Conner or Hazel.
“‘The gingham dog and the calico cat,’” Dixon
breathlessly recited, “‘wallowed this way and tumbled
that…’”
“What she doing?” little Georgie said around the thumb
in his mouth.
“ … ‘employing every tooth and claw,’” Dixon droned,
“‘in the awfullest way you ever saw.’”
Screaming and hammering sounds came from behind
the door, followed by thumping that had to be the two of
them tumbling downstairs. All of us stood rigid and silent,
breathing hard and straining to listen. My heart knocked
as if I’d run a race, and I felt a greasy clenching inside my
stomach. No one spoke except Dixon, whose voice had
dropped to a raspy murmur.
“‘Next morning where the two had sat …’”
“Shut up!” Beth hissed.
“‘They found no trace of dog or cat.’”
“I told you to shut up!” she cried, reaching for him. I
stepped between them, holding the knife with both hands,
prepared to use it.
Dixon seemed not to see us at all. Instead, his eyes
were riveted on the door as he recited the words from his
beloved book. “‘The truth about the cat and pup …’”
“Come away, Dixon.”
“‘… is this: they ate each other up!’”
“I know, I know,” I said. He slipped his cold little fingers
in mine and we waited.
We waited for a sound from the cellar, waited for the
police to come, waited for Jack and Noah to return. Two of
those things happened at once. First we heard the
doorbell, which Juliann scurried away to answer, and then
we heard a fist slowly pounding on the cellar door. The
police officers came into the kitchen. One of them asked
me for the knife, which I handed over. The other answered
the pounding on the cellar door, unlocking and slowly
opening it.
Hazel stumbled out.
Thirty
Lies
Hazel sat in one of the dining room chairs and blood
oozed from the scratches on her face. There were bite
marks on her arms and some of her hair had been pulled
out. To my dismay, her pathetic appearance seemed to
fuel the older officer’s sympathy. He had a round face with
gray hair flat as cardboard, and he talked to her calmly.
The younger policeman was down in the cellar, searching
for Conner.
During my time at Seale House, I’d learned several
things about Hazel. I knew she was a cold-hearted woman
who could not be persuaded to any form of compassion. I
also knew she was harsh, demanding, without conscience,
and completely uncaring about children or their needs.
And she was a drug addict. But the one thing I hadn’t
learned was what a skilled liar she was. For the first time I
was able to understand why the social workers who visited
were so accepting of her.
I was at the far end of the kitchen where I could still see
and hear her, my back in the corner the same way Conner
so often sat. I listened to her weave a story about the
troubled boy and how she’d gone down in the cellar to
convince him to come up. As she tried to reason with him,
he’d attacked her and they’d fallen down the stairs. It was
dark, so she couldn’t see what happened to him, and then
the door accidentally locked. This, she insisted, must
have been the hand of God meant to keep the other
children safe.
I was ready to jump up and call her a liar when the
officer came up from the cellar. He whispered something
to his partner, who turned to look at Hazel with sympathy.
Then he expressed his sadness at having to inform her
that the boy was dead. It appeared his neck had been
broken in the fall. Hazel burst into tears. She covered her
face with her hands and sobbed.
A deep sense of guilt welled up inside me. Although I’d
hated and feared Conner, I hadn’t meant for him to die. I’d
only wanted to save Dixon, and for Hazel to stop being
cruel and to understand what it felt like being locked in the
cellar. I watched as the older officer started writing in his
notebook and the younger one stepped away from Hazel
to use the phone. Unobserved, she lifted her face and
looked at me with tearless eyes and a silent, vicious snarl.
Shaking, I stood and edged over to the policemen.
“She’s lying. She doesn’t care if Conner is dead, except
that she’ll lose the money she gets paid for him. She
locked him in the cellar all the time. She’s locked every
one of us down there, too, when she got mad.”
The older officer turned to Hazel, who looked up with a
teary expression. “Jocelyn is just distraught right now. She
gets so confused, trying to deal with the abuse she lived
with before coming here.”
I looked at her with hatred, even though I knew it would
only help the officers believe her story. “She does drugs!
Go check her room and you’ll find marijuana and
probably cocaine.”
“Calm down, young lady,” the policeman said. “Ms. Frey
has run this foster home for a long time and she’s got a
very good reputation. I know, because I’m the one who
found that boy Conner sleeping beneath an underpass.
He fought me like a wildcat. I know what she’s been up
against in taking him on.” He eyed her bites and
scratches with sympathy.
Hazel gave him a watery smile and pulled up a saintly
expression that looked as alien on her as if she’d
sprouted antennae and fangs. I felt sick with dread, but
this was how it was in the world of foster care. Because we
were troubled kids with troubled pasts, nobody would
believe us.
The younger policeman hung up the phone. “The
coroner’s office is sending someone.”
I stared at his gun and saw the holster flap was
unsnapped. A crazy idea niggled at the back of my mind.
Just then there was some yelling from the front room that
sounded like Beth, followed by sobbing from several
small children. The officer turned in that direction and I
acted quickly. I grabbed his gun and stepped back. He
swore as I pointed it at him.
The older man turned in my direction and held his
hands out in a calming gesture. “Give me that gun,
missy.”
“I will, but first you go up to her bedroom. Look in the
drawer of her trinket table. You’ll find drugs. Then you’ll
know I’m telling the truth!”
The squalling in the front room increased, and a few
seconds later Noah and Jack came hurrying around the
corner. “Jocey!” Jack said in a startled voice, coming to a
stop. “What are you doing?”
“Hazel was going to send Dixon down in the cellar! I
shoved her down there instead, and she got in a fight with
Conner. She killed him.”
“No, no!” Hazel pleaded with the officers. “The boy fell
down the steps and broke his neck. I would never hurt one
of my children.”
“Give me the gun, young lady,” the older police officer
said.
“Not until you look where I told you to!” Panic thrummed
away inside me like a trapped moth beating itself against
a jar. Despite that, I held the gun steady in both hands.
The cold metal seemed to send courage through my
body to keep me standing.
“We’ll go check it out,” the older cop promised. “First
give us the gun, or you’ll be in a whole lot of trouble.”
“I already am.”
“Listen, I give you my word we’ll go look. But I can’t just
leave you here with the gun, can I?”
Realizing this was true, I gave a slight nod and relaxed
a little until the younger officer lunged. He grabbed the
gun. Shocked, I panicked and pulled back. It went off with
a loud blast that hurt my ears. Dropping it and staggering
back, I watched in dread as his angry expression changed
to one of shock. He grabbed his arm just below the
shoulder, and blood oozed between his fingers where the
bullet had grazed him. His partner snatched the gun from
the floor.
What happened after that was mostly a blur until I
eventually found myself sitting in the front room along with
the other children. We’d been herded there by the social
workers the police had called. In my shaken daze it
seemed odd that we were finally allowed to sit in Hazel’s
special room, where before we’d only come to dust or
vacuum. Through the lace draperies covering the
windows, we could see that it had grown dark outside. The
snow on the ground reflected an eerie glow. It seemed as
if the flakes were frozen in freefall, but then I noticed it was
only the pattern of the lace backed against the nighttime
windows.
I sat on the brocade chaise, Dixon on one side and
Jack on the other. I looked at the kids in the room. Juliann
and Georgie were sharing the rocker, hugging each other.
They looked at me with blame in their eyes. Beth sat by
herself on the loveseat. Her closed switchblade rested in
her hand, her thumb stroking it like a talisman, and she
continually murmured something to herself. I strained to
listen, finally understanding what she kept repeating: “I
won’t go back home … I won’t!”
All around the room I met eyes that were frightened,
upset, accusing. Noah’s expression was hidden from me
as he sat on the floor, knees up, his face buried in his
arms. Everyone else was glaring at me. “Why are they so
mad?” I asked Jack in a miserable whisper.
“Why do you think, Jocey? Most of these kids came
from really bad places. They don’t want to go back, or into
a worse foster home than this.”
“But Hazel is a monster.”
“What’s gonna happen to me?” little Evie wailed. She’d
only been with us a couple of months.
“They’ll make you go back to your grandpa’s house,”
Beth said in a cruel hiss.
Evie started to cry. I half expected Noah to intervene,
like always, but he didn’t even lift his head.
All conversation was cut off when a policeman and the
coroner pushed a gurney past us. A black bag lay on top.
Acid rose in my throat, and I looked away until they’d gone
through the front door. One truth about Seale House, I
knew, was that the only two times children used the front
door was the first time they came here, and the last when
they left. Stunned into silence, we sat listening to the tick
of the clock on the mantel and the distant murmur of
voices in the other room. Soon Hazel was led past in
handcuffs. She looked right through us with dazed eyes,
as if we didn’t exist. We overheard one of the social
workers in the kitchen making anxious calls.
“They must’ve found her stash after all,” Jack said.
More seconds ticked by and Juliann whispered, “Maybe
they’ll hire a new mom for here.”
Beth shook her head. “Nope. They’ll shut down Seale
House for sure now.” Her voice was emotionless and so
unlike her. She’d always run boiling hot, but someone had
turned off the steam and now she’d melted into a little
puddle of nothing. “Then they’ll send us back to where we
came from. Or a worse place, with bigger kids and a
meaner mom. At least here we had each other. At least
here we knew what to expect.”
I had never heard so many words from Beth, though for
the first time I actually wished she’d shut up.
Georgie hopped down from the rocking chair and came
over to me. His white-blond hair and the purple shadows
under his eyes made him look like a wraith. “I hate you,
Jocey!” He threw his whole body into the accusation.
As he stalked back to the rocking chair, Dixon slipped
his hand in mine. I hardly noticed. A few seconds later I
stood and moved over to where Noah sat. Hunkering
down on the floor beside him I said, “Don’t you
understand, Noah? I had to stop her.”
He slowly raised his head and I was startled by the
glaze of hatred and betrayal. “Get out! If I ever see you
again, I’ll kill you.”
Tears stung my eyes, which had been so dry only
seconds ago, and I recoiled from him. At that moment the
lightbulbs in two lamps on either side of the room
exploded, glass shards hitting against the shades.
Darkness settled on the room, and Dixon let out a terrified
wail as Evie started bawling.
Jumping up, I ran through the house, a sob escaping
me. I reached the back porch, pulled on my boots and
coat, and hurried outside and across the yard, my feet
sinking into the snow. Avoiding the cops out front, I
slipped through the fence and onto the street, glancing
back at the glowing lights from the windows. My eyes
moved up to a sky gone black since the snow clouds had
moved on. Stars stood out like bright chips of broken
glass that soon blurred through my tears. Heartbroken, I
ran.
Noah and I sat together on the picnic bench, looking out at
the river. It had turned choppy. The sky was more overcast
now, the wind blowing. The boats had left the water and the
vendor had packed up and gone. I shivered.
“After we left the gallery, Dixon said he didn’t blame me,”
I murmured in a low voice. “He was taken care of by a nice
family and then adopted by his new mother.”
“Are you cold?” Noah moved closer and slid his arm
around my shoulders.
“It hurts so much to remember that night. I wish you hadn’t
asked me to tell you.”
“We were all just a bunch of frightened kids, more scared
of facing the unknown than of continuing to live with what
was bad. After you left, and I cooled off, I felt rotten about
how I reacted. And I wondered what happened to you. I
worried about you, in fact, and thought about both you and
Jack all the time. It wasn’t until I connected with your brother
that I found out where you went that night.”
Jack had grabbed our stuff and left Seale House soon
after I did. He followed my tracks in the snow and once he
found me, we stayed together during that long night. Early in
the morning we caught a bus to Syracuse, where our
mother’s cousin lived. Melody was there, since she’d
broken up with Erv a month before.
“Our mother took us to Bennington, Vermont, where she
got a job as a restaurant hostess. She bought us some new
clothes and enrolled us in school. We were with her about a
year when she dragged us back through New York again
and abandoned us for good.”
“At least you ended up with the Habertons.”
I nodded. “And during those years after leaving
Watertown, I really tried to forget everything. But now I want
to know. What happened to you, Noah, after that horrible
night?”
“At first I stayed at Seale House.”
“How could you do that? You were a minor. I mean, who
watched over you when Hazel went to jail?”
