The Otherworldlies

by Jennifer Anne Kogler

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Mrs. McAllister whispered in her daughter’s ear. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  “Okay,” Fern said. Her face regained some of its color.

  “You stay here. I’m going to talk to the man outside,” Mrs. McAllister said, squeezing her daughter tightly. Mrs. McAllister left the room and Sam stood in front of his sister.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” Fern replied, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. Sam watched his sister wiping the tears from her face.

  “It happened again,” Sam said, his voice full of compassion.

  “Yeah,” Fern said. Words were coming slowly as each twin tried to read the other’s expression.

  “You were on television,” Sam said. “All the channels were showing you on the top of the mountain. You couldn’t really make out your face, though.”

  “I could see the news choppers,” Fern said, hesitating to mention out loud the vantage point from which she saw the helicopters. “So, I didn’t look upset?” she asked. “I was trying not to look upset.”

  “Well, you did a good job. Actually, you just looked very small,” Sam said.

  “Could’ve been worse, I guess,” Fern said.

  “So . . . is this the Disneyland Jail?” Sam said, looking around at the white cell, trying to change the subject. The McAllister twins had often talked about what the Disneyland Jail must look like. Sometimes they figured the bars would be made of rubber or that Disney villains from the past would be painted on the walls as a stark reminder to potential theme park criminals. Though neither twin was mischievous nor brazen enough to land in the imagined jail, they had heard about its existence from multiple sources so that it began to take on a folkloric quality.

  “I think it must be. When they first brought me in, they took me to a room where a nurse checked me out, and I think I passed some cells.”

  “Then I guess you beat me to it—you found a way into the Disneyland Jail,” Sam said, giving a halfhearted smile to his sister. “Does this mean you’re a criminal?”

  Fern smiled. A little encouraged, Sam pressed on. “What were your cellmates like? Serving life sentences for jumping out of their boats on Pirates of the Caribbean?”

  “I want all of this to stop,” Fern said, her eyes brimming over once again. She was tired of being strong.

  Sam tried to sound confident. “On the way over here, Mom said she’d figure everything out when we got home,” he said, hoping to bolster his sister. “You know what that means, Fern, don’t you? Anything the Commander says, goes.”

  “What if I can’t stop doing this, Sam?” The composure Fern had found on top of Splash Mountain was gone. “I’m scared.” Fresh tears fell silently down her face. Sam, having been by his sister’s side for all her twelve years, was unable to look at her and lie, though he wanted to.

  “Me too,” he said, thinking of what else he could say. “I researched Poseidon on the Internet. Either Lindsey Lin was calling you a submarine nuclear missile or a god of the sea.”

  Fern looked up at Sam. She saw her mother through the window. Within a few moments, Mrs. McAllister was back in the room, accompanied by Don Camille. She turned to her daughter.

  “Come on, Fern, we’re going home,” she said, calm now that Fern was in her sight. “Mr. Camille has said he’ll escort us out the back entrance.”

  As the McAllisters made their way home, there was an atmosphere of uncertainty in the car. Sam was the first to speak up.

  “I don’t understand, Mom. Didn’t they want to ask Fern questions? Didn’t they want to figure out what happened?”

  Mrs. McAllister looked in the rearview mirror at her son. “Actually, Sam, they only wanted two things: to make sure I wasn’t going to sue, and to make sure none of us would give any interviews,” she said. At that moment, no one in the car had any desire to tackle the thorny topic of how, exactly, Fern had reached the top of Splash Mountain in the first place. They would later, when they were no longer in sight of the mountain itself.

  “But why?” Sam said.

  “Because a place like Disneyland doesn’t want any bad press, especially when it comes to safety issues. Fern’s climb is the exact kind of public relations nightmare that they want to avoid.”

  “So that’s it?” Sam said in a low voice.

  “Yes. We lucked out.” Mrs. McAllister turned her attention to the passenger seat. “Fern? How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” Fern said, looking straight ahead.

  “Really?” her mother said in disbelief.

