We watch as the car disappears from sight again, this time miles and miles away. I’m breathing like I’ve just played the most intense scrimmage of my life. Sarah’s hands are shaking.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask.
“I think that means we were poking around where we weren’t supposed to.”
“That car just tried to kill us.”
“No,” Sarah says, shaking her head. “It was just trying to scare us. To warn us about what would happen if we keep digging. If we get more involved.”
I glance at the clock. The period after lunch is starting in Helena. Shakily, I put the truck in gear and head towards our new school. There’s nothing else for us in Paradise right now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MY DAD’S ALREADY HOME BY THE TIME I GET back from school that night, which is strange, because he’s recently been getting home about an hour after I do. I back my truck around the side of the house—there’s a good-size dent in my bumper and some scraped paint on my tailgate that I’d like to hide from him as long as possible. Stupid tree.
I can hear fighting when I walk inside. I rush to the dining room, where Nana’s reprimanding Dad about something. There are several cans of beer on the table.
I walk in on him midsentence.
“. . . bastards have no right to kick me out of my own damned office.”
“You may be an adult,” Nana says, “but you won’t use language like that under my roof.”
They notice me at the same time, and Nana moves to usher me out of the dining room while my dad swigs back a beer.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Apparently the FBI has completely taken over your father’s station,” Nana says, pushing me into the kitchen and pointing at a plate of cookies. I shake my head.
“What?”
“He’s less than pleased. Apparently a man named Perty or Purdy or some such kicked him out of his own office.”
Purdy.
“How can they even do that?” I ask.
Nana just shrugs. “I wouldn’t ask him right now if I were you. Let’s give him some space.”
I nod. I’ve seen my dad drink beer all my life, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him day drinking like this. Or even actually drunk. So I head upstairs to put my stuff away and check in on what I’ve missed online during the drive home from Helena while trying to figure out why the FBI might have taken over the police station. The logical part of me says that it’s just because John’s escaped and they’re concerned he’s going to come back here, but there’s also a nagging thought in the back of my mind: Does this have anything to do with the fact that I was digging around at the Goodes’ today? Is this another FBI warning—one more subtle than a car trying to run me off the road but definitely more personal?
I shake my head. This has got to be about the search for John and Six. That’s what I have to believe.
I’m bummed Sarah’s not online to chat with. I want to tell her about these new developments, but now that her cell is gone and her parents are wardens of the landline, the internet’s my only way of communicating with her. When I see she’s not there, I email her, telling her I’ve got some news she’ll want to hear but don’t actually mention anything specific.
Later that night—when my dad has passed out watching reruns in the recliner downstairs—I get a text from a weird number I don’t recognize:
Hi. Have you heard of any sightings of John?
I guess Sarah got a new phone after all. Hopefully a burner. I text her back:
No I think that’s good tho.
A few seconds pass and I get a response:
Yeah, I guess. I just wish we could help more
I sigh and text back.
We’re doing all we can. Can you call me?? I have stuff 2 tell u
And then nothing.
I lie on the foldout couch with my phone on my chest, waiting to feel it vibrate as I stare at the ceiling. I try to work things out in my head. The FBI has basically taken over Paradise. They’re working for the Mogs, or at least aren’t on the Loric’s side of things. And earlier today, some crazy person tried to kill me and Sarah. Or just scare us badly enough that we’d stop poking around.
But I can’t stop digging—can’t just go back to the way things were before everything went nuts at the school. Which means that things could get even more dangerous for me, and for Sarah.
I start to wonder what my family would do if I just disappeared one day. If the FBI or Mogs took me. What would the editors of the blog think?
Would all the research and fact-finding I’ve tried to do have been for nothing?
After a while I pull my computer to the bed and start typing up everything I can remember about the Mogs from the attack on the school. It’s part eyewitness account, part profile on the evil aliens. I don’t want to forget any details, and it may come in handy one day if we ever have to try to explain to people what really happened that night—or how to fight the Mogs. Or if I get in over my head and suddenly disappear.
I leave the document saved as a private draft on the blog, unsure of what to do with it. Posting it will just send the FBI after me—or the Mogs. They’d probably show up in the middle of the night and gut me with their glowing weapons. It’s not a pleasant thought, which is probably why I have a terrible dream once I finally go to bed. It starts off great—one of those dreams where it seems so mundane at first that there’s no question that what you’re seeing is reality. Sarah and I are in an old cabin that my family used to vacation at up in Michigan—one that I don’t think I’ve been to since I was twelve years old. We’re sitting in the room I always used to claim as my own, the one with two twin beds that were covered with these amazing electric blankets that I’d refuse to get out from under on cold mornings. But it’s not cold in the dream. In fact, it feels like spring, everything bathed in this peaceful golden light.
Sarah’s on one of the twin beds and I’m on the other, and we’re just talking. She’s saying something about an upcoming cheerleading competition, and I’m telling her she’ll be perfect. And she’s smiling so much. We’re both so happy. The dream is filled with happiness, like it’s in the air we’re breathing.
