by Rae Knightly
She waved her hand at him, inviting him to speak. One large ant was climbing up the sleeve of her white shirt while another one was crawling across her closed file.
“So, let’s have it,” she repeated.
Ben was distracted by the ants.
How did so many get in here?
“I… ” he began, his mouth dry as parchment.
Bordock could be listening right behind the door!
Ms. Jones became impatient. “Honey, I have thirty minutes to listen to your story before they kick me out of here. Let’s see, how about we start with something easy, ok? For example, you can give me your dad’s phone number. I promise I’ll call him up as soon as I leave. How about that?”
Ben stared at her helplessly, “I…don’t have a dad. He died in an accident after I was born.”
The lawyer closed her eyes for a second, as an ant crawled up her cheek. She brushed it away with a motion of the hand as she arranged a strand of curly hair behind her ear.
“All right,” she said a bit more gently. “How about your moth… Ouch!” she yelled, brushing at her arm. “Something bit me!” she gasped, her face flushed. She shrieked and bolted out of her chair, massaging her leg. She noticed the carpenter ants scurrying over the table, on her arms, on her legs, up her neck. She yelled again as they bit her. She brushed at them frantically, bobbing up and down like a ragged doll on a spring.
The police officer who had been standing guard in front of the room rushed in. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Let me out of here!” she yelled, bouncing around. “Ouch!” She gestured towards Ben. “Get that boy out. This room’s infested with ants… eek! Get him to a washroom! And call pest exterminators or something.” She darted down the hall, distraught.
The policeman noticed the ants crawling all over Ben, and hurriedly led him down a couple of doors to the men’s toilets. “Get in there and clean yourself up,” he ordered, yelling as he was bitten in the neck.
Ben did as he was told, suddenly finding himself all alone in the washroom of the Police Department.
As he stood there, gathering his senses, the carpenter ants that had been crawling all over him scurried to the floor, then vanished into the cracks in the wall. Ben checked his clothes, then stared in the mirror. All the ants were gone, leaving him without a single bite mark.
Jeepers!
Breathing fast, he turned his attention to the door which he locked in an automatic gesture. He leant his head against it, closing his eyes dizzily. When he looked up again, Mesmo stood by the sinks, his face ashen. Ben let out a sob of relief.
“Ben,” Mesmo said softly yet urgently. “I don’t have much time! Turn on the taps.”
Ben sniffed and nodded hurriedly. He opened all the taps to let water flow into the four sinks.
Mesmo indicated that the boy should move away from the door. The alien placed his hands in the stream of water, which immediately obeyed the energy that emanated from them. The liquid flowed horizontally against the wall then dripped to the floor. It spread out swiftly, covering the main door and doorknob before racing across the tiles. Ben had to move back until he was against the wall next to a toilet. Even there, the water flowed along the wall up to a window located right above Ben’s head. The whole washroom was covered in water that danced to a silent song, obeying the mysterious force that came forth from Mesmo like a magnet.
In an instant, the swirling motion stopped, then the water froze. The door became white, the doorknob crackled under the weight of the ice and the floor glistened with a slippery sheen.
Above him, Ben heard the bars in front of the window snap from the cold.
“Go on!” Mesmo encouraged him.
Ben clambered onto the closed toilet bowl, then shoved open the window. The metal bars which had snapped from the cold easily slid away before falling to the ground below. He pulled himself up, saw that he would be able to fit through and that the ground wasn’t too far down. He turned to Mesmo, only to find him gone. “Mesmo!” he whispered.
Someone banged on the door, calling him to open up.
Ben wasn’t going to wait around this time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Granville
Hao rushed past the frantic lawyer, saw the empty interrogation room, then joined the policeman who was trying to force open the door of the washroom.
“What’s going on? Where’s the boy?” he yelled angrily.
“He’s in there. Locked himself up.” The policeman grunted as he shoved his weight against the door.
