Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome

by Ridley Pearson

  “It’s different from the others,” Mattie said. “The ones here, I mean. I’m not saying it’s different from the one Finn left. But look at it. It had to have been shot from Sleeping Beauty Castle. Maybe from a ladder or something?”

  “A professional,” Jess said. “You’re right, Mattie. It’s sharper than these others. Everything’s in such good focus, like they used a better camera.”

  “Let’s say we’re right,” I said, “and it is a professional, or at least not a touristy photographer. Wayne likes the photo, so maybe it’s opening day or something, like we talked about before. He hangs it on his wall. So far, so good. That makes sense, and it isn’t all that unusual. But then you’re right, Jess. Why would Finn bother to include the same photo, and how did he get a copy of a photo that’s hanging on Wayne’s wall?”

  “We need to compare them,” I said. We’d carefully divided up the contents of Finn’s blue can between the four of us for safekeeping. I sought out Wanda and returned with the black-and-white photo.

  “Why’d you take so long?” Mattie said sarcastically. She was clearly feeling more at ease with me and Jess. She wouldn’t have been this sassy back on the Disney Dream. It made me smile.

  Jess and I had stuck together, solo, for a long time. But while we hadn’t been close to anyone else in Barracks 14, we’d made alliances and partnerships, to trade for important information and basic necessities. We’d both liked Mattie. She was trustworthy, a quality that couldn’t be underestimated.

  I stood on a chair, reached up, and took the photo from the wall. I set the framed photo on the table and took a phone photo of it. Not the best photo, given that the glass reflected back part of my face.

  “Check it out!” I said, laying my phone alongside the photo from Finn’s can. “Especially the reflections.”

  “Almost the same,” Mattie said.

  “So Finn took a photo of this photo,” I said. “Finn was here.”

  “We don’t know that. There could be other copies,” Mattie said.

  “Of a photo this old?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “I need to get back to the Studios,” Mattie said. “The guy I read loves to get an afternoon Mickey Ears ice cream. I want to read him again.”

  Wanda joined us, overhearing and joked, “Remind me to never shake hands with you.”

  I told Mattie, “You can catch a bus at the golf clubhouse. I have to say, as much as I’m curious about this video of Finn you saw when you read him, I don’t love the idea of you going back there.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Jess said, “I’ll go with you again. If I get up my nerve to see Joe, maybe he can help with the three men in my sketch.”

  “I understand your curiosity, Mattie,” Wanda said, “but what if you run into whoever touched you in the emergency room? Or worse, what if they run into you?”

  “I’ll be there,” Jess said.

  I blurted out what I was thinking before giving it enough thought. “What are you going to do, draw them?” Jess was the least aggressive person I knew.

  Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened. I shrank beneath that glare. “I’ve been studying martial arts. Remember?”

  That won a smirk from Wanda, who hid it from Jess.

  “Okay, okay! Just stay together, all right? And be careful! And get back here before dark.” I crossed my arms. “In case that alarm we set goes off.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Jess said, making me feel about two inches tall.

  People in charge of me had been underestimating me and discounting my independence for as long as I could remember. I liked Wanda. I respected her. Admired her, even. But I had stuff to do; the girls had stuff to do. I wasn’t going to live scared. I’d seen fear chip away at Finn—my Finn!—for far too long.

  I wanted Finn and the others out of SBS so badly I could hardly think.

  My heart felt broken. I ached, physically ached, for his return.

  The Return! The thought hit me like a blow; I stopped, blinking.

  I’d been so stupid! There were two ways the Keepers returned. One, the Return itself, was a black key fob Finn carried with him when they crossed over. The other, a manual return, had to be initiated by Philby from his laptop. Surely I could bring them back if I could figure out how to return them manually, the way Philby had.

  Did Luowski know that? Had he connected the dots the way I had?