“She didn’t go to jail. They didn’t press drug charges
against her. Something about wrongful search and seizure.
And the coroner ruled Conner’s death an accident. Of
course they didn’t let her keep foster kids after that, so she
put Seale House up for sale. It sold fast, and we made
good money. To make everything up to me, she let me buy
a new computer with all the accessories and programs I
needed. She even paid for Internet access.”
This was surprising, and he saw it in my face. “Hard to
believe, I know, though it kind of saved me. I became a
computer hermit and tried not to miss all the kids who used
to be part of my life. Mostly you and Jack, of course. A while
later Hazel had that stroke. Don Iverson really stepped in
then. Remember I told you he helped me become an
emancipated minor, so I could live on my own? That was
when she went in the nursing home.”
“I’m sorry about everything, Noah. I still feel terrible for
you and all the kids.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was Hazel’s. You have to know that
by now.”
“But still …”
He turned to face me and his hands moved to my arms.
“Hey, Jocelyn, let’s make a truce, okay? Let’s agree that
what we did when we were kids doesn’t matter anymore.
The only thing that matters is what we do from now on. And
where we go from here.”
A smile wavered on my lips as I tried to shove away all
the sadness, grief, and guilt. He pulled me close to him,
kissing me long and tenderly as the cool wind swirled
around us. A sense of calm threaded its way through me,
and I relaxed. At last Noah released me, and we smiled at
each other until he let go of my arms and his expression
grew puzzled.
He raised his left hand, gaping at his crimson palm. I
sucked in a startled breath as he grabbed my arm. The
sleeve of my shirt was soaked with blood.
Thirty-One
Recognition
“What the hell is going on?” Noah said in a low voice as he
pushed up my shirt sleeve.
I shook my head, unable to speak. We both stared down
at the bloody bite mark on my arm. He pulled a white
handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the wound. “Why
does it look so much worse than yesterday?”
“Maybe it’s infected.”
“We need to get you to a doctor.”
“No. A doctor would call my foster parents. I don’t want
them to know I came here instead of going camping.”
“But you can explain. They’d want you to have it looked
at.”
“Let’s give it one more day.” I pushed my sleeve down,
trying to keep calm. “This will sound crazy …”
“Tell me.”
“In some weird way I feel like there’s this connection
between me and Seale House. Maybe it’s because of what
happened.”
“You mean Conner?”
“Yes, of course. I caused his death. It doesn’t matter that
it was an accident. It never would have happened if I hadn’t
locked Hazel in the cellar. You said we should let go of the
past, but I don’t know if the past will let go of me.”
I recalled my first run-in with Conner, and how he’d bitten
me in this exact same spot on my arm. Noah’s worried face
showed he had the same thought.
The darker clouds were moving in, and it started to rain.
We headed to the car and drove away from the park, each
of us quiet. Noah eventually pulled up at an ATM and we
both got some cash. Then he drove to a drugstore, went
inside, and returned with a sack of first-aid supplies. We
decided to stop at McDonald’s, since we knew their public
restroom would be clean. Noah hauled my small suitcase
inside.
inside.
He locked the door while I stripped off my blood-soaked
turtleneck and tossed it in the trash. I rinsed the wound in
the sink the best I could, and Noah opened the bottle of
peroxide he’d just bought. He dumped it over the swollen
bite mark, which smarted some, and we watched it foam.
He patted it dry with a paper towel. To his credit he tried
to be a gentleman and keep his eyes on my arm. I knew
this wasn’t easy, since I was wearing a low-cut lavender
sports bra. “Go ahead and look if you want,” I finally said.
“After all, the last time we were together I was flat as an
ironing board.”
“Jocey …”
“What? It’s not every guy I let see me in my underwear.”
“I guess I’m just privileged then.”
He coated the wound with a heavy dose of antibacterial
gel and covered it with gauze. “Hold this in place.” He tore
off a piece of surgical tape.
After Noah finished bandaging my arm, I grabbed a blue
shirt from my bag. As I pulled it on he said, “You do have a
great body.”
I slid my arms around his neck. “Thanks,” I murmured,
kissing him and enjoying the way he kissed me back.
Deciding the restroom of a McDonald’s wasn’t the best
place to make out, we left. The afternoon light was fading
fast because of the thick clouds, and at that moment I
longed for the warmth of sunlight and the cheer of blue
skies.
Back on Arsenal Street, he said, “Let’s go to the library.”
“Why?”
“I can pick up wireless there, and I want to do an Internet
search for Beth. I don’t know if there’s a chance I can find
her, but it’s worth a shot.”
Soon we were inside the library at the secluded table
where we’d solved Jack’s earlier clue leading us to Dixon.
While Noah worked on his laptop, I checked my e-mail and
then pulled up the English assignment on my netbook.
Finishing the essay was the last thing I was interested in,
but I’d promised Ms. Chen I’d get it done before spring
break was over.
My foster parents had always been proud of the good
grades I got, and I hoped this essay didn’t drop my overall
English score below a ninety because there was no way it
was going to stand up to my usual work. I borrowed more
facts about Mary Shelley from Wikipedia, stuffed them in,
faked a couple of internal citations because Ms. Chen
didn’t like us to use Wiki sources, and then pounded out the
last two paragraphs. Quickly proofing it one last time, I emailed
it to my English teacher and then sat back with
relief.
A couple of minutes later Noah closed his laptop. He
didn’t need to tell me that he’d found nothing on Beth. We
left the library. Outside, twilight had draped its shadowy
shawl across Watertown. We stopped at a drive-through
taco place. By the time we finished eating and made it
back to the small town house, I was tired and discouraged.
Noah pulled the Toyota into the garage and closed the
door. He grabbed his flashlight out from under the front
seat. “Stay here a minute while I look around.”
I slugged him on the arm, though not hard. He looked at
me in surprise and I said, “Hey, Captain Solo, I’m a big girl
now and can handle myself outside the Millennium Falcon.”
He laughed and we left the car, going inside. We
checked through the empty rooms, both upstairs and down,
before hauling our stuff into the front room. I grabbed a
change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. Washing
with cold water by the small light of an LED and drying off
with a T-shirt wasn’t fun, but it did feel good to at least put
on clean clothes. I pulled on a comfortable pair of
drawstring pants, socks, and a sweater because the house
was growing cool.
In the front room, I stuffed everything back into my bag,
including the two tan envelopes with their pieces of clues.
Then I gathered the worn quilts from the linen cupboard and
started to spread them out. One of them reminded me of
the quilts at Seale House. I laughed in disbelief and turned
to Noah, who was changing the batteries in his flashlight.
“I just got it! Hazel used to live here, didn’t she? That
Toyota we’ve been driving around is hers, not some old
girlfriend’s.”
“You’re the one who jumped to the wrong conclusion. I’ve
been taking care of Hazel’s stuff, and this is where we
moved after Seale House and before I got my own place. I
couldn’t wait to get out of here. After she had her stroke,
Don helped me put it up for sale.”
“So who bought Seale House, anyway?”
“A husband and wife. They paid a lot for it, since Hazel let
them keep most of the furniture. They turned it into a bedand-
breakfast. It wasn’t very successful, though, and
eventually they tried to resell it. The place was on the
market for about a year when the fire happened.”
I imagined bed-and-breakfast visitors trying to settle in
for a stay at Seale House, only to have the walls go weird or
have someone bite them while they slept. Even if that didn’t
happen, there still must have been the sad feeling that
lingered in the house because unhappy children had lived
there, and one died in the cellar. I wasn’t surprised the
couple couldn’t make a go of it.
A slow exhaustion seeped its way through me, and I
grabbed a couple of sweaters out of my bag and fashioned
a pillow. Noah pulled his quilts next to mine and lay on his
side facing me. “If that arm of yours isn’t better in the
morning, we’re going to the emergency room.”
I turned my head to look at him. “It’s not hurting right now,
so let’s not worry about it.”
“Okay,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss. The warmth
and sweetness of his mouth on mine slowly overpowered
me. I drifted away to a place of happiness, my thoughts
becoming a blur and my worries fading. In one tiny corner of
my mind, I admitted that for the first time I understood why
everyone made such a big deal about kissing.
Yesterday’s experience had been really great, but this
was edging on fantastic. In fact, I’d never been kissed like
that. Either the other guys I’d been with just weren’t very
good at it, or my intense attraction to Noah was coloring my
judgment. Finally, when things were getting really steamy
between us, I reluctantly pulled away and said against his
mouth, “I’m not ready to go all the way.”
“Yeah, well, I think it would be good to have a real bed for
that.”
This made me laugh. I looked at Noah through the
shadows; I’d always loved his voice and his eyes. Now I
loved his lips too. Light-hearted, I began falling down the
deep well of love. I hoped with all my heart that nothing
happened to ruin it.
We kissed a little more, and by the time we finished I was
more relaxed than I had been in days. I lay in his arms and
said, “Noah?”
“Yes?”
“I want this to last.”
He reached up and stroked my hair. “It will, Jocey.”
We stayed like that for a long time, and I was on the
verge of falling asleep when an old thought surfaced to
pester me. “Noah?”
“Hmm?” he said drowsily.
“There was this article I read a while ago about twins.
How they can almost share each other’s thoughts. Think
there’s anything to that?”
His breathing was so slow that I wondered if he’d fallen
asleep until he spoke. “I don’t know. Most people would say
that’s not very logical. But I used to watch the way you and
Jack acted with each other. Sometimes it was like you
shared the same brain. He’d start a sentence and you’d
finish it.”
“Yeah.” I exhaled, my eyes too tired to stay open. “I miss
him so much. Except that now I’m with you, it doesn’t hurt as
bad.”
I turned in his arms and Noah pulled me close, his breath
gently stirring my hair.
We both dozed off and slept for several hours. A while
later I woke. Noah wasn’t beside me. I lay still, my ears
straining at the muffled night sounds. I could hear rain falling
outside and knew the cloud cover had finally released its
heavy load. Pressing the stem on my watch, I saw it was a
little past three. Maybe he’d just gone to the bathroom. I
longed for the warmth of his arms around me and turned on
my side, my hand sliding under my makeshift pillow.
There was a sharp sting on my thumb. I gasped and
pulled out my hand. In the dim light I saw blood oozing from
a cut. I sat up and tossed back the sweaters that my head
had been resting on. Something dark glinted there.
Hesitant, I reached down and touched the cold metal. It was
the knife that had been part of Jack’s clue. Fear swept
through me, since the last time I had seen it was when I
placed the black leather box inside my bag. How, then, had
it gotten out of the container and ended up under my
sweaters?
Memories surfaced of other times: the darkness of night
at Seale House, when a kitchen knife—and even Beth’s
switchblade—had shown up under my pillow as if by magic.
It was so long ago since those eerie incidents, I’d half
convinced myself they’d only been bad dreams. Yet now I
knew they must have happened, just as surely as I held this
heavy steel blade in my palm.
“Noah?” I whispered, peering through the shadows.
Where was he? Still holding the knife, I stood and walked
down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open and he
wasn’t there. I checked the other empty rooms downstairs
and was just heading to the kitchen when I heard a low tone
of music. Recognizing it as Noah’s cell phone, I hurried
back to the front room.
The notes grew louder as I approached his duffel bag
and saw the phone lying beside it. Sensing that I had to
answer and find out who was calling at this early hour, I
flipped it open and put it to my ear. I didn’t speak, but only
listened. I heard a voice I once believed I’d never hear
again.
“Jocelyn,” Jack said. “Get out of there now!”
Before I could say a word, the phone went dead.
Thirty-Two
Fight
I dropped the phone, grabbed my backpack, and shoved
my feet into my shoes. I reached the front door and fumbled
with the dead bolt, the knife still in my hand. Finally getting
the lock unlatched, I jerked the door open and saw a steady
downpour of rain.
Fingers on my shoulder startled me. I cried out and spun
around to see Noah standing there, his face hidden in
shadow. I pulled away, trying to go through the door when
he grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”
His voice was so withdrawn and distant that I wondered if
I really knew him at all. Had he put the knife under my
pillow?
“Let go!”
“Come back here and calm down.”
That’s when I recognized the Noah I knew, and relief
flooded me. I started tugging at him. “We have to get out of
here!”
“Why?”
