The Bridge to Never Land

by Dave Barry

  “Just got off work,” he said. “Any coffee left?”

  “Absolutely,” said the woman, grabbing a cup.

  Aidan nudged Sarah and pointed toward the floor; she looked and saw that the man was clearly casting a shadow. She looked back at her brother and they shared a moment of shoulder-sagging relief.

  “Let’s go,” said Sarah, heading for the door.

  “Where?” said Aidan, following.

  “I don’t know. We’ve got to find someplace to spend the night, and then we…”

  “We what?”

  “We hope somebody gets in touch with us.”

  She pulled the door open and they went out, their eyes scanning the shopping center and parking lot. Both were deserted. They crossed the parking lot, then the highway, and entered a poorly lit side street. Tired now, they trudged forward, every step taking them farther from home, deeper into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE RESPONSE

  JUST WHEN THEY THOUGHT they’d be spending the night under a tree, Aidan realized that they were near the home of a friend of his, Matthew Langerham, whose family happened to have a bus-size camper parked alongside their house. Matthew had once shown Aidan the tricked-out camper’s interior; Aidan had seen where the key was hidden, behind the rear license plate.

  They slipped in quietly just after midnight, Aidan taking a bunk bed amidships, Sarah heading back to the master suite. Tired from miles of running and walking, they both fell asleep almost immediately.

  Aidan awoke to see daylight streaming through the cracks between the camper curtains. He rose quickly and went back to the master suite. Sarah, too, had been awakened by the light; she was sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

  “It’s morning,” he said. “We need to leave.”

  “In a minute,” she said, pulling the iPad from her backpack and turning it on.

  “Oh man,” she said. “I’m almost out of battery.” She frowned at the screen. “There’s like ten e-mails from Mom. She’s really mad.”

  “I bet,” said Aidan, peering through the camper curtain. “Oh my god!” said Sarah, leaning into the iPad. “What?” “Someone answered us!” “From Facebook?” “No. They responded to the Craigslist ad. Look.” Aidan took the iPad and read the e-mail: “If this is a joke, ha ha. If you’re serious, I’d like to meet you.”

  Aidan looked at the sender’s e-mail address: asterjd@gmail.com.

  “Asterjd,” he said. “Aster.”

  “Yeah,” said Sarah, taking back the iPad.

  “Of course, anyone can create a Gmail account.”

  “I know that,” said Sarah, tapping. “But whoever this is, they responded to us. This is all we have. So we’ll work with it.”

  Aidan read over her shoulder as she typed a reply: “This is no joke. We need help. Who are you? Where are you?”

  Sarah tapped SEND and the e-mail was gone.

  “Can we go now?” said Aidan.

  “Not yet. I need to answer Mom.” She was tapping again.

  “What are you telling her?” “We’re still sorry, still safe, please don’t worry, blah blah…hey!”

  “What?”

  “Asterjd,” she said. “He just answered.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Sarah was reading, frowning. “Whoa,” she said.

  “What?”

  “He’s a professor. At Princeton!”

  “Princeton. The college?”

  “University. He’s in the physics department.”

  “Where is Princeton, Connecticut?”

  “No, idiot. New Jersey.” She started tapping again, then stopped. “My stupid battery’s dead,” she said.

  Aidan, peering out the window again, said, “We have a bigger problem than that.”

  “What?” said Sarah, joining him. “Oh, no.”

  Their father’s car was pulling into the Langerhams’ driveway. As they watched, the car stopped and their father got out. He disappeared from view, headed toward the front door.

  “How’d he know we were here?” said Sarah.

  “He must be checking our friends’ houses,” said Aidan.

  “We have to go now,” said Sarah, stuffing the iPad into her backpack.

  They left the camper quickly, Aidan locking the door and returning the key to its hiding place. They ran across the backyard and through several neighboring yards onto a side street, then into a park where they hid for a while. Eventually they worked their way to a main road and followed it, Sarah in the lead.

  “Do we have any idea where we’re going?” said Aidan.

  Sarah pointed ahead. “There,” she said. “The bus stop.”

  “We’re taking a bus?” said Aidan.

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Downtown. To the train station. We’re going to Princeton.”

  “Wait…just like that, we’re gonna get on a train for New Jersey? To see a guy we don’t know anything about?”

  “We also need disguises,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “That’s what scares me,” said Aidan.

  They boarded the first bus that came along, which, as it turned out, was headed in the wrong direction. But after getting directions and changing buses twice, they finally made it to the train station, where, after consulting with the ticket agent, they bought tickets to Philadelphia, where they would change to a train to Princeton.

  While they were waiting for the train they went next door to a drugstore, where they bought a large quantity of non-nutritious food. At Sarah’s insistence they also bought sunglasses, as well as a scarf for her and a ball cap for him. They tried to stay in well-lit areas of the station; whenever somebody approached, they looked at the floor, making sure the person cast a shadow.

  When they boarded the train, Sarah plugged her iPad into a power outlet and turned it on. She found a new barrage of e-mails from their parents, but she was in no mood to read them, so she powered it back down and dozed off. Aidan did the same; neither had gotten much sleep in the camper.