And then there’s a noise outside. I look through the window and see a huge beast—one of the creatures that attacked the school. A Mog monster, all yellow eyes and claws and horns. It’s coming right for us.
I turn away and go to grab Sarah, but she’s gone. Mog soldiers have poured into the room, their swords glowing different colors. They’re all grinning this sick grin, showing off their gray teeth.
One of them has Sarah.
She reaches out and calls my name. I step towards her. And then something juts out of her chest, right where her heart is. Something long and sharp and glowing.
Sarah screams. Her eyes go wide, and then her body goes slack. And then she’s gone. Her body turns to ash and blows away as if she were an alien.
It’s my own shout that wakes me up, sweating in the upstairs office. I text Sarah on the new number, but she doesn’t answer.
She must be asleep.
At some point I must pass out again, because the next thing I know, light is filtering in through the windows and I can smell bacon cooking downstairs. I’m a little disoriented but head to the bathroom and brush my teeth and stuff before meeting Nana in the kitchen.
“Your father’s still asleep up in his room,” she says with a bit of an edge to her voice. “Probably will be for a while. And he’ll wake up in a crappy mood.” She smirks a little. “Serves him right.”
I grab a slice of bacon from the ever-growing stack she’s got going beside the stove and devour half of it in one bite.
“He’ll be okay, right?” I ask.
“Oh, of course. The James men have always just been a stubborn brood.” Nana raises a white eyebrow towards me. “You’re no exception.”
I act hurt, as if she’s wounded me with some imaginary bullet. She chuckles to herself. Then
there’s a knock on the door. She gives me a questioning look, but I just shake my head. She sighs.
“They’ll be for your father, I bet.” She looks down at her apron, which is smudged with grease.
“I’ll stall them,” I say. “You go get him up. He won’t yell at you as much.”
She pats me on the shoulder and walks away. I shove the rest of the bacon slice into my mouth and head for the front door, expecting to find Todd or one of Dad’s deputies.
Instead, I open the door and see Agent Walker. At the foot of the porch, Agent Noto stands tall, with his hands clasped in front of him.
My face must register my surprise, because Agent Walker raises a hand in front of her chest as if to calm me down.
“What do you want?” I ask, not trying to hide the anger in my voice. For all I know, it was these two who tried to run me and Sarah off the road yesterday.
“Calm down, Mr. James,” Walker says. She frowns. “We’re only here to ask you a few questions.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Mr. James—Mark—it’s imperative that you tell us anything you know about what Sarah Hart was doing after school yesterday.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” I ask.
“Because Sarah never made it home last night,” Walker says.
There’s a silence that settles over the porch. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or if it’s just being caused by the sudden pounding in my ears.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I manage to stammer.
“Her parents filed a report last night,” Walker explains. “Since Ms. Hart is a person of interest, we’re bypassing the normal waiting period required to declare someone a missing person and jumping straight into the investigation. So I ask you again, Mark: What did Sarah do after school yesterday?”
I shake my head. None of this makes sense. I talked to her just last night. She texted me. She—
The text. From a number I didn’t recognize. It could have been anyone.
A voice keeps repeating in my head. Sarah’s gone. Sarah’s gone.
“Nothing,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since lunch yesterday. She took the bus home.”
Agent Walker nods. She seems satisfied with this answer. For a moment her face changes—like some kind of mask slips away—and she looks at me with concern. Maybe even pity, as if she wished she could do something for me. Maybe even give me a hug. But the moment passes, and her steely expression resurfaces, her mouth with a glued-on smile.
“We’ll be in touch,” she says, turning away from the door. And then she’s gone, into one of the ubiquitous black SUVs that have flooded our town.
Sarah’s gone.
I failed to protect her.
What am I supposed to do now?
No, that’s an easy question to answer. I find her.
But how am I supposed to do that?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT TAKES A WHILE FOR ME TO REALIZE THAT John might have come for her, and so I sit glued to my computer and check my phone every two minutes, hoping that she’ll send me some sort of message telling me she’s all right. She must know that I’m going out of my mind, and she’ll let me know she’s safe.
Days pass without any word from her, and I realize I’m holding on to unfounded hope. If she was with John, she would have found a way to contact me. She wouldn’t have just left me behind.
It’s so easy for me to look at the day she disappeared and see the things I should have done. When she—or whoever it was—texted me from that strange number. I shouldn’t have ever even left her alone after what happened at Sam’s house with the black car. I feel like an idiot. I feel useless.
I have to do something.
I’m practically glued to the blog, but there’s only so much research I can do online. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I’ll go crazy.
Something dings in the back of my head. Sarah saying that Sam probably knew more about what was happening with the Loric and the Mogs than any of us.
His backyard was a battleground. His mom is probably scared, not staying at the house. The back window has been blown out, covered only by a sheet of plastic.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to climb through it. If Sam had a better idea of what was happening between the Mogs and Loric, maybe he left behind some clues I can use.
