by Lynn Sholes
“Happens all the time,” the engineer said. “Assholes in China like to blow up our mainframes with denial of service assaults. Nothing better to do, I guess.” He slid the server out of the rack and placed it on a roll-around cart.
“What do you have to do with that?” the friend asked.
“New hard drive. This one crashed a few hours ago.” As he started to push the cart down the long line of computer racks, a message popped onto the service video monitor beside him. “Another patch? Jesus Christ, is that all Bill Gates has time to do, issue service patches?”
“What’s it for?” his friend asked.
The engineer read the reference code. “Yet another buffer overrun issue. Not my decision to install the hotfix.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Leave it for the geniuses who work the dayshift.” The engineer took the mouse on the pullout keyboard rack shelf and clicked the cursor on download; do not install. “There, now it’s someone else’s problem.” He pushed the cart toward the maintenance shop. “Let’s get a snack.”
_____
The supervisor for the Air Traffic Control Emergency Notification Grid located in the Seattle FAA center listened to air traffic controller chatter from the speaker on his desk. A large plasma display on the wall showed a live feed from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport tower’s Terminal Radar Approach Control (TRACON) system. As he listened, he read the flash bulletin on his PC monitor. The Joint Interoperability Test Command at the Department of Defense had scheduled a security systems test for tonight. It requested compliance and was signed by the commander of JITC, Fort Huachuca, Arizona.
“They just did the same test a week ago,” he mumbled to no one, since he was alone in his office. “Some pencil-pushing desk jockey with too much time on his hands.”
The problem was that the DoD tests ate up bandwidth and always seemed to occur during peak traffic. Right now there was a freak fall blizzard moving down from Canada that had already created a thirty-minute delay across the board. This time, he would make them wait. He guided his cursor to the choice to reschedule the test, which caused the small message window to display a momentary hourglass before closing. Good riddance, he thought, and went back to watching the TRACON display.
the sketch
“I just know Lindsay would have called my cell by now,” Cotten said.
John glanced out the window of the plane to see wispy cheesecloth clouds gliding past. Illuminated by the brilliance of the full moon, they had an almost supernatural quality that harnessed his thoughts. He imagined standing in their midst, the coolness breezing past. It seemed that would be the epitome of simplicity and peace, a sanctuary from this troubled place.
He looked at Cotten, her face drawn, and her eyes glassy. “Why don’t you get a little rest before we land in Orlando?”
“I don’t think I can. John, they’ve got my cell, and if Lindsay calls . . . They won’t answer, they’ll let her leave a frigging message.” Cotten pushed back in the seat. “They’re going to get to her first.”
“There’s nothing you can do right now. If you don’t rest a little, you won’t be thinking clearly later.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t stop trying to unravel this mess. And like you said, why call out the big guns to go after a little girl? Just because she painted a red aura around some country preacher?”
“That’s what’s gnawing at me, too,” John said.
“The damn phone. It’s my fault. I should have locked the car. But we were in a church parking lot—in Loretto, Kentucky. It’s not like a back alley in Detroit or something.”
“Quit beating yourself up. That won’t change anything. You can dwell on it forever, but the facts will remain the same. Direct all that energy toward a solution—something positive.”
Cotten sighed. “You are so good for me.”
Even through all the rough peaks and deep valleys she’d wandered over the last several years, she still had innocence about her, John thought. Part of her charm. “Come on,” he said, cradling her head with his palm. “Lean on my shoulder. Let a little peace settle over you.”
Cotten yielded, leaning against him. He took her hand in his. In a few minutes he felt her relax and heard her breathing slow and even out. They were scheduled to land in forty-five minutes. He was glad she was sleeping, not only because she needed it, but because it gave him time to think . . . to think about the call from her cell.
The voice clearly sent a warning, saying that if John really cared for Cotten, he would convince her to back off. The man on the phone conceded that they could not kill her—after all, she was of their bloodline, and they did not kill their own. But they could hurt her—maim her, disfigure her, cause her immense pain and suffering. And they would, without hesitation. All John had to do to save Cotten from such consequences was make her stop looking for the mother and child. It was as simple as that. They were leaving it up to him.
John stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. She depended on him, thought he could work miracles. But he was only a man, not a miracle worker. He hadn’t told her exactly what the message said—only that it was a warning to retreat.
John’s ears popped as the plane began its descent. What should he do? Convince Cotten to call off the search for Lindsay and Tera? He already knew what her answer would be, but going on would put her at grave risk. John would have a hard time living with himself if something happened to her. He knew that by the time the wheels touched the tarmac he would have to decide.
_____
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a reservation,” Lindsay said to the clerk at the front desk of the Contemporary Hotel in Disney World. She had followed the signs as they approached the theme park and arbitrarily chose the Contemporary. At least inside the Disney property with its strict security and protection, she felt that they would be safe, and harder to find.
“Well, you’re in luck,” the clerk said. “We were totally booked, but a European tour group got stranded in severe weather up north. Their rooms have opened up for one night.”
