Legacy of Secrets

by Ridley Pearson

  A moment later, the door below opened. The intruders had keys! Tim swore under his breath. Nick held up three fingers; a fourth.

  “I swear I heard a guy’s voice. Angrylike. Gave me the creeps,” a boy said.

  “I’ll give your grill a remodel,” said a gruff kid. “That’ll take care of your creeps. Don’t waste my time.”

  “It’s my time, too,” said the first kid.

  “Shut up! You’re hurtin’ my head here.”

  Tim felt something tickle his hand. The air in the small space was gray, a dim fog that made it difficult to see clearly. He brought his hand closer to his eyes. “Cripes!” he shouted. A spider, its hairy body the size of a penny. He shook his hand, lost his grip and slipped, banging into the nearly upside down Nick, who fell off the ladder in a crouched ball and crashed through the hatch. The flying spider landed on Amanda’s chest. Swatting, she lost her balance. Her right leg slipped off the steel beam and punched through the hung ceiling.

  Tim followed Nick in a free fall through the hatch; he pushed off the wall to avoid hitting the smaller kid and propelled himself practically into the arms of one of the intruders. The Cast Member cursed and swung at Tim. Tim took a punch on the side of his neck and elbowed the boy, knocking the wind out of him. That didn’t sit well with his cohorts, who piled on instantly.

  Nick joined in the brawl, throwing and taking punishing punches. Amanda yanked her leg out of the ceiling, fell off the beam, and rolled to the hatch. She went out headfirst, caught a grip, and inverted, landing on her feet.

  Shock and adrenaline—raw anger—had given Amanda her first glimpse into her particular strength. As a kid, she’d slammed the door to her room without touching it. With time and careful practice, she’d gained the ability to control her newfound “power”—but instinct still ruled. Unchecked, her emotions could become a formidable weapon—as they did now.

  She shoved her left palm at the boy about to pound Nick. The boy lifted off his feet and slammed into a stainless steel cabinet. Her right hand thrust out at Tim and another of the intruders, who were tangled up like wrestlers. The two boys went over like bowling pins. Amanda lifted a third boy into the air and out the door, where the fourth among them was already running away. Tim sank his knee into the gut of the big guy. He had buzz-cut blond hair and red freckles on his arms. The guy expelled a gush of breath and bent over sharply. Tim pushed him out the door.

  That left only the boy Amanda had slammed into the wall. Seeing he was outnumbered, he started to run. But he tripped, falling hard. He rolled, raised up to his elbows—and was smacked down hard again.

  It took Amanda a moment to realize Emily and her invisibility suit were responsible. She’d terrified the boy.

  “You want to see magic?” Amanda said in a cold, cautionary voice. “Watch those cups.”

  Invisible Emily caught on immediately. The stack of plastic cups separated, moved to the side, and re-stacked.

  His voice dry and frightened, the boy pleaded. “I was only doing what I was told to do.” He was wiry, maybe nineteen, with a home kitchen haircut and spaghetti arms.

  “By who?” Nick said. He grabbed the guy’s mobile phone and tossed it to Tim. “Who asked you?”

  Three of the cups came off the stack and began moving in a circle—turned out Emily could juggle.

  “Texts! I swear, it’s all done by texts. We’re paid by credit to Web site stores. I have no idea who it actually is.”

  “Password?” Tim said, showing the guy his phone. Their hostage didn’t hesitate. He spit out his password. “You said, ‘We’re paid.’ Who is ‘we’?”

  “I don’t know the other guys. For real, I don’t. A time and a place. That’s what we get texted. This time, they told us to find you guys and tune you up a little. Hurt you. Make you think about quitting. That’s all I got. I can agree or refuse. You refuse, sometimes you don’t get asked again. It’s mostly guys, but some chicks, too. Once or twice. Not that often.”

  “You’ve never seen the others before?” Tim asked. “Not buying it.”

  “Sure, I’ve done stuff before with one of those guys. They don’t overlap us very often, though. I think that’s part of it.”

  “They?” Nick said. “Or he?”