“Come on!” A terrified sob crept into my voice. “Get your
stuff and come now!”
I headed through the door, the cold rain a shock as it hit
me. The sound of Jack’s warning echoed in my ears, and I
ran. Noah called my name. Glancing over my shoulder, I was
relieved to see he was following me, carrying his leather
laptop bag. He sprinted forward, catching up with me.
“What’s the matter? Why are you so freaked?”
A loud blast filled the air and we instinctively ducked.
Turning back to look at the house, we saw fire. The
windows on the upper floor exploded. Noah and I ran to the
road, where it was safer. Flames shot skyward and hissed
in the rain.
His face grew livid. “What’s going on?”
I had no chance to answer. Running through the
shadows, coming straight at us, was the dark outline of
someone dressed all in black with a hooded face. Crying
out a warning, I pointed and Noah turned as the man
leaped through the air. His foot slammed into Noah’s chest,
causing him to drop his laptop case. Noah staggered
backward and spun away, running across the driveway. The
man chased him. Noah turned; his foot shot out, striking his
opponent hard on the shoulder. The man faltered, took a
step back, and Noah attacked. They started to exchange
blows.
I stared at them with disbelief. It seemed as if I were
inside the weirdest dream of all—the black ninja from our
childhood had come here for a fight. The attacker lunged at
Noah but was repelled by a sharp blow. They threw
punches and kicked each other with skilled precision. It
became an uncanny war dance, with Noah blocking the
ninja’s blows and delivering kicks and strikes of his own. At
one point he blocked a hit and caught hold of the guy’s
hand, bending it back so sharply that it brought him to his
knees.
The ninja didn’t stay down long, rebounding in a nearly
unearthly way and giving Noah several hard hits. They
jabbed and kicked each other. The attacker sidestepped a
roundhouse and punched back. Noah flew through the air.
His foot glanced off the guy’s chin. Their movements
became a blur in the curtain of rain, and I stood in trembling
fascination and watched the vicious thrusts of fists and feet.
I heard no sound from either because of the rain.
Several neighbors were outside now, their shouting
voices muted by the crackling flames and hiss of rain. In the
distance we heard sirens. Turning back to the fight, I wiped
the rain from my eyes and missed seeing the move that
felled Noah. The ninja had the advantage. He stood above,
his hands on Noah’s head, getting a grip to snap his neck.
I was still carrying the knife. Noah stared up at me as his
hands uselessly dug into the arms of his assailant. His eyes
focused on the knife and I knew he was telling me to throw
it. And yet I was too far away, my aim so weak it might hit
Noah, or not hit anything at all. I froze with dread, only able
to watch helplessly as he gazed at the dagger.
Despite the cold rain, the steel blade seemed to grow
hot in my hand. I opened my palm, glancing down and then
up again at the ninja readying himself to snap Noah’s neck.
I opened my mouth to scream, but then the attacker reeled
backward, releasing Noah. Blinking through the rain, I saw
the knife’s hilt sticking out of the ninja’s shoulder. Stunned, I
looked back down at my palm. The blade was no longer
there, and yet I knew I hadn’t thrown it! Noah twisted
around, striking hard, and the other guy faltered. The sound
of sirens grew closer as the ninja cast another blow. Noah
staggered back and the man in black sprinted away, the
knife still in his shoulder. He disappeared into the shadows.
Rushing to Noah, I put my hands on his shoulders. “Are
you all right?”
He was gasping for air but his gaze met my eyes and he
nodded. Then he stood, snatched up his laptop case, and
limped back to the house. The roof was near collapsing, but
the flames were dying in the rain. Reaching the garage,
Noah forced the door up and disappeared inside. I heard a
car engine turn over. When he backed his Jeep Cherokee
out onto the driveway, I climbed in.
We drove away, turning onto another street as a police
car came around the corner, sirens blaring. It was followed
by a fire truck. Neither of us said anything for several
minutes, but I kept shivering. “Are you hurt?” I finally
managed.
“Nothing permanent.”
Nighttime shadows slid in and out of the car as we drove,
and the wiper blades hypnotically sluiced rainwater from the
windshield. “Where were you, Noah? I woke up and you
were gone.”
“I thought I heard something and went to investigate. I
don’t suppose you have a reasonable explanation for why
you were heading out the front door without me?”
“Oh. Not reasonable, no.”
“What then?”
“You’re angry.”
“No kidding!”
I took a deep breath. “I woke up and you were gone. At
least, I couldn’t find you. I was scared, because I found the
knife under my pillow. It cut my thumb.” It had stopped
bleeding, but I held it up and showed it to him. “I wondered
if maybe you put it there.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Why did that bomb go off, and why did the
black ninja show up tonight and try to kill you?”
“It wasn’t the black ninja, Jocelyn. It was Paul Gerard.”
“How do you know?”
“I sparred with him once at my dojo, remember? He has
some signature moves I’ve never seen anyone else use.”
I sighed with relief. “I thought … I don’t know what I
thought. Sometimes I can’t seem to separate the dreams of
childhood from what’s going on now.” Pausing, I took in a
slow breath. “While you were gone, Jack called on your cell
phone and told me to get out of the house.”
“What?”
Neither of us said anything for several seconds until he
asked, “You’re sure it was Jack?”
I only looked at him and he nodded with a sober
expression. “Okay. So how did he know about the bomb?”
“I don’t know. I’m still reeling from the fact that I heard his
voice and know for sure he’s alive.”
Noah studied me. “Why call? Why not just show up and
help us? I could have died tonight, and then Gerard would
have nabbed you.”
Discouraged, I shook my head. The rain had slowed and
the wipers were squeaking. Noah turned them down. “I
don’t suppose you stuck my cell phone in your bag, so we
could find out where Jack was calling from?”
“I didn’t think of that. Sorry.”
“It’s official then. I’ve lost everything I’ve ever owned
except for my laptop, this car, and the ibuprofen in the glove
box. Which I need, by the way.”
I handed him three tablets, along with a bottle of water
from the backseat. “I’m so sorry, Noah. I should have tried
to find you. But after I found the knife under my pillow and
then got that call from Jack, I was scared. I grabbed my
backpack because the clues were in there.”
My small suitcase full of clothes had been left behind,
along with my netbook. I inwardly cringed at such an
expensive loss, not to mention all the files that I’d been too
busy to back up. At least I’d already e-mailed the English
essay.
“Okay, I understand. But we can’t go on like this, you
know. We’re following bread crumbs that just lead in a
circle.”
“And now we’ve lost the knife,” I added, shivering again.
Noah switched on the heat and turned the vents in my
direction. “Yeah, well, if you hadn’t thrown that knife, I’d be
having an unpleasant visit with the coroner right now.”
“But I didn’t throw it.”
He gave me a doubtful look, and I shrugged. “At least I
don’t remember doing it.”
“Maybe that’s because you were scared. Hell, I was
scared! I knew he was going to snap my neck and there
was nothing I could do. Then I saw that knife in your hand
and thought, ‘Throw it, Jocey, or I’m dead.’ The next thing I
knew, his grip was broken.”
“You were amazing, by the way. I didn’t know you could
fight like that.”
“But it wasn’t enough against Gerard.”
“He had the advantage of surprise. And he’s a lot older.”
Thinking of how dangerous our enemy really was, and
how close Noah had come to dying, more waves of cold
fear swept over me. We drove along a road following the
Black River and Noah asked, “So where do we go from
here?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any idea. Though I do feel
if Jack can’t come to us, we’ve got to go to him. But how do
we do that? The clues wrapped around the knife don’t tell
us enough. Maybe there’s nothing left for us to figure out.”
Noah steered the car into the empty parking lot of a
closed drugstore and stopped beneath a pole light.
“Where’s that box the knife was in?”
“In my backpack.”
I dug around and pulled it out, handing it to him. He
opened it, picked up the strips of red paper that were still
inside, and tossed them in my lap. Grabbing the black foam
lining where the knife had been embedded, he tugged until
it came out. Then he smiled with triumph and dumped the
box upside down. Four jigsaw puzzle pieces fell into his
open palm.
Thirty-Three
The Assignment
Beneath the harsh glare of the parking lot light, Noah and I
finished the puzzle together. With the last four pieces in
place, it showed a black-and-white photo of a small shop
with a sign above the door that read: TATTOO ORIENT.
“Oriental Avenue,” I murmured. “That’s where Beth ended
up in the Monopoly logic problem. And the clue for her said,
‘Knives and needles lead to death. Trust least, trust most
our Angry Beth.’ I didn’t think about needles being from a
tattoo parlor.”
“Me either.”
“This looks kind of familiar,” I said, peering at it. “Do you
know where it is?”
“No, but we can find it on the Internet. That is, if my laptop
is okay after I dropped it.”
We got Noah’s laptop out of its case and it booted up
just fine. We drove down a deserted street, trying to pick up
a wireless signal. Finally we found one. After a quick
search we pulled up a simplistic website for Tattoo Orient.
The address was only a few blocks from Seale House. We
looked at each other.
“Maybe that’s why it seemed familiar.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
The rain had stopped but the air was heavy with humidity,
and a hazy mist was starting to drift in from the river. We
drove across Watertown to an area not far from Keyes
Avenue, the Seale House street. The tattoo shop sat
between a hair salon and a consignment boutique.
Noah said, “I know this place, but it’s been remodeled.
Borke’s Shoe Repair used to be here, remember?”
Stopping the Jeep in front, we read the sign on the door.
“It doesn’t open until nine.”
I pressed the stem on my watch. “That’s hours from now.”
He leaned back against the headrest and closed his
eyes. “We’ll just have to wait.”
eyes. “We’ll just have to wait.”
He was right, though it was uncomfortable to sit in our
wet clothes as time slowly ticked by. Noah left the car
running for a while, the vents blowing hot air on us to help
dry our clothes. In time I shut my eyes and tried to ignore the
low thud in my temples. At last the adrenaline seeped from
my body and I dozed in and out, often jerking awake. As the
sky became a translucent gray in the east, I heard
something and opened my achy eyes to see a police car
pulling even with us.
“Noah, wake up.”
He roused, slowly sitting up. “Just great!” he said, his
voice thick from sleep. Two officers got out of their car and
came over to us. Noah rolled down the window and one of
the policemen looked inside and asked to see his license
and registration.
“Is there a problem with parking on this street?” Noah
asked as he handed over the items.
The policeman studied the papers and then said,
“Please get out of the car.”
“Why?”
“You and your passenger will have to come with us.
Detective Iverson has been looking for you.”
A sinking feeling washed through me as I grabbed my
backpack. Locking the Jeep and leaving it parked in front
of the tattoo parlor, we did as they asked and climbed in
the backseat of the squad car. As we sped away I glanced
at Noah and murmured, “Terrific.”
“I can’t really blame Don. Two houses I’m connected with
got blown up in less than forty-eight hours.”
Gazing at the foggy haze, I grew more anxious with each
mile that separated us from Tattoo Orient. Being taken off
course when we were so close was just plain rotten. And I
wasn’t exactly crazy about going to the police station.
Once we got there, I was made to wait by myself in an
empty interrogation room, where I picked at my nails and
wondered if someone was going to come in and talk to me.
My mind plodded along in a confused cycle. The memory of
hearing Jack’s voice on the cell phone filled me with relief
and joy. Now I had proof he hadn’t died in that car accident.
And yet the truth also brought with it more confusion and
unanswered questions than ever. Only Jack could tie up the
loose ends.
I also couldn’t help thinking about Paul Gerard in his
black mask. The mental image of the bomb that nasty
creep had set, which could have killed us, made me furious,
as did the memory of his surprise attack against Noah. It
also made me afraid, especially for Jack. Did my brother
know how closely this dangerous guy was trailing us, and
would he be safe from Gerard’s uncanny ability to track his
prey?
The minutes crept by for more than an hour, and finally I
rested my head on my arms and dozed off. Eventually I
woke and stretched. My need to visit the restroom sent me
to the door, where I tested the knob and found it was
unlocked. Opening it, I peered out but saw no one. The
officer who had been sitting outside the door when I came
in was no longer in his chair and the hall was empty. I
guessed he must have gotten bored and left. I couldn’t
blame him.
