“Do you live all by yourself?” Jessie asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Neeley said, and Jessie decided that explained it. She’d never met anyone who lived alone. It seemed sad.
“This will be your bedroom,” Mr. Neeley said, leading her through a wooden door into another room. “Here’s your bed. Why don’t you use the bathroom, and I’ll get you a bedtime drink.”
When Jessie came back from the bathroom down the hall—also incredibly luxurious—there was a glass on the table beside the bed.
“It’s just water,” Mr. Neeley said. “I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’m sure you’re dehydrated after all that walking. You must drink this before you go to sleep.”
And then he left her alone.
Jessie picked up the glass, wondering if the fat environmentalist she’d met was right about water being poison. This water looked perfectly ordinary, and Mr. Neeley seemed to think it was okay. But maybe nobody had told him…. Jessie decided it was safest not to drink it. She wasn’t thirsty after all the lemonade back at the KFC, anyway. But if she left the water by the bed, she might forget and drink it when she woke up. She looked around for a place to pour it out, and finally settled on the window. She had to struggle with the latch, but eventually got it open and slowly let the water spill out. It splashed down two stories. Then Jessie put the glass back on the table by the bed and took off her boots and jacket. She felt bad that her pants were dirty from crawling through the ditch that morning, but Mr. Neeley hadn’t given her any clothes to change into. She brushed the worst of the caked mud off the pant legs and lay down on the bed.
A few minutes later, she saw Mr. Neeley open the wooden door a crack and peek in. Jessie was too tired to talk anymore, so she pretended to be asleep until she heard him pull the door all the way shut.
And then Jessie thought she really would go to sleep, but for some reason she couldn’t. She said quick bedtime prayers without getting up—“Thank you, God, for making everything okay”—but only felt more unsettled. She thought about all the times she’d been scared that day—leaving Clifton, meeting the fat environmentalist, talking to Ray and Tol. And she kept thinking about Katie and the other children, and how sick they were, and how terrible it would be if they didn’t get medicine. Jessie reminded herself that Mr. Neeley had said, “Trust me. I’m taking care of everything.” So why couldn’t Jessie just relax and go to sleep?
To make herself feel better, Jessie crept over to the wooden door and listened closely. Distantly, she could hear the murmur of Mr. Neeley’s voice. He’d said he was going to make more phone calls. Jessie decided to try to hear who he was calling, and what else he was doing to get help.
Jessie opened the door and slipped out into the hall. Mr. Neeley was in another room with the door shut. Jessie hesitated outside that door. She’d just listen for a minute, then she’d creep back to bed.
“Yes, I’ve got her here,” she heard Mr. Neeley say. “I drugged her, so we’ve got some time. How much do you want me to find out? She knows too much—we may have to kill her.”
EIGHTEEN
Jessie gasped out loud, then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. What did he mean, “—we may have to kill her”? This was Mr. Neeley! Ma had said he would help!
“She doesn’t suspect anything,” Mr. Neeley was saying. “Remember, she’s grown-up nineteenth century, not like suspicious teenagers today.”
There was a pause, as if Mr. Neeley was listening to someone else. Jessie’s knees quaked. She knew she should run—now!—before Mr. Neeley came out and discovered her. But she felt frozen.
“That doesn’t matter,” Mr. Neeley said, just on the other side of the door. “We started this, and we have to see it through.” Pause. “No, we can’t just take her back to Clifton. She knows too much. She’s ridden in cars and all. I showed her a radio and TV myself. You think that doesn’t change things?”
Silence again. Jessie’s heart pounded. Her mind felt foggy and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly.
“Of course I didn’t have to show her the radio and TV, but I wanted to get her reaction, to make sure she’d never seen them before,” Mr. Neeley said. He seemed to be listening again. “Well, we can all meet here. I can’t leave the girl, and you’re not leaving me out. Not now.” Silence. “All right. Fifteen minutes. Bye.”
So was he done on the phone? Was he coming out? Would he discover her listening? Then what would he do?