  Amanda had run out of patience. She addressed the guy with her outstretched, open palm, shoving him against the equipment and holding him there from five feet away. “Answer!” She pushed hard—so hard that it was clear to the others that the guy was having trouble breathing.

  “Mandy!” Jess said in a cautionary tone. “Ease up a little.”

  “I’m sick of this,” Amanda said, her arm trembling, her face losing color. “Pushing,” as she called it, exhausted her. “We don’t have time for idiots.”

  “The things I’ve done…” the guy gushed, “were like, you know, sabotage. Vandalism, I guess you could call it. Always in the parks or the parking lots. Nothing to hurt the guests! Look, I’m a fan, a complete fan of everything Disney, right?”

  “Ex-fan. Ex–Cast Member,” Amanda said, still pinning the guy. “You quit and you turn in the names of anyone you’ve worked with, or we’re coming after you.”

  “Okay!” He must have said the word twenty times. At last, Amanda relaxed her hold. His face studiously calm though he was clearly impressed, Nick asked the boy to describe the sabotage and vandalism.

  “Small stuff. Fry power outlets. Flatten tires. Mess with an attraction just enough to get it shut down for a day or two.”

  “You came after us,” Nick said.

  “Yeah. But that’s…I mean, that’s not normal. We were supposed to scare you off. Find out who you were and what you want.”

  “Have you scared other kids off?” Jess again.

  “Not exactly. There was a girl…this was a while ago. She was sneaking around the two parks. Lived inside Little Mermaid for a while. I was part of the team trying to keep track of her. But it wasn’t for long. We lost her.”

  “Storey,” Amanda said. Her whole body hurt. She sagged back and propped herself up against the gear in the shop.

  “Anything else outside the parks?” Tim said.

  “No. I mean, not that we did.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim asked.

  The guy didn’t like the question. Nick repeated it. Amanda gathered her strength and pushed hard, just long enough to remind him. When she let go, he caught his breath and answered.

  “It wasn’t an assignment. It was…there was one time, just the once, when the text I got wasn’t from a blocked number. Whoever sent it must have slipped up. I looked up the area code. It was four-one-oh. That’s Maryland. A part that includes—”

  “Baltimore,” Jess said in a dry whisper. “Four-one-zero is Baltimore. Oh dear.” She looked a little gray.

  “When you were outside I heard you say, ‘Naughty, naughty. Someone’s in trouble.’” Amanda sagged a little at the knees. She choked on the words. “Where did you learn that?”

  The guy shook his head, horribly frightened.

  Tim was busy with the mobile phone. “The owner of the phone is Jason Ewart.” The guy said nothing. “How did you become a Cast Member, Jason Ewart?”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  An invisible Emily kicked him from behind. Unnerved, Jason Ewart started shaking all over.

  “Never answer a question with a question,” Tim said. “Or bad things will happen to you. Do I need to ask again?”

  “I know I look like a Cast Member,” Jason Ewart said. “Dressed like this and all.”

  “And you’ve got the pin,” Nick said.

  “That, too. Yeah. All this stuff came with the job. An ID card, too, that gets me through the employee gates.”

  “From some guy you never met,” Tim said, clearly unconvinced.

  “Or a woman. Yeah. I was just…I’m a fan, okay? Was a fan. I applied like four times to be a Cast Member. Always got turned down. Then I get this text asking me if I’d like to feel like a Cast Member, loo
k like a Cast Member, have all the access of a Cast Member, but make better money.”

  “The jobs you did,” Nick said. “You felt like one?”

  Amanda and Jess turned to one another. Both girls were frighteningly pale. Jess’s hands were trembling. Amanda shook her head slightly. Both girls knew the boy was lying.

  Jason Ewart shrugged. “It all went down like I was told. Day or night. Look, I get to hang out in the parks all the time. I’m asked to do something like once a week. Maybe twice. It’s nothing! And I’m paid almost like a full-time Cast Member. Did I know it was wrong? Yeah, sure. Did I know it wasn’t Disney? Of course. But I’m a fan. I love it here. How was I supposed to say no?”

  “You loved it enough to commit sabotage.” Tim sounded disgusted.

  “It was kinda give and take, admittedly. But on the whole I never did anything that bad.”

