Gone (Parallel Trilogy, Book 1)

by Christine Kersey

  I allowed myself to have a good cry, but after a while I was able to get my emotions under control. I wiped my face with the heels of my hands and stared into the distance, not thinking about anything in particular. I could see a few people shooting hoops on one of the basketball courts and others pushing children on swings in a play area, but no one was near me.

  Worn out, I took my jacket out of my backpack and bunched it up into a make-shift pillow, then I curled up on the bench and rested my head on my jacket. I wrapped my arms around my backpack, holding it against my stomach, then closed my eyes.

  A while later I woke abruptly to the feeling of someone trying to tug my backpack out of my arms. I opened my eyes and saw two boys, about twelve years old, yanking my backpack out of my arms. In my surprise, I loosened my grip and they fell backward, my backpack clutched in their arms.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “That’s mine!”

  “Not anymore,” one of them yelled as they scrambled to their feet and dashed away.

  I leapt off the bench and chased them, but they were fast and soon outdistanced me. I’d always hated running and this was no exception. My lungs burned from my sprint and when I stopped, I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

  Suddenly I noticed that the sun had gone down while I’d been napping, and it was nearly dark. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem chilly—and that wasn’t just because I’d been running. I’d slept without wearing my jacket and when I’d woken I hadn’t felt cold.

  That’s really odd, I thought. Last night it had snowed a good foot, but today I hadn’t seen any snow and it didn’t even feel cold.

  I made my way back to the bench where I’d left my pillow-jacket, glad I still had that at least. Silently cursing the two boys who had stolen all my other possessions, I reached the bench where I’d taken my nap and found my jacket, still bunched up like a pillow. Sitting again, I thought about what was in my backpack. My wallet had been in there with all of my money. All twenty dollars, or whatever I had left after the bus trip and lunch. Now I would have no way to buy anything.

  Anger at the two boys washed over me and I shook my head, feeling helpless to do anything about it. What could I do, call the police? They would want to know who I was and what I was doing sleeping in the park. Of course I wouldn’t have to say I’d been sleeping, but I knew going to the police was a non-starter. What if that was who Mrs. Donaldson had been talking to on the phone? Had she given them my name? I frowned, knowing I would have to work this out on my own.

  I leaned my head back and looked through the tree branches at the stars that blinked in the sky. My number one priority was to find my family. I believed once I found them, everything would be okay. But how could I find them? If I could just get online, surely I could figure out some way to track them down. Where could I find a computer?

  The image of Rochelle’s empty house filled my mind.

  They must have a computer, I thought. Plus if I can get inside it would be a safe place to spend the night.

  I glanced around the now-deserted park. The thought of spending the night out here, by myself, made me shudder. Last night in the hut was bad enough, but out here in the open, anyone could show up and attack me. I’d already been robbed by two pre-pubescent boys. I didn’t want to imagine who else could be lurking about in the dark.

  Suddenly feeling the need to get to a safe place, I stood and put my jacket on, even though it wasn’t cold; I wanted to keep my hands free in case I had to protect myself. I knew I was probably being paranoid, but when I remembered waking up to those two boys stealing my backpack right out of my hands, and then imagined who could be hiding behind the trees in the dark right this very second, I felt thoroughly freaked out.

  Looking around in the dark, trying to convince myself that the shadows were just that, shadows, I hurried toward the corner that led to Rochelle’s house, happy to be leaving the park behind. When I could see Mrs. Donaldson’s house I slowed, worried that she would see me. I just knew if she saw me she would call the police. Hadn’t she been telling them (or whoever was on the phone) that I’d been “skulking about” and telling “wild stories”. Of course she would call the police if she saw me.

  Thankful now for the darkness, I crossed the street so that I could stay as far away from Mrs. Donaldson’s house as possible. Though there were street lamps, none were near Rochelle’s house so I hoped I could get to her house unseen. As I made my way down the street I stayed close to the houses I passed and away from the street. It was a risk—what if someone saw me “skulking about”? But what really worried me was the thought of Mrs. Donaldson seeing me.

