Lost Girl

by Chanda Hahn

  “Oh, Wendy. Sorry, dear.

  “Mr. Bernard, I’m sorry to bother you. I knocked but you didn’t hear.”

  “That’s no trouble at all.” He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his tired eyes before replacing his glasses on his nose. “I get so lost sometimes while writing that—even if you used a bullhorn—I probably wouldn’t hear you.”

  “Oh, so you’re writing a book?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s my first one, and it’s the reason I hired you. I needed more time to finish up my manuscript. Sorry for not checking on you, dear. How are things going? Been busy?”

  “Sort of.” She wasn’t sure how to answer since she didn’t know how busy they normally were. “Um, Peter hasn’t returned yet from an errand.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “About three hours ago.”

  “Ah.” Mr. B yawned but didn’t seem worried at Peter’s absence.

  “Well, I was wondering if you knew his cell number.”

  “Where would I get his number?”

  Wendy frowned in confusion before asking. “Maybe from his employment application?”

  “Like the fully filled-out employment application you turned in?” He chuckled.

  She flushed with embarrassment.

  “Oh, well. You’re right.” Wendy backed out of the office. “Sorry, I just was worried about him. Please don’t be mad at him for being gone so long. I was hungry, and he offered to get lunch. I just…I don’t want you to fire him.”

  Mr. Bernard’s laugh started out small but grew into a full belly laugh.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Look at the time! You’ve had one full day. Why don’t you go clock out, and I’ll see you on Wednesday. Put the service bell out, and I’ll be out there in a few tics.”

  “Okay, Mr. Bernard.” She left his office door open, went up to the front, and slid her time card into the old-fashioned clock. Next to it, she found a well-worn Please ring for help sign and propped it up.

  Wendy grabbed her jacket and backpack from under the counter. She stood there by the front desk worrying her bottom lip. What was she supposed to do? Should she wait for Peter? Had something happened to him or did he just forget about her?

  Part of her kind of hoped she could crash back at the same place, but she couldn’t just assume. She’d be fine on her own. But just the thought of having to be alone again terrified her. Not with the shadows out and about.

  She had walked past the desk phone numerous times today and avoided the temptation to call her family. But she didn’t think she could hold out any longer. Wendy reached for the phone and dialed John’s cell. On the third ring someone answered. The voice on the other end wasn’t her brother.

  “Hello?” the feminine voice answered. It was her mother.

  The wall broke. All of the pent up emotion she didn’t know she was blocking and holding back came pouring out after hearing her mother’s voice. Tears burned in her eyes.

  She couldn’t control the desperation in her response. “Mom!”

  “Wendy?” Her mother started to sob in relief. “Are you okay? Where are you?” The phone became muffled as she heard her mom cry out, “George, it’s Wendy!”

  The phone switched hands and she heard her dad’s voice. “Sweetie, please come home. We’re sorry about the clinic. We won’t send you there, we promise. Whatever you need. We can work this out…as a family.”

  Her heart began to swell with hope. Family. She could go home. She could sleep warm and safe in her bed tonight. All she’d have to do is tell them where she was. Then she hesitated when she saw something in the distance. It was just a shadow of a cloud passing over her, but it made her pause.

  There is no place that’s safe for her. Not from the shadows. Not after she saw what the morphlings did to that boy. She couldn’t bring that thing to her parent’s doorstep. She couldn’t expose her family to the dangers that seemed to follow her. Not until she had more answers. Not until she knew she could protect them—from what followed her.

  “I…I can’t Dad.”

  “What? Why not?” George’s voice dropped.

  “Give me the phone,” Mary demanded. “Honey, please. We miss you. We’re sorry. Just tell us where you are and we will come get you.”

  It pained her to pull the phone away from her ear. It was a blow to her heart to hang up on her mother’s frantic voice. But she needed to do what was right. She needed to keep them safe and to do that—she needed Peter.

  Wendy turned around and wiped her tears away on her jacket sleeve. She looked up when she heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey, dork. There you are,” Tink called out. “You ready to go?”

