The Bridge to Never Land

by Dave Barry

  Morgan Chatterley was his mother’s maiden name. It was a family joke: she hated the name Morgan and had insisted on being called Natalie since middle school. Aidan knew the page could not possibly be a coincidence. It had to be Sarah.

  Or was it his parents? Some kind of trap?

  He started toward the courtesy phone, stopped, turned away, stopped again. Finally, he went over and answered it.

  He lowered his voice. “Hello?”

  “Is that you?” said Sarah, whispering.

  “I told you not to use your phone!”

  “I’m not. I borrowed one.”

  “But what—”

  “Just listen. There’s a guy. Big guy. Looks a little like Hulk Hogan.”

  “I saw him. He got on the train. Keep your head down, like I told you.”

  “He didn’t get on. He was watching you. He’s following you.”

  “Are you sure?” Aidan felt his stomach tighten.

  “Yes. Get out of there now.”

  The line went dead. Aidan hung up and quickly looked around. He’d planned to hang around the station until the next train; that wouldn’t work now. He looked across the parking lot, where there was a busy street. A few blocks to the right was a village; he could make out a Radio Shack and a Starbucks.

  He walked quickly across the parking lot and turned right. After a half a block, he glanced back.

  The big man was behind him.

  The man was about twenty yards back and didn’t seem in any particular hurry. In fact, if Sarah hadn’t warned him, Aidan wouldn’t have been suspicious.

  He walked a bit faster, then faster still. After a minute he glanced back. The man was the same distance behind him.

  Aidan picked up his pace even more. Stay calm, he told himself. Stay calm. But he couldn’t. He was afraid to turn around, and afraid to feel a big hand grab his shoulder.

  He broke into a run.

  He covered two blocks at a dead sprint, aiming for the Starbucks, hoping he’d be safe with people around. He burst through the door and almost fainted with relief when he saw the customer standing at the counter: a police officer.

  His relief disappeared a second later when it occurred to him that if the big guy was a private investigator—which he surely was—then he would simply tell the policeman that

  Aidan was a runaway, and he’d be caught.

  He looked out the window; the big man was getting close. He still appeared to be in no hurry.

  Aidan looked back at the policeman, who was still at the counter adding sugar to his coffee. The big man was fifteen yards from the Starbucks. Aidan took a breath, then stepped outside. He stood on the sidewalk, waiting. The big man was five yards away.

  “Hello, Aidan,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

  “Help! Police!” shouted Aidan. “He’s hurting me!”

  The big man stopped, held up his hand.

  “Hold it,” he said.

  “Help!” shouted Aidan, crumpling to the ground. “Please!”

  The door behind him burst open. The policeman looked down at Aidan, then at the big man.

  “Ow!” screamed Aidan. “Please make him stop!”

  “I didn’t do anything,” said the big man.

  The policeman drew his nightstick. “Sir, please turn around and put your hands against the wall.”

  “Officer, I didn’t do anything. I’m a pri—”

  “I said turn around,” bellowed the policeman, giving the big man a hard shove to the shoulder.

  “This kid is a—”

  “Spread your legs!” The cop started patting the big man down. It took him three seconds to find the gun.

  The big man said, “Officer, this is a mis—”

  “Keep quiet and don’t move,” said the policeman. He radioed for backup, then unclipped some handcuffs.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” the big man said to the wall, through gritted teeth. “It’s that kid you should be taking into custody.”

  “Oh, really?” said the officer. “Does he have a gun, too?”

  “No, but he’s…” The big man glanced back. “No! He got away!”

  The policeman turned around. The big man was right. Aidan was gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  REUNION

  AIDAN, HAVING ROUNDED ONE CORNER and then another, was running hard on a side street, glancing back, pondering his next move. His plan had been to head back to the train station and catch the next train to Princeton. But things had changed. The police wouldn’t be able to hold the big guy who’d been following him—after all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And if he was a P.I.—which Aidan was pretty sure he was—he’d tell the cop that Aidan was a runaway. Then the police would be after him, and they’d be watching the station.