When asked for a credit card, Lindsay suddenly had a revelation. That’s how they had tracked her, found her so fast—her credit card. “Oh, no,” she stammered. “My husband would kill me if I put anything else on plastic. I’ve kind of run up the cards. I’ll pay cash. How much?”
The clerk grimaced. “I’m sorry, but we require a card on file,” he said. “Policy. But we don’t charge anything to your account until you check out. Then you can choose to pay the tab in cash when you leave if you like.”
A sick feeling grew inside Lindsay. One night would be all she could afford, and that was stretching it. With reluctance, Lindsay handed over her MasterCard.
_____
The next morning Lindsay checked out, paying in cash for the room and day passes to the Magic Kingdom. She inquired again if anything had been put on her card. Relieved there were no charges, she arranged for the hotel to hold her bags for her to pick up later.
On the fourth floor concourse of the Contemporary, she and Tera caught the Monorail and headed into the park.
Tera wanted to see Cinderella’s castle first, and that is what they did. Tera stood enchanted and wide-eyed in the middle of Main Street USA, craning her neck to look up at the blue and white castle, its spires pricking the blue sky, truly what fairy tales were made of. They wandered through the castle and learned that the top floors were originally an apartment where Walt Disney would stay during his visits. Tera was a bit disappointed that it wasn’t really a castle inside even though she appeared intrigued by the beautiful mosaics on the walls depicting Cinderella’s story.
Lindsay checked the dwindling cash in her wallet. “How about we have lunch, here in the castle? Wouldn’t that be fun?” It was expensive, but that would be the last splurge. They would only be here for one day. She wanted it to be memorable as well a
s safe, and a diversion for Tera. But to Lindsay’s surprise, Tera shook her head.
“It’s not really Cinderella’s castle, Momma,” Tera said.
When Tera seemed satisfied that she had seen all there was to the castle, she and Lindsay sat on a bench and studied the park map. They decided on their first stop—It’s a Small World.
It wasn’t a long walk, and the sun felt good in the 72-degree temperature. The line snaked back and forth, winding through the maze-like path, but it moved much faster than Lindsay anticipated. Their wait was less than five minutes.
“Okay, Ladybug, hop in the boat,” Lindsay said. It wasn’t really a boat, just a theme park car with rows of seats that traveled a rail in a couple of inches of water. The boat chugged off into the dark mouth of the tunnel, and in an instant, they were surrounded by a rush of cool air and the repetitious chorus of “It’s a Small World” theme music.
Tera was mesmerized, looking in every direction at the animated characters and magical scenes all around her. Her eyes sparkled with delight.
The boat glided smoothly along a meandering water path, constantly bringing new sights into view. Dolls, donning the dress of countries around the world, sang and danced, swung on glittering pink crescent moons, swayed beneath windmills, rode in gondolas, and walked beside the Taj Mahal. Room after cavernous room, hundreds and hundreds of animated dolls sang the infectious theme song. Sometimes there was a brief and subtle native influence, like the ukulele in the background as they passed the hula dancers and the Spanish guitar in the scenes from Mexico. But always clear and foremost were the words reminding everyone what a small world it was. No wonder they called this the Magic Kingdom, Lindsay thought. It really was—a hiatus from the real world.
Lindsay watched her daughter and was glad that they had come. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Tera that they wouldn’t be able to stay another day—it was just too much money. She knew she had already overdone it, but it was worth every cent to see her daughter so happy.
Tera squealed with amusement as the boat rounded the next turn, coming into a room revealing new characters and giant long-necked giraffes in a jungle setting.
Lindsay put her arm around her little girl and pulled her close. “Are you having a good time?”
Tera’s face beamed. “This is the best ever,” she said.
Lindsay thought back to their harrowing race from the strip mall parking lot the previous day. She had driven around the area for over an hour checking the rearview mirror repeatedly for signs that anyone followed. There had been none.
But even as she sat next to Tera in a place filled with joy and happiness, she couldn’t shake the dull fear that still resided deep inside. Her heart beat heavy and she felt jittery and apprehensive.
Lindsay touched the back of her hand to Tera’s forehead. A tad warm, or maybe not? She’d sneezed and coughed several times in the night, so Lindsay suspected Tera was simply catching a cold. She was thankful it was nothing more serious.
Turning, she glanced at the rows of people in the boat behind her. Passing through a dark tunnel, their faces were momentarily hidden. Were they tourists like her? Just there to enjoy the ride? If any of them were the ruby red people, Tera would have certainly said something long before they got on the boat.
Suddenly, Lindsay felt panic grip her. They were surrounded by thousands of strangers. She was overcome with the reality that they were sitting in this boat in the dark. If something happened, there was no place to hide, nowhere to run. Her pulse quickened as she faced forward, checking for an escape route. Cold sweat washed over her—a sour taste rose into her mouth.
The ride immediately lost all entertainment for Lindsay, and vulnerability crept its way into every corner of her body. She held Tera tighter, glancing behind once again.
