Forever Lost

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Well, hello,” said Dr. Carrini, not quite meeting my eye. He glanced over at the nurse who’d led us up. “Thank you for bringing them up here, Nancy. I’m afraid we have some difficult things to discuss. You can go back to your duties.”

  “Of course, doctor,” Nancy said with a nod, and with a sympathetic look at me, she headed back the way we’d come.

  “Why am I meeting with you?” I asked bluntly, not wanting to waste any time. “When Frank was admitted, he was treated by a Dr. Klaus. What happened to him?”

  Dr. Carrini sucked in a breath. “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to two leather couches that faced an empty glass coffee table. “Forgive the impersonality of this office. It’s temporary, you understand, and I haven’t had much chance to decorate since I was called here to treat Justin.”

  “Why were you treating Frank Hardy?” Detective Cole repeated, remaining standing as I sat down. “Joe here asked you a question about his brother. Please answer.”

  Dr. Carrini nodded, shooting an uncomfortable smile my way. “I apologize. I see you’re very concerned about your brother, and that’s admirable.” He took a seat on the couch facing me and gestured up at Detective Cole. “Please, sit down. Let’s all be comfortable while we discuss some . . . uncomfortable topics.”

  Uncomfortable topics? If Dr. Carrini was hoping to calm me down, he was failing miserably right now. Uncomfortable topics implied that he was about to say something that would make me upset. And that was about the last sort of explanation I wanted.

  “Joseph,” Dr. Carrini began, and I stiffened at the use of my full name, which absolutely no one uses except teachers on the first day of school. “are you familiar with the claims your brother was making when he came in?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “The claims he was making?” I asked, feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. “If you mean what he said about the underground bunker and the hatch . . .”

  Before I could continue, Dr. Carrini leaped up and grabbed a folder from his desk, then opened it up and began to read off a paper. “‘An underground bunker where he was held prisoner for several days,’” he said. “‘No known entrance or exit. Subject claims a metal hatch led to a series of tunnels leading to the bunker, but said hatch was destroyed in an explosion, leaving no trail. Subject claims that the missing children whose disappearance he was investigating were all present in the bunker.’”

  “That’s not true,” I broke in. “He didn’t see all of them. But he thought—”

  Dr. Carrini held up his hand. “He believed they might all be kept down there, is that correct?”

  I tried to remember my conversation with my brother the night before. It felt like months ago. “Yes,” I said finally. “I mean, it’s possible. He saw a couple.”

  Dr. Carrini nodded sagely, like this was very important. “‘Subject claims he and the other children were treated with drugs, making it impossible to remember anything clearly, or to be entirely certain about what he saw.’”

  I frowned. I knew where this was going. “What does this have to do with where my brother is? I mean, isn’t that the most important thing? Finding my brother?”

  Dr. Carrini sighed, then nodded again. “You were asking why I took over your brother’s care.”

  “That’s right,” I agreed.

  He put down the folder, sat down on the couch again, and looked me in the eye. “I took over your brother’s care because, as you saw with Justin, I am an expert in the science of memory—and the treatment of false memories.”

  I stared at him, my face growing hot as I realized what he was saying. “You think my brother’s lying?”

  Dr. Carrini held up his hand, shaking his head. “Not lying,” he countered. “I believe your brother thinks what he’s saying is true. But that doesn’t make his memories any more believable.”

  I glared at him, my temper getting the better of me. “Who are you to say what is and isn’t believable?”

  Dr. Carrini glanced at Chloe, who still looked deeply uncomfortable, then back at me. “Joseph, I am a reasonable human being. This is a quiet mountain town with a small population. Do you really expect anyone to believe that an underground bunker exists—and has existed all these years—filled with missing children being pumped full of drugs and I don’t know what?”

  I set my jaw in an angry line. “If my brother said it, yes.”