  He thought maybe he could take a bus to Princeton. The question was, which bus? And where to catch it? He was passing a Harley-Davidson shop. Glancing inside, he saw a wide, bearded man with many square feet of tattoos talking to a man dressed head to toe in black leather, wearing a red bandana.

  Aidan went in. “Excuse me,” he said. The men turned toward him. Aidan wondered if he was making a mistake.

  The wide man, his voice a growl, said, “You look a little young for a Harley.”

  “I, um,” said Aidan, his voice cracking, “I was just wondering, what’s the best way to get to Princeton?”

  The wide man tugged at his beard. “Well,” he said, “there’s the train.”

  “Right,” said Aidan. “I was just looking for something…” —he paused, frantically trying to think of an excuse for not taking the train—“…faster.”

  “Really,” said the wide man, amused. “Faster than the train.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then,” said the wide man, “if you want fast, you could maybe hitch a ride with Tommy here. He’s heading up that way right now, delivering a part. You up for a rider, Tommy?”

  Tommy looked at Aidan. He had a lean, sun-baked face and a hard expression. But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft.

  “Happy to take you, kid, if we can find you a helmet.”

  “Seriously?” said Aidan. “On a real Harley?”

  “I don’t drive the imaginary ones,” said Tommy.

  In half an hour—one of the most exciting half hours of Aidan’s life—he was climbing off the Harley at the doorstep of the Princeton town library. He thanked Tommy and went inside, where, after a few minutes, he found Sarah at one of the computer stations, typing away. He walked up quietly behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She emitted a small scream—drawing disapproving stares from other library patrons—then, seeing who it was, jumped up and wrapped Aidan in the kind of warm embrace she normally reserved for dogs.

  “Easy!” said Aidan, disentangling himself.

  “Sorry!” she said. “I’m just…”

  “Happy to see me?”

  “Incredible as it seems, yes.”

  “Yeah, me too, with you. No more splitting up.”

  “Agreed.” She attempted another hug, but he fended her off.

  “Now what?” he said. “Where’s our guy?”

  “I’ve done some Google mapping,” Sarah said, nodding toward the computer. “His office is on the Princeton campus. It’s a little ways, but we can walk.”

  They set out from the library, Aidan filling Sarah in on his escape from the big man and his Harley ride. They reached the Princeton campus and, following Sarah’s handwritten map, made their way along pathways, past well-manicured lawns and old brick buildings.

  “I really, really hope this guy can help us,” said Aidan.

  CHAPTER 17

  J.D.

  THE PRINCETON PHYSICS DEPARTMENT was headquartered in Jadwin Hall, a massive, modern brick building next to the football stadium. The office Sarah and Aidan were looking for was on the second floor at the end of a long hallway. The door was closed. As they approached it, Sarah grabbed Aidan’s arm.

  “Look,” she said, po
inting to the nameplate next to the door, which read j.d. aster, associate professor of physics.

  “His name is Aster!” she said. “J.D. Aster.”

  “I can read,” said Aidan.

  “So it’s not just his e-mail address. It’s his name. He’s a Starcatcher!”

  “Sarah, he’s a guy named Aster.”

  “Who maybe can help us. I soooo hope he can help us.” Sarah rapped her knuckles twice on the door.

  “Come in,” called a man’s voice. Sarah opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Aidan. The office was cluttered—papers were everywhere, occupying two chairs as well as a good section of the floor. Behind the desk, facing a computer screen, was a man in his twenties wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that read death to squirrels. His tousled brown hair spilled over an angular face dominated by startlingly bright green eyes set above prominent cheekbones.

  “Whoa,” said Sarah, softly. Aidan rolled his eyes.

  “Can I help you?” said the man.

  “‘Death to squirrels’?” said Aidan.

