I did my best to quit smiling like a maniac. My elation was dimmed somewhat as Joe’s question registered. Amanda’s and my past had always been something to run from. I was suspicious of Joe’s sudden curiosity, worried by his implication that the questions were coming from someone else. I had done my best to put my history behind me; wasn’t that the point of the new internship, our move cross-country?
I studied the curtains as I thought, finding hidden Mickeys in the elegant spiral pattern, making Joe wait as I carefully composed my answer to be as vague as possible.
“Well, there were scientists. We were told that we were doing a great service to our country, so we assumed it was the government. It seemed like something they would say.” I stopped, wanting to share nothing more.
Joe continued staring at me expectantly.
“Umm, yeah.” I added lamely, hoping to signal that I was done.
Joe studied me a few seconds longer, letting me squirm under his gaze before leaning back in his chair. “That’s all. Thank you.”
I practically skipped toward the door. I wasn’t about to press my luck.
My hand on the knob, I thought back to Barracks 14, to my latest dream. Now Joe was asking about our past. I’d been searching all over Disneyland for answers, but perhaps I’d been looking in the wrong places. I didn’t believe in coincidences, and when it concerned Amanda and Barracks 14, I couldn’t leave any stone unturned.
I sighed internally and turned around.
“Joe?” I called out.
“Uh-huh?” He’d already buried himself in the stack of papers at his desk.
“A dream I’ve had…”
Joe looked up sharply. He knew the power of my dreams.
“Guys from Barracks 14 were capturing Amanda.” Now I had his full attention. “I want to help her. I need to help her. But I don’t know how.”
Joe was out of his seat before I finished my sentence, shoving his phone in his pocket, pushing handfuls of papers into his briefcase.
“We have to act quickly. Have you ever flown on a private jet?”
MATTIE
At first, there was darkness and silence. But as my consciousness returned, I heard all sorts of other noises—beeping, humming, the distinctive buzz of overhead tube lights.
When I opened my eyes, I was on my back looking straight up. Blue drapes hung around me, forming partitions. Most of the beeping and humming came from the digital displays on nearby machines.
I was in a hospital. The emergency room.
Images and memories trickled back into me. Luowski had hit me, smacked my head against some bricks. He had found me, figured out my power. He’d hurt me. My body felt like one giant bruise. It hurt to move, to breathe, but those were the least of my concerns.
Despite my muddled memory, I scrambled to remember what I’d learned from touching him. A threat of some kind…but I couldn’t place it.
The sounds of hurried footsteps brought me back to the present. Voices rose as they approached. I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep. Eavesdropping on the doctors might be easier if they thought I couldn’t hear.
Someone took my wrist. I continued to play possum, hoping my pulse—if that was being taken—wouldn’t give me away.
The grip was rough for a nurse. It felt more like a pro-wrestling move.
The voices grew closer.
The person next me took hold of my forearm. My skin. I was suddenly reading this guy. Definitely not Luowski. Older, but not old. A strong thinker. Determined. On a mission!
This last thought woke me up more quickly. It was as if I’d jumped onto one of the moving sidewalks in an airport, but heading the wrong way. I had to speed up to stay even. If I ran, I could beat the speed of the belt under me.
I let my thoughts ramble forward, into this guy’s immediate past. He’d traveled here. He knew me by name.
He was Barracks 14.
The beeping of the monitor, loud and fast, kept time with my suddenly speeding heart. Baltimore. I could see the guy’s image of carrying me out of here. A white van. He envisioned handing me off to someone in the back of that van.
The chattering voices out in the hall arrived to my area. The hand let go of my wrist. I heard the side curtain flutter and I struggled to force open an eyelid
Here came a doctor and two nurses, the source of the voices. When they saw I was awake, they began asking me questions. They waved a light in my eyes. More questions. How many fingers were they holding up? The doctor felt under my chin. He listened to my chest.
I couldn’t speak. It had nothing to do with my physical condition. The only thing I could think of was escape. I had been discovered, and I needed to get out of here.
