The Deceivers

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  In the scene on the wall, the woman—Disguise Lady—suddenly dropped the vacuum. But she left it on, its roar continuing. Meanwhile, the woman glanced around, then tiptoed back to the muscular man, Ace Two. She must have said something, because the man raised his head, gazing her way.

  “Natalie!” Emma exclaimed. “Angle the camera to see both of their faces! We may have to read lips.”

  Natalie whipped the viewpoint around so quickly that Chess felt dizzy.

  Maybe Natalie found some way to control the volume, too, because now Chess could just barely hear the woman in the basement over the roar of the vacuum.

  “—maybe we should disobey,” Disguise Lady was saying, pursing her lips. Maybe Chess actually was half lip-reading, half hearing.

  “What?” Ace Two said. “But the boss said—”

  “I know, I know, she’s protecting the girl,” Disguise Lady said. “Just because the girl came home sick, that changed the timing. But who do we need to protect the most? The boss? Some bratty, spoiled girl who can’t be trusted? Who no one will ever be able to trust, because she’s never known anything but lies?”

  “You’re saying we should go ahead and do the transfer now,” the man whispered. “Because waiting until tonight puts us more at risk.”

  “No—it puts the people we care about in greater danger,” the woman countered. “The people we’re rescuing. If I cared about my own safety, would I be doing this in the first place?”

  Somehow Natalie had angled the camera to zoom in, so Chess could see the agony and indecision play over Ace Two’s face. The man no longer looked like someone capable of pulverizing Chess. Instead, he looked as helpless and lost as Chess himself felt.

  Then Ace Two clenched his jaw.

  “We don’t know enough,” he said. “We don’t understand enough of the rest of the plan to be able to carry off switching the timing of the transfer. We don’t know who’s an ally, and who’s an enemy. I don’t know if I can even trust you!”

  Chess expected Disguise Lady to start protesting, “Of course you can trust me!” But for a moment her eyes just swam with sadness.

  “Are you old enough to remember before?” she whispered. “When you could assume most people were good, and the world was mostly a safe place? When doing the right thing didn’t mean hiding in the shadows and wearing disguises and lying to everyone you met—even people on the same side as you? Or supposedly on the same side as you? Because you never actually know for sure? Do you remember when we could believe the news we saw, and if some government official lied, there’d be a free press to show what the truth actually was, and then—”

  “She sounds like Mom!” Finn said, jumping up and down. “She helped us before—she’s someone we can trust! What she’s saying—it means she would be on our side!”

  “Shh!” Chess, Emma, and Natalie all whirled on Finn at once.

  Finn clapped his hands over his mouth. Chess bent down to put his arm around his brother’s shoulder, so he wouldn’t feel too bad about being silenced.

  When Chess looked back at the scene on the wall, Ace Two’s eyes seemed as sad as the woman’s.

  “You could just be saying that,” he murmured. “You could be trying to entrap me, to get me to say something that would be evidence if you’re ever caught, and you need to betray others to save yourself. . . .”

  The woman shook her head mournfully.

  “Doesn’t that just prove what I’m saying?” she asked. “How can civilization survive when nobody trusts anyone? When no one dares to tell the truth? Or believe it?”

  “We trust each other enough to work together,” the man said firmly, turning back to his fake-dusting. “Tonight. Like we told the boss.”

  “We don’t even trust each other enough to tell our real names,” the woman said, still shaking her head.

  Just then the vacuum noise cut out abruptly, as if someone had yanked the plug. The old woman dipped down to the ground.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a surly voice called from above, as if someone had just opened the door to the basement and was standing at the top of the stairs. “Why is the vacuum running, but you’re five steps away?”

  The woman sprang back up.

  “I thought I saw something caught in the carpeting,” she said. “My apologies.”

  “Don’t let me catch you shirking again!”

  The vacuum started up again, and the woman scurried over to pick it up once more. But she stayed close to Ace Two, and Chess saw her turn her back to the door—making it seem like a natural part of the vacuuming—and mouth one more word to the man.

  “Did she just say ‘tonight’?” Chess asked. “So they’re doing something tonight? Some sort of ‘transfer’?”

  “Something that would have happened today, if Natalie weren’t here,” Emma agreed.