Then finally, brightly painted daisies and pansies, flowers of all varieties and sizes surrounded them, announcing the end of the ride with goodbye inscribed on their giant heads in multiple languages.
Adios.
Ciao.
Then came the automated recording growing louder and louder. “Please remain seated until your boat comes to a complete stop at the dock and you are asked to disembark.”
Lindsay could make out daylight ahead and her rapid breathing slowed. They had to get out of the boat. No more rides. No more dark tunnels. This had been a bad idea after all.
She quickly stepped out of the boat, pulling Tera by the arm.
“Momma, are you all right? Didn’t you like the ride?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I just got a bit claustrophobic in there. Let’s get outside in the sun.”
Lindsay felt the world crashing down on her. There was so little cash left. No more credit card charges. Where were they going to spend the night? In the back of the van? Where was Cotten? Why hadn’t she returned her call? As soon as they were outside, she would call again and beg her to come find them. If Cotten was not coming, then there was no one left.
_____
John rented a car at the Orlando airport, and after a thirty-minute ride they arrived in the parking lot of the Tropical Breeze motel where Lindsay had last used her MasterCard.
“I’ll just pretend that Lindsay is my sister and that I was supposed to meet her here,” Cotten said. “Then we’ll play it by ear, I guess.”
“I don’t have a better plan,” John said.
John parked the car, and they went inside to the front desk.
“Welcome to Tropical Breeze,” the clerk greeted. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my sister. She’s staying here. Lindsay Jordan,” Cotten said.
The clerk scrolled down the guest list. “Jordan? Jordan . . . no I’m sorry, she checked out.”
“Darn it,” Cotten said, then looked at John rolling her eyes as if exasperated. “She’s such a ditz.” She looked back at the clerk. “You don’t have any idea where she might have decided to go, do you?”
He shook his head.
“By any chance, did she leave a message for me?”
“Your name?”
“Cotten . . .”
The clerk searched a box under the counter. “No, sorry.” He smiled. “I do remember that she checked out the same day she checked in. I took the call, actually. She said they had left the motel, to please check them out and charge the room to her credit card on file.”
Cotten frowned. “Are you sure there is no message for me? Please, would you check again?”
The clerk scanned the mailboxes behind him, then returned to the counter and fumbled through what sounded like papers. “Nope. Oh, wait a minute.” His head bobbing up. “I see a note here that we have some of her belongings in lost and found. She left some stuff in the room.”
“Well, isn’t that just like her? We tease her all the time that she must really be a blonde,” Cotten said and laughed. “I’ll be glad to take it to her.”
“You’ll have to sign for it,” the clerk said.
“Sure. It’s going to give us something to rib her about.”
The clerk disappeared into a backroom for a moment before reappearing with a small suitcase and a plastic bag. He ripped off a slip of paper that was taped to the bag and stapled it to another one he had removed from the suitcase. Then he pushed them across the counter to Cotten along with a pen.
Cotten signed . . . Cotten Tyler. She stared at it a moment. “Thanks,” she said, forcing her eyes off the signature.
“I’ve got this,” John said taking the items from the clerk. Outside, he opened the car door for her. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said, slipping in the front seat, taking the plastic bag from him and setting it in her lap. She heard the trunk pop and the suitcase thump inside. As John went around to the driver’s side, Cotten peered inside the plastic bag. A lipstick. Two toothbrushes. Toothpaste. A hotel message pad and l
oose drawings. She pulled out the drawings.
“What have you got?” John asked getting in behind the steering wheel, key ready for the ignition.
“Miscellaneous,” Cotten said, beginning to flip through the papers.
“So, any ideas where we go from here?” he said, starting the engine.
Abruptly, Cotten’s examination of the bag halted. Frozen, she studied one of Tera’s drawings, ran her finger across it, then handed it to John. “Look at this.” She watched John’s expression turn somber before shooting a glance back at her.
“Am I right?” she asked, knowing John would understand her question.
He nodded, looking again at the sketch. “It’s definitely you.”
tor
Ben opened his eyes. His lids felt as if they were held down by bricks. Slowly he turned his head from side to side. Pain. His neck hurt, as did his chest. The airbag had slammed into him hard. His face stung—probably caused by the hot gases from the deflating airbag. He still had his clothes on but his jacket was gone. Slowly he reached and felt the top of his head. A bandage. Someone had treated his cut.
Ben tried to sit up but did not have the energy to overcome the pain. Everything hurt. He managed to prop himself on an elbow.
He was in what looked like a small dormitory. Eight single beds—four lined each side of the room—and a metal locker beside each. The room was lit by overhead florescent fixtures—only one was on.
As he took in his surroundings, he realized he was not alone. Someone lay on a bed at the other end of the room. A small boy, covered in a blanket up to his neck, his back to Ben. He appeared asleep.
Ben summoned up the strength and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Dizziness. Leaning forward, he placed his face in his hands. This was going to be tough, he thought. But he had to find out where he was and then try to get out before anyone recognized him.
“Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred and forty-six.”
Ben looked up. The voice had come from the boy. Soft, almost whispered.