I was not going back to Barracks 14!
I yawned pointedly and rolled over; I ignored the rest of their queries and pretended to sleep until the last nurse left the room.
As soon as I heard the curtain whistle on its track, I shot out of bed, wincing at my pounding head and sore muscles. I was partially clothed; I searched for and found my shirt, jeans, and running shoes. Getting into the skinny jeans tested my patience. Finally, I spotted behind me a row of horizontal windows much wider than they were high. All had levers for opening. I climbed up, using the machines as my ladder, and quietly moved the nearest lever. The window lifted up from the top, and was hinged to only open partially. I struggled to fit through the small space available to me; it forced me to lie down into it in order to slip out. I rolled, dropped, and landed hard on a ridged metal roof.
Biting back the scream that wanted to burst from my lungs, I crawled along the edge until I found the hospital’s fire escape, checked for anyone below who might see me, and climbed down the fire ladder. Dropping to the pavement, I ran hard and fast, ignoring my aching, stinging limbs. I had to warn to Amanda. Barracks 14 was here and they were coming for us.
We needed to leave, to cover our tracks and never come back. Our escape would have to be carefully planned. We could ill afford more attention.
The running cleared my head. My earlier reading of Luowski came back to me. His internal struggle against outside control. His fear of the trouble he would be in if he followed his present orders. I knew those orders as well.
Luowski was about to destroy everything.
AMANDA
Luowski’s raid the previous night had ended with the police arriving at the Whitman house. Insurance adjusters would follow the next day, but that night, the police were told about the pair of teens who’d been caught entering the house, “presumably to rob us,” as Mrs. Whitman put it.
I was told that Mr. Whitman did a decent acting job, claiming that a blow to the head, the result of a fall, left the exact events unclear. This allowed Mrs. Whitman to do all the reporting, and ensured that their stories didn’t contradict.
Wanda was my source here. She and Mrs. Whitman rescued the comatose Finn just prior to the arrival of the police; they carried him into the carport and placed him in the backseat of Wanda’s car, so he was gone by the time the badges came knocking.
Finn slept peacefully that night in the room I’d been using. I happily took the couch and slept past noon the following day. Mrs. W came to visit her son. She and Wanda talked and agreed it was not yet safe to return Finn home. He would remain at Wanda’s for the short term.
I slept fitfully that night. I felt sad, afraid, and alone. I wanted desperately to see Jess. We texted until late my time and I fell asleep in the glow of my phone’s screen.
Re-reading the texts, I wondered if Joe was up to something. Maybe Jess understood it, maybe not. Her messages were too cryptic for me to get much out of them, and I didn’t want to push her to tell me more. For the first time in forever, our relationship felt strained, like we were pulling on the same rope from different ends—and each claiming to do it for the sake of the other. It was maddening. If I pushed for more information, I’d be seen as prying; if I didn’t, uncaring.
I remembered seeing a massive tree once that, on
inspection, turned out to be two separate trunks entwined. At the top, the trunks split off into separate crowns. It was a spectacular sight. Now I begged whatever powers were out there not to let Jess and me grow apart like those trunks. I had zero desire to be my own crown of limbs and leaves; I refused to believe that the time had come to grow apart. But that’s what it felt like. And it was solely our own doing.
That was a strange, dreamless night. I woke repeatedly, wondering at my surroundings. Finally, I awoke in tears. Wanda sat on the bed, shaking me gently.
“You’ve had a nightmare,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. More like reality. But I’m glad you woke me.”
Hearing my concern, she hugged me.
“I lied to him,” I said, crying again in the safety of her embrace.
“Who, Finn?”
I nodded, my chin striking her collarbone. “When we first met. I told him I had passes because of my family. I mentioned my mom. None of it was true. Your dad got me in there. Your dad basically put us together, told me what to say so Finn would go into the park with me. Your dad planned it all, didn’t he?” I eased back so I could see her face.
“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “I honestly don’t.”
