Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome

by Ridley Pearson

  “Does anyone mind if do some praying?” Bess asked.

  “Be my guest,” Wanda said. “The more help, the better!”

  Bess closed her eyes, and moved her lips silently. I met Wanda’s concerned gaze with my own. We both felt the seconds dragging by.

  “What if they don’t agree?” I asked.

  “First life lesson: never project. Don’t fret about what hasn’t happened yet.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, okay. Easier said than done.”

  “Yes. But it’s important. Otherwise you’ll spend all your time worrying about things that may not happen.”

  Bess, eyes open now, said, “Going to storm later. Storm hard.”

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  This Bess exuded a mystical wisdom I’d not seen before. Sitting there in the cab of the truck, she seemed to possess qualities I’d never associated with the bubbly artist-aunt who cared for Maybeck. I thought suddenly of Tia Dalma, who, despite her evil ways, gave off a powerful air of self-control and ageless wisdom.

  It made me think of Terry in a different way. Maybe a deeper well lay beneath the quick-witted, brash boy. Interesting to think about him and Charlene—both one thing on the surface, with something much more interesting kept secret below.

  “We’ll want to beat that,” Wanda said, giving Bess’s weather forecast total credence. “We do not want to deal with four kids on the back of Dad’s golf cart in the pouring rain.”

  “And lightning,” Bess said. “Winds.”

  Look at that blue sky! I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut.

  The front door opened. Willa’s mother, Mrs. Angelo, waved us forward, and Wanda released an audible sigh. “We’re to go around back. They’ve agreed!”

  Bess looked relieved as well. “Two down, one to go.”

  “What about Charlene?” I asked. “She’s all the way back in LA. What are we going to do about her?”

  “Leave that to me,” Wanda said. “At some point soon, I’m going to have a talk with Joe. We’ve entered a new phase in this endless battle. And it’s disturbing. We can’t do this alone.”

  “Before you do that,” I said, testing my equality with these two, “why don’t you let me talk to Jess about Charlie? My guess is she can think of something without involving the Imagineers for now.”

  “I’ll go along with that,” Wanda said, “but not for long. We have to protect Charlene, along with the others.”

  I nodded, hoping Jess could think of something.

  JESS

  While Mattie shook hands outside the Imagineers’ offices, I sat on a bench nearby, preoccupied with thoughts of Amanda’s safety. Even with everything that had happened over the past few days, I hadn’t forgotten my dream about the Barracks 14 men abducting her.

  I wasn’t worried all that much about Mattie when backstage; it was inside the park where I’d be needed. Sighing, trying to shake the nervousness out of my limbs, I pulled out my journal.

  The ambiguous sketch of Amanda’s kidnapping had led me to scout two locations in Disneyland. I now questioned if I’d been on the right track. Was Disneyland a part of anything? I searched the drawing for any detail I might’ve missed, anything that would clue me in or pinpoint the future event.

  Nothing.

  Frustrated, I moved on to my second order of business. Amanda had sent me a text about Charlene. I had plan.

  AMANDA

  Frank and Gladis Philby spoke to us outside, standing awkwardly in the driveway. Philby’s dad cast disparaging looks at me and the truck, as if I were the source of all evil and the truck some kind of alien ship.

  Philby’s mother, Gladis, was a royal pain. She flat-out refused Wanda’s request to move their son, and seemed to see conspiracy and treachery around every corner. Frank’s military demeanor, which might have simply been his Britishness—I’d never met a full-blooded Brit before—gave me chills. He said he wasn’t about “to surrender” his son to anyone else. He wasn’t “afraid of some [insert bad word here] hooligans.”

  To her credit, Wanda remained calm, polite, and caring. Bess played the empathy card: her Terry had once been in SBS, just like Dell had; she understood how difficult this was for them. Even her attempt failed.

