Caught

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  But the other two men were shaking their heads.

  “Oh, Pavle, you and your imagination,” one said. “You look at shadows and think you see signs.”

  “And it’s just a sign your eyes aren’t so good anymore,” the other one sneered.

  “We’re not going to find that child out here,” the first added. “That’s not how this story ends.”

  “Then why are you bothering to look, Javor?” the one called Pavle asked defensively. “Why not stay home with your own sick children?”

  “Because Milos is my friend,” Javor replied. “He would do this for me.”

  “A child like that, maybe it’s a mercy if she is gone,” the third man said.

  “Then, please, don’t look too hard,” Pavle snapped. He waved his torch. “You know what? I think I’ll search on my own.”

  He moved several steps away and began methodically walking back and forth, searching the ground. The other two men shrugged and moved on.

  The searchers showed up in waves, small clusters of them coming within earshot, pausing to examine a supposed footprint or a stray thread, and then moving on. The snippets of conversation Jonah heard only made him more frustrated about everything he didn’t know.

  “—child from my mother-in-law’s village eaten by wolves—”

  “Really, what were they going to tell that child once she was old enough to know?”

  “—heard voices over here—?”

  “Just the wind howling, but—”

  Jonah’s arms began to ache from holding on to the tree trunk for so long, and still the search continued. His sense of time was messed up once again—while Jonah and Katherine and Emily sat silently in their trees, how long did the searchers keep looking? Three hours? Four? Five?

  The last hint of daylight had long vanished, and the torches had flickered down to stubs when Jonah saw the first group finally turn around and head back to the village. All the men walked with a hunched-over, defeated posture; Jonah didn’t have to hear anything they said to know that they believed Lieserl Einstein was already dead.

  It’s not right for all of them to be so depressed, when they tried so hard, Jonah thought. I wish it were safe to tell them the truth.

  But at the moment it wasn’t even safe for him to breathe loudly.

  Finally the woods were completely dark. Jonah began shimmying down the tree—a huge challenge in total darkness, especially since Jonah’s right leg had gone to sleep and he kept thwacking it against the branches. But finally he was on the ground again. With his hands held carefully out in front of his face so he wouldn’t run into anything, he began walking slowly toward the tree where the girls were hidden.

  “Katherine! Emily! I think you can come down now!” he whispered. He tilted his head back, trying to aim his voice up into the tree.

  “We’re coming!” one of them whispered, high above him.

  After a few minutes he heard first one thump, then another.

  “We’re down—where are you?” Katherine asked.

  “Walk toward my voice,” Jonah said. “It’s so dark we’re probably going to have to hold on to one another to stay together, getting back.”

  Suddenly he heard a scratching nearby—the sound of a match being struck? A light flared, yet another torch springing to life. Whoever was holding the torch thrust it toward Jonah.

  “Caught you!” a voice cried.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Jonah sprang back, proving to himself that no one had actually caught him. Or at least—no one was holding him. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden light. Where were Katherine and Emily? Where was the person actually holding the torch?

  “Give me back my granddaughter!” the voice cried. “Give her back, and leave my family alone, and I’ll let you go . . .”

  Mileva’s father, Jonah thought. Somehow the old man had continued searching after everyone else had given up. Somehow he’d decided that sitting in darkness was the best way to catch his granddaughter’s kidnappers.

  The torch swung nearer and nearer to Jonah. Could Mileva’s father see him?

  “Run!” Jonah shouted toward Katherine and Emily.

  He took off sprinting into the darkness. Staying together was impossible now.

  “I’ll meet you there!” he called over his shoulder, hoping Katherine and Emily could hear him. And hoping they’d know he meant back at the house.

  Branches jabbed and pricked and poked at him. He was glad they wouldn’t have had DNA testing in 1903, because he had to be leaving a trail of blood on the branches and leaves from all the scrapes and scratches on his arms and face. He kept his hands up, protecting his eyes from being stabbed.

  And then there weren’t any trees around him. The ground dipped before him. Even the grass seemed to vanish—when he stumbled and touched the ground, he felt packed dirt in front of him.

  The ditch, Jonah thought. The road.

  It was still dark, but he could see the dim lights of Novi Sad off to the side.

  Jonah crouched down and looked back over his shoulder. Even in the darkness he still held on to some hope that he might catch the slightest glimpse of Katherine or Emily, racing toward him. Or he might hear them.

  But all he saw was the torch coming closer and closer. All he heard was Mileva’s father yelling, “Stop! Stop! I see you! You can’t get away!”

  Jonah turned toward Novi Sad and took off sprinting again.

  It was easier running on the road and toward lights, but Jonah still kept stumbling and having to right himself, again and again. And, just before he reached the first house on the outskirts of Novi Sad, his brain decided to point out the problem with running past lit-up homes.

  You’re not invisible anymore, he remembered. You step into the light, anyone can see you. . . .

  He gulped in air, wondering how he could run back into the woods or out into the fields without Mileva’s father tracking him.

  Shadows, his mind advised him. Just stay in the shadows and you’ll be fine.