“I think you do.”
“He always seemed to be several steps ahead of everyone else, so I wouldn’t be surprised. But I have no firsthand knowledge. Honestly. I never knew much about what he was doing.”
“I’m going to fix it,” I told her. “With Finn like this, it’s like I suddenly know all the stuff I want to tell him—need to tell him. I never thought…you never think something like this can happen, you know? But here it is. And how long can he last like this? How long can he make it?”
“The Gatorade, the fluids, that was brilliant,” Wanda said. “You may have saved him right there. There are probably other things we can do, without drugs, without medicating him. I have a close friend who’s a registered nurse. I can trust her. We can trust her.” She hugged me again. “We’re a team now, okay?” I heard her voice tighten. She was hugging me so I wouldn’t see her cry. “You, me, Finn, the others. We’re a team, just like Dad planned.”
I returned the embrace, partly because I thought I was supposed to, but mostly because I never got hugged and it felt insanely good. This, I thought, is what families do. This is what I’ve missed my whole life. This is what I want more of.
“Sounds good,” I whispered.
And then it was time.
I waited for nightfall to enter the Magic Kingdom. Faces were more difficult to see in the dark, and I didn’t want to be seen.
Greg Luowski had escaped Finn’s front yard after smashing through the second-story bedroom window and falling to the ground. At the time, it struck us as an impossible feat. I had pushed him hard, possibly injuring him even before he’d landed. Combined with a fall of at least fifteen feet, he should have at least twisted, sprained, or fractured something—if not broken bones. But people in general and grown-ups in particular resist the notion of magic and spells, so I didn’t tell Mrs. Whitman the reason Luowski was still able to move after that “freak fall,” as she called it. Even a woman, a mother whose son was immersed in a world of black magic, relied more on her training as a physicist than her own experiences.
It was strange, though. Mrs. Whitman had been placed under a horrible spell for the better part of two weeks. She of all people should have believed me. But time is an eraser. Memories are repressed and bad memories forgotten. Her analysis of Luowski’s “freak fall” explained his escape. Enough said.
Once inside the Magic Kingdom, though, I felt otherwise. A million eyes seemed to bore into me from all directions. Among them? Greg Luowski’s. I could imagine him following me, the same way he’d clearly tracked Mattie and me. I could sense him lurking. Waiting to pounce. I felt sick to my stomach.
On the ground, I approached the first line of Finn’s riddle in reverse, mostly out of sentimentality. I wanted to save my best memory with him for last.
Our time in MK could fill a jar to overflowing
The Keepers had taught Jess and me about codes, riddles, and clues. Wayne had communicated with them in these forms in order to slip a message past the Overtakers. Finn had done the same, and I knew to pay strict attention to his choice of words, and any possible underlying meanings.
Our, could be the Keepers, or Finn and me.
Time could mean something more, like “running out.”
In MK was straightforward: in the Magic Kingdom. Which was why I was here.
Could fill a jar might be an expression, or I might be looking for a particular jar that would be significant to anything else mentioned or implied in the message. This was a tricky one.
To overflowing? A water attraction, fountain, and food service all came to mind.
The Keepers had covered every inch of the park over the course of their many battles with the Overtakers. If Finn was talking about the Keepers in the park, I was in trouble; it might take weeks to cover all the spots. But in my heart I believed he meant the two of us. Filling the jar to overflowing was a reference to how we’d grown together as friends. The expression had a touch of romance, too, that gave me chills. He’d anticipated how that might affect me.
I approached each stop—I could think of three in particular—keeping in mind my memories of what had happened there and how the present-day Finn would want me to think about it.
Should I be stuck, it’s yours for the knowing.
Finn was stuck in SBS. That needed no translation. Yours for the knowing proved more challenging. I wasn’t sure if I would know, if I had to figure something out, if whatever I was supposed to know would then reveal something else. I’d keep alert for anything.