  “Very well,” said Dr. Carrini. “He’s your brother, and I hear you, Joseph, that he’s usually a very trustworthy person.” He paused, opening the folder again. “But there is still the matter of the drugs in his system. Five different drugs, when he was admitted to the ER, all of which could have effects on his judgment and ability to see things clearly.”

  I nodded. “He told me that. He told me they drugged him in—in wherever he was.”

  “Does your brother often use recreational drugs?” Dr. Carrini asked.

  I snorted. “Never. We would never touch them. My brother barely ever takes an aspirin.”

  Dr. Carrini nodded. “So it’s safe to say that introducing a large amount of drugs into his system very suddenly might have an extreme effect?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped myself. An extreme effect? Frank had been acting weird the night before, sure. And definitely, crawling down into the rubble to save some girl only he could hear was weirdness in the extreme. Nothing like my cautious, by-the-book bro. But still, I just knew he wasn’t making the whole thing up.

  Didn’t I?

  Detective Cole cleared his throat. “The problem with that theory,” he said, “is that Joe and I saw the hatch. A whole bunch of my men did, before it was blown up. So clearly Frank wasn’t confused about that.”

  Dr. Carrini turned to the detective with a patient, almost indulgent expression, like he was a little kid who’d just said something extremely cute. “We’ll get to that,” he said dismissively, then turned back to me. “Did you know, Joseph, that when your brother escaped from the hospital—in a very bizarre display of behavior, I must say—he attacked Chloe on the way out?”

  Attacked Chloe? I shook my head. “That’s impossible. That’s not like Frank at all. He barely has the guts to talk to girls, much less . . .” I looked up at Chloe, who, I realized now, looked a little pale and shaken. She met my eye only briefly before looking down at the floor.

  “It’s true,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t believe it myself, because that’s not like him at all. But he wasn’t himself. He seemed very upset, like he’d had some kind of . . .”

  “Mental break,” Dr. Carrini supplied. “Perhaps drug-induced.”

  I frowned. I didn’t like the direction of this conversation at all. “But you were the one pumping him full of drugs this morning,” I insisted, looking at Chloe. “You were sedating him. Remember?”

  Dr. Carrini leaned in. “And that’s all we gave Frank,” he insisted, “a sedative to help him sleep. Nothing that would cause hallucinations or the behavior we saw this morning, with him ripping out his IV, leaping out of bed, and running out of the hospital like a streak, attacking Chloe along the way. The drugs he had in his system when he arrived, however . . .”

  I frowned. “But who gave him those drugs?” I asked, giving the doctor a challenging look. “If not you, if you don’t believe the bunker exists, then who?”

  Dr. Carrini leaned back. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “Perhaps someone who wants to impede the investigation. And it concerns me that they’re succeeding.”

  Detective Cole frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dr. Carrini looked at him calmly, clearly not intimidated at all. “It means,” he said, “that I have serious concerns about the direction of this investigation, based on what I observed with Justin and now with Frank. And I’m not the only one. Chloe, would you lead in our friends?”

  Friends? I glanced at Detective Cole, but he looked just as surprised about all this as I felt. Chloe shot me a brief apologetic look. “Of course,” sh
e said quietly, then left the office.

  We waited only a few seconds before I heard voices in the hall. Then Chloe led in a herd of people: Jacob, Donna, and Smith—no surprises there—but also Edie, Justin’s mother, and Hank, her current husband. I looked at them, stunned. Jacob had been unpredictable and difficult since our investigation started, but Edie and Hank had always been reasonable and kind to Frank and me. Had they somehow been recruited into this stop-researching-the-bunker movement?

  Edie, Donna, Hank, and Jacob joined us on the couches, all looking a little uncomfortable. Smith went to stand by the window, looking at me with a smug expression.

  “We have all,” Dr. Carrini began, glancing around at them for confirmation, “been discussing the events of the last twenty-four hours. And we have serious concerns.”

  Jacob, Donna, and Smith all nodded enthusiastically. I looked at Edie, waiting to see whether she was really part of this. She looked at me uncomfortably—but then nodded. Then she looked down into her lap.