  Knowing Mrs. Philby wouldn’t let me into Philby’s room to steal his laptop, and knowing Luowski wouldn’t strike the Philbys until dark, I laid out a plan to Wanda and she agreed it had a fair chance of success. I promised I’d be back before dark or call.

  I headed to the home of Bishop Graham.

  Bishop was a geeky friend of Philby’s who lived in the basement of his parents’ house but acted like a feudal lord, bossing his mother around and calling the shots. Inside, I found myself sprawled out on a horrible lime-green beanbag chair that smelled of candy and popcorn.

  His mother, a gorgeous woman with skin like Beyoncé’s, delivered hot tea and blueberry muffins, approaching her son with a cowering expression of subservience and terror. I looked away, beginning to wish I’d thought of a different friend of Philby’s to approach. Or maybe they were all like Bishop. What a vile thought.

  Making the low-ceilinged basement space—with its exposed floor joists, wiring, and plumbing, and two tubs marked EMERGENCY SURVIVAL—even creepier were the dozens of photos of girls in bridal gowns that covered the walls. Some of the girls were gorgeous, a few downright ug-ly, but most were just overly made up, normal girls.

  Bishop saw me eyeing the photos and the tubs. “I was on the school yearbook. Photographer. Dell helped us with our computers. Now I freelance as a wedding photographer.”

  “Well, that explains it,” I said, showing him the photo from Finn’s blue can. “I was trying to take my own shot of this photo,” I added, handing him my phone, “but I couldn’t stop the reflection off the glass from getting in the way. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one. That’s a face, right?”

  “There are a lot of faces!” Bishop said. “That’s called a crowd.”

  “On top of that. A, though. A face behind what I think is a camera.”

  Bishop held the photo under better light, squinting. “Ah! Got it!”

  “Can you enhance that? The face? The camera?”

  “Why’s it matter?”

  His question struck me as odd. “Facebook has face recognition software now, right?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “So maybe it can identify this face.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I thought guys like you and Philby could make stuff work the way you wanted it to.”

  “Dell, maybe. For me, I need a little incentive.”

  “Money,” I guessed.

  “That works,” Bishop said. “I have expenses, you know. Twenty dollars.”

  “Ten.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Ten.”

  “Twelve fifty.”

  “Done,” I said.

  “Up front,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Not possible. I have to borrow it.”

  “On delivery, then. I’ll keep the photo for now.”

  “No way. You can scan it, but I need the original.”

  “I’ll need to work with it. You’ll get it back when I’m paid.”

  “Then the deal’s off. I have to keep it.” I stood up; the beanbag chair puffed out a cloud of dust as I rose. Bishop sneezed incredibly hard, and I jumped toward him and snatched the photo back.

  Still sneezing, he tried to stifle the sound in the crook of his elbow. Stuck his whole face in there, until only his chin and cropped hair were visible. I was so used to Maybeck’s dreads that a haircut like Bishop’s made him seem younger than he probably was. When he lifted his face, I saw that something was wrong with his eye.

  He blinked rapidly as I pointed to his face. “You…ah…�
�

  The words lodged in my throat. At first I thought that he’d blown nose goo onto his eyeball. Then I realized it wasn’t that at all—he’d dislodged a contact lens. A brown contact lens that made his eyes the same color as his mother’s.

  The iris the contact covered was a different color: a deep, horrible green.

  Bishop reached up and touched the contact, realized he’d been exposed. Revealed. He lunged for the photo. “I’ll take that.”

  “No!” I jumped backward, tripped over the beanbag.

  Bishop sneezed again. “You shouldn’t help them,” he said.

  He meant the Keepers. I scrambled to my feet, warned him not to come any closer. He wasn’t obeying. I scooted onto the washing machine, crouched like an ape. “Stay away!”

  “Fat chance.”

  I warned him again.

  “If you join us now, we won’t hurt you.”

  “Join who?” I shouted, knowing the answer but wanting to keep his mind busy.

  “You know who.”

  “Greg Luowski?”