  “So you can’t quit,” Amanda said. “You told us you’d quit, but you can’t because you aren’t a real Cast Member, are you, Jason Ewart?” She raised her palm. Jason Ewart cowered. “Tell them the truth!” she said. “Tell them about the Major.”

  “No…No way.” The boy’s face went ashen white. “You can’t possibly…”

  “Can’t we?” Amanda hissed. “Tell them about the Quiet Room or the Mirror Chamber or the Pipe.”

  “Who are you? I can quit! I promise! Here! Shred my ID! I swear.” Still trembling, he produced his Disney ID card. Emily snatched it from his hand, held it so that it floated in the air in front of him. Seeing that, Jason Ewart’s knees buckled and he collapsed, his eyes closed.

  Emily reappeared, her hand on the battery pack on her leg. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Overdid it, I guess.”

  “I’m out of here,” Nick said, moving toward the door. “We’ve been compromised. But at some point, Amanda, you’re going to explain how what you said turned him to Jell-O.”

  Tim called out earnestly. “We still need your help with…” He glanced down at Jason Ewart, worried he might be faking. “That person we were talking about.”

  Nick turned. “If I help you? That’s up to me.”

  FINN DIDN’T CARE FOR THE PAST. He didn’t care for two-dimensional projections and feeling at sea in Disneyland, of all places. He didn’t like failure of any kind; he’d hoped to find Walt’s pen right away and then focus on how the Keepers might return to the present. He was sick of looking stupid in clothes his grandparents would have worn. He didn’t like what had happened at the Golden Horseshoe, nor did he appreciate that this guy, Hollingsworth, might be the father of the Overtakers. A man so awful Walt Disney had fired him, a man so reckless and mean-spirited that he’d use a celebration to threaten people.

  But most of all, more than anything, he missed Amanda. He felt like his lungs weren’t working, like he was sucking for air. His head hurt; his eyes stung, his throat went dry, and his heart sped up whenever he thought of her.

  He had to do something about it—or go crazy. Cinderella hour, as Charlene now called it, approached—the hour or so after the park closed when power to Wayne’s maintenance shop was cut. The projections ceased; the Keepers became real again, living, breathing teens. Although it might become more important later, it wasn’t Finn’s job to overthink the phenomenon. It was his job to take advantage of it.

  The DHIs returned to the Opera House where they’d eventually settle down for the night. It was a strange reversal of how their projections typically worked. Once again, Finn wondered: How odd did the past have to be?

  Maybeck told the two girls to go sit behind a pile of lumber.

  “What for?” Willa complained.

  “Hey. Don’t treat us like that,” Charlene said, the ice in her tone bringing Maybeck down a peg. She and Maybeck had been something of an item for a while now, and while no one had control of Terry Maybeck, Charlene definitely carried influence.

  “I’m getting out of these stupid clothes,” Maybeck said. “I didn’t know you cared!”

  The girls hightailed it out of sight.

  Laughing, Maybeck explained himself to a puzzled Finn. “Look. My projection’s my projection. That was set when we crossed over. But at least for the moment, I happen to be me, and those over there”—he pointed—“happen to be lockers. Workers’ lockers. I found myself some blue jeans and a shirt. If I stay in this penguin suit for one more minute…” He stripped down to his boxer shorts. The jeans and shirt were a little big, but Maybeck was cursed, Finn thought, by looking good in anything. You could dress him in an apron and rubber boots and someone would put him on the cover of a magazine.

  “I hate you,” Finn said. “And I’m not kidding.”

  “Thanks, man. I do look good, don’t I?”

  “I have words for you that should not be spoken, so I’m going to keep it that way.”

  “The Phil-pill and me are meeting up with Wayne’s World and heading to his place for a little late-night soldering. Philby’s going to build a laser Wayne can use to make us 3-D.”

  “He can’t do that. We don’t have the parts.”