  The front desk phone started to ring and Wendy intuitively knew her parents must have redialed the number. She glanced at the caller I.D and it confirmed her fear. She was dumb. She shouldn’t have called from here.

  The phone rang a second time.

  “Are you going to answer that?” Tink asked.

  Wendy looked over at Mr. Bernard’s office and he seemed oblivious to the ringing. “Uh, no.” It rang again and she unplugged the phone from the outlet and the ringing stopped. “It’s been sales calls all day.” She picked up her jacket again and looked at Tink. “You said we’re going somewhere? Where’s Peter?”

  Tink rolled her shoulders and frowned at Wendy. “He got busy with something but didn’t want to worry you, so he sent me.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  “Neverwood.”

  “What’s Neverwood?” A twinge of excitement ran through her. “Is that the secret hideout?”

  Tink waited a few seconds as if deciding the best answer. “Uh, sure…of sorts. You should think of it as a reform school.”

  Huh. Tink who would burn the place down if Wendy stepped foot in it had come to be her personal escort?

  Wendy raised her eyebrow, not buying the girl’s obvious lie. “Didn’t seem to really reform you, did it?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfect. You, on the other hand,” Tink waved her hand in a circle in front of Wendy, “have a whole mess of problems. And Neverwood is the only place you’re going to find any answers.”

  Answers. Yeah, she wanted those, but there was something about the name that made her hesitate. It sounded like a prison…or another clinic. “I felt pretty sure you didn’t want me there, Tink. Maybe I’m better off taking my chances alone.”

  Tink pursed her lips. “I definitely don’t, and I’m not the only one. The room above the bakery is probably available to you still.” She turned to walk away.

  But if she could get some answers...

  “Wait…I’ll go.”

  Tink turned around, her mouth shifting into an annoyed frown. “Figured you would. Let’s go.” Tink stopped walking when she heard Mr. Bernard come out of the back room. He was humming softly to himself while tying his work apron around his waist.

  Tink’s body stiffened. She craned her neck and watched Mr. B as he picked up a book and headed over to the register. He saw Tink and gave her a welcoming smile.

  “Hello there.”

  “Hi,” she whispered back, giving him a curious stare.

  “If you’re here for a job, I’m sorry to say that I filled the position already.” He smiled warmly at Wendy.

  Tink’s lips pressed into an irritated line. “No, wouldn’t dream of working here.”

  “Then maybe you’re here for a book? I’d recommend anything on our front table for young girls like you. Do you like teen vampire romances?”

  “No, I’m more of a War and Peace girl. Minus the peace,” Tink snapped. She grabbed Wendy’s elbow, dragging her out of the store. Her whole mood had turned sour as she motioned toward her scooter for Wendy to get on.

  Wendy held onto Tink’s jacket as tightly as she dared. The girl rarely stayed in her own lane, whipping around cars at breakneck speed and tailgating. She never signaled.

  Wendy figured she was much safer in the park battling her
own demons, than on the back of an electric scooter with Tink.

  They drove through town but stayed on the outskirts, following the road that bordered the scenic waterfront. After a few miles, Tink slowed and turned up a gravel path until they stopped near the top of a hill in front of a dilapidated house.

  Tink parked her scooter, and Wendy hopped off first and explored with her eyes. The front of the house looked uninhabitable with faded blue clapboard siding and broken windows that had been hastily covered with mismatched boards. Dead ivy clung to a broken trellis, and garbage littered the surrounding area. Wendy was pretty sure she saw a sleeping homeless person next to the garbage cans.

  Tink walked around the garbage where the man slept. “Don’t pay him any attention.” She led Wendy across the front porch. Once she’d pushed a doorbell next to an ornate wooden door four times, she waited. A few minutes later, a little hidden door within the door—five feet up—opened and a face appeared. Only the eyes were visible behind the grille.

  “Password,” a young male voice called out. Wendy had said the same thing that same morning to Peter. It seemed so long ago now. Was Peter inside somewhere?