Jessie couldn’t get her mind to believe Mr. Neeley wanted to kill her, but she managed to make her legs move again. She dashed back to the room where Mr. Neeley thought she was sleeping, and silently closed the door. Just in case he checked on her again, she lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes. It was all she could do to keep her body still and peaceful looking, when she felt so frantic. What was she going to do? What? What? What?
In spite of herself, Jessie’s whole body began to shake with fear. She had to escape—but she couldn’t get past Mr. Neeley. Think! she ordered herself. Could she wait until Mr. Neeley fell asleep? No—he’d said something about people meeting there in fifteen minutes.
Jessie tried to calm herself by repeating, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” like she had before, but this time it didn’t work. Nothing made sense. Why had Ma told her to go to Mr. Neeley if Mr. Neeley wanted her dead? How could Ma have been so wrong? Jessie didn’t know what to think about Mr. Neeley, but she knew Ma wouldn’t want Jessie to die. Was Ma even more confused about the world outside Clifton than she thought?
Dimly, Jessie heard the door into the apartment open and close. A man’s low voice rumbled, but Jessie couldn’t make out the words. If she listened, would she understand why Mr. Neeley wanted to kill her? Jessie crawled to the door to the main room and pressed her ear against the wood.
“Miles is panicking,” she heard Mr. Neeley say. “Doesn’t want blood on his hands.”
“No—it’s greed. He sees all that tourist money disappearing,” a man’s bearlike voice answered. “But he agreed from the beginning the tourists were just a cover. We have to remind him our research is more important than anything else.”
Jessie couldn’t hear the next response—it sounded like Mr. Neeley again.
Then a woman’s high voice said, “Maybe we can have it both ways. We take care of the diphtheria deaths quietly and—bingo—Miles keeps his tourist money, we get our research.”
More talk Jessie couldn’t hear. Then, “No more tourists,” the bear voice said. “Someone’s bound to get suspicious if we keep running thousands of people through there.”
Jessie remembered the guards back at Clifton talking about the village closing down. They had said there wouldn’t be any more tourists. But why would anyone want to have Clifton Village without tourists? What “research” were Mr. Neeley and the others talking about? Why did they want anyone to die of diphtheria? Jessie’s ear began to hurt from being pressed so hard against the door. She turned around, switching to her left ear just in time to hear the main door open and close again.
“Mr. Clifton!” three voices said, almost together.
The new person—was it Miles Clifton?—had a squeaky, panicky voice Jessie had trouble hearing. She heard him say, “—too soon—” and “you promised at least one generation before—” Then his voice soared: “This was a bad idea from the beginning. I knew it wasn’t foolproof, if that girl could escape. We’re all going to be caught—”
“Now, now.” Mr. Neeley’s voice was low and soothing. Jessie strained to hear. “—sensors picked her up the minute she lifted the manhole … decided to have her followed to see who she would contact—”
Jessie reeled back from the door. Had Clifton’s men known all along she’d left Clifton? Could someone have followed her the whole way? She remembered the man knocking her down at the Stopping Point, and how he’d looked so deliberately at the note with Mr. Neeley’s number. But how could Mr. Neeley be one of Clifton’s men? She rubbed her forehead in c
onfusion.
When she placed her ear to the door again, Mr. Neeley was saying, “—can’t escape now. I gave her enough to knock her out for hours—”
Jessie could tell the next voice was Mr. Clifton’s, but she couldn’t make out his words. Then Mr. Neeley again, sounding huffy: “All right, all right. I’ll double-check. I’ll lock her in if it makes you feel better—”
Jessie scrambled away from the door. Mr. Neeley was coming—she had to get back to the bed! It seemed miles across the room. She was almost there—she could hear his steps outside—
At the edge of the bed, Jessie tripped over her own boots. She went sprawling, her head striking the bedside table. She hit the floor as the door opened.
Distantly, Jessie heard Mr. Neeley chuckle, “Well, well. Looks like our little time traveler fell out of bed.”
Then everything went black.
