by Jude Watson
“Listen,” he says. “We’re having a party for the third anniversary of the foundation. Most of the kids we’ve helped will be there. It’s right in the park—that’s why Marcus suggested this place to meet. Would you like to come?”
My antenna is up, but it’s not picking up danger. There will be plenty of people there. Jonah Castle will be there, other adults. Diego is nearby.
My cover will be blown if Marcus sees me, but I don’t care. I’ll make something up. I’ll say I pretended to be Dora so I could go to the party.
“I just need to call my cousin and tell him,” I say.
“Sure. Ask him if he wants to come.”
I flip open my cell, but I get NO SERVICE on the screen. We hadn’t checked our phones when we arrived. Stupid.
He peers over. “Happens all the time. If we walk a bit, you can try again.”
“Okay.” I get up. Diego is probably watching us right now. And I can call again. I can hear the children running through the grass, and I can see the parents now, chasing after them. I’m fine, I’m safe, Diego would tell me to keep going.
“Great.” He stands up and starts down the path.
We’ll pass right by Diego, but that’s good. Diego can tail us.
We get to the entrance of the gardens, and Jonah looks around. I do, too, but I don’t see Diego. I figure he’s lurking behind a lilac bush, watching.
“Shoot,” Jonah says, and looks at his watch. “It’s later than I thought. They must be on the boat already.”
“Boat?” Everything lights up now. I’m close. I’m so close.
“Marcus has a boat. Well, his parents do.”
Marcus has a boat. That’s it, I think. That’s how he gets them away. Marcus invited her out on the boat. At first, she’s happy, he’s going fast, and the wind is whipping her hair. But something happens, somehow he gets her down in the cabin, and she panics.
I have to see the boat. I have to get on board. If I can just touch it, see it, be in that space, I can pick up something. I know it.
“Do you know the marina? It’s a short walk from here.”
“Let’s go.” I don’t have a real feeling about what is going to happen, but I do have a real feeling. It is that somehow Emily is calling me. She’s telling me, follow.
So I follow. It’s almost as though I don’t care what’s at the end.
I just have to find it.
TWENTY-THREE
We cross the locks, and then the parking lot. We start up Seaview Avenue. Jonah Castle tells me about the park, how it started, how a group of neighborhood people got together and made it happen. That’s what he believes in, he says. A group of people with a common bond get together and things happen. It’s how he built his company, he says. Just a bunch of friends fooling around in a garage with some software. Just to see what would happen.
I guess it’s kind of cool, talking to a major cyberpioneer, a legend. I’m thinking that the Maryland friends I’m not so in touch with anymore deserve an e-mail about this.
We get to the marina. The sunlight scampers on the water. We walk down toward the docks. There are people here, sitting on their boats. They wave at us and smile.
We walk down a dock all the way to the end. He stops in front of a big cabin cruiser, about forty feet long. “I think this is it. Let me check it out.” He jumps aboard while I wait on the dock. I look behind me, but I don’t see Diego.
He disappears inside the cabin. Then he pokes his head out. “Marcus isn’t here. But…”
“What?” I ask. Jonah looks worried.
“It looks like the boat has been broken into or something,” he says. “There’s stuff all over the floor, and—”
He stops.
“What?”
“You’d just better stay there. I’ll call Marcus. No, I’ll call 911.” He takes out his cell phone, then slaps the side of the canvas flap in frustration. “No service. Let’s walk back to…”
I’m not waiting for the police. I have to get aboard. I have to feel the space, touch it. The police can find clues. But they can’t find what I can feel.
I spring onto the boat.
“Don’t,” he warns, taking a step toward me. “They won’t want anyone else aboard.”
But I evade him. I have to look. He doesn’t want to tell me what he saw, but I have to see it. I know that a thief didn’t break in. I know that Jonah has seen signs of a struggle. Something happened on this boat.
I had seen the fists pounding.
I had felt her panic like it was my own.
It’s as if I’m in a dream, a dream that someone else has dreamed. I can see the white deck, the bright snapping blue flag. And Emily is saying, keep going. Help me, help me.
I bend forward to look into the cabin. The surprise that it is neat, nothing out of place, is still registering dully in my head when I feel his hands on my back, when the push sends me down the stairs.
I land on my hands and knees, but I bite my lip hard.
I hear the thunk of the door.
My face is in the carpet. I am stunned. My lip is bleeding. I touch my tongue to the blood.
No.
Under my cheek, I feel the engines start up.
No.
I run to the window. I can’t open it.
I smell gasoline and see churning foam.
I pound on the window with my palms, slap them against the window. Then I use my fists.
“Help me, help me, help me!” I scream the words, over and over.
No one can hear.
My vision swims into focus. The girl on the bench, waiting.
I had been right all along about the danger.
Now I see it clearly.
The girl I had seen on the bench wasn’t Dora at all.
The girl I had seen on the bench was me.
TWENTY-FOUR
When we are far out on the Puget Sound, he comes downstairs. By now I am sitting at the table in the dining area. My lip is swollen, and I haven’t wiped off the blood. Somehow I want him to see it. I want him to see what he’s done.