  “Other than the fact that I keep disappearing and have no control over where I go or why I go, yeah, I’m fine,” Fern said, turning away from her mother.

  “Fern, I know nothing makes sense right now and that you’re probably worried and afraid,” Mrs. McAllister said. She didn’t take her eyes off the road, and her face was illuminated by the low glare of commuter headlights. “I’ve already made an appointment with someone who’s an expert in this kind of thing. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

  “Is he a doctor?” Fern asked.

  “Sort of,” Mrs. McAllister said. Ironically enough, when Alistair Kimble had arrived on her doorstep twelve years ago, Mrs. McAllister could have easily mistaken him for a doctor. Now, though, there was no mistaking the significance of Alistair Kimble: He was the one and only link to Fern’s past.

  Chapter 9

  the undead sea scroll

  A local news event sufficiently noteworthy to headline the front pages of both the Los Angeles Times and the Orange County Register was always large in scope and usually dealt with a disaster of some kind: wildfires blazing in Topanga Canyon, a huge earthquake in Northridge, the powerful gusting of the Santa Anas knocking down power lines, the Angels winning the World Series.

  When Fern McAllister landed on the top of Splash Mountain, she also landed on the front of both local papers the next morning. The pictures of Fern were the stuff that photo editors dream of—a frightened little girl holding on for dear life above the surreal backdrop of the Magic Kingdom. What’s more, the story had legs, making the national news on ABC, NBC, and CBS, as each network broadcast footage showing Fern’s motionless body in the arms of a rescue worker as he rappelled down the face of Splash Mountain. They were calling it “The Climb of One Girl’s Life.”

  Though Fern wasn’t mentioned by name in any of the articles, the city of San Juan Capistrano was buzzing with the news. Fern thanked her lucky stars that she had disappeared on a Friday. Although she was to report to St. Gregory’s at eight a.m. to serve the first of two Saturday schools, she knew there would be, at most, a handful of students there. Come Monday, St. Gregory’s campus would be ablaze with talk of her latest disappearance.

  Sam insisted that he would walk with Fern to school and would be waiting to pick her up at noon after she had served the first of her two sentences. As Fern and Sam walked through the grove, they hardly knew what to expect. Neither of the twins had much time to think before they spotted someone crouching at the outside border of the row of orange trees near the closest edge of the grove.

  “Fern,” Lindsey said as they approached, her eyes wide.

  “Hey,” Fern replied warily. Their last interaction had left Fern reeling from the sting of Lindsey’s rejection.

  “I’m sorry about chapel,” Lindsey said. “I know you were just trying to help me out.”

  Yesterday Fern would have done almost anything to gain such an apology, but today Lindsey’s admission angered her. Lindsey Lin had seen Fern on the news or in the paper, or had heard about her from one of the countless people who were talking about it. Now she was sorry. Fern McAllister may have been confused and scared by recent events, but she wasn’t nearly desperate enough to trade on someone’s morbid curiosity. Even if it was someone who, at one point, Fern had called a friend.

  “Don’t mention it,” Fern said, walking away, knowing Sam would follow suit. Without speaking, she and Sam ra
ced up La Limonar, hoping they might reach the gates of St. Gregory’s before Lindsey had a chance to catch up.

  “Fern, I’m sorry! It’s going to be a long five hours if we can’t even talk to each other.” Lindsey was pleading, running behind the twins as they exited the grove.

  “Don’t you get it?” Sam said, whipping around to face Lindsey. “Fern doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” Sam glowered at her.

  The twins hurried toward St. Gregory’s. The campus was very quiet. The movement inside the iron gates was the wind whipping the cable for raising the flag against the flagpole.

  “Do you know where you’re supposed to report?”

  “Room two hundred,” Lindsey Lin shouted from behind them.

  “I heard somewhere it’s room two hundred, Sam,” Fern said, ignoring Lindsey completely.

  “Well, I’ll be here waiting for you at noon. Don’t get yourself into any more trouble, all right?” Sam spoke with a tone that was half mocking, but Fern sensed the genuine concern in his voice. She might not count Lindsey as a friend anymore, but she would always have Sam.

