Click Here to Start

by Denis Markell

  “How did you get in?” I ask. I’m buying time, trying to process what’s happening.

  “Oh, I let myself in,” Kellerman says easily. “It’s not hard if you know how.”

  Isabel opens her mouth as if to yell, but quicker than I would have thought was possible, Kellerman bounds across the room, grabs her wrists in one hand, and squeezes.

  “Ouch! That hurts!” Isabel gasps.

  “Well, it’s supposed to, isn’t it?” he says genially, like a gym teacher at your school explaining the rules of a new game.

  “How long have you been here?” I demand.

  “Long enough. I stood outside the door for a while. You were doing so well decoding your great-uncle’s little game, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  I try to casually put my arm over the paper.

  Kellerman laughs. “Oh, Ted. That’s so silly, isn’t it? Let’s just go back to your work and find out where that building on Moorpark Street is, okay?”

  He’s still holding Isabel’s wrists in a viselike grip.

  Caleb sounds like he’s hyperventilating. “Are you…going to kill us?”

  Kellerman regards Caleb for a second and then looks at me. “Kill you? Whatever gave you that idea? I just want what Ted’s great-uncle found.”

  “So you promise you won’t kill us?” Caleb pleads.

  “Yes, I promise,” Kellerman says soothingly. “As long as Ted cooperates. He’s quite good at these games, as you know. His great-uncle was right to trust him to solve his little amusements.” He pulls Isabel toward the door, then leans against it, as relaxed as if he’s just popped by to hang out and shoot the breeze. “So, first things first. Where’s the key?”

  “What key?” I ask, trying to stall as long as I can. I desperately wonder if there’s a walkthrough on the laptop for this: The Game of Ted 1.4: Escape the Fake Kellerman.

  “Okay, Ted, we’ll play it your way.” Kellerman sighs. “I think it’s time for you to meet Douk-Douk.”

  “Douk-Douk?” asks Caleb, who is curled up on the bed.

  “A Frenchman named Gaspard Cognet made the first douk-douk in 1929,” Kellerman says. “It was supposed to be just for the colonial workmen, you know, to use in their daily jobs.”

  There’s a click. A small folding knife appears in Kellerman’s other hand. It has an engraved blade and a blue hilt.

  “But in the fifties, the Algerians who were trying to liberate themselves from France found a whole new use for douk-douks. They’re very sharp, you see. Razor sharp.”

  The silence in the room is total. No one moves. The only sound is Caleb’s labored breathing.

  “I’d like the key now, please,” Kellerman repeats in the same pleasant tone.

  A small red dot appears on Isabel’s arm. At first I can’t figure out what it is.

  But to my horror, I watch the dot grow larger, and I realize:

  Isabel is bleeding.

  The douk-douk has pricked her. Isabel tries to wriggle free, a look of panic in her eyes.

  “Oops. Guess my friend Douk-Douk slipped. Accidents happen, huh?” says Kellerman, in the same maddeningly pleasant voice. “I guess by now you should have figured it out, Ted,” he continues. “As your ‘Dear Uncle’s’ lawyer found out, this is not a game.”

  Kellerman reaches into his pocket with his knife hand, pulls something out, and throws it at Caleb, who looks frozen with fear.

  “There’s a Band-Aid—be a good boy and open it for me, Caleb?”

  Caleb stares at the wrapped Band-Aid and slowly begins to peel it open.

  “Go to the bathroom, Ted, and get a tissue. And if you’re not back in five seconds, Douk-Douk might slip again. You understand, don’t you?”

  I nod. I race to the bathroom and return with the tissue.

  I head over to Kellerman, who tightens his grip on Isabel.

  “No need to come closer, Ted. Just put it on the edge of the desk. Now, Caleb, take the tissue and dab it on Isabel’s arm. That’s good.”

  Caleb does what he’s told, then carefully applies the Band-Aid to Isabel’s wound. His hands are shaking.

  “You’re not still scared, are you?” asks Kellerman. “Nothing needs to happen. It’s all up to Ted. Right, Ted? Now let’s have that key.”