“Okay,” I said to myself, slinging my backpack across
one shoulder. If they were going to forget about me, then
they could track me down.
I found the restroom and afterward stood in the hall for a
few minutes, trying to decide how much trouble I’d get in if I
didn’t go back to the interrogation room. Deciding it was
worth the risk, I walked past the room where I’d been and
kept on going. I passed a closed door and was nearing one
that was half open when I heard Noah’s voice. I stopped by
the wall and listened. Someone was talking to him.
“Maybe you’ve missed something obvious,” a man said.
He sounded familiar, but I didn’t think it was Detective
Iverson.
Noah’s voice was cross. “Don’t be dense, Saulto.”
“I’m just trying to help. What if you’ve left something out?”
“I haven’t. And I’m not going over this whole thing again.”
“We’re not asking you to.”
Now that Noah had said the name, I recognized Zachary
Saulto’s voice. But why was someone from ISI talking to
Noah instead of the detective?
“Do you realize how close Gerard came to getting his
hands on her last night?” another man with a deeper voice
asked.
“But he didn’t,” Noah retorted. “Do I need to remind you
that he found her in the first place because he was following
Saulto? And I’m still trying to figure out why you decided to
steal her car. Was it to give her no choice but to come to
me?”
My car!
“Calm down,” the man said. “You know we’re looking out
for you both. If it wasn’t for some fast talking on my part to
that detective, you’d still be getting grilled.”
“I know. Okay, Sam?”
My mind worked over the name, and then I remembered.
Sam Marvin ran ISI. He was Zachary Saulto’s boss.
“Do you? We’re in a tight spot right now, Noah. It’s not
looking good.”
“But you’re not helping. For one thing, why just drop off
her car in my driveway? Were you trying to spook her?”
“In a way, yes.” It was Saulto who answered this time.
“We wanted to put some pressure on to get her moving.”
“She doesn’t need any more of your head games.” Noah
sounded angry. “There’s enough of that going on with
Gerard and everything else. Where is she now?”
“Asleep in the room two doors down,” Saulto said.
“Why don’t you talk to Detective Iverson again? See if
he’ll let Jocelyn and me get out of here so we can finish
what we started.”
“I don’t know,” Sam Marvin answered. “You’ve had four
days. We still don’t have the goods, and it’s getting too
dangerous. Hell, Noah, this can’t go on! You almost got
blown up last night. If it’s too much for you to handle, then I’ll
have to step in.”
“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who called
me? You waited until she’d already come to my house and
then you panicked. You begged me to hire on with you
again for one last assignment. So why don’t you back off
and let me do what I’m supposed to?”
A sick wave of heartache passed through me, and I
quietly crossed to the far side of the hallway. Moving fast, I
slipped past the door. My mouth felt dry, my face flushed.
Assignment, he’d said. One last assignment. I reached the
elevator and slammed the button, praying it would open
before they came out in the hallway and saw me. As the
doors finally parted I slipped inside and punched the firstfloor
button, counting the seconds until the doors closed
and the elevator started moving. I let out the breath I’d been
holding.
My mind became a spinning kaleidoscope as I recalled
coming into the kitchen when he was talking on the phone.
He’d been irritated and growled, “I said I’d take care of it!”
Now, I knew, he must have been talking to Sam Marvin.
And the “it” he was supposed to take care of was me.
Everything made sense now. After that first night Noah
had seemed anxious to get rid of me. He’d even left money
so I’d go away. But then the second time, when we met at
the pizza place, he went out of his way to befriend me. He
practically demanded I come back to his house and stay.
For the first time it was all so clear.
Noah hadn’t stuck with me through this because he cared
about Jack or me. Sam Marvin was paying him. And all the
stuff that had happened between us must’ve been a lie too.
I’d been so stupid to trust anyone other than Jack. Right
then I became gawky old Jocey again, the girl no one could
want or love, whose life was a joke and whose heart wasn’t
worth anything.
The doors opened. I left the elevator and walked with
calm determination past the front desk. The officer there
didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary, for which I
was grateful. I made it through the front doors, down the
steps, and out onto the sidewalk. A hazy mist still lay over
Watertown like a ghostly bridal veil. I hurried away, moving
quickly until the police station seemed to be nothing but a
distant mirage in the morning fog.
I’m not sure how many blocks I walked, lost in the haze,
until I finally found a taxi. Climbing in the backseat, I shut the
door and gave the address of Tattoo Orient. Then I sat
there as Noah’s harsh words, one last assignment, circled
through my head. I tried to shove the pain away, but it
battered me like stinging grains of sand in a dry storm.
After the taxi pulled up in front of the tattoo shop, I paid
the driver with the twenty I’d gotten from the ATM. He drove
away, and I walked past Noah’s black Jeep Cherokee.
Once again I experienced the sick rush of crushed hope.
Looking away, I pushed open the door of the parlor and
stepped inside, an overhead bell ringing.
“Be with you in a minute,” a gruff voice called through
black draperies behind the counter.
The walls were covered with dozens of tattoo designs,
and a glass display case was full of specialty knives and
daggers. Most had decorative handles and hilts, but some
were more practical. One, in a black leather box, was just
like the knife Jack had left me.
I could hear the sound of two voices and peered through
the slit in the draperies. All I could see was the back of a
heavyset guy with a buzzed head and tattooed arms and
neck. Beside him were the legs of a young woman lying in
a chair. She seemed to be getting something etched on her
ankle, and the wincing sounds made it seem that a bony
ankle was a painful place to get needled.
Soon the tattooed guy put his instrument aside. He
turned around and came through the draperies, looking at
me. Staring seemed rude, but I couldn’t help myself as I
realized it wasn’t a guy.
“Hello, Beth,” I managed. She was quite a bit heavier
than she’d been when we were kids. Her once-long red hair
had been buzzed to a quarter inch, her ears and pale
eyebrows heavy with multiple piercings. She wore a loose
tank top that showed a body thoroughly tattooed with every
writhing design imaginable.
She smiled at me and said, “It’s good to see you again,
Jocelyn.”
Thirty-Four
“X”
If anyone had ever told me that Angry Beth would someday
hug me with flabby tattooed arms and rattle on a mile a
minute, I wouldn’t have believed it. And yet that’s exactly
what she did. I stood there watching her yammer away like
we were old friends who’d just seen each other a few days
ago. It was amazing.
“By the way, Jocey, I’ve been thinking that I should’ve told
you something the last time we were together. You were
one of the best friends I ever had. When we shared that
room at Seale House, you always took the time to talk to
me. Even if I was hurting too much to answer. In the
beginning I couldn’t tell you how much that meant to me,
and later I kind of forgot. You know how it is, right?”
“Excuse me,” the leggy girl from the back room called.
“Are you going to finish this or what?”
“Just a minute!” Beth bellowed through the curtain.
Turning back to me she raised her eyebrows and shook her
head as if we shared some secret. “Don’t you think she’d
know better than to annoy someone using a needle on
her?”
“Yeah, no kidding.” I started to laugh, though not because
it was funny. In fact, Beth still seemed sort of scary.
She lowered her voice. “I get sick of these little sluts that
want a butterfly on their ankle or a flower on their navel.
Know what I mean? It really bugs me.”
“I can understand that.”
“I’ve gotta get back to the ink. Will you come by later so
we can talk?”
“Okay.” I couldn’t figure out why on earth Jack had sent
me here or how I might bring up the subject.
Beth moved behind the counter. “By the way, I’m not sure
how long I was supposed to hold on to this.” She picked up
a plain envelope with my name printed on the outside. “Do
you want it?”
I nodded and took it, murmuring my thanks as she turned
away. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll be done in about an
hour. Why don’t you come back then?”
Leaving the shop, I stepped out onto the sidewalk,
thinking of Jack’s clue about Beth: trust least, trust most. In
the past I had trusted her least of any girl at Seale House.
Yet with her transformation of a buzzed head, a pierced and
tattooed body, and maybe some serious group therapy, it
looked like she was now someone Jack felt I could trust.
Opening the envelope, I reached inside and pulled out a
small ink drawing of an elaborate medieval cross that
formed a two-inch square. Beneath it, in Jack’s blocky
writing, were the words: X MARKS THE SPOT. That’s
when a long-buried memory seemed to rise up out of the
opal-colored mist surrounding me.
“We’re going to get in trouble,” I whispered. “You know
we’re not allowed in Hazel’s room.”
Jack slowly opened the door. “Don’t be a coward. Come
on.”
“Where’s Noah?”
“He doesn’t have to be in on everything we do, does
he?”
The two of us crept into Hazel’s dimly lit upstairs parlor,
and I glanced around the room, which I’d never been in
before. My heart was beating fast but I followed Jack,
believing—as always—that wherever he went, I must go.
He led me to the small, round trinket table topped with an
embroidered lace doily and several knickknacks. Lifting
up the doily, he grabbed the side and opened a hidden
drawer. On top lay a filigree crucifix.
“X marks the spot,” he said, lifting it out and pushing
aside a couple of papers. Beneath lay neatly arranged
packages of marijuana and small packets of what I
guessed to be cocaine. There was also some drug
paraphernalia.
“Oh no,” I breathed, holding my hands up in protest and
backing away. “Jack, if she knows we’ve seen this, she’ll
kill us!”
“The old dragon isn’t going to know.” He put everything
back in its place and shut the drawer. “Listen to me,
Jocey. How many times have I told you that you can’t beat
your opponents until you know what their weaknesses
are?”
“I don’t want to beat her,” I whispered, hurrying to the
door. “I just don’t want to get sent to the cellar.”
I cracked the door and peeked out. Stepping into the
hallway with Jack behind me, we shut the door and I
sighed with relief. Then I slapped him on the arm. “Next
time, leave me out of your stupid schemes, will you?”
Hurrying through the fog, my backpack bumping against my
shoulder blades, I clutched the paper in my hand. Five
years ago the reason I’d been able to tell those two police
officers where Hazel kept her drugs was because Jack had
shown it to me a few weeks earlier. This knowledge had
eventually caused Seale House’s foster program to come
tumbling down.
I thought about my second visit to Hazel’s parlor a few
days ago, when I had unexpectedly found myself
transported there. Someone or something, I now knew, had
taken me there for a reason. I was supposed to open the
drawer of the small, water-stained trinket table that was still
sitting in her upstairs room. But because that girl had
shown up swinging her chain, I never got the chance.
As much as I wanted not to, I headed in the direction of
Seale House and started running. I sensed that this was
what Jack had wanted all along. I ran headlong toward him,
hoping he would be there—desperate to reach the one
person who cared about me.
Jack, where are you? My shoes slapped the concrete
and made a muffled echo in the fog. Jack, my dragon
slayer …
Wasn’t he the only one who had never betrayed me? This
truth was clear, bitterly revealed in the overheard
conversation between Noah and Sam Marvin.
Oh, Jack, Jack … where are you when I need you most?
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over this nasty
trick … flapjack … jumping jack … Jack Sprat …
On I ran, my chest heaving. Jack and Jocelyn went up to
Seale to fetch a pail of evil …
A car coming from the other direction seemed to
vaporize from the mist, passing me and vanishing as its
engine droned away into the distance. Carjack … hijack …
jack of all trades … Jack of Spades … you don’t know
Jack …
I turned a corner and ran back toward the house that I
had spent the last five years running away from. This is the
rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built …
Then I got a cramp, a sharp pain in my side, and I slowed
my pace, gasping for air.
The Jack of Hearts, he stole some tarts, all on a
summer’s eve …
Forced to walk now, I held my side, hoping the ache
would go away. Finally, in the distance, Seale House rose
up, a half-burned behemoth in the mist. I hurried across the
street and up the steps. Pushing the door open, I moved
into the gloom.
Instead of diminishing, the pain in my side grew worse,
and I nearly doubled over. Right now was not the time for an
appendicitis attack. Making myself go deeper inside the
house, I reached the stairs and started to climb. Another
intense spasm of pain cut through me and I had to pause.
Pulling my shirt up and untying my drawstring pants, I
jerked down the fabric and looked at the spot low on the
right side of my abdomen. At first I was relieved to see
nothing there. Then, as I watched in horrified fascination,
dark lines began to emerge from beneath the flesh.