  “I hate my life,” I muttered as I got closer to my destination.

  A moment later I was across the street from Mrs. Donaldson’s house. Glancing in that direction, I willed myself to be invisible and hoped she wasn’t the type to randomly look out her front window. Walking as fast as I could, I made it past her house and then past Rochelle’s. When I was between two houses, I tried to act casual as I walked to the sidewalk and then across the street near Rochelle’s house. Next, I backtracked until I was nearly to Rochelle’s house. Still fearing Mrs. Donaldson’s prying eyes, I cut across the lawn and hurried to Rochelle’s darkened porch.

  Once there, I felt safe. Her porch couldn’t be seen from Mrs. Donaldson’s house. Of course there were other neighbor’s, but none of them had questioned me earlier and as long as they hadn’t seen me creeping along, they wouldn’t think anything of it.

  Now that I was here I needed to find a way in. First, I lifted the mat and looked underneath, hoping to find a key. Nothing. Then I lifted all the pots and felt inside them, but only found dirt. I began to wonder if this latest idea was such a good one.

  Deciding to take my chances, plus not having any other ideas, I stepped off of the front porch and toward the back gate. I hoped my luck would hold and Mrs. Donaldson wouldn’t see me, but I had to find a way into Rochelle’s house. The idea of spending the night outside, completely exposed to any danger that might stumble upon me, plus the even greater need of getting to a computer, pushed me forward.

  I hurried to the gate, hoping to slip back there unnoticed. I pulled the string, pushed open the gate, then closed it behind me as quietly as I could. Earlier I hadn’t ventured past the garbage cans, so I didn’t know what I would find back here. It was difficult to see much of anything in the dark, but I was able to make my way to a back patio. I could see a table with four chairs, a few planters filled with flowers, a pair of French doors that led into the house, a barbeque grill pressed against the wall, and several large rocks lining the patio.

  First I checked under and in the planters but came up empty. Then I began lifting the stones. Some were real, others had built-in speakers. One was lightweight, meaning it was fake, but had no speaker. I turned it over in my hands but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I closed my eyes (I couldn’t see very well anyway, in the dim light), and let my fingers do the work. A hopeful smile spread across my mouth as I felt something loosen.

  I opened my eyes and strained to see, but had to rely on my sense of touch to pry open a bottom compartment. Something fell out and bounced off of my foot. I reached down and picked up the object that had fallen.

  A key.

  Chapter Seven

  Eager to get inside, I slid the key into the lock on the French door. It turned smoothly and I heard the comforting sound of the deadbolt disengaging. I pushed the door open, rattling the mini-blinds that hung on the door. Then it occurred to me that the Candee’s could have an alarm. I paused and held my breath. No shrieking alarm broke the silence. Relieved, I stepped into the room, then closed and locked the door behind me.

  The warmth of the room felt like a blanket wrapping around me. I tried to see into the room, but it was too dark. I didn’t want to turn on any lights in case Mrs. Donaldson saw them, so I stumbled forward into what seemed to be a family room. Carefully stepping forward, I ran right into a tabl
e.

  “Ow!” I cried out before slapping my hand over my mouth. The corner of the table had jabbed right into my hip. I rubbed the spot, knowing I would end up with a bruise. Using my hands to feel my way, I moved around the table, which was too small to be anything but an end table, and touched the arm of a couch.

  At least there were no spider webs or mouse droppings like I’d experienced so recently. Then again, I didn’t want to make a habit of having to find my way in the dark in unknown places.

  Lifting my hands from the arm of the couch, I moved around the front of it until I found the cushion, then took off my jacket and set it in the corner of the couch. I sank into the softness of the cushions and leaned my head back against the pillowy headrest, a feeling of safety flowing over me. Though I’d had a nap earlier, I felt my eyelids began to droop and I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I dreamt that a giant caterpillar was rubbing against me and biting my arm. Then I heard a faint rumbling sound and the caterpillar bit harder. In my sleep I flung my arm to the side and startled awake to a loud “Meow”.