  “A band,” said the man. “I’m J.D. And you are…”

  Sarah, wishing she’d checked her hair one last time before opening the door, stepped forward and, putting on her most winning smile, said, “I’m Sarah Cooper, and this is my brother, Aidan. I’m the one who sent you the…I mean, you sent it to me, but it was in answer to the thing I sent you, although of course I didn’t know it was you, at the time.”

  “What?” said J.D.

  “You answered our Craigslist ad,” said Aidan.

  J.D. frowned. “That was you?” Sarah and Aidan nodded. “But you’re just…kids!” Sarah reddened. Aidan said, “Well, you don’t look old enough to be a college professor.”

  “Associate professor,” said J.D.

  “Well, professor,” said Sarah, “we’re old enough to have found you, and to have come here to ask for your help.”

  “Help with…” He eyed them both curiously.

  Sarah hesitated for a moment.

  “Starstuff,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  The words seemed to tumble out before she could stop them. “We have some starstuff.”

  “It’s real,” Aidan said. “Really real.”

  “We found a letter…and a map,” Sarah said, “and we followed the map, and we found the starstuff in England.”

  “Hidden in a cave,” Aidan said.

  “And we took it,” Sarah added. “We thought it would be fun, but now Ombra knows we have it, and he’s after it.”

  J.D. smiled. “That would be Lord Ombra?” “Yes!” said Aidan. “He’s after us. He’s a flock of birds, ravens, and he…” He stopped, seeing the look on J.D.’s face. “You don’t believe us,” Sarah said.

  J.D. sighed. “I take it you’re fans of the books.” “Yes,” said Sarah, “but this is—” “Listen,” said J.D. “Those books, they’re just stories.

  People get wrapped up in stories. But they’re still just stories.” Aidan said, “You think we came all this way to tell you a fairy tale?”

  “I’m afraid I do,” said J.D.

  “Well,” Aidan said angrily, “maybe you’d like to see what’s inside the—ow!” He yanked his arm away from Sarah’s painfully pinching fingers. She gave him a shut up look, then turned to J.D.

  “I have a question, Professor Aster,” she said. “If you don’t believe the starstuff stories are real, why did you answer our Craigslist ad? Why did you say you’d like to meet us? Why did you tell us to come here?”

  “Because when I answered the ad, I didn’t know you were children.”

  “We’re not children. I’m seventeen.”

  J.D. snorted.

  “Besides,” Sarah went on, “what difference does it make how old we are? You answered the ad. You told us to meet with you. Why did you do that, if you don’t believe us?”

  J.D.’s face reddened. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

  “You think?” Aidan said.

  J.D. sighed. “Okay, okay,” he said. He took a deep breath. “What I’m going to tell you now is our big family secret, passed down through the generations. I shouldn’t tell you this, but at this point I don’t think it matters anymore. My great-grandfather, Henry, was an Englishman, and the nephew of a man named Leonard Aster—the same name that’s in the books. Henry claimed he was a Starcatcher.”

  “Oh my god,” said Sarah. “I knew it. You are one of them!”

  “I am no such thing,” said J.D. “I said my great-grandfather claimed he was a Starcatcher. It was a family legend, passed down through generations of Asters. But they’re all gone now. I’m the last of the Asters, as far as I know. And I’m not passing it on, because I think it’s a fairy tale.”

  “What did your parents think?” said Sarah.

  “My mom thought the whole Starcatchers story was silly. My father wanted to believe. He loved and respected his father and grandfather. But he was a physicist, like me. He needed proof. The idea of starstuff, flying, shadow creatures…I don’t think he really believed any of that. But he felt an obligation to his father, so he passed the instructions along to me.”

  “What instructions?” said Aidan.