Hao pushed him aside to grab the doorknob, then yelled as his hand burned from the freezing temperature of the metal.
“I don’t care how you do it, you get this door open pronto!” he barked.
Another large policeman joined them. After three attempts at throwing themselves with full force at the door, it gave, and they crashed in a heap inside.
Hao clambered over them, then fell heavily to the ground as he slipped on the sheet of thin ice that covered the floor. Groaning, he got back up. After several slippery attempts, he reached the open window.
“He’s out!” Hao yelled as he peeked through the window into the street. “Go! Go! Go!” he ordered the policemen, who were slipping and sliding over the frozen floor.
***
Ben raced down the street. As he was about to turn a corner, he risked a glance back, only to find Hao and a couple of police officers barging out of the Vancouver Police Department after him. Turning the corner, he had to stop and lean against a wall. Dizziness had grasped his mind, and he swayed. Was he having a panic attack? He shut his eyes tight, forcing his breathing to slow.
Not now!
He ignored the stitch in his side and thudded on. As his lonely footsteps hit the pavement, Tike’s absence weighed heavily on him. He crossed a busy road to the Skytrain station, then froze when a police car rounded a corner, placing itself at the very entrance. He backtracked hurriedly across the street. Hao appeared only a block away.
Ben slapped desperately on the door of a bus that was about to drive away. The driver frowned disapprovingly but let him in anyway. Ben hopped on, catching his breath as he saw Hao pointing in his direction. To his dismay, the bus headed southwest instead of north. His mind raced.
Granville Island!
If he could make it to the small peninsula that was a hotspot for tourists, he could get lost in the crowds and find another transport north. Ben glanced around fearfully. He spotted a police car with its lights whirling in the distance, as it zigzagged through traffic. It caught up with the bus a short distance from Granville Island. Ben hit the emergency button, and the doors swung open. Hao was getting out of the police car, when a throng of sports cyclists whizzed by, giving Ben the opportunity to dash down to the well-stocked public market. He pushed through groups of people strolling around the small, quaint streets strewn with art galleries, restaurants and artisan shops.
If only I could reach the marina!
He knew there was an Aquabus that could take him across to the City of Vancouver, with its skyscrapers, a short distance across the river. Too late, he glimpsed a police officer checking things out in the direction he was headed. Ben’s heart raced as he felt his options of escape narrowing. He ducked into the large indoor market, making his way through the crowd of tourists who were picking out perfectly formed fruits and vegetables. The tourists gasped as Ben ran into them, making them accidentally knock over a pyramid of neatly arranged oranges which tumbled to the ground. Ben didn’t have time to apologize. He dove out of the market and faced the other side of the marina, which was cluttered with pleasure boats and ferries.
Behind him, Hao pushed his way through the crowds inside the market.
Ben ran down a pier, bumping into people taking pictures of the scenery. At the end of it, tourists donned bright, orange fishermen waders and matching waterproof jackets with large hoods. Ben squeezed into this group. A stack of the orange garments lay on the floor, placed th
ere for the tourists who were getting ready for a trip out to sea.
Without hesitating, Ben grabbed a large pair of pants and a jacket, putting them on in a hurry, copying what the other men and women were doing. Not a moment too soon, as a police officer, closely followed by Hao, appeared above the pier. They scanned the area with their eyes.
A tourist wearing the bright fisherman combination stood up, leaving a corner of a bench unoccupied, so Ben slipped onto the seat, trying to blend in with the crowd.
“It’s almost time!” the woman next to Ben said excitedly.
He turned in surprise. An old woman with wrinkled cheeks and sunken eyes stared at him with a big, false-teeth smile.
“Is this your first trip, son?” she asked.
Ben checked his surroundings anxiously. Hao approached the entrance to the pier. Hastily, the boy turned to the old woman, who looked like she might be eighty, or closer to ninety. “Er…yes,” he said vaguely.