I’ve tried my cell phone a hundred times. No Service.
I am so afraid that my body is rigid. I am so afraid that I don’t think I can speak. I am sick with anger at myself for being so stupid. Marcus was in my head, Marcus with his shaved head and his scowl.
Jonah has cut the engines and the boat sits, water slapping against the sides. I know we are in the middle of the Sound, no land in sight. He goes to the sink, takes a washcloth, and wets it. He hands it to me.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I press the washcloth against my lip.
“I’m going to save you,” he says. “I’m going to give you a home.”
He sits across the table from me. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
I don’t answer.
“Your cell phone won’t work,” he says. “I have a blocker. A device that disrupts the signal. One of the advantages of being a techno-wizard.” He smiles, but it dims when I don’t respond. “It’s just that I need a chance to talk to you,” he says. “It takes time for you to understand, for you to see. I wasn’t lying to you. I do have a foundation. It’s just a little…unconventional, and I needed to get you away so you could really listen to me and not walk away. But if you want to leave, I’ll take you back.”
I seize on this, a tiny flame of hope. “I want to leave.”
He smiles slightly. “But you haven’t heard me yet.”
This is crazy. It’s like the guy is selling real estate.
He spreads his hands on the table and looks down at them. His fingers are long and slender. “People have it all wrong about families. Families don’t work the way they are. All we hear about is ‘family values, family values,’ and I’m not even sure what that means. Loyalty? Love? Is that a blood connection or a value? Values aren’t tied to blood. They’re tied to brains. Everyday decisions that you make. That’s values.”
I’m trying to follow him, but it’s hard. He’s almost making sense, but not quite.
“So our families let us down, say. They demean us, or they desert us, or they just can’t cope. There comes a point where you make your own family with your friends. But that doesn’t work, either, because friendships have different boundaries. You don’t share a life with your friends. You’re not forced to live with them and deal with them. You can just walk away.”
“I thought you had a happy childhood,” I say.
He looks startled. “I did. Oh, I did. I’m talking about other people. I’m talking about the things I learned. Okay? Okay? Just listen.”
There’s perspiration on his forehead, and his eyes are damp. There is a flash of something in his eyes that frightens me.
I swallow against the knot of fear that rises in my throat. I put my hands under the table and squeeze them together. I will get through this. I will find a way out. I will find Emily. He didn’t bring me out here to throw me overboard. I tell myself this very firmly. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but it isn’t drowning. I will take this one step at a time. Diego knows where I am. He might have seen the boat take off. At the very least, he knows I was investigating Marcus and Ryan. The trail will lead to Jonah Castle eventually.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupts. “You can walk away from your family, too. But if you do, there’s a hole. You fall into it, you can never climb out of it, it’s just there. The problem is that people walk away from their family, but they don’t replace it with something real. Okay?”
I nod, because it seems he needs encouragement.
“So I came up with this idea. We remake our family. We choose the people we want in it. And then we make a bond. Family values, okay? We support each other. We love each other. We’re loyal.”
“Like a commune?” I ask.
“No! Not like a commune!” He looks angrily at me, and the terror rises again.
“Like a real family,” I say quickly. “Like the family you want, but thought you could never have.”
“Exactly!” He looks eager now. “I have everything you need. You’ll have brothers and sisters who will love you. I have a great house, and games, and books, and DVDs, and all the food you want, everything, everything! If you want to learn you can learn, if you want to play you can play, you can develop your specialness within this group that supports and loves you!” He leans forward. “Do you understand, Dora? I chose you!”
“What about Marcus?” I ask.
He waves a hand. “Marcus was useful, but not suitable. Too independent. But I told him I had this foundation, and he recommended kids he thought could benefit from internships and things…”
So Marcus had no idea what he was doing. He probably recommended Kendall, and then Emily. He never connected Kendall running away with Jonah Castle. And he might not even know that Emily is missing.
I’ve been wrong about everything. This kind of failure is colossal. It is beyond stupid. It is unforgivable.
But I know somehow I can’t sink into the swamp of shame, because then I’ll never get out, I’ll never find Emily. I have a sudden instinct that hating myself will only help Jonah Castle.
“So where is your house?” I ask.
He springs up, happy. “You want to see it? It’s solar-powered!”
“Where is it?” I ask.
“You’ll see! You’ll love it. Everyone does. I’m so glad you’ll come over!”
He starts to spring up the steps.
“Jonah?”
He stops, looks at me.
“I’m not Dora,” I say.
“I know,” he says serenely, and continues up the stairs.
TWENTY-FIVE
The island is small, a gray smudge against the gray sea. Fog has rolled in, and gusts of wind send rolling slabs of it across the water. We have been traveling for hours. I don’t wear a watch, and the fog obscures the sun, so I can’t be sure, but it has to be at least three hours since we left Seattle.
“Come on up on deck!” Jonah yells down to me. “It’s a beautiful sight!”