  “Pickled Codfish,” Tink answered.

  “Nope,” the young voice answered.

  “Tootles, that is the password,” she argued.

  “Nuh-uh, it’s been changed.”

  “Since when?” Tink demanded.

  “I changed it myself just now. It’s up here now.” It was hard to see, but it looked like he tapped the side of his head.

  “You can’t change a password on the spur of the moment without telling anyone,” Tink challenged.

  “Yes, I can. I’m in charge of the door. And I say it changed.”

  Tink leapt for the peephole, and Wendy heard an Eep! from behind the door.

  “Listen to me, you little dirt bag. If you don’t open this door, I’m going to throw your little duff into the ocean and feed you to the fishes. Do you know what hungry little fishes do first? They eat off your toes, then your fingers. Now open the door!” Tink punched the door angrily. Her swear bracelet went off, ringing loudly as she jumped around and shook her fist from the pain. @!*&

  “Tootles,” Wendy cajoled softly. She waited for the young boy behind the door to reappear. “Tootles, since you’ve changed the password and you didn’t tell anyone, you need to give us a riddle instead.”

  “Says who?”

  “It’s in the Door Guardians’ Handbook. Chapter three, paragraph six. If a password has been changed without the knights having been notified, then a riddle must be issued.”

  “It says that, does it?” the boy asked.

  “It does.”

  “Oh, I like her, Tink. Can we keep her?” Tootles said excitedly.

  “No, we can’t. Now get on with the clue, boy,” Tink snarled, nursing her sore hand.

  “Well, then let me think. Oh, I’ve got a good one. What’s black and white and—”

  “A newspaper.” Tink grinned. She turned and whispered to Wendy, “It’s like the only riddle he knows.”

  “That’s not fair. You didn’t let me finish the riddle. I get to tell a new one now.”

  “Hey listen, pipsqueak. I guessed your stupid riddle. Now open the door.”

  But he didn’t answer. And the door was still shut tight.

  “All right,” he said, back suddenly and sounding really sure of himself. “A homeless person has it, a rich person doesn’t need it, and if you eat it, you’ll die.”

  “What kind of riddle is that?” Tink growled through the door.

  Tootles laughed, “Slightly said I was doing it wrong and making it too easy on ya, so he gave me a proper riddle.”

  “Slightly!” Tink yelled. “Open the door and tell Tootles he better run for cover.”

  Scuffling sounded through the door, and maybe what sounded like a metal chair being dragged away from the door. Intense dark brown eyes peered through the hole and met Tink’s. “You heard him. Answer the kid’s riddle.”

  “I don’t know the answer, Slightly.” Tink stomped.

  “It’s nothing,” Wendy answered, stepping into view so that Slightly could see her. “The answer is nothing. Poor people have it, rich don’t need it, and if you eat nothing, you’ll die.”

  It was hard to judge an expression when only seeing a few inches of his face, but she thought he smiled.

  “Correct. You may enter.”

  The peephole closed, and a large bolt slid into place. The door opened, and a very large teen about seventeen or eighteen stood there in a blue jersey with a white number three. He was huge. Linebacker huge with slick, dark hair, and he wasn’t wearing shoes. When he turned to close the door, Wendy noticed he had a slight limp.

  Tootles, probably about eight years old, jumped off a metal stool and ran in front of Tink, who pretended to take a swing at the boy.

  “Ah, you can’t catch me!” He squealed and took off running farther into the building.

  Tink dropped her bag and sprinted after the kid. “Come back, kid. You’ve got an appointment with the fishes.” A scream of laughter rang out through the hallway.

  Wendy remained next to the large muscled young man she assumed had to be Slightly. He was slightly larger than she expected, so the name suited him.

  He turned to look at her, and she swore a blush rippled up his cheeks. “Um, welcome to Neverwood.” He swept his arm outward as they walked into the main room, as if showing off something grand.

  But she could see it—a rundown building with tattered curtains and couches with stuffing falling out of them. It smelled like something was rotting away in a hidden room somewhere. Had she walked into a halfway house? She stayed close to the exit.