It’s almost 2 a.m. when I sneak downstairs dressed in all-black clothes, cringing at every creaking step. No one wakes up to stop me except for the dogs—but I’ve prepared for them. A few pieces of beef jerky, and Abby and Dozer are as quiet as can be.
I keep my headlights off until I’m already on the road. I drive past Sam’s house a few times to see if I can spot anyone around it, but it doesn’t look like someone’s home. I park a few houses away just in case. There’s no car out front, and a quick peek in the garage tells me there’s no car in there either. I knock, just to make sure that no one answers. It’s dead quiet inside.
Bingo. Empty house.
I take a deep breath and psych myself up. I’ve snuck in and out of a few houses in my life, but I’ve never actually done any breaking and entering. I tell myself it’s no big deal. And I need to do this. Any info I get helps us. Any info I get helps me get closer to finding Sarah.
I push in the plastic and climb through the window in the backyard and end up in the dining room. It’s not hard to tell which room is Sam’s: the one with a sign that says ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. I cross the brown carpet covering the hallway and slip inside.
Sam’s room is covered in posters that remind me why we all thought he was a weirdo at school. Star Wars, Alien, Starship Troopers, and at least two different NASA flags. I imagine that wherever he is right now, he’s wearing the same old ratty NASA T-shirt.
After bumping my head against a bunch of painted balls hanging from the middle of his ceiling, I start looking around. I’m not sure where to begin my search, so I just kind of start moving things on his desk. The problem is, I could point anywhere in Sam’s room and my finger would land on something “out of the ordinary.” I sift through action figures, blurry pictures of the sky, and a telescope it looks like he was trying to repair. I accidentally break the arm off a model robot and feel bad for about a split second before I remember that Sam’s off somewhere with John and probably doesn’t even remember that the model exists. Finally, I come across something that gets my attention.
I take a seat in Sam’s desk chair and open up a copy of a little magazine called They Walk Among Us. It looks like a photocopy. It’s full of alien conspiracies, lizard men, and other crazy-sounding articles, like how the Loch Ness monster is really an extraterrestrial sea horse. I thumb through a few issues before I read a headline that causes me to shiver.
THE MOGADORIAN RACE
SEEK TO TAKE OVER EARTH
The article is little more than a teaser of a bigger story that’s going to run the next month, but I can’t find the next issue anywhere. I take a picture of the article and front cover of the magazine and send it in a message to GUARD. He’s going to flip out when he sees it. Maybe he can help me track down the people who wrote it—people who might know more about what’s going on and how I can find Sarah.
GUARD responds quickly.
GUARD: WHOA.
JOLLYROGER182: i know. can u find anything else out about the mag?
I grab a few loose CDs lying around the desk just in case they’ve got files of interest on them. Unfortunately, I don’t see any kind of computer. Either Sam took it with him, or someone else has already made off with it. With a stack of magazines under my arm, I head out of Sam’s room and through his house, glancing at pictures of his family that line the walls. Sam’s dad is in some of them, staring back at me through thick glasses that look a lot like the ones Sam always wears. I barely remember Malcolm Goode from school parties and stuff when I was a kid. I look down at the pile of crap I’m technically stealing from his son’s room.
“Sorry,” I mu
rmur, and then head to the backyard—through the back door this time.
Outside, I freeze: there’s movement in the woods near the end of the yard. I think about running, but if there isn’t anything there, that’ll cause me to look more suspicious. Just as my palms start to sweat nervously, an owl flies out of the woods. I exhale, telling myself that’s what I must have seen.
The side of the house casts a shadow that I disappear into, pressing myself up against the vinyl siding. I stand there for what feels like a long time watching the road, trying to see any movement or lights—anything that might suggest that there’s a black sedan ready to run me down. But there’s only the breeze and the sound of birds and insects somewhere out in the woods. Finally, I start back to my truck. I’m silently congratulating myself on a job well done when I realize the only thing that means is that the crazy person who was after us the other day was in fact after Sarah. That she’s probably being held captive by them right now.
Or worse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I STAY UP MOST OF THE NIGHT SENDING PICTURES and scans of the magazines to GUARD. He works his internet magic and comes back to me with several phone numbers for the people who publish They Walk Among Us. He asks if I want him to call, but I take responsibility for it. I’m the one who’s now pored over every column in every issue Sam had, hoping that something—anything—will give me a clue as to where the people holding Sarah might be. Or if not them, where John and Six and Sam might have escaped to. If I can find them, they can use their superpowers to rescue Sarah, no problem.
No problem. I repeat this over and over in my head, hoping that eventually I’ll believe it.
I buy a burner phone after school the next day and start in on the numbers GUARD came up with as I drive home. The first three I call have all been disconnected—not a good sign. The fourth and final number connects, though. Actually, it rings forever, with no voice mail. After about twenty rings, I hang up and call back. I count twenty more, and then I hang up and call back again.
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Return to Paradise Page 6
