by Chad Morris
“To see who came in,” Derick said. “The satellites can show you any public place at any time, unless someone has sued for private air space.”
“Someone ... here?” Abby muttered. “Why would they?” Her mind skipped from one thought to another. She began pacing in a daze, walking to move, to do ... something. Was this really happening? Her family was all fine yesterday. How could everything have changed so quickly?
Abby looked at her grandfather’s chair. He should be sitting in it now. Where was he? She turned away and walked down the hall. The house felt so distant, empty. She walked through the open door into her grandpa’s bedroom. She had seen the room before. There was the same bed, same side table, same closet, but no Grandpa. She opened the foldout closet doors. She hoped he would be behind them waiting to surprise her. She even parted several groups of shirts, hoping to find him. She headed toward the bedroom door.
But before stepping out into the hall, she paused. Something was out of the ordinary. Grandpa’s bed was made. Abby had heard her mother pester him over and over again to make his bed. When they visited, she would say things like, “You can make the world’s most innovative inventions, but you can’t make your own bed?”
Grandpa always replied with something like, “Why make a bed when you’re just going to have to mess it up again in a few hours? I used to do it when Emma was alive, but that was just because I loved her and wanted to please her. I’d rather do things that matter.”
So what did it mean? That Grandpa had started to make his bed all of a sudden? Or was someone trying to cover something up?
Curiously, Abby lifted the covers. Underneath was Grandpa’s electronic reader. Why would that be in his bed? This was getting stranger all the time. She’d never seen him actually read from his e-reader. He always said he preferred “real books.” She opened the reader. An array of book
titles was available. She scanned through his reading history, which had a short list of titles. The latest book had been opened at 2:24 a.m. that morning—the only time the book had been selected, and the reading session had lasted less than a second.
The book was Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Abby gasped. This was definitely a message. Grandpa had selected this book, early this morning, for a reason. He’d hidden it in his bed, then made it, because he knew that those who loved him would know he didn’t make his bed, and they’d find the clue.
Abby wanted to collapse to the floor.
“There’s nothing visible on the satellite pics,” Derick said from the living room. “All of the lights within a block went out for four hours. Whoever came here made sure nobody would see them.”
Abby quickly raised her rings and selected communications mode. Moments later, she stared into the office of the nearest police force.
“Hello. BPD,” a woman with a short haircut and high cheekbones said.
“I think ... something’s happened to my ...” Abby broke up with emotion. “My grandpa and my parents. I think they were kidnapped.”
11
Investigation
There was definitely someone here,” the officer said. “And at your parents’ house too. But the people who did this were professionals—could be the best I’ve ever seen. They must have disabled the security systems and then restarted them. I’ve never seen that happen.”
His words didn’t exactly console Abby.
“We believe they accosted your grandfather here, but that he was apparently awake enough to send you the message that he’d been kidnapped. The suspects stole something large from the basement. Nothing that we can tell is missing from your home other than your parents. I still don’t understand why anyone would do this to the Cragbridges.” The officer stopped for a moment to direct one of the other three officers as he placed a few hairs he found on the floor in a thin black container. “Does your family have any enemies that you know of?”
Abby looked at Derick. “Not that we know,” she said. She took a deep breath. “But Grandpa did tell us that he had a secret that some people would do anything to get.”
Derick’s eyes flashed with panic.
“Really? What sort of secret?” The police officer’s thick eyebrows stood in stark contrast to his light skin, but his eyes were intense, penetrating.
“We don’t know. Just some secret.”
“And how do you know?” the officer asked.
Abby looked at Derick, who motioned for her to keep her lips shut. But she couldn’t. Speaking up may help them find their grandpa and parents.
She took a deep breath and grabbed the chain around her neck. Derick stepped forward to stop her, but she already had the locket out. She explained what had happened with the locket during lunch.
“This is interesting,” the officer said typing a few notes with his fingers. “The locket must be special to you, but we’re going to need it for our investigation.” He held out his hand. “We’ll return it to you as soon as we can.”
Abby removed the chain from her neck and looked at Derick one more time. He closed his eyes. Abby dropped it into the policeman’s hand.
“Thank you,” the policeman said, placing the locket into another black container. He looked at Derick, “Do you have anything that would help the investigation?”
“No,” Derick lied quickly. “We only got one locket between the two of us, and Abby wore it. It’s kind of girly.”
The policeman chuckled. “It is. Well, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. We’ll have another officer escort you back to school.” He looked first Abby and then Derick in the eyes. “We’re going to have to insist that you stay at school. We’ll give instructions to that effect to the guards. Security at Cragbridge is as good as anything we could provide you. So no more unlimited access to come and go. Do you understand?”
“Why?” Derick asked.
“Just in case,” the police officer said.
“In case they come after us?” Abby asked.