  I heard Detective Cole take a deep breath. “What are your concerns?” he asked.

  Jacob shrugged. “It’s what we talked about this morning, detective. But we all agree. There’s barely any evidence this bunker exists, much less that my kid is in it.”

  “And it’s all . . . a little hard to believe,” Hank added tentatively. “An underground bunker where kids are kept prisoner? Is this a better explanation for all the disappearances than bear attacks?”

  “Besides,” broke in Edie, looking apologetic, “we all know your brother was drugged at the time he appeared in the woods—so why are we listening to him? Nothing he says makes any sense.”

  I glanced at Detective Cole and sighed. “I still believe my brother,” I insisted. It was true, I didn’t know who gave him the drugs he had in his system or exactly how they were affecting him—but I believed the essence of what he had told me.

  Detective Cole nodded. “And I do as well.”

  “Well,” Jacob said, “I think we’re at an impasse here, folks. And I’m not going to sit here and watch you let my son get away while you investigate this cockamamie story. Neither are Edie and Hank.”

  I glanced at Edie and Hank; they looked uncomfortable but nodded slightly. “We have to find my boy,” Edie whispered, her voice breaking.

  “If you continue down this path, Detective Cole,” Jacob went on, “I will have your job. That’s a promise.”

  Detective Cole looked stunned, laughing nervously. “And how would you do that?” he asked. “Last I checked, I had the right to proceed with an investigation as I see fit. This is still the United States of America, isn’t it?”

  Jacob just gave him a dark look. “It is,” he replied, “but the way the real world works is this. Donna has all kinds of connections to the Idaho government. You keep going this way, you’ll be out—and that’s for real.”

  My mouth dropped open as I looked at Detective Cole in shock. Jacob had always been difficult and less than cuddly—but impeding our investigation like this? Why?

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Detective Cole went on, looking around the room at a series of hostile faces. “You would impede my investigation, right when we’ve had a break in the case? I saw the hatch with my own eyes.”

  “That may be true,” Edie spoke up, her voice still wavering, “but only Frank really saw what was down here, and he’s not the most trustworthy witness.”

  “Some of your men are going against you on this, too” Jacob added, glaring at Detective Cole. “Seems nobody but you is so sure they saw a hatch, or what that hatch was. Nobody’s willing to testify about it in court, anyhow.”

  Detective Cole’s mouth hung open in shock. I felt the same way. His own men were with Jacob now?

  “I’ll repeat,” Jacob went on, “unless you change the course of the investigation, and send these troublemaking students back home,” he added, glancing at me, “you will be out of a job by tomorrow morning. I told you, Donna has connections in the Idaho government; they can make things happen.”

  Detective Cole turned to Dr. Carrini, still looking shocked. “And you’re okay with this?” he asked. “I’m basically being blackmailed to stop an investigation. You’re a doctor, a man of science. You’re okay with me not investigating every angle?”

  Dr. Carrini looked Detective Cole right in the eye, unflinching. “I do think you should stop this line of investigation—for the health of everyone involved,” he replied. “I am an expert in memory, after all, and I believe neither the ‘memories’ that Justin was having before he disappeared nor Frank’s ‘memories.’ I believe both were false, or implanted, memories, and that means that someone is messing with these kids.”

  “Implanted memories?” I repeated. “What does that even mean?”

  Dr. Carrini glanced at me impatiently. “We’ve discussed this in regard to Justin. Someone suggests a memory to the patient, sometimes under the influence of drugs, and then reacts with excitement or approval when the patient appears to ‘remember’ it. You see cases of this with children who claim to remember their birth, or their christening, for example. In fact, their brains were not wired to have true memories at that age. But their parents have told them the story so many times, they believe they remember it as their own.”

  I thought that over. “But doesn’t that mean . . .?”

  “Someone would have to have gotten to Frank and Justin to suggest these memories,” Detective Cole filled in. “Who?”