  Gasping in surprise, I found that the caterpillar was actually a large orange tabby, purring vigorously and nipping at my arm.

  “Hi, there,” I said softly, stroking the cat’s fluffy coat. He pressed his head into my hand, looking for a scratch. I obliged and he climbed onto my lap and rubbed against my shirt. “I guess you miss your people. Are you hungry?”

  Then it struck me that someone might be coming by in the morning to feed the cat. Maybe even Mrs. Donaldson. She had mentioned how Rochelle always took care of her cat. It followed that she would take care of the Candee’s cat when they were out of town.

  Should I leave? The thought of searching for some other place to stay exhausted me. Where would I go anyway? But what if I had taken the key that she used to get in? If it wasn’t there when she came to feed the cat, she’d probably call the police. The idea terrified me.

  I lifted the cat from my lap and set him on the floor, then felt my way back to the French doors, opened them, and stepped onto the back patio. After the dim interior of the house, the patio didn’t seem so dark in comparison, with the light from the moon plus the nearby streetlamps. I found the rock that had held the key, slid open the secret compartment and put the key back in before closing it up and putting it back in place.

  As I turned to go back into the house the cat raced past me and out into the yard.

  “Oh no,” I moaned. I was so tired that I hadn’t been thinking clearly and had left the door wide open. I decided that the cat must be an indoor cat, or it wouldn’t have been in the house in the first place. I knew I had to get the cat and bring him back inside or for sure Mrs. Donaldson would know someone had been in the house. She might even suspect it was me.

  “Here kitty, kitty,” I whispered into the yard, seeing the bright orbs of the cat’s eyes as they reflected what little light filtered through the night sky. He seemed to be watching me, daring me to try to catch him. I knew he would be nothing like my dog Goldie, who would run to me when given the smallest bit of encouragement.

  I took a step in his direction and he didn’t move. My hopes rose as I took three more steps. Halfway there now. “Here kitty, kitty,” I called again, barely audible. His ears twitched as he stared at me. “Do you want me to give you a scratch?” He seemed interested, but then looked toward the fence and darted away. I chased after him but he climbed over the fence before I had even reached the edge of the yard.

  I peeked through a knothole in the fence and saw the cat staring back at me from the yard of the neighbor. There was no way I would risk climbing the fence to try to get the cat back. My only hope was that he would get hungry by morning, hopefully before Mrs. Donaldson came over, and want to be let in.

  Angry at myself for making such a stupid mistake, I hurried back across the yard and into the house, locking the door behind me. I decided to explore the house as much as I could in the dark so I could find a comfortable place to spend the night. After being outside where there was some light, the inside seemed very dark and I had a brief flashback to earlier that day when I’d been in the pitch black tunnel. I shuddered at the memory.

  Creeping forward, I felt my way to the couch. I grabbed my jacket and moved past the couch and along an adjacent wall until I came to a hallway, then followed it to the end where I found a closed door. I opened it and found what appeared to be a large room. I figured it was the master bedroom and the door had probably been closed to keep the cat out. I shuffled into the room, careful not to run into any furniture, and found my way to a large walk-in closet.

  This would do for a place to curl up and sleep. I left the master bedroom and came to what must have been Rochelle’s room. Pulling her pillow and blankets off of her bed, I dragged them back to the closet. Closing the bedroom door, I went back into the closet and arranged the blanket and pillow before curling up on the floor.

  Though I wanted to find a computer to search for my family’s address, I was afraid that any light might draw the attention of Mrs. Donaldson or some other neighbor who knew the Candee’s were out of town. I forced myself to wait until morning.

  It took me a while to fall asleep as I thought about my family and wondered what they were doing and if they were searching for me. After a while I finally fell asleep. It seemed only minutes had passed when I woke to an awful howling sound. Groggy, it took me a moment to realize it was the cat making a racket at the back door, finally ready to come back in.

  My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that I was able to hustle to the back door and let the cat in before he woke up the entire neighborhood, or at least Mrs. Donaldson. As soon as I locked the door, the cat continued complaining. I thought he might be cold and hungry, but it was his own fault as far as I was concerned.