  As soon as Sam left, Lindsey scooted to Fern’s side.

  “You’re really going to ignore me for the entire day?” Lindsey questioned.

  “Looks that way.”

  Fern pushed through the door to room 200. The classroom was completely empty. The walls were unmarked beige. There was no writing on the chalkboard. The back wall was lined with inspirational sayings like, “Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do,” and “Success comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.”

  “Jeez,” Lindsey said, scanning the wall. “I wonder what kind of new age teacher has this class.”

  Fern, acting as if Lindsey were not there at all, took a desk at the front of the classroom. Lindsey plopped down right next to her. Without speaking, Fern stood up and walked to the back of the classroom, choosing a desk in corner. Lindsey followed, selecting the desk next to Fern’s.

  Angered, Fern got up and chose a desk smack-dab in the middle of the room. She could hear Lindsey follow her.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing? Are you two years old or something?” Fern said.

  “I can sit wherever I want,” Lindsey insisted.

  “Yeah, well, don’t sit next to me.”

  “Please let me explain.”

  The door to the classroom squeaked open. A tall blonde with wavy locks down to the middle of her back smiled widely at the girls. Her deep blue eyes were remarkably bright for so early in the morning.

  “Well, if it isn’t Eddie’s delinquent little sister.”

  Fern smiled at Kinsey Wood. Kinsey was junior class president and a star on the St. Gregory’s tennis team. Though Fern was envious of Kinsey because Eddie now spent a significant amount of his time with her, Fern couldn’t have disliked her if she tried. In truth, even the Commander was fond of Kinsey, whose impeccable manners she hoped might rub off on Fern.

  “Hi, Kinsey,” Fern said, her mood lifting.

  Kinsey then broached the Splash Mountain debacle innocently, as if Fern had gotten the flu. “Eddie said you’re doing much better after your scary day yesterday.”

  “Much better,” Fern said. “So you’re our Saturday school supervisor?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Kinsey said, flashing a smile at both Fern and Lindsey. “You girls really lucked out. Mr. Unger’s not coming today. No picking up trash or recycling for you. In fact,” she whispered, leaning forward, “we’ll wait until the clock hits five past eight and if no one else shows up, I can let you go.”

  “Really?” Fern’s eyes widened. Her hand had already begun to cramp up at the thought of writing an essay detailing what measures she would take to henceforth avoid Saturday school.

  “It can be our little secret. I know you two won’t tell. It was Eddie’s idea, actually. Your big brother’s always looking out for you, Fern.”

  “Kinsey, how can we thank you?” Lindsey chimed in.

  “Thank Fern. And don’t let anyone see you. If anyone does come by, I’m going to tell them I sent you both picking up trash around campus. You’ll still have to write an essay, but you can give it to Eddie and he’ll give it to me on Monday.” She looked up at the clock. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes!” Lindsey shouted, getting out of her desk.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you later, Fern,” Kinsey said, putting her feet up as she sat down in the teacher’s chair at the front of the classroom. She took a book out of her bag and began to read. “Tell Mrs. McAllister I said hi. Go enjoy the day!” Kinsey smiled at them and then concentrated on her book once more.

  “Your brother’s girlfriend is cool,” Lindsey said, practically running to catch up with Fern.

  “Yeah, well, she should have just let me go. She doesn’t even know you.”

  “Fern,” Lindsey pleaded.

  “Fern what?”

  “Look, I’ll admit it—when I threw that note in your window, I was more curious than anything else. I’d overheard my parents talking about you,” Lindsey said, casting her eyes toward Fern, “and I wanted to see for myself.”

  “Why were your parents talking about me?” Fern asked.

  “My parents investigate people like you.”

  “People like me?” Fern said, quizzically.

  “You know, people who might have special powers.”

  “Do they work for the government?” Fern asked, beginning to worry.

  “Sort of,” Lindsey responded.

  “What do they want with me?”