“This is my forty-fifth trip!” she said proudly. “I met my late husband, Harold, on a trip like this, forty-five years ago! We would celebrate our wedding anniversary every year by making the same trip again.” Her voice faltered only slightly, immediately replaced by her smile again. “You might think I’m a silly old lady, but I know Harold’s spirit is watching over me today. I remember my first contact with the giants… oh, my! What a sight...!”
She chatted on. Ben no longer listened. Hao had jogged up behind the group of tourists and was asking them questions.
In the same instant, the orange-clad men and women trooped in front of a ferry which they began to board. Ben followed the flow with the old woman not far behind. A young, strong-built sailor who was asking for boarding tickets caught him by the arm. “Hey! Ticket, please!” he said with a strong accent.
Ben pointed to the people lining up behind him. “Uh...my Gran has them.” He pushed on swiftly behind the other tourists, heading straight to the back of the ferry and several rows of outdoor benches. He hunched down as far away as possible from the ferry ramp, next to enthusiastic tourists who chatted in an array of different languages.
There was a bit of commotion on the ramp as the muscular sailor with a tight, black T-shirt requested tickets from the old lady.
“Oh, dear,” she said worriedly. “Oh, where did I put that ticket?”
An imposing man with broad shoulders and a captain’s hat emerged from the bridge to inquire about the delay. When he noticed the old woman, he said with a thick, Australian accent, “Mrs. Stenner! Welcome aboard! I hadn’t realized it was that time of the year already.”
“Oh, Captain, I feel so foolish, I don’t know where I put my ticket,” she answered, dismayed.
“Two tickets.” The stern-faced sailor corrected behind them. “She’s also missing her grandson’s ticket.”
“Grandson?” the woman asked, confused.
The Captain waved a hand at the sailor, dismissing him, then, smiling, gently led the old lady to a front seat. “Come, I’m sure everything is fine. After all, you’re our most faithful customer, aren’t you, Mrs. Stenner? How many years has it been, exactly?”
“Forty-five!” the woman replied, returning his smile.
“Forty-five!” the Captain exclaimed, “Crikey! How about that! And you brought your grandson along this time? What a wonderful idea!”
Mrs. Stenner stared at him, at a loss for a few seconds, before her eyes brightened suddenly and she giggled, “Yes…er… of course! My grandson! Lovely lad!”
“Good. Well, enjoy your trip, Mrs. Stenner. I must get up to the bridge as we are leaving in a couple of minutes,” the Captain said, saluting her by lightly lifting his hat.
No sooner had the groups of families and friends of different nationalities settled on the benches, than the ferry moved away from the pier, heading out the harbour entrance into the open sea.
The Captain’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Oliver Andrew speaking. Welcome aboard the Haida Gwai II. The weather is looking fair as we head across the Strait of Georgia for our four-hour whale watching trip. We are happy to announce that several orca pods have been spotted in the past weeks. We should be in for quite a show…”
Four hours!
At the back of the ferry, hunched on the edge of a bench, Ben’s face had gone pale as they moved away from Granville Island, away from the shore and further away from his mother.
At the edge of the pier, Hao paced up and down the marina, giving orders over the phone to spread out the search.
***
Susan Pickering sat by Laura’s side as she finished taking her temperature. When she saw the number on the thermometer, she pursed her lips as she stared out the window. Laura’s fever still had not broken. Being a nurse with experience, she knew that was not a good sign. She stroked the sick woman’s arm, saying in a low voice, “Come on, Laura, you have to fight this!”
To her surprise, the young woman opened her eyes a crack. Through pale, dry lips she managed to ask, “Ben?”
Susan had to look away so that Laura wouldn’t notice the worry on her face. Then she smiled reassuringly. “He’s fine. He’s resting-as should you.”
Laura seemed satisfied with the answer because she closed her eyes again.
Susan stayed next to her for a long moment, staring out the window–biting her lip as she wondered what had happened to the boy.