  Dr. Carrini shrugged. “I suppose that’s the real question,” he replied. “Your brother was missing for a long time, no? Who knows who he might have been in contact with in that time?”

  I frowned. I didn’t like this line of thought, but . . . still. I had to admit that Dr. Carrini was right about one thing: I really had no idea what had happened to Frank while he’d been gone. And I really had no idea why he’d left the hospital.

  “Well,” Detective Cole said after a few seconds, “you all don’t frighten me. And you’re certainly not going to stop me from doing my job. I owe this boy the courtesy of finding his brother and taking his claims seriously, and Edie and Jacob, I owe you the courtesy of finding your son—whether you believe in my investigation or not.”

  Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “Well,” he said after moment, “I’ll see you fired, then.”

  Detective Cole stood, and I followed suit. “We’ll see about that,” promised the detective as the two of us strode out of the office.

  Back Under

  I tried to struggle, to get away from Scar and Baby Doc, but it was no use. These two had obviously had a lot of experience transporting people against their will. They held my arms like iron clamps as I was dragged down a series of dim tunnels, and back into the underground world I recognized. I tried to yell, “Help! Help me!” but Baby Doc’s meaty hand clamped over my mouth before I could make more than a few pitiful sounds.

  Baby Doc and Scar slammed through a swinging double metal door and shoved me into what looked like an operating room. Bright lights illuminated tile walls, medical equipment, and a couple of tables. My captors wrestled me down onto the table as tiny footsteps entered the room, and I heard a familiar voice.

  “Frank! You’re back!”

  I struggled to see around the beefy orderlies. “Alice!”

  She appeared just as I remembered her, dressed in a poufy pink princess dress with a little rhinestone tiara plopped on her messy blond head. She looked happy to see me. “You came back!” The fact that I was being wrestled onto a table by two orderlies didn’t seem to faze her at all.

  “Where’s the purple stuff?” Baby Doc asked, opening a cabinet and looking at a series of IV bags. “We need to keep this one out of trouble for a while.”

  Alice’s eyes opened wide. “No, no!” she cried. “You can’t give Frank the Big Sleep . . . that’s what happened the Bad Time! The time we lost—”

  “Alice, go back to the playroom,” Scar cut her off in an authoritative tone. “You know
better than to mess with us when we’re giving medicine. You know it’s for his own good.”

  Alice looked doubtful, but at that point another young guy in scrubs appeared at the door. “Carl, take her away, please,” Scar instructed. “Alice, Carl wants to play Princess Time with you.”

  Alice’s face still showed doubt, but she allowed the third orderly to lead her out of the operating room. I looked around the room, trying to find anything I could grab and use as a weapon, when I spotted a body lying to my left and gasped.

  Justin!

  It was definitely him, lying unconscious on a gurney with an IV hooked up to his arm. Before I could react, though, Baby Doc rose over me again—this time with a clear bag of purple fluid clutched in his hand.

  “If you know what’s good for you, don’t fight it,” he told me as he handed the bag to Scar to hook up to my arm. “This is just to keep you out of trouble till the Big Boss can get down here.”

  The Big Boss? The Big Boss . . . As I mulled that over in my head, I felt Baby Doc remove the sheet I’d tied over my right elbow, and a needle jabbed painfully near where the other IV had been. I tried to struggle—to move my arm and throw them off—but it was no use. My left arm was throbbing in my cast, and already I could feel the warmth oozing through my veins. I struggled to keep my eyes open, but I was feeling drowsy . . . so drowsy . . .

  Who knows how long later, I blinked awake, staring at the bright lights on the ceiling. I wasn’t sure how long I lay there before I realized what was going on: I was awake! In the bunker! The operating room . . . I went to gasp, but a hand quickly clamped over my mouth. I let out a whimper of surprise, but then followed the hand up to the person standing over me.

  Justin.

  That’s when I realized that Justin had disconnected my IV.