by Cacey Hopper
I decide that if he’s not going to be upfront with me about who he is then there is nothing I can do besides keep to myself. I glance down at the backpack in my lap and realize I already have my hands on the next clue. Right now I only need to go somewhere quiet and get to work. The sooner I do, the closer I will be to finding Jason. It isn’t much comfort in light of what has just happened, but it is something at least. Something to keep me from drowning in fear thinking of what Jason might be dealing with right now.
“There’s nothing more I can tell you now and I’m sorry,” Peter’s saying, but I barely hear him. I’m already focused on the next step.
Just then the cab comes to a stop and I see we’ve pulled up to the curb outside the hotel I stayed in last night.
“Go back to your room, get some dinner, and rest. Call your father. Whatever you do, don’t go back out,” he says as he opens the door for me. Gone is the light-hearted old man I met last night. This person is completely different, commanding and in control.
However, I’m past the point of taking orders from anyone, especially not some old man who refuses to tell me who he is and why he keeps popping up in my life. My goal is to get Jason back, nothing more or less. And I sure as hell am not about to call my dad.
I nod anyway. I know I should thank him, but my social graces seem to have fled. He gets back in the cab and is gone just as quickly as he came.
My room is still available, so they just give me my key right back. Numbly I climb the stairs, too tired to even notice or be bothered by them for once.
There are so many things that I should do once I get into my room and lock the door, double checking the locks. I should call Alexa and give her the update, but I really don’t want to get into the whole “I nearly got kidnapped” thing. I really should break out the other red book and start looking for circled letters or codes written in invisible ink. I need to find Jason, desperately now. So much it’s starting to hurt. Because for the first time I’m able to push aside the small hope that says he’s okay. Now I know he’s not okay. Far from it, V’s men have him, and it’s killing me that I couldn’t find him in time.
As I stand in the middle of my room, so obviously alone, everything that has just transpired wells up inside of me. For the first time in my life I have been pushed around, threatened with a gun and come close to being kidnapped. I don’t exactly feel safe or even remotely sane at the moment. Part of me wants to give up and run home. But I know I can’t leave Jason, not when I know how much danger he’s in. I clench my fists tight, trying to force back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. I look around for some sort of distraction.
I strip off my clothes, trailing them on the floor as I walk to the bathroom where I climb in the shower. Turning the water as hot as I can, I lean against the wall, sobbing. Just for that moment I let out everything I’ve been holding inside ever since he left. It all comes out in a torrent of tears that washes down the drain. Afterwards, when there’s nothing left, I get out, wrap myself in a robe and collapse onto the bed.
Sleep should have been elusive. After all, it is still fairly early in the day. It comes surprisingly fast, but it’s far from peaceful.
7. ALL IN
I wake up with a start, disoriented and confused. My head aches and when my fingers carefully touch my forehead I feel a lump there from where I had my head practically bashed in yesterday. My arms feel sore, like someone is still grasping them hard. I pull up the sleeves of the robe I’m wearing and I can already see the faint marks of bruises beginning to appear on my upper arms. They are reminders that yesterday wasn’t all a horrible dream. The two red books lying on the bed and the shattered glass from the broken picture frame are further proof.
I sit up so quickly my head spins. Part of me wants to stay in bed, but I force myself to get up and throw on some clothes. The shirt I pull out of my backpack is the last clean one. I had planned on finding Jason and being on my way home by now. My lucky Converse are looking a little worse for wear, but it doesn’t matter. I’m beginning to doubt their power to bring me luck anyway. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s four in the morning, not even light yet. I’m wide awake. This doesn’t surprise me since I’ve never quite acclimated to the time change.
After tying my shoes I turn back to the bed and the items on it. I can’t even look at the photo anymore, so piercing is the pain inside when I think of him. I tuck it under the pillow and move to pick up the book from the airport locker. It’s nearly identical to the first, same publisher and everything. The title of this one is Ovid’s Metamorphoses. This time I don’t even roll my eyes or allow myself a fond thought about Jason and his love of languages and mythology. Instead I get to work.
Painstakingly I begin to look through the book. It quickly becomes clear to me this would be a completely different clue from the last. Unlike the first book, this one isn’t written or marked in at all. In fact, it appears to be brand-new. Normally I would be frustrated already, but recent events have strengthened my resolve. If Jason is counting on me to help him, then I have to count on him to have left me something of use. There has to be a clue in the book somewhere. Once again it’s up to me to find it.
After nearly an hour of searching it becomes apparent there is nothing. Not a mark, not a letter or a word underlined or circled. I get up from the table and pour myself a second cup of coffee from the small pot in my room. I pace nervously for a moment, thinking of what Jason would have done. Then I remember finding the locker number, just barely visible in the crease between two pages. I would have never found it unless I had been completely desperate for something. Considering everything that had happened yesterday, I’m far more desperate now.
I begin to comb through the pages a second time. This time I check every crease between the pages, and do more than just scan the text. I would read every word if I have to. It doesn’t take me long before I spot something. It’s so faint I’m not even sure it’s there at first.