  Turning my back on him, I went to the master bedroom, closed the door and crawled into my make-shift bed. Just as I began drifting off to sleep, the cat meowed outside the bedroom door, apparently wanting in. I tried to ignore him, but it was difficult to sleep with his persistent wailing. Finally I gave up and let him in. He followed me to the closet and as soon as I lay down, he curled up against me and began enthusiastically purring.

  I had to admit that it was nice to have his warm little body pressed against mine, so I didn’t mind the noise too much and soon fell back asleep.

  When I woke in the morning I was completely disoriented and at first had no idea where I was. When I tried to move I felt the dead weight of the sleeping cat and lifted my head to look at the furry orange and white body. I set my hand on his back and he lifted his head and began purring again.

  “You sure are a friendly cat.” I scratched his ears and he moved his head to allow me better access. “You like your ears scratched, don’t you?” After petting him for a moment, my hands caught on his collar. “What’s your name?” He purred more vigorously as I lifted his chin to grab the silver disc attached to his collar. “Tiger,” I read. “Well, Tiger, I think it’s time to get up.”

  I wondered what time it was as I rolled out of the warm blankets. A clock radio sat on the bedside table next to the Candee’s large bed. Seven thirty. I wondered what time Mrs. Donaldson would come over to feed the cat.

  Now that the sun was up there was enough light to see inside the house, even with all the blinds down. I hurried to the living room, lifted a slat in the blinds and peeked out. No one approached. I wondered how much time I would have before Mrs. Donaldson came over. My stomach rumbled and I decided to risk it and went into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat.

  As I stepped onto the tile floor, I nearly tripped on the bowls of cat food and water that were spread out in a semi-circle.

  “Ahh,” I said. “So that’s how they do it.” Apparently they had put out enough food and water for the cat to survive while they were gone. “No Mrs. Donaldson coming over today,” I said, a grin on my face. I could have slept in a bed instead of on the floor, I realized. Oh well, at least I had been warm. I sud
denly felt pretty good and stretched my arms over my head.

  Hope rushed through me and I decided the first thing to do was to find the Candee’s computer and see what I could discover about my family. Now that there was enough light to see, I quickly found the room the Candee’s used as an office and saw the computer tucked under the desk. A large monitor sat on top of the desk. I pressed the power button and the computer hummed to life.

  A minute later it was fully booted up. I spotted the icon for the web browser and immediately clicked on it, bringing up the Candee’s home page. When I Googled my father’s name, a listing for a white pages directory came up. Clicking on the link, I typed in my dad’s name again and an address appeared. However, it was the address where I had been the day before.

  Apparently they had moved so recently that the white pages didn’t have their new address. While I stared at the computer screen, a box popped up in the corner saying that a new email had arrived for Mr. Candee. That gave me an idea.

  First I went to gmail.com and created a new email address. Then I sent an email to my mother, pretending to be one of her cousins. I wrote: Dear Roxanne, I heard that you moved. I’m updating my address book and wanted to know your new address. Also, what is your phone number? Take care, Janice.

  Now I just had to wait until Mom replied to the email. I knew she didn’t spend very much time on the computer, but I hoped she would check soon. Just sending that email made me feel closer to my family and fresh hope surged through me.

  Next, I went back into the kitchen. Tiger followed me and rubbed against my legs, then walked over to his bowl and began eating his food. After a moment he dashed out a cat door centered in a regular door. I assumed it led out to the garage but wanted to make sure. I opened the door and peeked out. Sure enough, it was the Candee’s garage.

  I closed and locked the door, then opened the refrigerator. Just a few condiments, some milk and half a carton of eggs. I guessed the Candee’s didn’t want to leave a fridge full of food when they were on vacation. The eggs seemed to call to me. Did I dare cook breakfast? My growling stomach made the decision easy. After digging through the cabinets, I had a small frying pan and spatula in hand. In my hunt I had also found a loaf of bread and some honey.