I climb up to the deck. Small droplets of mist hit my cheeks along with spray. A small boathouse looms ahead. I’m cold. It had been sunny in Seattle. I feel as though we are as far away as we can get, that we’ve passed beyond the boundary of the map and are in a gray wasteland of water that has yet to be discovered.
Jonah steers the boat into the boathouse and cuts the engine. He ties the lines and jumps up on deck, holding out a hand for me. I ignore him and jump onto the deck myself.
Nothing can dampen his enthusiasm. “Wait until you meet the others, Lizbet.”
“What?”
“Come on.” Jonah swipes a card through the lock and opens the boathouse door for me to step through.
I walk out onto a beach. His eagerness seems eerie. Up beyond the beach is a high wall that crosses the beach and disappears into the trees. The door in the wall looks like steel. My footsteps crunch as I walk, and I realize I’m walking on oyster shells.
Sorry, Zed. I’ll get out and clear you. I will.
He walks up to the wall and flips open a panel. He swipes a card, and the steel door opens.
Ahead, a long, low house hugs the ground. It’s built of stone and wood, gray and brown, merging with the colors of the beach. It takes a moment for me to realize what is strange about it. The windows are sealed with metal shutters, like hurricane shutters.
My footsteps falter, and I am afraid.
I picture dead people inside the house, propped up like dolls.
The perspiration is gathering on my neck, under my arms, and I’m starting to shake uncontrollably.
He swipes the door frame with a card. A disembodied voice says, Welcome home, Jonah. The door swings open. He steps forward expectantly, happily.
The hallway floor is made of slabs of gray stone. There’s a small bonsai tree on a graceful wood table to our right.
“Frances is our green thumb,” he says.
He looks around. “It’s activity time. Everyone’s in the playroom. They’ll all be dying to meet you.”
Dying. I wish he hadn’t used that word.
He swipes another keypad and pushes open the door directly in front of us. We step into the living area. It is a large open space scattered with three overstuffed sofas and at least a half-dozen big cushioned armchairs. The colors are the same as the island, bone, gray, black, dark green. Skylights let in a bit of light, and I can see the fog blowing overhead. The interior looks like a mountain cabin that’s been blown up to three times its size. There is a large blank screen on one wall. DVDs and books line the shelves.
Emily is here. I can feel her now. She’s close.
I get a flash of her, taking a book down from the shelves in this room.
She puts it back.
The repetition of the movement soothes her.
She does it again, sliding the book into the empty space.
“You see, Lizbet? Anything you want. You have it.” He gestures toward the shelves. “All the latest movies. And TV, too! I select the programs, and you just have to scroll through the menu. This is where we have family time after supper.”
“My name isn’t Lizbet,” I say.
“I know that,” he says gently. “I’m not crazy.”
“I’m not Dora, either.”
He looks surprised. “What?”
“I’m Gracie.”
He regards me for a moment, weighing something. “You belong,” he says finally. “You still belong. I have an instinct about this stuff. Anyway, you’ll want a new name to go with your new life soon. Names have associations.”
“I don’t want a new name.”
He looks hurt. “Well, you don’t have to.”
He took away our names! Emily’s voice screams in my head.
The house is so quiet. I don’t even hear our footsteps.
“This is the site of the house I grew up in,” Jonah says. “The same footprint, any
way. I loved that house and I tried to build a replica, but it was hard, you know. You can’t build something exactly. Materials are harder to get, and, well, I had different needs. You can’t blame me for modifying the design just a little bit. But it’s essentially the same. I need to do it over again, okay? Nothing wrong with that. Anybody would say that, right?”
I blink. His words had started to echo. Suddenly, I see a different house. It’s only a flash. The ceiling is low. There is a mattress on the floor with a baby on it. The baby is crying. A young boy sits nearby, reading, ignoring the baby.
Somewhere, another kid is screaming.
“And, of course, I had to wire it for digital controls. It’s a smart house, do you know what that is?”
I shake my head, still reeling over my flash. Had I seen what is in Jonah’s mind? Had I seen the reality of what it used to be? It was as though time was leaking inside me, forming a pool that contained present and past and future, and I had no control when I dipped into it what I would find.
“I can operate everything from one central panel,” Jonah says. “Oven, generator, security, music, you name it. I control it, but you can ask me to do things. I mean, turn up the heat, whatever. The thing is, we have to accept the reality of the hierarchy. The hierarchy is good. The oldest takes care of the next oldest. And so on. And so that leaves me as the head of the house. So I make sure everyone is warm and fed and safe. I can do that. But we all take care of each other, too.” He peers at me. “You understand? We all protect each other. That’s the most important thing. That’s what I learned about family. Here’s where we eat. All together, of course, for the evening meal. That’s fun, right?”
He pushes open double doors to a dining area. The table is long and can easily fit fourteen or more. There are benches instead of chairs, except at one of the ends, where a straight-backed wooden chair sits.
The room flashes again, and I see a smaller table, crowded with children. They sit on long benches on either side of the table. A man at the head, a thin man with a long beard. A woman at the other end, her eyes downcast. The children eating, silently, staring down at their plates.