On the second page of the introduction there is a tiny, nearly invisible mark underneath the “II” at the bottom of the page. Instantly my mind is racing with all the possibilities of its meaning.
Before I can even begin to decipher it, my phone rings loudly, jarring my already ragged nerves. I pick it up and I’m relieved to see it’s only Alexa. It must be a decent hour where she is if she’s calling me.
“I was hoping to wake you up for once,” she exclaims when I answer.
“Oh, sorry, I’ve been awake for hours.” I don’t even recognize the sound of my own voice, it sounds raw and rough.
Instantly her voice changes as she picks up on my tone. “How did it go at the airport?”
The airport seems like a century ago and my memory of it has grown fuzzy. Or maybe I’m trying to block it out. Either way I’m not up to retelling the story now.
“I found the next clue. It’s another book, Ovid’s Metamorphoses.” I speak quickly, mostly because the nagging feeling that I’m running out of time is creeping up on me, and also because I’m not really in the mood to answer a million questions.
She asks them anyway. “Where was it?”
“In an airport locker. I found the locker number in the back of the book and the key was on the keychain.” I answer hurriedly again. “The only thing of significance in the book is the Roman numeral for two. We need to figure it out, and quickly.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she presses, ignoring my last statement.
“No, I’m not,” I answer truthfully. “I’m just—” I pause again, not sure how much truth to actually reveal. “I’m worried about Jason, that’s all.”
“Nothing happened at the airport besides finding the second book?” she prods again.
“No,” I answer automatically. “Look, I’m really tired, that’s all.” I don’t know what surprises me more, how easily the lie slips out or how believable it is. The truth is I’m more than a little worried about Jason. I’m deathly afraid for him. And tired doesn’t
even begin to describe how I feel at this moment.
“Okay.” She sounds wary but convinced. “Tell me the name of the book again?”
“Metamorphoses by Ovid,” I respond, relieved to be back on task. “It’s the same publisher as theAeneid was, they look almost identical.” I lay the phone down on the table after putting it on speaker and rub the spot between my eyes where a headache is forming.
I can hear the tap-tapping of her fingers on a keyboard as she searches for clues.
“Can you send me a picture of the book and the page with the clue?” she asks.
I snap the pictures she requested and send them to her. I can’t help but notice how businesslike we’ve both become. We’re now both singularly focused on one thing, finding the next clue so we can help Jason.
We’re silent for a long time. She works while I take a moment to rest my head in my hands. I’m hoping and praying she’ll find something of use, because I’m so spent right now I’m completely useless.
“I think I found something,” she says after ten minutes have passed. “I ran a simple cross-checking search, running Metamorphoses and the Roman numerals for two.”
I sit up a little straighter.
“First, Ovid’s Metamorphoses is divided into fifteen parts. They’re usually marked by Roman numerals, of course. So maybe check part two in your book for any more clues?” she suggests.
I find the second section of the book. It’s marked with the Roman numerals just like the second page of the introduction. After combing carefully through the pages I can’t find a single mark.
“No,” I sigh.
“Okay.” She sounds annoyed, but not discouraged. “Wait, I’m looking at the picture you sent me of the book. Tell me if I’m seeing this right, it says it contains books one through eight?”
I squint at the cover and see the Roman numerals I-VIII printed directly under the title. “Yes,” I confirm, “Books one through eight.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” she exclaims. “It has fifteen parts, not eight!”
I’m still waiting for her to clue me in.
“There’s a second volume, Kit.”
“Another book,” I whisper. Instantly a scene flashes before my eyes. Jason’s bedroom in his apartment, a bookshelf tipped over, books strewn all around the floor.
This time I know exactly what I’m supposed to do.
After telling Alexa my plan, I repack my belongings and face my decision to head back to Jason’s apartment. The sun is just now rising outside, and already the day looks dreary and dismal. I check out of the hotel once again, wondering if I would be coming back at all tonight. By this time tomorrow I could be on my way back home with Jason. Either that or I’d be kidnapped too.
I shudder at the possibility as I step out onto the sidewalk. It’s raining now, just a light drizzle. I’m thankful for the excuse to pull my hood up over my vivid hair. I’m pretty sure after our encounter yesterday the two goons—Thing One and Thing Two as I had taken to calling them—would easily be able to spot me again.
I’m not in the mood for breakfast but I do stop and buy a latte and drink it as I walk. Once I reach Jason’s neighborhood I find an inconspicuous spot across the street to wait. I finish my coffee while keeping one eye on the front entrance of the building. After ten minutes or so I decide it is safe and make my way across the street and into the building. The brick that had been propping open the door the other day is gone, but it doesn’t matter because I have Jason’s keys. The stairs give me a slight pause, but I take them one at a time just like before.
Outside his apartment I unlock the door and slip inside, checking the hall to make sure no one sees me go in. I lock it securely behind me for good measure.
The bookshelf is just where I remember it being; inside the bedroom, tipped completely over beside the bed. There are a few books on the floor around it, but none that match the books I already have. I realize the other books are probably still under the bookshelf and I would have to move the shelf to get to them. Easier said than done, the bookshelf is at least five feet tall and solid wood. Not to mention my arms are still sore from yesterday’s botched kidnapping attempt.