  When they reached Philadelphia they enjoyed a hearty meal of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Coke before boarding the train to Princeton. Sarah again turned on her iPad and, with a sigh, began plowing through the mass of e-mails from her parents—some pleading, some threatening, some hurt, some angry, most of them a combination of all these things. She’d been reading these for forty-five minutes when suddenly she sat up straight.

  “Wake up,” she said, prodding Aidan, who’d fallen asleep.

  “What?” he said, blinking.

  “One of the earlier e-mails from Mom. I just read it. Get this: she mentions that we were at the Langerhams’.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Dad got into a big fight with them because he thought they were hiding us, and he finally realized they weren’t, and now the Langerhams are mad at Mom and Dad, and Mom is not happy. But why was Dad so sure we’d even been there?”

  Adam frowned. “Wait a minute,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That app,” he said. “Whaddyacallit. That tells you where your iPad is.”

  “Find My iPad?”

  “Yeah. Do you have it turned on?”

  Sarah went pale. “Yes,” she said.

  “Turn it off.”

  Sarah turned it off, then said, “You think that’s how they…”

  “Yup,” he said. “Dad has your password. They used Find My iPad to track us. That’s how come Dad went to the Langerhams’. Think about it. He came pretty quick after you turned it on.”

  “So whenever I turned the iPad on…”

  “They knew where you were. So where else did you turn it on?”

  She frowned. “I turned it on for a few minutes this morning when the train was leaving Pittsburgh. And again when we were reaching Philly.”

  “Okay, so they’d know we were downtown, and then in Philly. The big problem is, now they also know we’re moving north out of
Philly. If they’re using Google Maps, they might even know we’re on a rail line. They could know we’re on this train.”

  “You think they’d go to all that trouble?”

  “Knowing Mom? The Marines are probably waiting at the next station. We need to stop leaving a trail. No iPad, no e-mails, no Skype. And we’ve got to turn off our cell phones. The cops can track those.”

  “Seriously?” said Sarah. “Do you think they’d call the New Jersey police?”

  “This is Mom we’re talking about. She’d call the White House.”

  “But even if she did call the police…there must be thousands of teens who run away every year. They can’t wait at train stations for all of them.”

  “Have you ever heard of private detectives?”

  “You think she’d do that?”

  “I repeat: this is Mom we’re talking about.”

  Sarah sighed. “You’re right. What are we going to do?”

  “I’m thinking,” said Aidan.

  “Well,” said Sarah, “think fast.”

  Lester Armstrong, private investigator, was an imposing man—the size of a vending machine, and mostly muscle. But it was his brains, not his brawn, that got him into the

  P.I. business. He’d been working as an underpaid baggage handler for a discount airline at the Newark airport when he happened upon a commotion at the Lost Baggage department. A very angry passenger was pounding on the counter, demanding to know what had happened to his suitcase, which contained jewelry belonging to his wife. The man wanted his suitcase back so badly that he loudly offered $500 cash to the person who found it.

  Lester’s ears perked up at that; he had bills to pay. He also had a knack for computers that he had developed playing online poker, which is why he had bills to pay. Between flights, he logged into the baggage-tracking system; a half hour later he’d managed to track the bag down eight thousand miles away in Mutare, Zimbabwe.

  The owner of the bag, whose name was Nestor Paolo, was so grateful that he not only gave Lester the reward, but also offered him a job. Paolo was a private investigator with a security company based in Chicago; he needed a computer-savvy investigator and figured Lester’s size might also come in handy, as Nestor himself was diminutive in stature, though powerful of mind.

  And so Lester left luggage to become Nestor’s East Coast office, making more money than he’d ever made before. It turned out that his gift for finding things also worked with people. He became a master of the computer-aided search; nobody could find a runaway teenager or spouse faster than Lester Armstrong. He had a nationwide reputation, which is why when a frantic Natalie Cooper began calling various hotlines, looking for a way to track down her runaway children, Lester’s name came up immediately.

  The Coopers hired Lester over the phone; he questioned them and quickly found out about Sarah’s iPad. Within minutes, using the password supplied by Tom, he had tracked her to the Langerhams’ house and sent Tom in pursuit. That hadn’t worked, but Lester had picked up the iPad’s trail again—first at the Pittsburgh train station, and then in Philadelphia. He was soon speeding south in his Escalade, keeping one eye on the laptop computer in the passenger seat. He smiled when he picked up Sarah’s iPad again, this time north of Philadelphia and moving.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Come to Lester.” He pulled off the road and, with some quick keyboard work, determined that the iPad was on a train. By noting where and when it stopped, and then making a quick call to an Amtrak dispatcher who owed him a favor, he figured out which train they were on. Its next stop was in eleven minutes; the station was thirteen miles from Lester. With a smile, he put the Escalade in gear.

  “We’ve got to split up,” Aidan said.

  “Because?”

  “Because they’re looking for two of us. Together.”

  “Good point.”

  “You need to lose the hairdo.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. If they’re looking for us, they’ll have pictures, and in every picture ever of you your hair’s piled up like some kind of freako sculpture.”