  “Basically, to keep an eye out. For what—that part was pretty vague. The story passed down in our family was that the bad guys were defeated back in England and all the starstuff was gone except for one batch, which they kept in case of an emergency, hidden in some secret safe place by this guy Magill. So the instructions, according to my dad, were that we Asters were to keep an eye out in case the bad guys reappeared, or the starstuff somehow got out, or somebody needed our help. It was all pretty vague, and I don’t think my dad ever really bought it. I know I don’t buy it. But I made my dad a promise that I would keep an eye out. So I did.”

  He pointed to his computer. “I use Web-search programs with keywords like ‘starstuff,’ ‘Starcatchers,’ ‘Aster,’ that sort of thing. Most of what I get is fans of the books blogging about them. But your Craigslist ad seemed different. It mentioned Magill, which was unusual. So I answered you. But now that you’re here, to be honest, I feel pretty stupid for letting it get this far.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m really sorry I wasted your time. But I honestly don’t want to waste any more of mine on this. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  “We’re wasting your time?” Aidan said bitterly. “Do you have any idea—”

  Sarah put a hand on her brother’s arm, stopping him. “I have one more question for you, professor,” she said.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “What about the books?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Starcatchers books. You had this big family secret for all these years. Then all of a sudden, there’s these books about exactly the same thing—starstuff, the Starcatchers, the Asters. Didn’t that freak you out? How do you explain it?”

  J.D. smiled. “Good question,” he said. “Yes, it did freak me out—at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made perfect sense.”

  “How?” said Sarah.

  “It’s obvious. The Starcatchers story must be an old legend. I don’t know how it got into my family; maybe somebody told the story to one of my ancestors. Or maybe one of my ancestors made it all up and told it to his kids one night, and they believed it, and they’ve been passing it along ever since. But however it got started, it’s obvious that other people, outside my family, have also heard basically the same story. And a few years ago somebody decided to turn it into a book for kids. But that just proves my point: it’s a folk tale. It’s all made up.”

  “You’re sure?” said Sarah.

  “Completely. I’m a scientist. I believe in what can be proven. There’s no proof for any of this.”

  “Really,” said Sarah. She unslung her backpack and set it on the desk. She looked at Aidan and said, “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s a jerk,” muttered Aidan.

/>   “I heard that,” said J.D.

  “Aidan,” said Sarah, “we need his help.”

  “All right,” Aidan said reluctantly. “Show him.”

  “Show me what?” said J.D.

  “Proof,” said Sarah. She unzipped the backpack and took out the golden box. She set it on the desk with a solid thunk. “There,” she said.

  “Nice box,” said J.D.

  “It’s full of starstuff.”

  J.D. looked at the box, then at Sarah, and smiled. “Sure it is,” he said.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I told you he’s a jerk,” said Aidan.

  “I’m a scientist,” said J.D., glaring at Aidan.

  Sarah touched the gold wheel on the box. “Stick out your hand,” she said.

  Aidan stepped forward. “Sarah,” he said. “We showed it to him. That’s enough. This is not a good idea.”

  “Just a little,” she said.

  Aidan shook his head. “It could bring them, Sarah. They can feel it.”

  Sarah hesitated. “From this far away?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” said Aidan. “They could be anywhere.”

  Sarah took her hand off the wheel.

  J.D.’s smile broadened. “Nicely done!” he said. “A fine performance. I gather that, because of the grave danger of the box’s contents, you can’t actually show me the starstuff.”

  Sarah’s face turned deep red. She put her hand back on the wheel.

  “Sarah…” said Aidan.

  “Stick out your hand,” she said to J.D.

  “If you’re videoing this…” said J.D.

  “Stick out your hand!”

  With a sigh, J.D. put his hand next to the golden box.

  Sarah, one hand on the wheel, used the other to tilt the box.

  “This better not be paint,” J.D. said.

  Sarah turned the wheel a tiny bit, then a tiny bit more. Nothing happened.

  “Okay,” said J.D., “this is getting old.” He started to pull his hand away.

  Sarah opened the wheel a quarter turn.

  In an instant, the small office was flooded with golden light and a glorious sound.