  “But we don’t know what,” Finn said softly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to speak again. “Unless—does everybody else understand? Am I the only one who doesn’t?”

  “Sorry,” Chess said, ruffling his brother’s hair. “We’re just as clueless as you are.”

  Natalie shoved herself away from the desk.

  “That’s why I have to go down there and find out what’s going on,” she announced.

  “Natalie—” Chess began.

  She looked him straight in the eye. Chess had wanted Natalie to look at him that way for as long as he’d known her—as if she really saw him and what he was thinking. As if she really cared. But then her expression hardened. It felt to Chess as though she was shoving him away—rejecting him.

  “I have to,” she repeated.

  And then she walked to the door.

  Part Two

  Twenty-Eight

  Natalie

  You should have told them, Natalie thought as she stepped unsteadily into the hallway outside her mother’s office. Er, the Judge’s office. Whatever.

  For just an instant, while she still held on to the doorknob, Natalie imagined telling the three Greystone kids—the three sweet, innocent, unsuspecting Greystone kids—what was running through her brain: She’s alive! I just saw a dead person alive again! And that’s all I can think about right now!

  But how could they understand? How could they be happy for her when this world was nothing but terrible for them and their family? When they had no family left except the mother they were searching for?

  Natalie pulled the office door firmly shut behind her, locking the Greystones in. Keeping them safe.

  Me, on the other hand . . .

  It was impossible to train her gaze anywhere in this house without seeing something that brought forth a tidal wave of memory and pain. She tried to make herself look instead for ways this house was different from her own: Had the foyer doubled in size? Was there some sort of greenhouse or giant sunporch jutting out at the side, which showed itself in the glint of light off dozens of windows that shouldn’t be there? But Natalie kept getting distracted by details that made her feel like she’d gone back in time, not to a different world. There was Dad’s showcase of golf trophies back in the corner of the dining room, right where they belonged. There was Mom and Dad’s wedding picture back on the wall in the living room: Mom in white lace, Dad in a tux, both of them looking so young and ecstatic and deeply, endlessly in love. There was . . .

  Stop it! Natalie told herself. Just look down at your feet. Make sure you’re walking straight.

  There was the Persian-style rug that used to run down this hallway, before.

  Before everything fell apart.

  Before anyone died.

  “Miss?”

  It was another cleaner, one she hadn’t seen before. Natalie knew she should raise her head and look closely—if nothing else, to make sure this wasn’t someone else familiar, masquerading in a brown uniform.

  But Natalie was having enough problems just staying upright.

  “I’m getting a drink of water,” she mumbled. “Stay away from me. I’m sick. Probably
contagious.”

  It took no acting skill whatsoever for Natalie to sway dizzily. She could feel the prickles of sweat along her hairline, the light-headedness that probably also meant the color had drained from her face.

  She saw a pair of brown work boots take a respectful step back. The cleaner must have smashed himself against the wall, giving her space to pass.

  Natalie wobbled forward.

  She knew how to tell convincing lies, how to back them up. She knew that now she really did need to stop in the kitchen and turn on the faucet for a few minutes, or grab a glass and press it against the water dispenser. It would help to be heard gulping down water.

  But Natalie didn’t have the patience for that right now. She went straight to the basement door. She flung it open and raced down the stairs, then flew across the carpet.

  The closer she got to the woman with the vacuum cleaner, the more certain Natalie was of the woman’s identity. In her mind’s eye, she could picture throwing herself at the woman, wrapping her arms around her just as Natalie had always done when she was little.

  But Natalie wasn’t three or six or nine anymore. Or eleven.

  Natalie had grown a lot in the past two years, and this woman . . . hadn’t.

  Natalie was taller than this woman now.

  Over the roar of the vacuum, the woman didn’t even hear Natalie approach. Natalie stood behind her for an instant, towering over her. Then Natalie reached out one shaking hand and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

  “Abuela?” Natalie called, her voice shaking. “Grandma? Why are you pretending to be a house cleaner?”

  Twenty-Nine

  Natalie

  In the instant before the woman turned, Natalie saw everything she’d done wrong. She should have made sure the other cleaner was too far away to hear them. She should have let the woman see her first, and take cues from her about whether this world’s Natalie would or wouldn’t be surprised to see her grandmother in a cleaner’s uniform; whether this world’s Natalie would or wouldn’t alternate between calling her grandmother “Abuela” and “Grandma,” as Natalie always had.