  This part of Novi Sad wasn’t like Jonah’s neighborhood back home, with streetlights in front of every house and a glow from every porch light. People seemed to have nothing but candles and lamps to push back the darkness. As he ran by and glanced in windows, he could see that even inside crowded homes the flickering flames did little but cast larger shadows.

  Like back home when the electricity’s out, Jonah told himself. It’s not that there are ghouls or spooks or ghosts around.

  But he could see why Mileva had said the people in her hometown were so superstitious, if they sat around in candlelight every night. All sorts of bad things seemed more likely in the darkness.

  Mileva’s father hit the edge of the town only five or six paces behind Jonah.

  “I found the kidnappers!” he screamed, waving his torch. “One of them’s running into Novi Sad right now!”

  If someone screamed something like that on Jonah’s street back home, Jonah doubted that anyone would hear. People would have their TVs turned up too loud; they’d be on Facebook; their thick windowpanes and heavy air conditioning would shut out the sound.

  But people here had their windows open. And Mileva’s father’s scream seemed to electrify everyone. Within seconds, dozens of people were spilling out their doors—and even their windows. They were brandishing torches again, crying out, “Where is he?” and “We’ll catch him!”

  How could Jonah possibly find a shadow to hide in when all the shadows were vanishing? And when an angry mob was gathering behind him?

  No, make that in front of me, too, Jonah thought despairingly.

  He ducked into the space between two houses—deserted houses, he guessed, since they were the only ones still totally dark, with no people spilling out their doors. He didn’t know if anyone had seen him yet, but he had to get away from the crowd, had to get away from all those torches. He raced blindly forward, squinting in hopes of seeing the next street, the closest way out. The flames flickered b
ehind him, throwing shadows onto the walls to his right and to his left. And—throwing shadows into midair, directly ahead of him? How could that be?

  Jonah blinked, trying desperately to get his eyes to see things differently. But they refused. From the shadows and dim, flickering lights, his eyes kept making out walls to his left and right—and directly ahead of him as well.

  He hadn’t run into a gap between two houses. He’d run into the courtyard of a single house, a space enclosed by walls on three sides. The only way out was the way he’d come in—a way now blocked by dozens of angry men with flaming torches.

  He was trapped.

  THIRTY

  Jonah was running too fast to stop even when he saw the third wall. He slammed into it, making too much noise—but what did that matter when everyone was going to see him in a few moments anyway?

  Look for a window, he thought disjointedly. Or a door.

  Weren’t there any breaks at all in the wall? Any other way to get through?

  Jonah spread his hands along the wall, feeling side to side. It was solid in every direction.

  JB, this would be a great time to pull me out of 1903, he thought.

  But how could JB suddenly have the power to do that, if he hadn’t been able to get Jonah out before? What could JB do when he was trapped himself?

  Oh, please, God, Jonah thought. Can’t you help?

  Jonah wasn’t sure he’d prayed even once during all his time-travel trips—it had all seemed too strange, too far from anything he’d learned about the way religion worked. But he felt a little steadier just thinking those few words. Steady enough to turn around, and prepare to be caught.

  Mileva’s father was in the front of the mob of torch-bearing men. He was roaring, “Stop! Stop! Just tell us where she is! Where’s my granddaughter?”

  Couldn’t he start with an easier question? Jonah wondered.

  He opened his mouth and tried to think of a good defense: What are you talking about? I didn’t kidnap anyone! Or, Hey, buddy. You’ve got the wrong dude! (How would that sound in Serbian?) Or . . .

  Jonah caught a glimpse of the fury in all the dark faces in front of him. These were men whose own children were dying. These were men who welcomed the chance to chase someone, to take out their own pain and anger on anyone who was running in front of their flaming torches—whether he was guilty or not.

  Nothing Jonah might say would make the slightest bit of difference.

  Jonah shut his mouth.

  Mileva’s father was only three steps away. He held his torch high. Some of the ash from his torch blew down onto Jonah’s hair, and Jonah brushed it away. He concentrated on trying not to look scared, trying not to look guilty.

  Somehow, incredibly, Mileva’s father seemed not to have seen him yet. He was still running forward, still screaming. He stopped only inches away from the tip of Jonah’s shoe.

  “Where is he, Milos?” someone called out from the back of the crowd—too far back to see anything, probably.

  “I—I don’t know,” Mileva’s father said, looking around with a baffled expression.

  What? Jonah thought. Is he blind?

  The man’s torch was practically touching the wall. Jonah could hear the flame roaring beside him. He could feel the heat from the flame on his right ear. There was no way Jonah wasn’t completely illuminated, completely visible.

  Unless . . . , Jonah thought. Could it be . . . ?

  He looked down. In the firelight his whole body looked crystalline. The light flowed right through him, leaving no shadow on the wall behind him. Sometime during the chase—or, at least, since he’d climbed that tree and it had gotten too dark for him to see his own hands on the branches—he’d turned invisible again.

  How? Jonah wondered. Did JB do this? Did God?

  He was picturing something like the miracle of the loaves and the fishes—what was the difference between food appearing out of nowhere and Jonah disappearing into nothing?

  Then a simpler explanation occurred to him.