Gasping in pain and fear, I couldn’t pull my eyes away
from the swirling ink marks rising up from beneath my skin
like some ancient rune. More details and lines appeared,
and it seemed like a hot needle moved with lightning speed
and burned the ink into my flesh. Staggering back against
the banister I nearly fell, but I gripped it and steadied
myself.
“What’s happening?” I screamed.
Seale House was silent. No sound echoed back to me,
as if the walls had swallowed my words. I gaped down at
the black-ink image, mesmerized as it continued to evolve
into scrolls and lines. Eventually it created an exact replica
of the tattoo drawing of a medieval cross that I held in my
hand. I threw the paper away with loathing, knowing it would
not be so easy to get rid of the design burning itself into my
flesh.
“What are you doing to me?” I sobbed, staring at the
now-complete image.
At that moment it seemed as if Jack’s voice echoed an
explanation from across a cavernous distance.
“X marks the spot.”
Thirty-Five
Jack
Somehow I made it up the stairs and along the dim hallway
leading to Hazel’s sitting room. My side was still aching but
the intense burning had lessened a little now that the image
was complete. I couldn’t look at it, not if I was going to hang
on to my sanity.
The floor creaked and moaned, far more warped now
than it ever had been. I needed all my courage just to walk
through Seale House. It still reeked of smoke and soggy
wood, also taking on what smelled like the fetid stench of
death. I had a fleeting vision of this place as a massive
cadaver where nothing human could survive. I passed the
door to the girls’ room and remembered Evie talking to her
doll, Juliann and Laura putting a jigsaw puzzle together, and
Beth polishing her knife. It was the place where I’d spent so
much time dreaming of the day when Jack, Noah, and I
might leave this house together.
I finally reached the door to Hazel’s room. Pushing it
open and cringing at the squeal of rusted hinges, I stood at
the threshold and peered in. Because of the fog outside the
windows, the light was even grayer and gloomier than the
last time I was here. My eyes searched the shadows. I
desperately hoped to find my brother but didn’t see him
anywhere. A heavy feeling pulled me down, as if my soul
were stuck in cement shoes destined for the murky bottom
of the river.
I walked deeper into the room. My feet sloshed through a
puddle left on the floor when the rain had come in through a
hole in the roof. Sure now that Jack wasn’t here, and not
knowing what else to do, I put my hand on my aching side
and went to the small trinket table. It was ruined, but I was
still able to get the drawer open. I peered inside. It was
empty.
All the misery of coming back into Seale House, and for
nothing! I jerked out the drawer and threw it across the
room. It hit the wall with a loud bang and flipped upside
down. That’s when I saw something taped to the bottom. I
hurried over and pulled off a cream-colored envelope with
my name written on the front.
“Why, Jack?” I whispered.
Why another clue leading nowhere? And in the
meantime, why set me up to fall in love with Noah all over
again, only to have him stab me in the heart like I was the
vampire and he was Van Helsing?
I shrugged out of my backpack and tossed it on a dry
spot on the floor. Opening the envelope, I pulled out several
pages written in my brother’s familiar print. I walked over to
the streaked window and turned the paper to catch the light.
Hello, Jocelyn,
If you pick up this letter the first time I
bring you to Hazel’s room, then some of this
won’t make sense. However, I’m hoping you’ll
start with the clue in the cellar and follow the
route I’ve laid out for you.
“That’s so like you, isn’t it?” I said aloud, smiling sadly in
spite of everything.
Before I get to the main reason for this
letter, I need to let you know what happened
at ISI. It all started when my boss, Sam
Marvin, came to me. He said there was a
man named Paul Gerard who used to work
for the company, and he stole something
from them. Since I was the only employee
Gerard hadn’t met, Sam asked me to get it
back. He said he couldn’t tell me what it was,
but he made it clear that in the wrong hands it
could ruin his company.
I agreed to help because I didn’t want
Noah to get hurt. If ISI crashed, it might ruin
everything for the one guy who always looked
out for me. I couldn’t let that happen, so I took
the info Sam gave me and went to find Paul
Gerard.
I won’t write the details here, but things
ended up bad. Though I got the stolen file
from Gerard, he soon figured out what I’d
done and followed. He attacked me, and I
barely escaped. I was hurt, and it left me
really shook up. Sam Marvin never should
have sent me after that file, because I
could’ve been killed.
Once I finally got to a safe place, I
decided to check out what Gerard had taken
and why it was so important. After opening
the file, I was upset to learn that back doors
had been coded into many of ISI’s security
programs. What Gerard stole was the master
list of the passwords to enter all those hidden
back doors, which I’m guessing he could sell
for a lot of money. Sam was right about one
thing: in the wrong hands it could wipe out
their company. It could maybe even cause
some arrests, because it’s illegal.
I still wanted to protect Noah, but I wasn’t
sure about giving the passwords back to ISI. I
needed time to think things over, so I hid the
list. Then I drove up to Canada and toured
Parliament and the Peace Tower. That’s
where I first got the idea for leaving the clues.
You’ve probably been asking yourself
why I’ve led you on such a strange treasure
hunt. First, I wanted you to revisit the cellar.
You were always so afraid of it, and
especially afraid of facing the memory of
Conner and what you did. Do you know, the
last time we were talking about Seale House
I brought him up but you had forgotten him …
or at least blocked him out? I think it’s
important for you to let that go. After all, you
were just a girl trying to be the grown-up and
do what was needed. I don’t think anyone can
blame you for that.
Second, I sent you to the Peace Tower
because I wanted you to look down at
Gatineau, Quebec, from a great height and
realize that even though Melody was so
abusive to you there, she and Erv and that
whole place are insignificant. Although we
were there only a few days, what Melody did
left a scar on you. But viewing that city, and
her, from a distance, can you see how small
and worthless she was? So were those bratty
girls at school in Watertown, and the same
with Hazel and her cruelty. All of them are like
pebbles on the shore. If you hold them close
to your eye, they seem gigantic. But if you put
them where they belong, you can have a
better perspective on what they really were.
Third, I sent you to the Seventh Book in
the Memorial Chamber because it
represents those who lost their lives in times
of peace, and in some ways that signifies
me.
I looked up and clutched the paper. What did Jack mean
by that? I continued reading.
It also seemed important for you to find
the other people who haunted your past. You
know how you are, Jocelyn, how you don’t let
go of anything. That’s why I wanted you to
meet up with Dixon, to see for yourself that
he’s all right, and the same thing with Beth. I
also wanted you to see Hazel and recognize
how powerless she’s become, and how
pathetic she always was.
Now, for the main reason I left the clues. I
did it because most of all I wanted you to
spend time with Noah. I knew if I left these
tricky puzzles, neither of you would be able to
resist figuring them out.
“Yeah, right. He was happy to do it if he was being paid.”
There’s something you don’t know about
him, Jocey. One time when we were chatting,
he confessed something to me. He told me
that ever since we were kids, he has secretly
been in love with you.
Shocked, I stared down at the letter. How could that be?
Noah had acted so cross when I’d first shown up. Of
course, as a boy he’d always put up walls. I’d never been
sure what he was thinking.
Several times now Noah has asked me
to let him talk to you, but when I brought it up
you were always so stubborn. I know how
upset you felt about our last night at Seale
House and what Noah said to you, but that
was five years ago. He’s not angry anymore,
and though he’s not a guy who would ever
send you flowers or write a poem—which you
wouldn’t like anyway—there’s a lot more
inside him than what you can see on the
surface.
And I know you care about him too.
Maybe you were just a twelve-year-old kid
back then, but your feelings for Noah never
went away. I heard it in your voice every time
I’d tell you about him. That’s when I started to
think that if you’re going to have a future, then
I need to stop running interference. It’s time
for you to heal and let go of the pain.
While I was hiding the clues, I also
decided that I didn’t want to keep working for
ISI because they couldn’t be trusted. So I
checked the state news online and read an
article about this bad accident in Norwich. I
downloaded a photo of the totaled car, wrote
up a fake accident report, substituted my
name, and sent it to Sam Marvin. I knew it
was time to sever my ties with them and
disappear. I know how much this must have
hurt you, and I am sorry.
Jocey, I know you’ve always believed I
was the strong one, but I’m not. I’ve stuffed
down so much anger and hatred, while you’ve
been the one who is kind and good. I’m only
bringing you down—hurting you when I don’t
mean to, which is why you’re better off without
me.
Before I leave, I want you to know that
I’ve always been aware of your heartache.
When you weep on your pillow, your tears
dampen my face. Even before I faked my
death and you suffered because of that, I
have known your pain. In too many ways I’ve
held your anger and hatred for you, while
you’ve carried the grief for both of us. It’s time
for you to let me go.
—Jack
I raised my teary eyes from the letter and then slumped
down on the floor, a sob escaping from me. “But I have
nothing by myself,” I whispered. The ache in my side
worsened.
Slowly folding the letter and slipping it back in the
envelope, I brushed away my tears. Another strong spasm
made me grimace, but I felt afraid to look at the medieval
mark. Why had Jack left so many things unexplained?
At the sound of approaching footsteps, I stood and
clutched my side. Might Jack be coming to me after all?
I faced the door as it banged open, and squinted at the
outline of a man walking across the threshold. Gray light
from the windows illuminated him enough for me to
recognize him and see the gun pointed in my face. It was
Paul Gerard.
Thirty-Six
The Enemy
In the dim shadows, Gerard’s handsome features and olive
complexion took on a sinister look. He smiled. “Good to
see you again.” His calm tone of voice made it sound more
like a pick-up line than a threat.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.
“Healing. How’s your throat?”
“All better.”
“You know, I have to admit I admire your bag of tricks. I
think you’re the smartest bitch I’ve ever been up against.
Not the prettiest, but the smartest.”
“Well, if I have to choose …”
He grabbed me by the hair, shoving the gun beneath my
jaw and cutting my comment off midsentence. The
psychotic glint in his eyes reminded me of Conner, and I
knew I couldn’t talk myself out of this trouble.
“Let go.” My voice was strangely calm.
He smiled with that phony confidence I’d seen at the
gallery. “Sure. First tell me where it is.”
“Afraid I can’t do that.”
“Where’s your gratitude, Jocelyn? You owe me. If I hadn’t
shot that kid, he would’ve stabbed you.”
His cocky confession made me angry. Why was he
taking credit for killing Georgie in the same way a Boy
Scout would talk about doing a good deed?
“So where is it?”
I spoke slowly, like he was stupid. “I. Don’t. Know.”
His face darkened with rage, and he started spewing vile
names at me, telling in graphic detail what he was going to
do to me. The pitch of his voice rose as his fingers twisted
my hair and jerked my head back until my neck was
throbbing with pain. I understood why Jack had been so
frightened of him. Afraid to look at his Conner eyes, my own
slid away to the walls with their peeling wallpaper and
chipped plaster. They had begun to pulsate, and beneath
Gerard’s shrill threats I heard the low thrum of the slowbeating
heart that had haunted my Seale House
nightmares.
Shoving the gun harder against my throat, he threatened
in the foulest language to blow my head off. I tried to keep
my voice even. “Then you’ll never find the password list, will
you?”
He threw me to the ground and kicked me. I curled up to
try and protect myself. The pain in my side was intense
now, and I worried that his blow had ruptured my appendix.
In a fearful haze, I wondered if the ink oozing up through my
skin was merely an omen of some infection underneath. He
stomped down on my wrist and I stared at his shiny shoe,
thinking that Noah would never wear something so dorky.
“I don’t need to kill you.” He put his weight on my wrist
until I was gasping in pain. “I’ll just shoot you in the hand, for
starters. How about that?”
Looking up at him, and how he towered over me, I also
saw the wall behind him begin to warp and writhe. “Don’t,” I
pleaded.
“Too late.” He squatted down and put the gun against my
palm.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I braced my body against the
blast that would bring more pain and disfigurement than I
could imagine. But then a hostile curse escaped Gerard,
and he staggered back, freeing my wrist. My eyes flew
open as his gun thudded to the floor. He swore and shook
his hand. I grabbed the gun but released it immediately—it
was hot!
He stumbled back against the wall, which was swelling
and undulating. With a shout of alarm, he tried to step away
but couldn’t. The wall held him like a fly on a web, and when
he struggled to pull free it surged around him like The Blob.