  So it came down to me. I calmed myself and spoke.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Philby, these aren’t hooligans. They aren’t just a pack of bad kids. Think of them more as members of a dangerous cult. The kind of cult that does sacrifices and hurts people; the kind whose members act like they’re on drugs or under spells. Those are the people coming to your house tonight. One of them tried to poison Finn a while back. Finn could have died! Mrs. Whitman and I faced two of them the other night. They broke into the Whitmans’ house. They were violent and dangerous. I totally get where you’re coming from. Who would let someone take their child away? But one of you could come along, just like Jel—like Bess is doing. You can join us. You’re welcome to join us. Just don’t push us away. If you do, you and Dell will suffer. Suffer badly. No one wants that.”

  A warm breeze stirred. Traffic moaned. A dog barked in the distance. Someone had an outdoor grill going, and the smell drifted slowly through the heavy air. No one moved.

  I felt as if I’d overreached. Adults don’t like being told what to do by kids, even though we’re right more often than we’re given credit for. I wasn’t going to push any harder.

  The pain and confusion in Mrs. Philby’s eyes spoke to me—it was her husband’s stubbornness that was stopping her, I saw. She wanted to release Dell to our care.

  “I’m sorry, but our decision is made,” she said haltingly. “We certainly appreciate your concern.”

  “I do not!” said her husband. “This hologram project is out of hand. You realize that, I hope? Dell’s aggressive imagination—witches, fairies, sorcerers? It’s absurd. This is a grown boy we’re talking about, a young man. Enough of this fantasy, I say. Time to move on and face the real world. The same goes for you, miss.” He looked at me with dangerous eyes. “The transition to adulthood is not an easy one, but it’s time to face the music and grow up!”

  He hobbled back to the house, never looking back. I thought I might cry.

  What I heard next was either the wind, my imagination, or Mrs. Philby.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I returned to the back of the truck and kept watch over Maybeck and Willa. Mrs. Whitman was babysitting Finn at Wanda’s. It was time to pick him up and move all three Keepers to the cabin at once.

  But I was not done with Philby. Luowski was going to attack and try to harm him—or worse. I could not stand by and allow that to happen.

  JESS

  At Wanda’s apartment, I’d seen a photo on the wall of Walt with three other men. Wanda told me they were Imagineers, but that wasn’t what interested me. It was the man in the center. I’d seen his face or one just like it. In real life? In one of my dreams? I wanted to figure out who he was.

  Still in Disney’s Hollywood Studios, keeping an eye on Mattie as she attempted to shake hands with Imagineers in order to read them, I flipped through page after page of my journal, looking for anything like that face. Having left Joe’s custody, I couldn’t very well go back and ask him about the three men. The Three Wise Men, I named them. Someone not associated with Disney, but an expert nonetheless, would make the best consultant.

  But who?

  I stared up at the sky, feeling utterly useless. Mattie was out there, working to find answers. I couldn’t even locate a Disney expert.

  I wished Willa or Philby were here. One of them could figure out how to identify my mystery face.

  My more pressing challenge was to make sure Charlene was protected. As we’d discussed, it made sense that at some point the Overtakers would go after her the same way they were the Orlando Keepers.

  Right now, Charlene shared an apartment in Venice, California, with her famous co-star from the Disney Channel, Tierra Del Vegro. The superstar’s fame made her an easy Web search. Within
seconds I had her birthday, favorite flavor of gum, and latest boyfriend, but no contact information. Del Vegro’s Facebook page appeared to be managed by a third party, and was full of generic posts about her upcoming roles. Twitter was abbreviated versions of the same posts.

  Instagram was different. She had pictures of ice cream and her cat interspersed with standard publicity shots. A little more research, and I found a fan Tumblr that said she even replied to comments on Instagram.

  Heart in my throat, I commented on her latest picture: “I need to talk to Charlie about her role in Sleeping Beauty.”

  Quickly, I sent the same message over several platforms, including an e-mail to her publicist. Where possible, I included a photo of me, Amanda, and Charlie. Anyone happening upon the message would assume I was just a fan.

  Hopefully, if Charlene was in SBS, her roommate would take notice. If she was okay, then maybe I’d hear from her directly.