  Mileva, he thought. She has the Elucidator. She knows how to turn Katherine and me visible or invisible. She knew her father was organizing a search party. She took care of us.

  Jonah’s knees went weak with relief.

  No, no, watch out for the torches, he reminded himself. They can still harm you even if no one can see you.

  But the other men behind Mileva’s father weren’t rushing forward or thrusting their torches farther into the shadows. They weren’t looking very closely at all.

  In fact, the man closest to Mileva’s father was lowering his torch, putting his arm around the other man’s shoulder.

  “Milos,” he said. “It’s been an awful day for you. You’re grief-stricken. You want to believe that your granddaughter is still alive. I don’t blame you. But face facts, my friend. There’s nobody there!”

  “I heard him!” Mileva’s father insisted. “His footsteps running ahead of me—he was there!”

  He waved his torch uselessly toward Jonah. Jonah didn’t even have to bother dodging it, because there was no energy in the man’s efforts now.

  “Milos,” the man beside him said comfortingly. “There’s nowhere anyone could have gone from this courtyard. You must have been hearing things—or hearing the echo of your own running. Look, you should be with your family right now. Your daughter needs you. Let me take you home.”

  Mileva’s father resisted for barely an instant before he let the other man lead him away.

  The crowd behind them began to melt away, too. They extinguished their torches and vanished back into poorly lit houses. The darkness and shadows returned.

  Jonah let himself sag back against the courtyard wall and draw in the ragged breaths he’d been stifling.

  “And what do you think that’s going to do to time?” a voice asked in his ear. “Another search that was never supposed to happen—and now everyone thinks Mileva’s father is seeing and hearing imaginary things when he really isn’t . . . ”

  It was Katherine. She and Emily stood beside him now, both of them equally translucent. Emily kept looking down at her hands in amazement.

  “Look, I’m just happy nobody caught me,” Jonah said. “Or the two of you. When did you notice that you were invisible?”

  “As soon as we stepped out of the woods,” Katherine said. “That’s why we just started tiptoeing and trying not to make any noise.”

  Jonah shook his head. He really wanted to say, Yeah, well, I would have done that too, if I’d known I was invisible. But—that’s right—I was too busy distracting the crazy man with the torch so he wouldn’t chase you!

  He decided not to go into it right now.

  “It had to be Mileva who changed all three of us,” he said. “She knew someone would find us if we weren’t invisible. Do you think this means she really trusts us now?”

  “No,” Katherine said. “I think it means she wants to negotiate.”

  When she put it that way, Jonah saw exactly what she meant. Mileva was reminding them that she had what they wanted—the Elucidator. And they had what Mileva wanted—Emily.

  Jonah watched Emily, still staring at her own see-through hands in wonderment. She didn’t seem to be listening. But then she spoke, her voice trembling.

  “What if the only deal Mileva will make is a straight trade?” Emily asked. “You get the Elucidator, she gets to keep me here in 1903—you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

  “Of course not,” Katherine said, almost too quickly. “We can’t.”

  But she turned her face toward Jonah, and even in the shadows Jonah could tell what she was thinking. Because he was thinking the same thing.

  What can we possibly do instead?

  THIRTY-ONE

  They went back to the house where Mileva’s family lived. The three of them agreed: Anything they planned to do had to start with talking to Mileva.

  They just didn’t know what they were going to say.

  It was a somber journey the
y made back through the dark, twisty streets of Novi Sad. Jonah hadn’t paid much attention to directions when they were following Mileva away from the house in the first place, and he certainly hadn’t been watching for street signs and landmarks dashing back into Novi Sad with an angry, torch-wielding mob behind him. If it had been up to Jonah, they might have been forced to just wander the streets all night, turning corners at random and struggling to find any familiar sight.

  Fortunately, Emily seemed to have a good sense of direction. Or maybe it was a good memory?

  “Oh, this is where the servants come to pick up the laundry,” she said, stopping near a house with a long row of sunflowers out front. “And I always play with Senka when we’re here . . .”

  A stricken look came over her face, and she pressed her hands against her cheeks.

  “Oh, no!” she said. “I just realized—I must have gotten sick because of Senka! Her face and hands were so hot the last time we came. I hope she’s all right!”

  Emily tiptoed past the sunflowers and started to peek in one of the windows.

  “Emily, no,” Jonah said. “You can’t do anything to help her anyhow, so—”

  The sound of a woman sobbing came from inside the house. She seemed to be wailing, “My Senka! No, not my Senka!”

  The doctor said six children died in Novi Sad last night, Jonah thought. Six. And how many have died so far tonight?

  Emily froze.

  “Let’s just stick with going back to Mileva’s, okay?” Katherine said, gently taking Emily’s elbow and steering her back toward the street.

  Emily nodded. She walked on for several blocks in silence.

  “I’m just not used to children dying, okay?” she finally said. “Back home, you know, there might be someone killed in a car crash, or some poor child getting some awful fatal disease, but here it’s like it’s not even a surprise, you know? Even when I was thinking as Lieserl, just with a toddler’s brain, it was like I knew kids die all the time, like I knew I could die . . . ”