  He laughed. “An agent.”

  “For who?”

  “Yeah, right. Like you don’t know.”

  I backed up a step, bumping the washing machine’s control knob. It turned on, thumping beneath me. The sound startled me; I raised my hands defensively, and before I knew it, I’d pushed.

  Bishop lifted off his feet, the shock on his face worth its own photo. The beanbag flew across the floor, and the two met as Bishop slammed into the far wall and slid down to find himself sitting on it. As he landed, it puffed up more dust. He sneezed loudly.

  “Of course I know,” I said.

  When he looked up again, I was gone. With my photo.

  LUOWSKI

  The rain had stopped an hour ago and I had left the Studios to go check on Whitless and the others. Even after spying on her for so long, the annoying Weaver Freak had gotten away again. I needed to punch something. I felt like a Ping-Pong ball bouncing between two tasks: first to defeat the Keepers and second to stop the Freaks from helping them. I kept trying to reach both and I was the one getting pounded for it.

  Recent visits to Whitless’s house had revealed that his parents were very concerned and stayed home from work. They rarely left the house.

  But now, before me, the driveway was vacant. No car.

  What did that mean?

  I headed to Crazy Glaze. Only to find that the window sign read CLOSED and the pale-blue truck that had been parked in the same spot for the past week was gone. My head spun. Two of them. Cars missing in the same hour. What in the world?

  In fifteen minutes, I entered the Philby neighborhood, holding my breath. But as I came upon the nerd’s house, a car could be seen through the garage window. Some was home: as in Philby himself.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but I had to attack tonight, before this house went dark as well.

  MATTIE

  Having returned to Disney’s Hollywood Studios, Jess and I sat on a bench with a view of both the Cast Member entrance the Imagineers were most likely to use and the nearest ice cream cart, nearly in the shadow of Mickey’s Sorcerer’s Cap. The plaza in front of the cap churned with the action of a street musical show and its captivated guests.

  We waited. And waited.

  Jess was my bodyguard, I thought, looking briefly over at her. I grinned privately. Jess, a bodyguard?

  Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  JESS

  As Mattie and I waited, hoping her gray-haired Imagineer might reappear, a notification lit up on the screen of my phone. A response to my Instagram message! It was from Charlie’s roommate, Tierra Del Vegro. The Tierra Del Vegro! On my phone!

  Tierra: who is this?

  Me: jessica. i’m a friend of charlene’s. has she been getting enough sleep lately?

  I waited anxiously for a reply.

  Tierra: who are you? what’s going on? how could you know that?

  Me: you need to move her. take her someplace where no one will look for her. she’s in danger.

  Tierra took a long time to reply to that one, long enough that I began to worry I’d scared her away.

  Tierra: okay. i can do that.

  Me: at night. no one can see you do it.

  Tierra: i don’t mean to be rude, but paparazzi follow me everywhere. as in: everywhere. all the time. it’s awful.

  Me: then you distract them while someone you trust moves charlie. this is life and death. no drama, promise.

  Tierra: i can do that.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Me: thank you.

  Tierra: of course. is she sick?

  Me: no doctors. it has to do with her being a dhi.

  Tierra: she said they were all done with that.

  Me: yeah. we thought so, too.

  Tierra: who’s we?

  Me: did she tell you about the fairlies?

  Tierra: now I recognize your name. seriously? you’re jess?

  A superstar actress, one of the biggest movie stars out there, knew who I was. My fingers wouldn’t move. Finally, I typed.

  Me: please let me know when she’s safe.

  Tierra: will do.

  I looked up to tell Mattie—but her place on the bench was now empty.

  MATTIE

  “Hey! Remember me? We met earlier!” I said with a smile. “Madeline. My petition?”

  I stuck out my hand. He lifted his ice cream, offering an excuse for not shaking hands with me.