NINETEEN
Jessie woke to pale sunlight on her face. Her head hurt, and she’d been having a horrifying dream about Ray and Tol and Mr. Neeley all chasing her in a rusty brown car. She kept trying to run away, but the car always pulled up beside her, with Mr. Neeley leaning out the window, laughing and screaming, “It’s no use! We can go fifty-five miles in an hour!”
Jessie opened her eyes, glad to leave such a nightmare behind. She sat up stiffly. Disoriented, she looked around the sunny, unfamiliar room. Oh yes. She was at Mr. Neeley’s. He had called to get help for Katie and the other sick children, and everything was going to be okay. He even laid her back on the bed after she fell—
Then she remembered. Mr. Neeley wanted to kill her.
Jessie shook her head, even though the motion made it hurt worse. Surely that was a nightmare, too. But everything came back so vividly: overhearing Mr. Neeley on the phone, listening to the meeting with Mr. Clifton…. Jessie kept shaking her head. How could she tell what was true?
Her gaze fixed on the wooden door out to the rest of the apartment. Mr. Neeley had told Mr. Clifton he’d lock her in. If she’d dreamed the whole thing, the door would open.
Jessie walked unsteadily to the door. Her legs ached from all the walking the day before, and she felt stiff where the bread racks had hit her in the bread truck.
“I need someone to take care of me,” she murmured to herself, wishing for Ma’s best liniment and soothing touch. Maybe Mr. Neeley would give her something for her aches and pains, if only, if only—
The door was locked.
Jessie stood for a long time with her hand on the knob, absorbing everything the locked door meant. Mr. Neeley hadn’t gotten help for Katie and the other sick children. He was one of Clifton’s men, only concerned about some mysterious “research.” He’d tried to drug Jessie, then locked her in the room. He planned to kill her after she told him everything he wanted to know.
Jessie’s knees gave out, and she slid to the floor. She remembered bragging to Ma—had it only been the night before last?—about how brave she was. Now Jessie knew she wasn’t. It had been easy to pretend when all she faced was little old Crooked Creek or some silly half-trained horse. That “bravery”—bravado, really—had just been to impress the other Clifton children. Now she was in real danger, and all she wanted was for Ma to come hold her on her lap and stroke her hair, as though Jessie were still Katie’s age. And, oh, Jessie had failed Katie and the others….
“I’m sorry,” Jessie muttered. “I’m so sorry.” She huddled by the door. Maybe things would be different—maybe she could figure out how to escape, maybe she could get help from someone else—if only she didn’t feel so muddleheaded and allover achy. But even her throat hurt. It took all Jessie’s strength to keep from wailing like a little baby.
Outside, two robins chirped on the windowsill. Their cheery song seemed to mock Jessie.
“Oh, shut up,” she whimpered.
The robins flew away. Then, seconds later, they were back, chirping again.
In spite of herself, Jessie raised her head and stared out the window at the robins. The window. Just because Mr. Neeley had locked the door, that didn’t mean he’d locked the window. And it had opened the night before, when she poured out the water. She was two stories up, but maybe, maybe—
Stiffly, Jessie pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the window. The robins disappeared again. Jessie looked down. There was a bush far below. Even if she jumped into the bush, she’d probably break her legs. Especially since her legs felt half broken anyway. But wait—about five or six feet below her window, a brick ledge ran all the way around the building. If she could climb down to the ledge, maybe she could jump from there. Couldn’t she?
Jessie debated. The ledge was only one brick wide. And it was awfully far down. What if she fell trying to get to the ledge?
She looked back at the locked door. What other choice did she have? Was she going to stay here and wait for Mr. Neeley to come back and kill her? She had to try to climb out the window.
If only she could get the window open.
Hands shaking, Jessie fumbled with the window latch. At first, it seemed jammed, but it had been hard to open the night before, too. Jessie jerked on it with all her strength. “Please, please,” she muttered.
And then, with a click that seemed much too loud, the latch gave way and the window slid open.