I squat down at one end and get a good grip on the heavy wood. I manage to raise it a few feet and tip it onto its side. Sure enough, underneath there are more books that had been covered. Jason must have either bought a bunch in the time he’d been here or had his mom ship him more, because there are at least a hundred books spilling onto the floor. The small red books I have been collecting must be part of a series as there are several dozen of them mixed in the mess. Feeling annoyed, but not discouraged, I settle down to sort through them all one by one. After yesterday, sitting inside on a rainy day looking though books doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. That is, if my best friend wasn’t in mortal danger and if it wasn’t up to me to find the next clue that just might save his life.
I’m not sure when it became that, a matter of life or death. Perhaps it was yesterday when I realized just how far this Mr. V was willing to go. Up until that point I had been keeping the hope alive that Jason was fine, just hiding out somewhere until this all blew over. Now I know that isn’t true. Now I know for sure V has him. The only question that remains in my mind now is what the clues are leading me to, if not Jason. Once again I don’t have time to ponder all my options. I’m his only hope of rescue, and my hope is resting on this next clue.
It takes me only a few minutes to find the book, mentally praising Alexa’s genius. Just like she said, it’s the second volume to Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Clearly she was right about what the numerals stood for. When I flip it open I see it’s just like the first book, a scribbled and marked-up disaster. Instead of being annoyed and confused like the first time, I feel nothing but hope. Because now I know somewhere inside this book is the clue I’m looking for.
I sit down on the bed, about to take out my notepad and get to work, when I hear it; the very faint sound of a doorknob rattling out in the living room. Like the sound of someone testing the doorknob to see if it’s locked. Instantly I’m reminded of my first time here and my suspicion that the lock had been picked, I wouldn’t put it past those two thugs to be back here again, looking for more answers.
I jump up and hit the lights. It’s too late to try and go out the front, obviously, and hiding doesn’t seem like a good idea either. The last thing I want is to be in the same room with those two again, especially when there is no one around to save me this time.
So I do something unthinkable. I slip the book I came for into my backpack and shoulder it. Running to the window I throw it open and look out. Jason’s apartment is three stories up and my head swims just looking down. But I spot something helpful just below the window, it’s a fire escape. Really it’s just a rickety old ladder bolted to the side of the building. Still, it’s my only chance.
Hearing the door in the living room open with a loud crash, I shove through the window and onto the ladder. Uttering a silent prayer I begin a steady descent. I’m looking straight up because looking down terrifies me, so I see one of the brothers poke his head out the window and spot me. He calls back to his brother in a foreign language and then heaves his hulking frame out the window and onto the ladder. The ladder groans in protest and begins to shake as he clambers down after me. I force my feet to move faster, estimating I’m about two floors down with one to go. My hands, already slick with sweat, slip on a rung and it takes me a full second to recover my balance.
Seconds that seem like hours pass as I scramble downward. Thing One, the larger of the two, is hovering just above me now. His presence only adds to my terror. I’m off as soon as my feet touch the pavement. I collide in the alley with Thing Two, who must have taken the stairs. Fortunately he’s just as surprised as I am and I manage to rocket past without him getting a hand on me. I keep running, barreling down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, dogs and strollers. I don’t have to look behind me to know they are still there, I can feel
it. I’m quickly running out of breath after my jarring trip down the ladder, but I can’t stop now.
My heart lurches as I skid around a corner and spot a familiar sight in the distance—Harold’s Towing. Without a moment’s hesitation I hurtle toward the alley where Peter had boosted me over the fence the other night. Unfortunately there is no one there to help me this time. I spot some upturned garbage cans and quickly scramble up on top of them, knowing my pursuers are just seconds behind me. Once I’m balanced carefully on top of the trash cans I jump, reaching for the top of the fence. I’ve just barely grasped the top and begun to pull myself up when a vice-like grip clamps down on my ankle. It’s Thing Two, he’s completely out of breath, huffing and wheezing as he attempts to yank me from the fence. I’m sure Thing One is not far behind, and there is no way I’ll be able to fight them both off. Instinctively I begin to kick wildly with my free foot and he gets a face full of Converse. It’s enough to make his grip slip a little and I use all the strength that’s left in my arms to haul myself over the fence. I drop, a little less gracefully this time, onto the roof of a car and land on my backside with a thud. Another bruise added to my collection. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me Thing One and Thing Two are now following my lead and attempting to climb awkwardly over the fence.
After scrambling down from the car I launch myself into another run, making a beeline for the row with the red Mini Cooper. I spot the mismatched white fender just as I hear the Things crashing down onto a car a few rows over. Fumbling with the keys for half a second I find the right one and unlock the door. After throwing myself into the seat I lock the door behind me and reach for the ignition. Only there is no ignition, at least, not on this side. I realize a second too late the Mini is a right-hand drive. Someone starts pounding on the window, as if trying to bust through the glass. I don’t even bother to look up as I climb over into the driver’s seat. I’ve hit my second snag as I try to start the car. It’s also a stick shift.