“At this point, all we know is that we have a high-profile citizen and his son and daughter-in-law kidnapped. There are crazies out there ... and, well, we don’t know. We just want you to be safe.” There was something about the officer that made Abby feel safe. She was glad he was on the case. She could picture him braving all sorts of dangers to find her parents and grandpa.
The twins turned to leave, when the officer called again. “Oh, Abby and Derick.” They both stopped. “We’re going to keep this case confidential. You won’t see anything about it on the news or the net for a day or two. We want to make sure we know what we’re dealing with first.”
The twins nodded and then followed another officer out of Grandpa’s house. They soon walked the long sidewalk inside Cragbridge Hall.
“Why didn’t you tell them about your locket?” Abby asked.
“He took yours,” Derick said. “I didn’t want to give it up. Grandpa gave them to us, not to the police.”
Abby didn’t say anything.
“Why do you think Grandpa had to trigger a device every day to keep our lockets closed?” Derick asked.
“I don’t know,” Abby confessed, wiping her eyes and trying to stand up straight and tall. She wanted to be strong.
“And he gave lockets and rings to other people too?”
“Sounds like it,” Abby said. “Do you think Mom and Dad have them?”
“Maybe,” Derick said, and then looked at the floor. The lockets were a painful reminder that their parents were missing.
“Or maybe other teachers got them too,” Abby suggested.
“I wonder what the big secret is,” Derick said.
Abby had no idea. Why would anyone want to do something to her family? Was it because Grandpa was famous? Would they get a ransom note soon asking for billions of dollars? Or did he do something wrong? Did he actually have enemies? And what about her parents? How were they involved?
Abby couldn’t help but think back to The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She imagined her gran
dpa turning into some sort of monster, hunched over, grimy, and decaying. She quickly shook the image from her mind. She was glad she wasn’t sitting in the Chair right now, having her thoughts portrayed on a screen for others to see. She remembered how Ms. Entrese had caught a glimpse of the locket. Had she baited Abby on purpose?
Did her time in the Chair have anything to do with all this?
All Abby wanted to do was cry, but she couldn’t let herself. She also couldn’t let herself simply wait for the police to finish their investigation. There had to be something she could do. She looked at Derrick. “We’ve got to go back to see the message again.”
• • •
Once again, Abby and Derick stood in the Bridge.
Abby tried to clear her mind, to get ready to listen and remember, but emotions kept creeping back. Tears waited to slide down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned on her rings to initiate the sync.
Access Denied.
Abby tried again.
Access Denied.
“What’s taking so long?” Derick asked.
“It won’t let me in,” Abby said. “My access is denied. Give me a minute. I need to figure this out.”
Abby came out of the room and walked straight to the desk where the lab supervisor sat. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it won’t let me into the Bridge.”
“What’s your name?” the lab supervisor asked, a boy with floppy blond hair that hung over his eyes. He must have been in eleventh or twelfth grade.
“Abby Cragbridge.”
The boy in the lab raised an eyebrow.
“I’m his granddaughter,” she said, not waiting for the question.
The boy looked at his screen for several seconds. “Sorry. Your Bridge privilege is temporarily revoked.”
“What? Why?” Abby asked.
“Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to,” the boy said. “All I’ve got here is that the head honchos have suspended your privileges. Did you get caught cheating or ditching?”
“I missed some classes this afternoon, but it was an emergency,” Abby said.
“That could be it,” the boy said. “You might have to straighten things out with the attendance department.” He gave her a half smile. “That’s all the info I have.”
Abby rejoined Derick in the Bridge, who had already synced with his rings. The image of Grandpa was paused and ready to go.
“He said I’m suspended from the Bridge,” Abby said. “And he guessed it was because of missing a few classes.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Derick said. “I logged on while I was waiting for you. Why would they deny you but not me?”
“Uuuugh!” was all that came out. “I can’t believe this.”
“We’ll straighten it out later,” Derick said. “Right now, let’s figure out what Grandpa was going to say.”
In a moment, Grandpa began repeating his message. Abby couldn’t help but feel heartbroken as she saw him again.
“I have a secret that others would go to extreme measures to obtain. Therefore, I have given you this entry to tell you that I need your help. No police, no investigator, no government can solve the large problem that faces you.” Abby immediately felt guilty for giving the police her locket. But should she have really done anything differently? What else could she have done when the officer asked for it?
“You see,” Grandpa said, “I’ve opened a Pandora’s box of sorts. I have kept it controlled, but others will not.”
Abby remembered that Pandora was a Greek myth about a woman who opened a box full of plagues. She was pretty sure Grandpa meant that he’d invented something that could cause some serious problems.
“But I can’t tell you everything about it here. The situation may not merit it, or this message may have been intercepted. If I have passed away by natural causes, I want you to know that I loved and trusted you, which is precisely why you are listening to this now. I must pass my secret to someone. Sooner or later, someone else will discover it, and I’d much rather it went to someone I trust.”