  I look at Caleb and Isabel. Both have fear like I’ve never seen in their eyes.

  I slowly walk around the room.

  “So where do we think he hid it, kids?” Kellerman asks lightly. “Behind a poster? Taped under a drawer in his desk? I can’t wait to find out!”

  I go to my desk chair and turn it over.

  “I do hope Ted isn’t thinking of throwing that at me. That would be a very foolish thing to do, wouldn’t it, Isabel?”

  Isabel stares straight ahead, mute.

  “I said, wouldn’t it, Isabel?” Kellerman says, a slight menace apparent behind the jolly voice.

  “Yes, it would,” Isabel replies mechanically.

  I stare at Kellerman with contempt. I carefully unscrew one of the wheels from the legs on the chair and then turn it right-side up. The key falls into my hand from the tube.

  “Excellent!” Kellerman says. “That’s a new one on me! Ted, slowly place the key on the table and back away.”

  I do as I’m told. It all seems so dreamlike, as if it’s happening to someone else.

  “Now we’re all going to go on a little trip. But first, I need you to take out your phones.”

  “My father took my phone,” Isabel says, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Then I guess it’s just the boys. Let’s go, fellas. Phones, please.”

  We both reach into our pockets.

  “Put them in the desk drawer and close it.”

  My heart sinks. Without our phones, we can’t be traced. We do what he says, and I watch our chance of rescue disappear as I push the drawer shut.

  “There’s just one more piece of the puzzle, right?” Kellerman continues, casually shifting so that he can view the laptop while still holding tight to Isabel’s wrists. “I believe you were going to look up an address.”

  I move to the laptop and sit down. I reach for the keyboard, but Kellerman calls out: “Ted, please don’t do anything stupid, like typing a different address into the search bar. I can see it from here. Just press Enter, and we’ll all see where we’re going.”

  “We?” Isabel asks softly.

  “I can’t exactly leave you here, can I?” reasons Kellerman. “Besides, who knows? I might need Ted’s genius at solving games. Great-Uncle Ted was certainly a clever man, wasn’t he?”

  “Then just take me.”

  I’m a little surprised to hear these words coming from my mouth. “As long as you have me, they won’t say a thing, right, guys?”

  “You may be a wizard at figuring out clues, but when it comes to people, you’ve got some growing up to do,” snorts Kellerman. “If I just take you, who knows what little scheme you might cook up? But with your friends along, you’re not about to put them in danger. And whether they are in danger depends solely on how well you cooperate. For example, just press the Enter key, please.”

  I do what I’m told.

  We all stare at the screen.

  234457 Moorpark Street is a storage facility.

  Kellerman’s face lights up. Almost to himself, he murmurs, “That’s the ticket! You’ve done it. Only a matter of time now…”

  As he stands momentarily mesmerized, Isabel wrenches herself out of his grasp and pulls at the bedroom door, trying to get out.

  Caleb and I immediately spring forward, reaching for the knife in Kellerman’s hand.

  With one move, Kellerman pushes us out of the way and slams the door on Isabel’s arm. With a cry of pain, she pulls her arm back in.

  Kellerman grabs her, roughly this time.

  “All right, we could have done this the easy way, but I see you have other ideas. Any of you try anything like that again, I can make one of you disappear just like that lawyer. Don’t th
ink it can’t happen. I’ve done it before, but only when I had to. Do I make myself clear?”

  The three of us stand there frozen, dumb with terror.

  We all nod.

  Kellerman’s demeanor changes, and the good cheer returns to his voice. It’s chilling how easily he can go from one to the other.

  “Now we’re going to all go downstairs and into my car. Let’s make this nice and simple. I apologize for losing my temper. You honestly have no idea what you’re dealing with here. But once this is over, as long as everyone plays along, you’ll have a great story to tell your friends and I’ll have what I want. Deal?”

  We nod again. Kellerman reaches behind him and with his knife hand opens the door.

  He backs into the hallway, still holding Isabel.

  We reach the landing, a weird procession, Kellerman walking backward with Isabel, with us facing them. At the head of the stairs, Kellerman motions with his head for Caleb and me to go first.