  “Yes, of course I do,” the Imagineer said, nibbling at a melting Mickey Ice Cream Bar. “And since I’m not a big believer in coincidence, I’m assuming you must want more than my signature?”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Well, yes, sir. Actually, I’ve always dreamed of working for Disney myself. I was using the petition to meet Imagineers.”

  “Well, young lady, I will say one thing: You are imaginative.” He paused. “What was it you did to me earlier? Are you telepathic? Something like that? We shook hands and I saw things—things I did not want to see. Things I had not seen. I think it best we keep our distance. I will forget this little exchange we’ve had.”

  He started to walk away. I panicked, reaching out and grabbing his hand holding the ice cream bar. He yanked away.

  “Young lady!” he shouted.

  At the moment of contact, I’d named Finn.

  Once again I glimpsed Finn and Philby moving, like in a video. A small apartment.

  Fear clouded this man’s recollection of the image.

  “There are men after you and your friends,” he whispered. “They’ve been in the parks. Probably are still in the parks. They are very well connected. We have no choice but to stand aside in your case. But we are working behind the scene to help you, and all you’re doing is lying to me. I’ve seen the horror you’ve come through to get here, Madeline. If you and the white-haired girl don’t leave right now, you may not make it out of here.”

  A Reacher for sure: he’d seen Jess’s true hair color. He knew she was here. I panicked, unable to speak.

  “You must leave now,” he said.

  I had no choice to believe him. I raced to Jess.

  “We gotta go. Now,” I said, pulling her to her feet.

  “Because?”

  “Because he suddenly doesn’t like ice cream.”

  “What?”

  “Just come!”

  I heard her footsteps behind me as Jess raced to catch up.

  “Mattie, what’s going on?”

  “Stay with me.” I led her around a corner, taking a chance and stealing a look over my shoulder. No one following. Not yet.

  Jess and I reached the Transportation and Ticket Center and hurried to the monorail toward Epcot. Getting caught wasn’t an option. I wanted to think of the Imagineers as allies, but Amanda kept telling me that Finn and the Keepers were always confused about whom they could trust.

  Jess and I elbowed our way through the crowd,
angering people waiting in line for the next train. Once on, I breathed a sigh of relief. The moving image I’d read felt like information vital to our cause. But I didn’t know how to process it; didn’t understand what it meant.

  We were about to make ourselves comfortable when I spotted two men in suits in the car next to us.

  JESS

  “Don’t look now,” Mattie whispered, “but those guys in the ties are looking at us. And not in the checking-us-out sense. More like watching-their-prey.”

  By the time we disembarked at Epcot, it felt like an hour had passed. Unable to contain myself, I flew from the train car. Mattie caught up and kept pace with me. The sound of heavy footfalls clanged like an alarm on the aluminum dock.

  No way, I thought.

  The same Barracks 14 men from Hollywood Studios were nearly upon us.

  For once, the odds were on our side. Miraculously, there was no wait at Epcot’s Magic Band entrance. I had been prepared to run in without scanning and take my chances with Disney Security, but now I didn’t need to double our chances of being caught.

  The Mickey signal turned green. Mattie and I took off running. Again. We passed the United Kingdom on our left. Behind us, the men barreled straight through security, right on our tail. We continued in an all-out sprint past Canada, into the plaza. Even with adrenaline fueling me, I felt like my heart was about to burst.

  Beside me, Mattie was wheezing like a ninety-year-old geezer. Our pursuers showed no sign of slowing. They’d probably trained for this. We weren’t going to outrun them. We needed a place to hide.

  On the other side of the plaza, I took a sharp left across a bridge, toward the Odyssey Center, pulling Mattie along. Inside the Passholder help center, we had just seconds to find a place to hide. Something directed me behind the first display on my left.

  Mattie, on the other hand, hesitated. She took a second too long. The men burst through the door as she dove under the nearest display.

  I didn’t see the rest. I heard Mattie crying out.

  In spite of myself, I jumped up and charged, but I slipped at the last second, sliding between two of them.