I found the Cast Member backstage entrance in Tomorrowland, which accessed that area’s trash chute. Wayne had told all of us that Disney didn’t cart or carry the trash out of the Magic Kingdom; they sucked it out through negative-pressurized tubes housed in the underground network of tunnels known to Cast Members as the Utilidor. The tube system was accessed through a variety of backstage chutes. The chutes themselves looked like submarine hatches—heavily weighted, hinged lids sitting atop a wide metal tube rising up through concrete in a specially designated trash station.
Here I had held the lid open, allowing Finn to jump into the trash system. Had he not been able to attain All Clear and turn himself into a hologram, Maleficent, who’d entered behind, might have killed him. I thought about “time” and how quickly Finn had been sucked out of the park through the trash tubes in matter of minutes. I thought about “time” in terms of his battle with Maleficent, which had pulled Jess back from a deep, dark curse that made her Maleficent’s daughter-slave. I searched the area for a clock. I wandered from trash can to trash can, wondering if the “overflowing” reference had to do with trash. I searched for any kind of jar. I came away frustrated, impatient, and angry, having found nothing of significance.
Fresh in my mind’s eye, a boy lay in bed, fully dressed, occasionally twitching, only able to drink from a straw. My boy, a boy I’d come to cherish and think about constantly. A boy who mattered to me. So far I seemed incapable of helping him. Defending him was only going to get more difficult; Mr. Whitman’s determination to take him to doctors would soon win out. Finn was out of “time” in more ways than he’d probably imagined.
Time was running out for me as well. I’d spent far too much of it searching Tomorrowland. I had to get to the Haunted Mansion before the park closed for the night.
Waiting in line, memories played before my eyes like videos. Hurrying into the attraction with a seventh-grade boy I barely knew, a boy I’d lied to in order to share his company. Working to avoid security Cast Members in pursuit of Finn.
I snapped out of my daydream as the spot on the back of my neck, beneath my hair, began to overheat. A barometer I’d come to trust, it meant danger. Not the kind of warning system involved with decision-making, bu
t an alarm that signaled hostile intent. People or animals or Overtaker villains were either in my vicinity or spying on me.
I knew better than to immediately turn to look. As long as whoever, whatever, was out there believed I was oblivious to their presence, they’d be in less of a hurry. Surveillance was an art form. Maybe they wanted to capture or harm me; maybe they were merely curious about what I was doing in the park alone. I suspected I would discover Greg Luowski or the girl with the vivid green eyes back there. I wanted so badly to look that my neck tensed.
The standby line steered us into an interactive area of graves and tombstones, pieces of which moved or reacted to each guest, their tremors enhancing my already excessive paranoia. However, interacting with the set pieces allowed me to finally get a look back at the line.
I nearly screamed.
Two women, both too old for college. One wore a white knit polo shirt. Shirts like those were part of the costume for Cast Members who worked the merchandise shops. The woman next to her, who had dark hair and wore too much makeup, had on a blue T-shirt. I couldn’t see more than their heads and shoulders. They struck me as Cast Members or security guards, but I couldn’t rule out Overtakers.
Every kind of person might be in a Disney park at any given hour. People of all nationalities, faiths, and levels of income. Yet, somehow, I knew that these two were here looking for me. I sincerely doubted they were Overtakers, but I didn’t fear Disney security guards a lot less.
Using a tomb as a screen, I moved away from them, advancing forward in line. All the while, I was thinking that the graveyard represented the end of “time,” that cremation jars, carrying the ashes of the dead, might be “filled to overflowing.” Finn’s words haunted me in a place that didn’t need any help being creepy; the cemetery reminded me viscerally of Finn’s and my efforts to avoid past pursuers.
I made myself unpopular by slipping around families and paired-up guests, excusing myself softly as I went. I didn’t need to look back when I heard the distant complaints. My pursuers had lost sight of me and were hurrying, trying to fix the problem. As long as I kept my patience and didn’t anger those around me too much, I might achieve my goal—get locked in the Stretching Room without them.
Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome Page 8