  “I’m sure we don’t want me to trip on the stairs, do we? It’d be terribly unsafe while I’m holding a knife.” Isabel’s eyes are staring straight ahead, as if she’s willing herself to get through this.

  We walk carefully down the stairs, with Kellerman and Isabel close behind.

  Just as they reach the bottom step, we freeze.

  There is the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

  The door opens and Dad is standing there, looking through some papers. He looks up, distracted.

  “Oh, hello! I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

  Kellerman turns to me. There is a clear warning in his eyes. “Ted, would you do the honors?”

  “Dad, you remember Mr. Kellerman,” I say tonelessly. “He’s the guy with that organization that’s tracking down lost treasures the Nazis looted during World War Two.”

  “Oh, right. Nice to see you,” Dad says, barely paying attention.

  Kellerman smiles. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m just getting over a cold. Wouldn’t want to give it to you.”

  “Mom said you weren’t coming home till dinner,” I say, trying to send a message with my eyes.

  Dad shrugs. “The meeting finished early.” He turns to Kellerman. “So you’re the guy who thinks Uncle Ted was a master criminal.”

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t really explain very well what this has to do with your wife’s uncle,” Kellerman laughs. “We were never accusing him of anything. We just thought he might have had some information about a very valuable artifact, and Ted was showing me a pad containing his last words. I had hoped he might have said something.”

  “Was it helpful?” Dad asks.

  “No, I’m afraid it was a dead end,” Kellerman replies. “But Ted and his friends were so cooperative and helpful I want to take them out for pizza before I leave LA.”

  “That’s very nice of you!” says Dad, completely oblivious to the tension. He turns to Isabel, her face full of concern.

  “Ted tells me you’re going to be leaving us! I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Isabel says, pale as a ghost.

  “You are planning on coming back soon, aren’t you?” asks Dad.

  “I really want to,” Isabel almost whispers as Kellerman keeps close to her. “But it’s really not up to me.” Her eyes dart at Kellerman and then back to Dad.

  “Well, I’ve got a plane to catch at five, so I’d better get these kids their pizza,” Kellerman says, winking. “But it was very nice to see you again.”

  We head out the door.

  “Wait!” Dad calls.

  Kellerman stops and turns slowly to Dad.

  Yes, the brain cells have finally kicked in.

  “You know what’s a shame, Isabel? I never got to talk about The Portrait of a Lady with you.”

  This is what he cares about? Great, Dad.

  “I know,” Isabel said, her eyes locked on Dad’s. “I think my favorite part is where Isabel decides to stay in London and not return to that idiot Osmond.”

  Dad looks confused.

  “But—” he starts, but Kellerman cuts him off.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but we really have to go,” he says over his shoulder as he gently but firmly pushes us kids in front of him. “And don’t worry, I’ll have Ted back for dinner.”

  We head down the front walk as Dad looks after us.

  The street is deserted, and my heart sinks when I see the black Jaguar parked on the street. Kellerman switches the douk-douk into the hand that holds Isabel, fishes out his key fob, and unlocks the doors with a beep. He motions to me.

  “Open the back door and get in. Just remember, play along and all this will be nothing but a good story later.”

  Caleb and I slide into the spacious leather backseat of the luxury automobile.

  He’s going to need his hands to drive, and he’ll be distracted. That’s when we can make our move.

  Kellerman reaches into his pocket and fishes out two strips of what look like thin plastic.

  “Aren’t zip ties wonderful?” he asks, tossing them into the backseat. “You can use them for so many things, like keeping your computer cords all neat and tidy. Now, first, Caleb, if you’ll just pull that edge through the other end, and, Ted, you can put your wrists behind your back, and then, Caleb, slip the loop over Ted’s hands. Now pull it tight. Atta boy!”

  I hear the ziiip as the plastic cord tightens around my wrists. It’s locked into position. I struggle but quickly realize that nothing I can do will break the band.

  Kellerman has Isabel reach behind and do the same thing to Caleb, but he isn’t as pleased with her work.