Jessie stopped for a moment, afraid that Mr. Neeley—wherever he was—might have heard the latch click. She listened for footsteps outside her room, but all she could hear were the stupid robins chirping out of sight and, more distantly, the sounds of lots of cars. She should go fast, though, no matter how terrible she felt. Any minute now, Mr. Neeley might decide to check on her again.
Jessie went back to the bed and sat down to pull on her muddy boots. Her hands shook so, she could barely tie the laces. How did she think she could climb down a wall?
Don’t think things like that, she sternly told herself. You have to do it.
Jessie strapped her pack around her waist and stepped gingerly back to the window. It took her three tries to pull herself up onto the windowsill. Then she crouched, half in, half out, looking down.
“You have to,” she whispered to herself. “For Katie. For the others. So Mr. Neeley doesn’t kill you.”
Awkwardly, she turned and eased her right leg down, feeling for the ledge with her toe. But she knew without looking that the ledge was much lower. She’d have to climb down and stretch both legs toward the ledge. She’d only be able to hold on with her fingers.
Jessie shifted positions, hesitating. Her left leg began to tremble under her weight. The longer she waited, the harder it would be. Still, she paused, almost in tears.
“I can’t. God, help me,” she breathed. Praying was better than crying. She hoped God really did exist outside Clifton. But what did she think He was going to do—pick her up and place her safely on the ground?
Then Jessie thought of pretending this was just another dare at home.
“Oh, Andrew, of course I’m not scared,” she whispered, unconvincingly. But it was enough to get her to swing her left leg down.
“See?” she said.
She eased her body lower, lower, lower. And then her right foot struck the ledge. In a second, she was standing on it.
Jessie smiled. Even if she fell now, she probably wouldn’t get hurt. Not too badly. The metal frame of the window cut into her hands, so she moved her right hand down, clutching the edge of a brick one row below. She moved her left hand down, too, and didn’t fall.
“This is easy,” she murmured to her pretend audience. “I could climb down the whole wall this way.”
She moved her right hand down two rows, and the pack shifted against her waist. She lost her balance and started to fall. She grabbed wildly at empty air, then struck something with her left hand. The ledge. She held tight, and gripped the bricks with her right hand, too. Now she was hanging from the ledge.
Jessie grimaced over her shoulder at her pretend audience.
“Okay, it’s not easy. But it work
ed.”
Jessie kicked out from the wall with her feet, and let go of the ledge. She landed in the bush, which was prickly and scratched her face and hands.
“Ouch,” she said softly. “But—thank you, God.”
Jessie looked back up at the window she had climbed out of. She half expected to see Mr. Neeley’s face peering down. But there was only the curtain blowing out.
She’d escaped. She was safe!
Jessie sat up and hugged her knees. Tears came to her eyes again, but they were happy ones. She grinned, realizing she really hadn’t thought she could escape. But she had.
TWENTY
Jessie struggled to stand up, and her grin faded. Her head throbbed and her legs ached worse than ever. She remembered how Mr. Neeley had told Mr. Clifton that “sensors” knew when Jessie left Clifton, and someone had followed her all the way to Waverly. What if Clifton’s men were just letting her escape again to see where she would go?
Jessie thought about how the Keysers’ cat, Abigail, always played with mice when she caught them. She’d bat a mouse around in her paws, then set it free. Just as the mouse began to scurry away, Abigail pounced again. By the end, the mouse was so battered and terrified, dying was probably a relief.
Jessie couldn’t let that happen to her. She had to outsmart Clifton’s men. But how? And she still had to find someone to help Katie and the other children. But who? Ma had said Mr. Neeley would call a board of health and a news conference. Could Jessie call them herself? What were they? How could Jessie call them if she didn’t have the number? And what if they turned out to be like Mr. Neeley—just pretending to help?
Jessie’s mind felt scrambled with all the questions. Her legs trembled—maybe from climbing down the wall, maybe from being scared. There was too much she didn’t know. She could hear cars zooming nearby, and the buildings around her loomed taller than trees. Indianapolis had made her feel small the night before, when she thought Mr. Neeley was on her side. Now that she was scared of him, too, what was she going to do? Whom could she trust?
Running Out of Time Page 11