He panicked as it began to suck him in. The wall slurped at
him like it was starving and he was the morsel it had been
waiting for.
Gerard started screaming and I did too. Jumping to my
feet, I lurched away from him and through the door. His
cries of terror followed me down the hallway, where the
walls shuddered with waves and spasms. The water stains
twisted in fantastic and eerie designs. Horrified, I bolted
into the room where I’d once stayed with the other girls.
There was only a bench and beat-up dresser in here now.
Tattered curtains framed two windows, and a spotted
mirror hung lopsided between them.
Dark stains began to emerge from the walls in the same
way the X on my abdomen had done. My heart was beating
so fast that it seemed ready to tear itself in half, and yet I
couldn’t pull my gaze away. Glass from the panes of a
window suddenly exploded, raining all around me as I
screamed and crouched down, covering my head.
“Stop it!” I sobbed. I plugged my ears against the low,
pulsing heartbeat interwoven with Gerard’s distant cries.
Those next few minutes became incoherent for me until
the walls finally stopped their sickening pulsations. When I
looked up the room was the way it had been, except for
glass shards covering the floor. And Noah was there. He
knelt beside me and said something, maybe asking if I was
okay. Just like that autumn afternoon years ago, when
Conner had nearly killed me, I couldn’t make out his words
because of the buzzing in my ears.
Two other men hurried into the room, one of them
Zachary Saulto. I closed my eyes, gasping at the renewed
pain in my side, clutching at it with hands that became
claws.
“What’s wrong with her, Sam?” Noah asked from what
sounded like a great distance.
Beyond the ringing in my ears I heard the man say,
“Show her the picture.”
Noah held up the crumpled drawing of the medieval
cross with Jack’s writing underneath. “I found this on the
stairs, Jocey. Is it from Jack?”
I nodded, my voice catching as I said, “But he’s not here.”
The man knelt down in front of me. He was in his forties
and had long features and washed-out gray eyes. He wore
a red tie with a dark business suit, and when he looked at
me I had a strange feeling of familiarity.
“Jocelyn, I’m Sam Marvin, Jack’s boss. I want to help you.
Do you know what he meant by this paper? Is it important?”
I ignored him and turned to Noah. “I know why you stayed
with me. You’re still working for ISI. How could you betray
me? I thought we were in this together, for Jack.”
“We are.”
I shook my head. “How much did they offer to pay you for
going through all this with me?”
“Not enough.”
As I looked away he caught my chin and turned it back to
force eye contact. “There’s not enough money in the world
to make me go through all this crazy stuff. I only agreed to it
because I care about you.”
I just stared at him, wanting to ignore the intensity in his
eyes but finding it hard. He lowered his voice so only I could
hear. “I was just trying to keep you safe, Jocey.”
“You should have told me.”
“If I did, you would’ve left.”
There was another wave of pain in my side, and I
remembered Paul Gerard’s hard kick. Turning my head, I
looked through the open door and out into the hallway. Had
Seale House killed my attacker? “Where’s Gerard?” I
asked.
“Gone. We saw him run out of the house and get in his
car. He was holding his arm like it was broken, and he
looked scared—his eyes all wild. He peeled out fast. Did
you fight him, Jocey, and break his arm somehow?”
I shook my head. I wanted to tell him the truth but was
afraid to explain what the house had done.
“Jocelyn,” Sam Marvin said with a sincere gaze. “It’s very
important that we talk to Jack.”
An unexpected surge of anger filled me. “He doesn’t trust
you anymore!”
Another window in the room exploded and we all ducked
for cover. There was a sting in my arm. When I looked
down, I saw Zachary Saulto push in the syringe of a small
hypodermic. I jerked away as Noah lunged at him, his fist
smashing into Saulto’s face. Sam Marvin began shouting
and pried Noah off the guy, who now had a bleeding lip.
I grimaced in pain, hunched over, and grabbed my side.
Noah hurried back to me. “What’s wrong, Jocey?”
“It hurts.” I rocked back and forth.
“Did Gerard do this to you?”
I shook my head, another spasm worse than the first now
washing through me. Sam Marvin crouched down again.
“Listen to me. Jack hid something for us, and you’re the
only one who can get it. Tell us what you need—”
Noah said, “She needs a hospital. I’m calling an
ambulance.”
“No!” I protested. “No hospital.”
I couldn’t go on in such agony. Untying the drawstring on
my pants, I peeled down the fabric just low enough for them
to see the medieval cross atop the place where my
appendix might be. “X marks the spot,” I whispered in a
ghastly voice that didn’t sound like me at all.
They stared at it until Zachary Saulto said, “It’s hidden
there … I can’t believe it.”
Sam Marvin nodded. “Where else would be safer? Can
we get it out?”
“Yes. There’s a scalpel in the first-aid kit in the car.”
Saulto hurried through the door.
Outraged, Noah turned on Marvin. “You’re crazy! We’re
not cutting her open!”
“It’ll only be a surface incision.”
“Get her to a hospital if you want, but you’re not doing it
here!”
Marvin scowled and shook his head. “You really don’t
know what we’re dealing with, Noah. Jack put our data
beneath that mark, and now he wants it taken out.”
“Jack? Are you nuts?”
“Trust me, he did.”
“I don’t believe he’d do that to her.”
I reached for Noah’s arm as another spasm shook me
and I gasped. “Let them get it out. It’s all right.”
He studied me for several seconds, our eyes locking.
“Okay,” he said, sitting beside me.
Saulto entered with a first-aid kit and a laptop. He came
toward me.
“Wait! Not him.” Saulto scowled at me, his sore lip
making him look pouty. “I don’t want that guy touching me.
Noah, you do it.”
He looked grim. “Are you sure, Jocey? I mean, really
sure?”
I nodded and Saulto shoved the kit into Noah’s hands.
He opened it, unsheathed a scalpel, and grabbed some
gauze. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.
Truthfully, I hardly felt the incision because of the biting
spasms. When whatever Jack had hidden inside me
slipped out, the pain stopped. Panting as if from a terrible
ordeal, my body coated with sweat, I opened my eyes.
Noah dabbed the incision in the middle of the tattoo.
He held up a tiny sealed packet taken from beneath my
skin. Marvin used his handkerchief to take it from Noah,
wiped off the blood, and opened it. He removed an IC chip.
Inserting it into a flash memory stick, he handed it to Saulto,
who walked over to his laptop, which was sitting on the old
dresser. He plugged the flash drive into the computer’s
USB port, fingered the touch pad, and studied the screen.
“Okay, we’ve got it!”
A wave of dizziness washed through me. I started sinking
down into a slow-moving haze—the injection Saulto had put
in my arm was affecting me. I was on the edge of slipping
into unconsciousness when Marvin crouched down and
looked into my face. He smiled with relief.
“Terrific job, Jack. We owe you a lot.”
Thirty-Seven
Memories
The road twisted away from us like a white-gray ribbon, the
moon a lopsided orb. It had been a year since we left
Seale House and Watertown. We were with our mother.
During that time Jack and I had begun to rebuild a life in
Vermont, but now it was all left behind in a moment of
panic. We didn’t even go back to our small apartment to
get the few possessions we owned.
The road seemed to disappear into the hills as we
rattled along at breakneck speed. Melody muttered to
herself in partial sentences while she drove, blurting out
bits and pieces of regret, anger, and heartache.
Sometimes she laughed with vengeful derision, other
times she wept for Calvert, her first love—the only man
she ever really loved.
My brother and I, who at fourteen had already seen far
too much of the world, sat close to each other. Jack was
slumped against the passenger door, his head resting on
the window. His breathing was shallow and his forehead
red. There was a bloody, swollen spot on his brow.
As the old pickup shuddered, I desperately wished he
would wake up. Peering through the cracked windshield,
recently broken by the impact from Jack’s head, I stared at
the red rust that corroded the hood and seemed to be
inching closer. Sitting between sleeping Jack and ranting
Melody, a chill went up my spine. It was now clear that the
red on the hood wasn’t rust alone, but also blood. The
dented hood was stained from the violent impact that had
killed Melody’s beloved Calvert and the woman he was
with.
I trembled at the memory of what had happened only an
hour before. Jack and I were waiting for our mother in the
parking lot of the restaurant where she worked. When she
came out, she was shaking and sobbing. As she started
the truck, Jack tried to talk to her, to find out what was
wrong. He was still trying to calm her when the man she
identified as Calvert and a woman with long dark hair
exited the place. They strolled along with their arms
around each other.
Melody revved the engine, released the brake, and
stepped on the accelerator. They looked up and
screamed. She screamed, too, ramming the pickup into
them and smashing their bodies against the brick wall of
the restaurant. I braced myself for the impact, but Jack’s
focus was on trying to stop our mother. His head smashed
into the windshield and cracked the glass.
During the next hour, Melody drove our pickup in a
one-car chase scene through the night, safely out of
Vermont and across the state line to New York. My pleas
for her to turn the truck around and get Jack to the hospital
back in Bennington were useless. She heard nothing but
her own twisted thoughts. She talked about how Calvert
never should have abandoned her at a truck stop all
those years ago, making the rest of her life a wreck. Both
their lives would have been wonderful and perfect if he’d
stayed with her. It was all his fault that she was forced to do
what she did. After hearing so many retellings of the story
of Calvert’s desertion, I couldn’t believe she had actually
found him again and taken his life in revenge.
In the distance we finally saw lights against the velvety
black landscape, a necklace of shimmering jewels. I took
Jack’s limp hand in mine and told him to hang on. We
would get him to a hospital soon.
We sped our way into town, reached a small hospital,
and found the emergency entrance. Melody leaped out of
the pickup and screamed for help. Anxious attendants
came and felt for Jack’s pulse. They transferred his
unconscious body onto a gurney and hurried inside. I
followed them into the hospital, staring at the closed doors
they took him through, tensing every time a technician
raced past.
After a while a doctor came up to me. He had kind eyes
and his nametag said Dr. Brent Haberton. Motioning to a
nurse, he asked her to take me to the waiting room. I
followed the woman there but didn’t go in, because
Melody was there, sitting in a chair and crying. I couldn’t
tolerate being near my mother. Instead, I walked down a
hallway and found a small, deserted chapel with darkened
windows. I sat there for a long time, rocking back and forth,
begging for Jack’s life. The door opened, and I turned to
see Melody come inside.
“Jack is dead,” she said, weeping.
I stared at her. I didn’t believe it. “No,” I whispered in a
low, dreadful croak.
“First Calvert and now Jack,” she sobbed. “I’ve lost the
only two people I ever really loved.”
How could she speak those two names in the same
breath? I stared at her with cold disgust. She grabbed my
arm and said, “The police are here. I saw them at the
desk. We’ve got to get out before they try and talk to us!”
I jerked free and slapped her so hard across the face
that my palm hurt. She staggered back, surprised out of
her tears. At fourteen I was taller than her, though until now
she was never afraid of me. But the look on my face must
have been terrible because she edged away.
“You killed Jack,” I hissed, spitting words as if they were
stones breaking my teeth. “He’s dead because of you! I’m
going to tell the police what you did to him. And if you stay
here or ever try to see me again, I’ll tell them what you did
to Calvert and that lady.”
Melody gaped at me. She forgot her tears for Jack,
even forgot her tears for the stupid boyfriend who had
dumped her. She turned and rushed away, leaving me
alone in the gloomy chapel. I sank down on the bench.
There was nothing left in me, only a tattered soul with no
seed of hope and no reason to live. I longed to be with
Jack, and I loathed myself for grabbing the dashboard
and saving my life. We had always been two parts of a
whole. I didn’t know how I could survive without him.
The door to the chapel opened. I turned around, ready
to lunge at Melody if she was back. Instead, an old woman
walked up to me. She had papery skin and a halo of wispy
hair. A cross rested atop her purple blouse next to a name
tag that said VOLUNTEER, and she looked at me with
sorrowful green eyes that seemed to understand. She
asked if she could sit beside me, but I didn’t answer. She
sat down anyway. Then she told me about losing her son
to cancer here in this hospital. She said many things in a
gentle voice. I hardly heard them.
After a while she stopped talking and we sat together in
silence. As always, my thoughts cried out to Jack. I
begged him to tell me that he was still alive, that this
cruelest of all hoaxes wasn’t real.