***
The room was large and impeccably white. Two men in green protective suits talked together quietly, analyzing the data on their computer screens behind a glass window, as Mesmo lay inside a full-body CT scan machine. He had been tranquillized and was unaware of what was going on.
Until now.
“He’s waking up,” one of the men said.
“Ok, let’s pull him out,” the other one replied after a while. “It’s no use anyway.”
He pressed a red button, releasing the motorized examination table which hummed slowly out of the machine.
A third man entered the room behind them. The two radiographers recognized him immediately in spite of his green protective suit and mouth cover. He was slightly shorter and heavier built than the other two.
“Boss,” they said in a manner of greeting, straightening in their seats.
The man nodded briefly, before entering the examination room. He bent over Mesmo, who blinked as he tried to regain focus. The alien’s eyes focused on the thick black and grey eyebrows overshadowing small, green eyes behind the man’s black glasses.
“Well?” the third man asked with authority, directing his question to the two radiographers.
“Still nothing, Sir,” the younger of them answered. “Even after using the tranquillizer, we are getting the same interference.”
“Show me!” the man ordered.
The two men sitting behind the window glanced at each other, uncertain. “Going through the procedure again could put a strain on his heart, Sir,” the younger man ventured.
“Do it!” the boss insisted, joining them with determined strides.
Immediately the younger man obeyed. He pressed the red button again so that the examination table rolled slowly back into the tunnel-shaped machine.
Mesmo struggled against the straps holding his arms as he entered the claustrophobic hole of the CT scan.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Humpback
As Susan Pickering’s motorboat bobbed up and down in the bay of Deep Cove, Tike woke to the sound of two men laughing loudly as they trudged along the pier with buckets, fishing rods and a picnic box. The terrier lifted his head to watch them curiously.
The men chatted and laughed as they loaded their motorboat which lay further down the pier. One of them pointed to the other side of the inlet, in the general direction of the island that was the Pickering woman’s home.
Tike pricked his ears, alert. He picked up the asthma inhaler between his teeth before jumping onto the pier. He slowed down until he saw that the men were busy
placing their gear near the front of the motorboat, then hopped nimbly on board, scurrying under a bench at the back. He glanced out nervously. The men had not seen him.
Not long after, the motor rumbled to life. Then they were off, zipping away over the waters straight to the opposite side of the inlet.
Tike waited patiently before emerging from his hiding spot. He peeked out to watch the approaching piece of jutting land on which Susan lived. As soon as the boat was close enough to the island, Tike emerged from under the bench. He grasped the asthma pump tightly with his jaws, then leapt into the air before falling full force into the swirling, cold water.
The impact came as a shock. The dog almost lost his grip on the inhaler as he spun round under the water. He moved his paws frantically, trying to reach the surface again.
Tike’s head emerged between the waves. He swam feverishly with his ears back and the white of his eyes showing. The small waves lapped at his face; the salt stung his eyes, the cold was numbing. No matter how hard he paddled, his short legs didn’t seem to be bringing him any closer to the shore. Water entered his throat. His jaw hurt from holding the inhaler and exhaustion took over. Soon only his snout stuck out from the water.
Tike stopped swimming, surrendering to the flow of the tides. The dog sank down into the water…
…and his paws touched sand.
In a last effort, the valiant canine began swimming again, pushing against the sand to move forward, until his head was completely out of the water. He reached smooth rocks which lay close to the surface. They allowed him to cover the last meters to the shore, where he stepped out onto the beach next to the short pier that he and Ben had left that very morning.
***
Inspector James Hao contacted his men as he paced the walkway in front of Granville Market. The reports were fruitless: the boy was nowhere to be found. He scanned the river and harbour opening as he spoke over the phone, excruciatingly aware of how many small sailing ships and motorboats were coming and going. It was going to take a lot of manpower to check every boat stationed within the small harbour, one by one.