  “You can pull harder than that!” he admonishes. Kellerman yanks Caleb’s band and Caleb lets out a yelp of pain.

  Isabel glares at Kellerman. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “And you didn’t have to try to deliberately leave it loose either,” Kellerman retorts as he slips a third band roughly around Isabel’s wrists and pushes her back into the front seat. “So we’re even.”

  Kellerman pulls the seat belt around Isabel’s body, clicks it in place, then leaps out of the car and does the same to us.

  “Now we’re all buckled up,” he says, once again the cheerful uncle. “Wouldn’t want to be pulled over for not wearing seat belts, would we?”

  He settles back into his seat and starts the car. He’s visibly relaxed now.

  “Everyone comfy?” he says. “No one has to go to the bathroom, right? Because I told you to go before we left!” Chuckling at his little joke, Kellerman pulls out a phone.

  “What was that address again?” he asks, consulting the paper he took from my room. “234457 Moorpark Street. Let’s find the cross street, shall we?”

  He gestures at us with the phone.

  “Nice phone, right? Brand-new. Just in case you were wondering. I gave my other cell phone number to so many people, you know. It would be easy to trace the GPS on it, if anyone was going to try. Like that gentleman in your picture, Caleb. Such a good likeness!”

  I look out the window.

  Kellerman continues, “That one is in my hotel room right now. If anyone tries to trace my phone, they’ll think I’m sitting in my hotel. This one, well…no one knows about it. Pretty untraceable. That sounds like something you would have thought of, right, Ted?”

  I just glare.

  Kellerman shakes his head and looks down at the screen. “Okay, so we’re off to Moorpark and Valencia.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” I finally say to the man in the driver’s seat.

  Kellerman looks at me in the rearview mirror. He’s driving slowly through local streets. “Sure, Ted, fire away.”

  “What’s your real name? We can’t call you Stan anymore, now that we know—”

  “Oh, I don’t think my real name matters,” Kellerman answers lightly as he speeds up after a stop sign. “Notice I came to a complete stop before moving forward. I know you won’t be taking driver’s ed for a few years, but listen to me, you
’ll want to form these habits early.”

  “I thought it was because you didn’t want the police to pull you over for running a stop sign,” I say.

  Keep him talking, I’m thinking. Maybe something will come to you.

  I’m running through every possible scenario I’ve ever played in every game, trying to figure out how to loosen or cut through the plastic that’s biting into my skin. I look over at Caleb.

  Caleb looks down at the zip ties. He almost imperceptibly moves his head to indicate that we should shift our bodies.

  I make an elaborate show of moving my shoulder around. Soon we’re back to back.

  “Getting comfortable, are you?” asks Kellerman.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of hard on your back to sit too long in one position with these on,” Caleb says.

  I feel something tickling my hands. It’s Caleb’s fingers trying to reach for my zip tie. I hold my breath.

  I look up at the front seat. Isabel sits immobile, pressed against the door, as far away from Kellerman as possible. Meanwhile, Kellerman seems distracted by the traffic. There’s an accident in front of us, and flashing lights.

  Caleb’s fingers find my zip tie. He grabs it and pulls. Nothing. He pulls harder, and I nearly fall off the seat.

  Guiding the car expertly as the police wave him past the accident, Kellerman casually turns his head. “You know what’s also great about those plastic zip ties? You can’t undo them. Not like rope or handcuffs. You can’t slip out of them or release someone from them.” He smiles. “The only way to get them off is to cut them.”

  Caleb and I slump down, defeated.

  “And I’m glad no one was silly enough to try to jump out of the car when we passed the police. I control all the door locks, of course.”

  In the front, Isabel comes to life. Her eyes lock on Kellerman with hatred.

  “The one thing I don’t understand is what you’re planning to do with whatever you hope to find in this storage unit.”

  “That’s a good question, Isabel,” Kellerman says. “You kids are so smart! You know that there’s no way I could sell it on the open market. But that’s only true if it’s a painting or a piece of sculpture. And even then, there are buyers—anonymous buyers in Asia, for instance, with whom I deal quite a bit. They give me lots of money for all sorts of things, no questions asked.”