“You know,” the lady said at last, “one thing I’ve learned
is that you’ll always have him with you.”
I turned to look at her and she reached out with her
slender old-woman fingers, touching my temple. “You’ll
always have him here,” she said, and then moved her
fingers to my heart. “And here.”
After a while she left me alone with my grief, and I sat
unmoving inside the gloomy chapel. Her last few words
kept repeating themselves in my mind. As I raised my
eyes to the dark window, I saw Jack’s dim reflection.
Standing, I turned around, hardly able to believe he was
there after all. There wasn’t a mark on his forehead, no
misery in his eyes, and he smiled at me.
“Don’t cry, Jocey,” I heard him say inside my head. His
lips didn’t move and his smile never wavered. “She’s right,
you know. I’ll always be with you, in your mind and in your
heart.”
I drifted up from the depths of slowly returning
consciousness. I heard Noah’s voice. His mellow tone had
always drawn me in, and I let my mind travel in that
direction.
“I just don’t see how this can be true. I talked to Jack all
the time.”
“But only on the computer, right?” Sam Marvin said. “You
never got together in person, did you?”
“No.” His tone held an awkward uncertainty.
“But you weren’t living that far away from each other.
Didn’t you want to see him?”
“Sure. We even made plans. At first I asked to visit him
and Jocelyn, and meet their foster family. Jack said she
didn’t want to. So he and I planned for him to come here,
but then stuff just kept happening.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Car trouble. An unexpected family trip … and then he
got strep throat.” Noah’s voice turned sour. “But Jack emailed
me photos of himself.”
“Probably age-enhanced. She was very skilled with
digital photo editing. And Jack really wanted to have your
friendship. He did whatever it took to keep your online
communication going.”
“You’re not making any sense! Are you talking about
Jocelyn or Jack?”
“Both, because they’re the same person.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Let me explain. Jack died in a car accident the year
after he and Jocelyn left Watertown. They were both just
fourteen. Unable to deal with that terrible loss, Jocelyn
erased the memory of his death and then internalized his
personality within herself. It’s similar to multiple personality
disorder. Being twins, and as close as she and Jack were,
it was easy for her to embrace his identity. That way she
could keep him alive.
“So you see, when Jack worked for us, it might have
been in Jocelyn’s body, but she has no memory of the
things he was doing. It’s almost like she gave some of her
brain to him, which she doesn’t know anything about.
Likewise, when Jocelyn was involved with her own
activities, Jack’s personality wasn’t present. His part of the
mind was always aware of what she was doing. In a lot of
ways it’s like two separate beings sharing one body. He
was the programmer, she was the graphic artist. Though
she’s the one who created them, of course. It’s hard to
grasp what a truly brilliant mind she has.”
“How did you find this out?”
Sam Marvin hesitated. “The private investigating firm I
use for background checks is very thorough. They were
able to lay hands on a copy of her therapy file.”
“You had no right to do that.”
“Hang on—Jack knew.”
“What?”
“He was starting to distrust his therapist and wanted to
know what Dr. Candlar was writing in his file. In fact, he
okayed our getting it. Especially since I assured him he had
an important future with our company.”
“But what about Jocelyn, Sam? Look at what’s
happening to her.”
They were silent for several seconds, and I drifted back
down into darkness, terrified to hear more.
I stood outside a tattoo shop, trying to summon the
courage to go through the door. When I finally stepped
inside, Beth was there. She was tattooed and pierced in
ways fantastic and bizarre, her red hair buzzed as short as
a man’s. At first, as I pretended to look at the display case,
she just stared. She couldn’t believe it was me.
Eventually I bought one of the knives, which softened
her up. I chose a design from her books, asking her to
tattoo an X over the small recent scar on my lower
abdomen. Beth was delighted to use her needles on me.
It created a bond that hadn’t existed when we were kids. I
lay in the reclining chair while she talked in a soothing
way that was a total contrast to her tough appearance. We
chatted away and I never felt a thing, which impressed her
all the more. Before I left the shop, I asked her to hold on
to the original X pattern, promising to come back for it.
Thirty-Eight
Freak
“You can’t blame us,” Sam Marvin was saying the next time
I woke up. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened
if Paul Gerard sold that list of passwords to the buyer who
wanted them? Once he stole it from us, he also destroyed
our other copies. We had no way to protect our clients.”
“Spy on them, don’t you mean?” Noah sounded irritated.
“Listen, I don’t care about your problems. What bothers me
is that you were willing to put her in danger.”
“It didn’t seem that big a deal. We assumed Jack was
handling his run-in with Gerard okay. The next thing we
knew, he sent us a phony death report and disappeared.
Jocelyn had no idea about any of it, either. She truly
believed Jack had died. We didn’t want to lose the data
she stole back from Gerard but couldn’t figure out where
she’d hidden it. Then she drove up here to Watertown
earlier this week. We were sure she was going to the place
where she’d stashed it. Instead, she started following you.”
“Following me? Trying to find Jack, because to her he’s
real?”
“Right.”
I lay still, listening to the conversation. Inside me was a
tight knot of grief for Jack. The pain was as fresh as the day
it happened, all the horror of what Melody had done to him
weighing heavily on me. And yet there was a difference
between accepting this loss now and accepting it back
then. I had become stronger—more able to withstand the
heartbreak that would have destroyed me when I was
fourteen. Something in me—maybe spurred on by the
danger from ISI—must have known that this was the time to
let go.
For weeks now, I realized, Jack had been tearing himself
away from me. I thought about school. The counselor had
called me into her office because my English teacher, Ms.
Chen, had noticed that all my poems were about death,
loss, and grief. She showed them to the counselor.
“My brother died, so why shouldn’t I be sad?” was all I
would say. After that I refused to talk about it, explaining I
had my own therapist outside of school.
Everyone, including my foster parents and friends,
seemed concerned because of how depressed I acted. But
they were all clueless about what was really happening
inside me. In some twisted mental way, I had come to
believe that Jack’s death had taken place mere weeks ago
—not years in the past.
Slowly opening my eyes, I blinked to clear my vision. I sat
up and my head throbbed.
Noah came and knelt on the floor beside me, trying to
hide his unease. “How are you feeling?”
Sam Marvin said, “Zach, get her a drink of water, will
you?”
Zachary Saulto was focused on his laptop. He glanced at
me with a closed expression before heading down the hall.
I heard him turn on the faucet in the bathroom.
“Are you okay, Jocey?” Noah asked.
“Apparently not.” I felt humiliated by the truth of what I
really was. Oh, Jack! I sobbed inside. The loss of my
brother was a pain I physically felt.
Saulto came back. He squatted down and held out a
glass of water. “Here you go, Jaclyn.”
“Jocelyn,” I corrected.
“Jocelyn … Jaclyn … Jack. It’s all the same thing, isn’t
it?” The glass shattered in his hand. Startled, he dropped it
and stood, cursing and holding a cut finger.
“That’s enough, Zach,” Sam Marvin said. He turned to
me. “Please stay calm, Jocelyn. I know this is all very
confusing. If you could just let me talk to Jack for a minute, I
really want to ask what’s going on with him.”
There was a loud crack and the mirror exploded, raining
glass onto the floor with a tinkling sound.
He looked at me with a firm expression. “You’ve got to
stop.”
After a silence that lasted several seconds, Noah said,
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t you know? You’re the one who used to live with
her. She has telekinetic abilities.”
I shook my head. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s time you accept the truth, Jocelyn. Who do you think
kept stopping the fires at Seale House when you were
kids? Or blew up those lightbulbs in the lamps the night you
left? And what do you think saved you from Gerard this
morning?”
Could he be right? The rational part of my mind pushed
the thought away.
Noah glared at Sam Marvin. “Wait a minute! Even if
that’s true, how could you possibly know all that stuff?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Was that in her therapy file, too?”
“Only some of it. You forget that I’ve had a number of
conversations with the Jack side of her that she doesn’t
even remember. He told me how her telekinesis didn’t
develop until she was at Seale House, and it’s always been
unpredictable. Of course, at first I didn’t believe it and
asked for proof.” Sam gave Noah a wry smile. “That was a
mistake.”
“Why?”
“Her therapy file was open on my desk. It burst into
flames and was destroyed before I could douse it with my
cup of coffee.”
Sam turned to me. Despite his casual manner, I could
see he was weighing my reaction. “Once you re-created
Jack’s personality inside you, he learned to funnel off your
psychic energy. He also used it to block your awareness of
him. That’s why you haven’t had any memories of it, or even
seen it happen again until he recently decided to go into
hiding.”
I shook my head. “But what about Seale House?” Rolling
up my sleeve, I showed him the bite mark on my arm. “Look
at this! It happened when I was in the cellar.”
“Probably just a form of stigmata. Fear and guilt will
sometimes cause a person to self-mutilate. With your
mental abilities it could easily happen. Accept the truth,
Jocelyn. There are no ghosts in this house, only the ones
Jocelyn. There are no ghosts in this house, only the ones
you brought with you.” His voice softened. “Just look inside
yourself and you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
I couldn’t deny the logic of his reasoning, and once I
accepted his account, everything else fell into place. Jack’s
cell phone call, the scary ride in the Peace Tower elevator,
and even the emerging tattoo previously hidden from my
eyes, all had an explanation: they were entirely in my head.
And what was in my head could change the real world too.
“Do you know what a rare and special talent you have?
The things you and Jack can do are hugely impressive.
Look at how you dealt with Gerard. Until you took him on,
we’d lost hope of ever getting the file back. With your
abilities, you could be unstoppable. And like I told your
brother the last time we spoke, no more meager internship
wages. Instead, we’re willing to pay you a good deal of
money to come work for us full time after you graduate.”
“Doing what, exactly? Industrial espionage?”
Noah stood, rigid with anger. “Sure. I get it now, Sam.
You’re using her, aren’t you? That’s what this whole thing is
about.”
Sam folded his arms. He studied Noah with annoyance
and shook his head.
I looked at the lean man in his expensive suit and said,
“Of course it is. They’ve never been interested in Jack as a
programmer … or me as a person. What they want is to
use my abilities. If they think it’s okay to write back doors
into their clients’ security programs, they won’t mind having
me steal important documents and programs, either.”
Sam’s face reddened. “It’s not like that! Don’t you see?
We’re on your side, Jocelyn, and we can make you rich.
You’ll never have to be a poor foster kid again. In fact, we’ll
give you a huge bonus just to sign with us.”
Clenching my fists, I looked away from him and at
Zachary Saulto, who stood by the dresser. His bloody finger
was wrapped in a handkerchief as he obsessively
reviewed the data on his laptop.
I spoke to Sam Marvin, even though my eyes stayed on
the computer. “Jack didn’t want the deal you were offering.
He didn’t want to give you the passwords to those back
doors either, because what you’re doing is wrong.”
doors either, because what you’re doing is wrong.”
Glaring at the flash drive sticking out of Saulto’s laptop
port, I watched a thin ribbon of smoke start to rise from it.
Saulto didn’t notice until his screen went blank. Letting out a
dismayed cry, he reached for the flash drive and then
jerked his hand back, swearing and shaking his singed
fingers. Sam Marvin yelled and rushed over to the laptop.
I jumped up and ran out of the room and down the hall,
ignoring their panicked shouts, stopping in Hazel’s room
only long enough to get my backpack. My eyes avoided the
wall that had grabbed Paul Gerard.
Racing down the stairs and across the entryway, I
pushed through the front doors and out into the hazy
morning. I fled down the steps, determined to never again
return to Seale House.
There was the sound of someone running behind me,
and Noah called my name. Slowing just enough for him to
catch up with me, I kept walking.
“I’m sorry,” he said, matching my stride. “I didn’t mean to
hurt you, Jocey. I was only trying to watch out for you.”
I pulled in a jagged breath. “None of that matters now.”
Seeing the sadness in his face, I whispered, “I’m sorry too.”
It was then that another hidden memory surfaced. I saw
myself sitting at the computer in the middle of the night,
chatting with Noah online and loving it. “I never meant to lie.”
He reached out and caught my hand, halting my stride.
“Stop for a minute, will you?”
I stood beside him on the sidewalk, watching the subtle
movement of the fog. “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me.”