He inhaled slowly, then closed his eyes as he exhaled. “If foul play is involved, whoever is against me will probably not be kind enough to leave much of a trail. They will most likely be professional and determined.”
Abby remembered the police describing how proficient the criminals must have been.
“They may,” Grandpa continued, “even be ruthless in their efforts to accomplish their goals. In that spirit, I feel that I must warn you. Be careful about who you trust. Some people would do absolutely anything to know my secret and use it for their own purposes.”
Again Abby thought about Ms. Entrese.
“My secret cannot die with me. It is too dangerous. But it would be foolish and irresponsible of me to give it to you all at once. In a way, you must earn it and that process will help you be ready for what the secret is. And I need those I trust to be ready. To discover more about my secret, you’ll have to decipher a clue and retrieve another key.”
Abby grimaced and twisted her hair into a ponytail. Another key? The first had to be the key in her locket, which she’d given away. Hopefully the police would give it back soon. At least Derick still had his. “I have tried to make the clues something specific to you, so that if this information is intercepted, it will be burdensome for someone else to figure out. But I’m afraid I’ve had to make the clues a little difficult as well, to keep at bay those who seek my secret without the right intentions. Please insert your key into the small opening on the Bridge console.”
So there was a need for the keyholes after all. Abby waited in the Bridge for Derick to retrieve his key from his room. She thought through everything again and again. A clue was coming, and it would be specific to them. But what was the secret? Why couldn’t Grandpa just come out and say it?
Finally Derick returned, panting and holding a small key. Abby could make out a glimpse of the chain underneath his T-shirt. Apparently the locket wasn’t too girly anymore. Derick put the key into the hole in the console and turned it. Grandpa appeared again, but this time he looked as he had yesterday. No longer was he young and stronger, but his normal elderly but happy self. He must have recorded it recently.
“Dear Derick and Abby, I decided years ago to give you both the same clue. If you are going to succeed, I believe you’ll have to work together. Here it is: When Derick turned twelve, I gave him a book. In books we often begin a journey to find freedom.” Grandpa began to walk away, but stopped. “Oh, and check the top of the armoire.”
“That’s it?” Derick asked. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Abby agreed. “What do books and an armoire have to do with Grandpa’s secret?”
12
Douglass
Abby repeated Grandpa’s clue. “‘In books we often begin a journey to find freedom.’ There is no way Grandpa is asking us to search for clues in every book in the world.”
“No,” Derick said. “It must have something to do with the book I got when I was twelve. He’s given me quite a few—Lord of the Flies, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, biographies of Thomas Edison and Benjamin Franklin.”
Abby tried to think through the clue. Grandpa always gave them old-style hardcover books for every birthday, holiday, and special occasion she could remember. Over the years, both of the twins had gained quite a collection. “Wait,” Abby said. “When we turned twelve—that was when he gave us books about the people we’re named after.”
“You’re right,” Derick agreed. “You got a biography of Abigail Adams, and I got Frederick Douglass.” He smiled. “When I was really young, I couldn’t figure out how Derick came from Frederick.”
“Maybe you aren’t such a genius,” Abby suggested.
Derick ignored her. “And it fits. Douglass was a slave who escaped and became a famous speaker and writer against slavery during the Civil War—that might be why the clue has to do with freedom.”
“Makes some
sense,” Abby admitted.
“‘In books we often begin a journey to find freedom,’” Derick repeated.
“Maybe we’re supposed to study how he got free,” Abby suggested. She pictured a dark-skinned man running through the forest with barking dogs chasing him and men following behind with glowing lanterns.
“I guess so,” Derick said. “But I remember that in his autobiography, Douglass didn’t tell us how he became free. He didn’t want to give away any secrets that would keep other slaves from being able to escape the same way. I’m sure the way he escaped is out there somewhere, but I never got around to researching it.”
Abby activated her rings. She searched, her fingers moving quickly and sharply. She read over the bites of information presented in a series of three-dimensional windows. “Yeah. He wrote more than one autobiography. Eventually he wrote the whole story, but even better, I think it’s logged on the Bridge. See if there is an entry for Frederick Douglass, September 3, 1838.”
Derick moved his hands along the screen of the Bridge. “Here it is,” he said and pushed the button.
The first thing Abby saw was a large steam-engine train. She’d seen them in pictures—and one old one in a museum—but never one that actually worked. It was a long mass of metal with a huge steel grate on the front and a series of long wheels attached by strong bars. It must have weighed tons. When a tuft of steam came out the top of a funnel, Abby wondered how the heat could really power such a heavy machine. Abby walked a few steps back and forth, inspecting the ghost of a train from the past.
Men in suits and women in dresses gathered in clumps on the platform. Wives hugged their husbands and business partners gave final advice. Every now and then one of them said good-bye and boarded the train. Several black men waited to board. They were all gathered near a back car, away from the others. It seemed strange to see them completely separated from everyone else. Derick searched them, hoping to find Frederick.
“Can you find him?” Abby asked.