  “It’s my trademark.”

  “Whatever. Lose it. You need to look a lot different, because you’re staying on the train.”

  “Wait…what are you doing?”

  “Getting off the train. We’re splitting up, remember?”

  “But how are we gonna—”

  “Shh. Just listen. I’ll stick near a family so I don’t stand out. I’ll hang around, and if the coast is clear, I’ll get the next train and meet you in Princeton. We don’t turn on our phones. We don’t go online. Okay?”

  Sarah looked unhappy. “I guess so,” she said.

  “The hair,” he said.

  “Do I really…”

  He handed her his ball cap and pointed down the aisle.

  A minute later, Sarah was staring into the mirror in a cramped and smelly bathroom, taking a last look at her beloved hairstyle. She sighed, then filled the tiny steel sink with water. Before she could think too much about it, she plunged her head in. The intricate edifice that had been her hairstyle collapsed. She tried to rinse out the stickiness, then emptied the sink and repeated the process. She blotted up as much of the water as she could with brown paper towels, then choked back tears as she saw herself.

  “I look like a wet dog,” she moaned.

  She brushed her hair—she’d forgotten how long it was—then twisted it into a bun and stuffed it beneath the ball cap. Then she wiped off her mascara and lipstick.

  She hated how she looked. But Aidan was right: she would be much harder to recognize. She barely recognized herself. She headed back to their seats.

  “Much better,” said Aidan.

  “I hate you,” she replied.

  “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Okay, we’re coming to the station.”

  “How’re we going to meet in Princeton?”

  “First of all, you don’t use the iPad. Go to a library or an Internet café. Someplace with public computers. I’ll do the same. We’ll find each other that way.”

  “But can’t they track our e-mails?”

  Aidan grinned. “I have a Gmail account Dad doesn’t know about.”

  Sarah laughed. “You, too?”

  “Give me a pen and paper.”

  They exchanged e-mails. The train began to slow. A few passengers rose from their seats.

  “You’ll be careful?” she said.

  “I’m touched.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Keep your head down,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”

  The brakes cried out as the train shuddered to a stop. He put on sunglasses and headed for the end of the car.

  Aidan got off right behind a family with three kids, staying close, trying to look like the older brother. His eyes swept the platform. No cops, he thought. Then he corrected himself: No uniformed cops.

  Then he saw the man on the bench—a large man. Very large. The man held a newspaper, but Aidan could tell he wasn’t reading it; his eyes—eyes that looked like they missed nothing—were sweeping the platform. They swept over Aidan, stopping for just a heartbeat. In that instant Aidan was sure the man was coming after him. But then the eyes moved on.

  He didn’t recognize me, thought Aidan.

  Why was the boy alone? Lester wondered. He’d spotted Aidan easily—the sunglasses were a pathetic disguise. But where was the girl? She definitely hadn’t gotten off the train.

  Lester had considered chasing the boy, but he was in no mood to test the boy’s foot speed against his own endurance. He’d put on a few pounds, lost a step since his prime. He gave a casual glance at his watch, checked the platform to the left, and, convinced the boy was alone, stood, stretched, and moved toward the train.

  His plan had been to board the train, find the kids, and haul them off at whatever stop came next—Princeton at the earliest, Newark if necessary. Rent a car. Call the parents. Do the paperwork. Collect the check.

  But now the boy
was off the train. And maybe the girl was still on it. Maybe they were smart enough to figure out they’d be harder to find if they split up. Maybe she got off at another station. Maybe she was still back in Pittsburgh.

  Lester had a rule about kids: you bring in the girl first. The world was crueler to girls. But he had another rule: a bird in the hand. The boy was right here. It seemed stupid to board the train and let the boy go free. Maybe the boy would lead him to the girl.…

  Lester stood by the gap between platform and train door, using the reflection in a train window to watch the boy following the family toward the platform stairs. At the top of the stairs, the boy looked back, then started down.

  “All aboard!” called the conductor, leaning out of the next car, looking right at Lester.

  Lester turned and headed for the stairs.

  Sarah had thought the large man was staring at her; it was only when he turned that she realized he’d been using her window as a mirror to watch Aidan. As the man strode toward the stairs, she started to panic; the man was a cop.

  She felt her phone in her pocket, but remembered her brother’s warning. She started to get out of her seat, but the train lurched forward. Too late to get off now.

  “Is there something wrong?” An older woman was leaning halfway across the center aisle.

  “I…ah…my boyfriend got off at that station, and he forgot something. My phone’s dead. I need to reach him somehow.”

  “You can have him paged.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes. You may use my phone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” She rummaged in her purse and produced a cell phone.

  “I can pay you for calling information.”

  “I think I can afford it,” the woman said, smiling.

  Directory assistance not only gave her the number, but dialed it for her.

  “Hello,” Sarah said, “I’d like to page a Mister Morgan Chatterley. It’s urgent.” She smiled at the nice lady, then turned away and cupped the phone.

  At first Aidan did not believe his mother’s maiden name was being announced over the train-station PA system. But then he heard it again: “Mister Morgan Chatterly, please pick up the courtesy phone.”