  When Wendy refused to budge, he hit himself in the head with his palm as if he’d forgotten something. “Ah, don’t be frightened. I forgot it’s your first time. We don’t get many planned visitors. Just the odd vagrant, or spelunker looking for hidden antiques. This way.”

  He led her down the hallway Tink and Tootles had run through. They came to a stone fireplace, the largest she had ever seen. Wendy heard a loud scraping noise coming from the fireplace—was it beneath the logs and grate? Slightly stopped next to the stairs and pulled the frame away from a family portrait to reveal a hidden computer panel. As soon as he punched in a code, she heard the grinding noise again. The back of the large fireplace sunk inward, revealing a long tunnel.

  They could hear laughter and Tink’s censor box echoing from within. They must have passed through just moments before.

  “After you.” He closed the frame. That’s when Wendy noticed someone familiar in the portrait.

  Slightly picked up on Wendy’s interest. “Yeah, she doesn’t look anything like that anymore, does she?”

  Wendy stared at the picture of a young girl in a pale blue debutante gown, head-to-toe frills and lace, long hair curled past her shoulders. What threw Wendy was the smile.

  Tink didn’t smile like that—hadn’t since Wendy had met her anyway.

  “Is this Tink’s home?” Wendy asked. Being here suddenly felt awkward. Would it be obvious to everyone that they didn’t like each other?

  “Uh, well…her dad owns the building. Her family—one of the founders of the Neverwood Project—put lots of money into fixing it up and making it a safe haven for kids like us.

  “You said one of the founders. Who are the rest?”

  Slightly’s smile dropped. “Well they were all pretty prominent scientists in their field.”

  “Were?” Wendy asked. “Why the past tense? Where are the founders now?”

  Slightly sighed. “Gone. They’ve moved on in their lives. They forgot what was important to them. Except for our first founder. He’s like a Dad to all of us,” He pointed to Tink’s picture again. “You might actually meet him one of these days. But he’s pretty busy running Neverwood and trying to stay one step ahead of the Red Skulls. So if you have any questions, feel free to ask me, Peter, or Tink.”


  At Slightly’s mention of Red Skulls, Wendy lost her footing. Slightly grabbed her arm to steady her. She prayed that he couldn’t feel the small tremor that passed through her body. She had to take a deep breath and try to focus her attention on where they were walking. She had heard the name Red Skulls before, at school, from Peter, but there was something else about that name that shook her to her core.

  They stepped into the fireplace and the wall slowly closed behind them, trapping them within the darkened hallway. Slightly, unfazed, continued to walk down the tunnel. Cement surrounded them and a string of lights flickered above them, creating a haunting illumination—fodder for her nightmares.

  After a good hundred yards, Wendy followed Slightly out into a completely different house. Her jaw dropped at the beauty of the marble floors, the immense winding staircase that divided the main hall to split off in two directions.

  “We’re only visible by helicopter, and we are in a no fly zone. Neverwood is over twenty thousand square feet, complete with three full-sized kitchens, a gym, a medical center, and a pool. It’s completely safe. The dorms are that way,” he pointed up and to the left, “and the classrooms are this way.” He pointed to the right.

  He led her down a hall into one of the main rec rooms. “The main entrance, the rambler house, is the one you came in, a façade meant to detour unwanted attention.”

  Wendy made it to the lower rec room and paused to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the most amazing view of trees. She felt like she was in the middle of the woods.

  Tink’s voice above drew her attention to a loft area which looked like a little workshop filled with computers, monitors, and various gadgets and machines. On the side wall was a large sign that read The Hideout. Wendy supposed it had been a club name at one time, but now it was just a cool decoration.

  Around her, lights and sounds flickered from various arcade games, and air hockey tables stood near the center of the room. Twin brothers played ping-pong, and they simultaneously raised their hands up in greeting. A few other boys loitered around the room—one boy with light red hair was reading a book. Someone tossed a pillow at his head, and another called him Fox. Such an odd name.