  AMANDA

  Wanda reminded me more and more of her father. She was a woman who thought clearly and quickly, a real problem solver. When no cars were around, she pulled Bess’s truck off the road and into the trees. She then left us on foot, and returned an hour later in her father’s Pargo, the one with a built-in flatbed.

  Carefully, and with a great deal of effort, Wanda, Bess, and I moved Finn, Willa, and Maybeck onto the back of the Pargo.

  The forest consisted of tall, thin-trunked pines standing in sparse green grass, some of it knee high. Dappled light pushed through trees, flashing the grass into a jigsaw of fluttering shadows.

  Mixed into the birdsong and chitter of squirrels, I could occasionally hear the thwap of a golf ball being struck in the distance. The mottled sunlight spread over the faces of our sleeping friends, and the sight brought a lump to my throat. These were perilous times.

  “Do we know whether or not they can return from a location that’s different from where they crossed over?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t even want to think about that,” I said. “But I bet they’ve done it before.”

  “It’s important, though, right?”

  A siren screeched, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Wanda drove faster; we had to jog to keep up.

  “What is it?” I shouted above the electronic cry.

  “Lightning warning for the golfers!” she called back.

  The gaps in the green canopy overhead showed only blue sky. Bess smiled back at me with an all-knowing grin.

  Minutes later, the leaves stirred overhead, the sound like small hands clapping. Wind whistled eerily. It felt like something Maleficent would—

  “Oh my gosh!” I blurted out loudly. I had stopped, the golf cart and my friends moving on ahead of me. A thought penetrated so deeply into me that it froze my muscles. Then a rumble of distant thunder shook it away as quickly as it had come.

  “Amanda?” Bess said. “What is it?”

  “Dragons,” I said, pointing to the sky.

  “Thunder is all,” Bess said, squeezing my shoulder. “Amanda, Terry’s on that cart. He needs you.”

  “Prehistoric,” I said.

  “Amanda!” Bess spoke sharply.

  I broke out of whatever spell was holding me. “I know, I know.”

  “Let’s keep going.”

  Moments later, a small cabin came into view. It looked so beautiful, nestled in the trees. At the same time, it had a Hansel and Gretel quality I found off-putting. From where we stood, it looked like it was the size of a tissue box. A stone chimney rose from the near side.

  More thunder rumbled. The leaves tickled the air overhead. Rain. Fat drops fell randomly.

  “We’re just in time,” Wanda called out. “We’ll want to hurry now.” She drove faster. We ran. The key was hidden in a fake rock at the base of a nearby tree. As we stepped inside, the heavens let loose.

  LUOWSKI

  The only books I’d ever liked were horror novels. Stephen King, the master, had once said success was ninety percent hard work, five percent talent and five percent luck. I’d taken that to heart.

  I came into luck of my own when one of the three OTKs under me followed Mrs. Nash—the head of the foster home where the Freaks had once lived—to an apartment complex. There, one of my agents, Triana, had seen one of the Freaks. That had enough for me.

  I’d staked out the place and, sure enough, more of the Freaks appeared. I followed two of them to Disney’s Hollywood Studios.

  After entering backstage with my Cast Member pass, I leaned casually against the green metal fence surrounding the character-shaped hedges, watching Weaver make a complete fool of herself in front of the Imagineer offices. From between the landscaping and squat brick buildings, I stalked her, blocking her view of me all the while.

  Not like she’d be looking for me anyway. She didn’t seem that observant. A sneer twisted my lips. She wasn’t going to get away again. Especially not after last time….

  I felt the hatred of the Overtakers surge through me, and I shivered despite the heat of the sun.

  Icy and rebuking, I heard her orders again, loud and clear. “Stop them! Cause chaos from within. We need them isolated—then we will win. They’ll stand no chance.”

  I glanced around to make sure no one else had heard—and then I realized that it was just a memory, haunting me.