  “Actually,” Professor Philby said, overhearing them. He dug into his pockets and opened his hand, revealing what looked like penlights. “Laser pointers,” he said, and added proudly, “with laser lenses. I took them and some other stuff before we crossed. Stuffed my pockets. Last night, when you woke me, I didn’t even notice. But coming back from the studio, I put my hands on my legs and felt them in my pockets. They became real when I did. Now, I have no idea what will happen when we project again tomorrow morning. But for tonight, I’ve got pretty much all I need to get cooking, provided Mr. Artist here can keep a steady enough hand when soldering under a magnifying glass.”

  “Hey, I’m the Picasso of soldering,” Maybeck said.

  “Let’s hope not,” Philby said, laughing. “I can’t recognize a thing in his paintings.”

  With Maybeck and Philby gone, Finn’s mission would be easier to pull off. He nodded and smiled at them, hiding any trace of tension from his face.

  “All-y, all-y, in come free,” shouted Maybeck to the girls. “Coast is clear. Mr. Abs is clothed.”

  “Give me a break,” Willa said, reappearing along with Charlene.

  “What are you two up to tonight?” Finn asked. He tried to sound nonchalant, but it wasn’t a question he ever asked.

  “We thought we’d knit and sit by the fire while you men do the real work,” Willa said. “Translated: we’re going to look for some rags in the costume shop so that we can get out of these frills. You?”

  “Maybe explore outside of the park some.”

  “But not too far,” said Willa in a moment of motherly concern.

  “Not too far.”

  If he’d been in middle school, Finn would have crossed his fingers behind his back.

  OUTSIDE THE GATES of Disneyland, past the empty oceans of parking lot asphalt and onto the street, Finn left the quarter-mile of roadway familiar to him from his ride with Wayne. The air smelled bizarre, a combination of oranges and car exhaust. Neon signs took the place of streetlamps. Finn didn’t recognize a single store or restaurant name. Not one chain. No McDonalds, no Starbucks, no Target, no GameStop here. Just donuts, “service stations,” and mom-and-pop restaurants and stores with strange names.

  There were too many phone poles holding too many wires, too many lights and too many cars going way too slowly—big, unruly cars, more like tanks, driven by teenagers smoking cigarettes and shouting car to car. Harbor Boulevard was the scene, as far as Finn could tell, and he’d walked right into it.

  Surprisingly, it wasn’t much of a town, just a few city blocks growing out of a central intersection of two major roads. Finn didn’t recognize it as in any way related to the Anaheim of sixty years later. He moved through it, feeling like a ghost. No one seemed to take any notice of him; it was the first time he realized he’d come to feel like something of a celebrity in present time, and he didn’t like the thought of that. He didn’t want to become full of himself,
to be so self-important that he started looking for other people to react to him. That seemed like more of a Maybeck or Charlene thing, not his.

  When he spotted what he’d come looking for, he stopped. He was standing in front of a barbershop with a red-and-white spinning pole out front. The barber’s pole dated back to medieval times, Finn knew, and the practice of bloodletting, tooth extraction, and surgery. The two colors were said to represent clean bandages and blood. Finn found it odd that, of all places, this was where he would first spot the thirteen-story hotel.

  An odd and ungainly shape, it stood unevenly, like a set of poorly stacked wooden blocks. The upper floors were burned and damaged; they’d been struck by lightning twenty years earlier. Unoccupied and said to be haunted, the hotel remained in place, partly because Anaheim lacked the funds needed to tear it down, partly because the remains of at least one family had never been found after that fateful night. The surviving family members had repeatedly sued to leave the structure in place until the bodies were discovered, and proper graves dug. The lawsuits alone had, at one point, nearly bankrupted the small town. And still the hotel stood, just off the main intersection to the north, looking like a tower of terror.

  Standing so close to a pole representing bandages and blood, Finn felt himself shiver. The shop was shuttered for the night, but inside he could see a series of three oversize leather thrones, which faced a wall of mirrors and a shelf of straight razors, combs, and colognes.

  Finn shook himself. He was just standing here, staring. As much as he didn’t want to be where he was, he’d made no effort to move on. This unsettled him. How much of him had actually crossed over to the past? How equipped was he to make good decisions? Was he mentally as two-dimensional as his projection by day? Was he wrong to have wandered outside the boundaries of his Keeper existence and into a time and place where a person like him did not belong?