  “Nothing, really; they keep tabs on these kinds of things. It’s research . . . like the census,” Lindsey said. “Fern, I really am sorry for overreacting. I freaked out for no reason. I want to show you something.”

  “What is that?” Fern said as her resolve to hate Lindsey melted. She certainly was trying to get back on Fern’s good side.

  “It’s at my house.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to your house. Give me one reason I should trust you.”

  “I’m not out to get you or anything. I want to show you who you are,” Lindsey said dramatically. “We can get Sam if you want.”

  After swinging by the McAllister house and convincing Sam to come (it didn’t take much), the three made the ten-minute trek to Lindsey’s house, near the San Juan Capistrano train depot.

  “So what is it you’re going to show us?” Sam said, still feeling somewhat hostile toward Lindsey.

  “You’ll see.”

  Lindsey Lin lived in a bright white house with bright blue shutters on each side of every window. A picket fence bordered a well-manicured lawn. Flowerbeds at the front of the house showcased tulips in bloom. The perfect exterior of the house didn’t surprise the McAllister twins.

  Lindsey knocked on her own front door. “Whatever you do,” Lindsey whispered to the twins, “don’t let on that you know anything about anything.”

  “Well, hello!”

  A woman in a yellow dress and sandals answered the door. She looked to be about thirty-five. Her resemblance to Lindsey was remarkable. It was as if someone had taken Lindsey’s face, softened it up, and stretched it out.

  “Hi. I brought some friends from school. May we come in?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Lin said, motioning for the group to enter.

  “This is Fern and Sam McAllister,” Lindsey said, once they were safely inside.

  “I’m May, Lindsey’s mother. It’s so nice to meet you both. Lindsey talks of you constantly.”

  Though it was clear that Mrs. Lin was extending a hearty welcome to both McAllisters, her gaze lingered on Fern for a moment, sizing her up.

  “I really like your front yard,” Sam said, trying to be polite.

  “Why, thank you,” Mrs. Lin replied, smiling at Sam.

  “If it’s all right, we’re going to go up to the study and finish up our project,” Lindsey said.

  “That’s just fine, dear,” Mrs. Lin said swee
tly. “Miiiiike!” she shouted. “Mike, come in here and meet Lindsey’s friends.”

  Mr. Lin walked in through the doorway. He was tall, and his black hair cropped close to his scalp looked vaguely military. His face had some stubble and was slightly more weathered than his wife’s.

  “Mike, this is Sam and Fern McAllister.” Though it was ever so slight, Fern saw Mr. Lin’s eyes widen at the mention of her name. Mr. Lin stuck out his hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said cordially. “Lindsey, I thought you were going to be at school all morning working on a project.”

  “We decided it would be easier to just do it here.”

  “Well, you two must stay for lunch,” Mr. Lin said. “Mrs. Lin makes a very good barbecue chicken sandwich.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Lindsey said, beginning to climb the stairs to the left of the entryway. Fern and Sam followed behind.

  The Lin family study was spotless. A circular rug covered most of the dark wood floor. Bookshelves crammed with works of fiction and nonfiction spanned three walls of the room. A large desk with a computer filled one corner and a recliner sat in the other. Lindsey shut the door behind her.

  “So,” Sam said, sitting on the desk, “you told your parents you had a ‘project’ today? That’s an interesting term for Saturday school.”

  Lindsey smirked at Sam and then went to work. She climbed on the recliner, reaching above her to the top bookshelf. Though it seemed out of her grasp, the book remained in her hands as she tumbled to the floor. It was a large hardbound copy of the novel Moby Dick.

  “The secret to who I am is in Moby Dick?” Fern asked skeptically.

  “Kind of,” Lindsey said, lifting the cover of the book to reveal a carved-out rectangle in its center. She reached into the rectangle and pulled out one sheet of folded paper.

  “Why in the world are you hiding one page from a book inside another book?” Sam said, getting up to take a closer look at the hollowed-out inside of Moby Dick.

  “I had to hide this page because I stole it,” Lindsey said, laying it flat on the ground.