  Weaver was at it again. Her squeals about her sappy campaign were loud enough to hear across the square. A tall Imagineer with steel-gray hair was shaking her hand, looking dazed. He attempted to pull his hand away, but Weaver kept hold, her eyes shut tight. The tall man shook his head as if coming to his senses. Blinking, she jerked back, forced a goofy grin onto her face, and thanked him.

  I saw her make a move to leave, but then she caught the eye of another Imagineer and started her speech again. I’d been watching for a while, hoping for a chance to nab her in a less public setting. Now I groaned. She’d probably be here a while longer.

  Ten minutes later, the rain started, a thunderstorm that would have made Noah proud. I ran for cover, turning my back on Weaver for no more than twenty seconds. When I looked again, I confronted a curtain of gray water so thick, I couldn’t see any of the buildings, much less some puny Freak.

  Hurrying through the deluge in search of her, I nearly collided with a palm tree. I slipped, skidded, and fell.

  I’d lost her.

  AMANDA

  The cabin had not been designed to serve as a dormitory for comatose teenagers. Log on the outside, the walls inside were varnished knotty pine. Thick green curtains on wrought-iron rods adorned the cabin’s four windows—two normal size, on either side of the door; two smaller, one above the kitchen counter, one across from it, above a green couch with flying duck upholstery. There was a bathroom, a tiny bedroom, and a big closet at the back.

  The living space didn’t feel so much like a cabin as a photo gallery. A hundred or more framed photos hung on the walls, both black-and-white and color. They showed Disney World, people of all kinds, unattributed landscapes.

  Standing there, in his space, I wanted more than anything the time to go back into the past and speak to Wayne. But that wasn’t possible, and there was work to do. We wanted to get the Keepers settled and keep them safe.

  While the adults handled the Keepers, Jess and Mattie arrived soaking wet. While they dried off, the rain quit as quickly as it’d started.

  Together, we three worked to create a perimeter trip line around the cabin. I was allowed to drive the Pargo to outline our perimeter. Although it was only a few yards, it was the most fun I’d had in several weeks. We strung Wayne’s fishing line at knee-height (so small animals wouldn’t trigger it) in an awkward circle around the cabin. We rigged it so that it was one long string, which, at its end, turned back and fed through a very small window in the bathroom. On the back of the toilet, we stacked a tower of kitchen dishes: a metal mixing bowl, a tin coffee mug, and an old kettle that filled with knives and spoons. We tied the line to a ring on the mixing bowl, and doubled-checked everyth
ing.

  By the time we finished, Maybeck and Finn were in Wayne’s bed, their mouths refreshed with sponges of water, while Willa rested on an air mattress on the floor. Another window I hadn’t noticed was the horizontal one in the bedroom, but it didn’t open, so why bother? It was about six feet long and twelve inches high. If you sat in bed you could see the forest through it, and this made the small room feel bigger.

  The good news: no one was coming through that window. It was too small. That left only one way for Luowski or the Overtakers to get to the Keepers—through the front door, and then through the bedroom door.

  Wanda was running a power drill in the bedroom. With nothing to do, I began to roam the living room’s photo gallery. Wayne’s collection overwhelmed and impressed me: Disney World before, during, and after construction; Disneyland in the days of black and white; dozens of shots of Wayne in the company of Disney Legends; and so many others I couldn’t identify. I considered asking Wanda, but it wasn’t the right time.

  I’d looked at only a small number of photos when one in particular caught my eye.

  “Jess, Mattie? Over here.”

  The girls joined me. Jess was the first to see it—she and I were so connected.

  “Isn’t that—?”

  “Yes,” I said, cutting her off.

  “The same photo as the one in the blue can,” Mattie said.

  “Looks like it to me,” I said.

  The photo, shot in black and white a long time ago, showed a celebratory crowd gathered on Main Street, USA. You could tell it was from the past: the guests were dressed in more formal attire than a similar crowd would have worn today.

  “Why?” Jess asked. “And how? Why would Finn give you a photo from Wayne’s cabin wall?”