“I don’t hate you. Mostly I just feel rotten about Jack dying
all those years ago and the hell you’ve lived through.”
The pain of losing my brother still hammered at me, but I
pushed it down. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked, forcing
them back. “All the times we wrote to each other, and you
believed I was Jack …”
“It gave me the only real friendship I’ve ever had. Now
that I know it was you, so much more of what we’ve had
together these past few days makes sense.”
Flooded with humiliation at the elaborate delusions I’d
created and the insane quest I’d led us on, I could hardly
look at him. “Until a few minutes ago, I never even
remembered doing any of it. Guess I really am …”
Noah looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“A freak.”
He was unable to hide how overwhelmed he felt. “Is that
so bad?”
I started crying and he pulled me into his arms. “It’ll be
okay, Jocey.”
“How can it? I’m crazy, aren’t I?”
His mouth grazed my temple and he sighed. “It looks that
way.”
I loved him all the more because he didn’t lie to me.
Pulling back, I brushed the dampness from my face and
whispered, “Take care of yourself, Noah.”
His hands slid down my arms and then he released me. I
turned and ran into the fog, not looking back.
Thirty-Nine
Sunset
After I drove away from Watertown in my fire-damaged car,
I didn’t go home to the Habertons. Even though it meant I
wouldn’t graduate from high school, there was simply no
way I could go back to the house where the make-believe
Jack and I had lived.
I sent my foster parents a letter thanking them and saying
how grateful I was for their kindness. I also apologized for
going away so unexpectedly and said I’d never forget them.
During the weeks that followed I lived on my own, moving
around and surviving on the cash I had emptied from my
bank account. I crossed the border into Canada. At first I
went to Toronto, but the city was too large and noisy, and I
had a couple of jumpy moments when I felt afraid Paul
Gerard was following me. Even though I no longer had the
chip and knew his experience at Seale House had
probably scared him off, I couldn’t forget his psycho eyes. I
told myself it was just nerves, but since there was no way to
be sure he wasn’t still looking for me, I kept moving.
Deciding to travel east, I next visited New Brunswick and
Nova Scotia, two places in Canada I’d always wanted to
see. During my days there I kept to myself and took the
time I needed to really grieve for my brother’s death—
something I’d never done. I also researched multiple
personalities. Several of the online articles I read said that
when personalities merge back together it’s a good thing
and shows progress for the patient. Psychologists called it
integration. It didn’t feel good, though. Despite having
gained some of Jack’s memories, it still felt like there was
a big hole inside me. And whenever I showered or changed
my clothes, there was the tattooed X, a permanent
reminder of the way my brother had marked my life.
As for Sam Marvin’s claim that I had telekinetic abilities, I
still wondered seriously if it wasn’t all tied to Seale House.
Now that I was away from that malevolent place, it seemed
my powers were gone.
Each day I busied myself with reading, traveling, and just
pretending to be an ordinary tourist. At night it was a lot
harder, being so alone. Thoughts of Noah often filled my
mind, and I could still envision him standing on the foggy
sidewalk in Watertown as I left. Although I longed to see
him again, I knew there was no going back. For one thing, I
was the catalyst that had left his life in ruins; because of me
his home and all his possessions had been destroyed.
Even worse, he’d lost his best friend. I didn’t see how I
could ever face him again.
May faded to June and I traveled to Prince Edward
Island, the place I’d most wanted to visit as a girl reading all
those L. M. Montgomery books. The island had been my
number one pick when Jack, Noah, and I had chosen our
top places to live, and once I got there I wasn’t
disappointed. It was even more beautiful than I’d imagined.
In the small city of Charlottetown, I found a job at a used
bookstore and rented a room at a local boarding house. I
soon settled into a peaceful routine of working, rereading
all the Montgomery books that had made the island
famous, and taking long walks. I looked forward to turning
eighteen and finally being a legal adult, free from the fear of
being put in another foster care program.
The first of July, in the early morning hours of my
eighteenth birthday, I had a dream about Jack. We were
kids again, celebrating our birthdays by playing a wacky
game of kickball at a nearby park. He was pretending to
run in slow motion and I was laughing at how goofy he
looked. After I awoke, the happiness of that memory
lingered, slowly replaced by a sense of calm. It was as if the
heavy stone that had been crushing my heart for such a
long time was starting to lift.
That evening I sat on a pier by the bay and watched the
Canada Day fireworks light up the sky. I smiled to myself
and remembered the time we were eight in Toronto. Jack
told me it didn’t matter if there weren’t any birthday
presents. We got fireworks instead, and that was better.
The next morning my boss at the bookstore asked me to
pick up a package for her from the post office. While I was
there I decided to check and see if there was any mail for
me at general delivery. An older gentleman handed me the
package, and then also gave me a letter.
“You need to check for your mail more often, young lady,”
he said with a friendly smile. “That letter has been sitting
here a while, and after two weeks items get returned to the
sender.”
He tapped the blank spot on the envelope—no return
address. “Except ones like this get thrown out.”
I mumbled a polite reply, took the mail, and turned away.
Leaving the post office, I hurried over to a shaded bench
and sat down, putting the package on my lap. My fingers
fumbled with the envelope. I tore it open and looked inside,
but there wasn’t a letter. Instead, pieces of a puzzle fell into
my palm. It was a photo that had been cut up.
My first thought was of Jack and the Jason December
clues, though I quickly told myself not to be stupid. I started
putting the pieces together and soon saw it was a photo of
Noah. He was holding a full-size sheet of paper with a cell
phone number written across it. I stared at his solemn face
and was taken aback by how his eyes seemed to study me.
For several minutes I just sat there, touching the cut-up
pieces and trying to make them fit closer together. Then I
dug out the new cell phone I’d recently purchased and
punched in Noah’s number. He answered on the third ring.
Hearing the low sound of his voice after all this time made
my heart race even faster. I just sat there, unable to say a
word.
He waited, neither of us speaking. Finally he asked,
“Jocey, is that you?”
I closed my eyes.
“Don’t hang up,” Noah said.
I didn’t.
“Will you please talk to me?”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Hi, Noah.”
It was his turn to be hesitant. I could hear his uncertainty,
even though he tried to hide it. “So yesterday you turned
eighteen. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
More awkwardness.
“Where have you been, Jocey?”
“Lots of places.”
I picked up the two segments of the puzzle that
composed his face, wondering why he’d cut himself in half
that way.
“Did you get the e-mails I sent you?” he asked.
“E-mails?”
“Yes. I wrote to you at Jack’s account, hoping you’d
check it. I left messages on the forums too. There’s some
news I figured you’d like to know.”
“I’m not doing much Internet stuff right now. Just kind of
taking a break for a while.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the news?”
“A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone. For one thing,
ISI went under. Last month they filed bankruptcy. And Paul
Gerard is on his way to prison. I told Detective Iverson
everything, and the police found his gun where he dropped
it in Hazel’s room. His prints were all over it. They made a
match to the bullet that killed Georgie.”
“Good. Georgie didn’t deserve to die like that.” I paused,
listening to the silence on the other end. “Thanks for telling
me.”
“I’ve been trying to find you for two months. If you didn’t
read my e-mails, then I’m guessing you must’ve gotten the
photo I mailed to Prince Edward Island. It was the other way
I tried to reach you.”
“Someday I’m going to California,” Noah said. “I’ll live on
the beach and never shovel snow again. What about you,
Jack?”
“China,” my brother answered without hesitation,
holding up his newly purchased chopsticks. “I want to see
the Great Wall and learn to speak Chinese.”
Both boys looked at me and I closed the most recent L.
M. Montgomery book I’d been reading. I spread my hands
across the cover and said, “Prince Edward Island.”
Noah laughed and shook his head. “You’re going
someplace because of a book?”
Despite his teasing words, I could tell he understood.
“Can I come see you?” Noah asked. “I could be there by
this evening.”
I scooped the puzzle pieces into my hand and made a
fist. It was hard to believe he actually wanted to see me
again. “Okay. Meet me by the Harbor Lighthouse at sunset.
I’ll be waiting on the trail.”
I disconnected before either of us could say anything
else.
It was just before sunset when I reached the path leading
down to the square-shaped lighthouse at the edge of the
bay. The sun spread its golden tresses across the water,
and the indigo sky was streaked with luminous clouds.
Rounding a bend in the path I came to a halt, my eyes on
the distant silhouette of a guy backed by the light reflecting
off the bay. He pushed away from the tree he was leaning
against and I immediately recognized him by the way he
moved. It was Noah.
He came closer. The setting sun embossed one side of
his face and head with bronze but left the other half in
shadow. We met midway on the trail, and I looked into
those warm brown eyes I’d missed so much. Noah started
to reach for me but stopped himself. Instead, he slid the
fingers of one hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“Have you been waiting long?”
“A while, yes.”
I wanted to apologize, but instead I asked, “How have
you been, Noah?”
There was more awkward politeness as I studied every
cherished feature of his face.
“I’ve moved into another place. It’s a small apartment.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He shrugged. “You’re right. The truth is I’ve been
miserable without you. Will you come back to Watertown
with me?”
I looked away, gazing at the harbor that shimmered like
silk in the growing twilight. He stepped closer and I felt his
hands on my waist, his breath against my temple. “If you
don’t want to be in New York, I understand. We can go
anywhere you want, even California. Or we can stay here
for a while. The thing is, I can be a programmer from
anyplace.”
A breeze wafted across the harbor, ruffling the water.
“What do you say?”
I couldn’t answer.
He reached up, gently brushing back the strands of hair
that had blown across my cheek. His voice was tender
when he spoke. “What’s wrong, Jocey?”
“Why do you want to be with me, Noah? I’m crazy.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m dangerous.”
“Not to me.”
“I’m a nutcase.”
Noah pulled me to him. He kissed me long and slowly
and so tenderly that all my anxious fears began to drift
away. Then he moved back just enough to ask, “Do you
love me?”
“You know I do.”
“That’s all I need to hear.”
He kissed me again, and afterward his arms encircled
me and held me close. My hand was on his chest, the
steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers, and I breathed
in the scent of him. We stood that way for a long time until I
grew relaxed within his embrace. Noah finally let go and
stepped back. He looked at me with those amazing eyes of
his.
“You’ll be with me, Jocey, won’t you?”
I nodded.
“Let’s go, then.”
Noah held out his hand and I took it, letting his fingers
slide between mine. He led me away from the lighthouse
and back along the path, guiding me home.
Somewhere, I knew Jack was smiling.
Acknowledgments
From raw manuscript to finished novel, there are many
people who influenced this book and deserve my deepest
thanks.
Rachel: my daughter, friend, and the best writing
confidant I could ever have brainstorming sessions with.
Deserét and Pamela: how fortunate am I to have two
friends with super proofreading skills, insight, and honesty?
Jessica Regel, the perfect agent for this work because you
not only believed it had potential but—equally important—
recognized the changes it needed. And, of course,
Margaret Miller, my savvy editor, for being outside the box
enough to accept this book and then help reshape it
throughout this entire exciting process. Also thank you to
Caroline Abbey, Danielle Delaney, Regina Roff, Alexei
Esikoff, and everyone else at Bloomsbury.
Two other people hugely influenced my life, and therefore
my writing. My sister Linda: you rode the freakish roller
coaster of childhood with me but didn’t let go of my hand.
And, most of all, to Kelly: the man who—when I finally
stepped off that ride—was standing there waiting for me.
I’m here because of you.
Copyright © 2012 by Kate Kae Myers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.
First published in the United States of America in
February 2012
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
www.bloomsburyteens.com
Electronic edition published in 2012
For information about permission to reproduce
selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New
York 10010
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Myers, Kate Kae.
The vanishing game / by Kate Kae Myers. — 1st U.S.
ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Jocelyn follows clues
apparently from her dead twin, Jack, in and around
Seale House, the terrifying foster home where they
once lived, and with help from childhood friend Noah
she begins to uncover the truth about Jack’s death and
the company that employed him and Noah.
ISBN 978 1 59990 748 2 (ebook)
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters—
Fiction.
3. Twins—Fiction. 4. Foster home care—Fiction. 5.
Death—Fiction.
6. Mental illness—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M9872Van 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011017508