  She should have made absolutely certain that her eyes weren’t tricking her, just because she wanted so badly to see her grandmother again, alive and well.

  Grandma shouldn’t have died, Natalie thought—the same thought she’d had a million times in the past year. But the doctors said it, too. They blamed Grandma for ignoring the symptoms of her rare cancer until it was too late. Only, Natalie knew why Grandma hadn’t gotten help sooner: Grandma had been too busy taking care of Natalie when Natalie’s parents were fighting and separating and getting divorced.

  But then Natalie forgot all that, because Grandma was facing her directly. Grandma!

  “Oh, my baby girl,” she sighed, and it was exactly right and exactly wrong, all at once.

  This was Grandma. But her voice was too husky and deep—suspicious-sounding. And though Grandma had been known to wear silly costumes to entertain Natalie when she was little, she never would have chosen the ugly, wispy red wig she had on now. Even if she had, she never would have looked this beaten-down and meek—she never would have looked so much like she belonged in a brown uniform, cowering behind a battered vacuum.

  Natalie didn’t care about the wig or the uniform. The worst detail was Grandma’s eyes: They didn’t soften the way they always had, gazing at Natalie. Instead, Grandma barely glanced at Natalie before turning to peer at the other cleaner. He was crouched over the back of the couch as if it mattered to wipe away dirt that was already hidden.

  He wasn’t looking at Natalie or Grandma.

  Still, Grandma frowned.

  “Shh,” she said, even though the vacuum was still on, and its noise filled the basement. “Don’t ruin my cover. Don’t call me ‘Grandma.’”

  “But—” Natalie began. Of course she couldn’t add, But I haven’t seen you in more than a year! The last time I saw you, it was at your funeral! Because this wasn’t truly her grandmother, her abuela. It was Other-Natalie’s.

  It wasn’t as if she could say, How are you still alive, when my real grandma isn’t?

  Because Other-Natalie’s mom and dad didn’t fight and separate and get divorced here, and this Grandma must have gotten treatment in time. . . . She never collapsed on our hallway rug and . . . and . . .

  “Look,” Grandma said, her voice harsh. “Do you think your mother would trust cleaners to just do their jobs right? Without someone watching them?”

  “Mom makes you disguise yourself to spy on her cleaners?” Natalie asked.

  “Shh,” Grandma said again.

  She switched off the vacuum, and now the silence around them felt too loud.

  “Listen,” she called to the male cleaner. “The young lady of the household just came downstairs and now she’s feeling ill, and so I’m going to walk her back up to her room.”

  The other cleaner nodded without turning around, as if he preferred not to look at Natalie. Or maybe he didn’t want her to see his face.

  Are Chess, Emma, and Finn watching this? Natalie wondered. Do they understand?

  Before she’d met the Greystones, Natalie couldn’t have imagined being anything but an only child—and not just an only child, but an only grandchild, too. She’d never been one of those kids who begged their parents for a younger brother or sister. But in the past few weeks, she’d gotten used to having Finn drape himself over her shoulder while they were watching TV, or to hearing Emma bubble over with ideas when she thought she might have a new solution to her mother’s coded message. (And, Natalie had to admit, she’d also gotten used to having Chess gaze adoringly at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.) So now it made Natalie feel almost lonely to be away from them. It felt like she was missing an arm or a leg. Or maybe three pairs of arms and legs.

  But I’m with Grandma now! GRANDMA!

  Grandma put her hand on Natalie’s arm and tugged her toward the stairs.

  “Play along,” Grandma muttered under her breath. “A cleaner can’t be seen . . . manhandling the young lady of the house.”

  Natalie almost giggled. “Manhandle” was such a Grandma word.

  Grandma glared at her, and Natalie turned the near-giggle into a cough.

  Natalie wanted to nestle her head against Grandma’s shoulder. She wanted to spill everything: Oh, Grandma. In my world, Mom and Dad got divorced and they hate each other. And then Mom got trapped in this world, and I didn’t know to pull her to safety; I didn’t know the tunnel was going to collapse. . . . And now my friends and I came back to rescue both our moms, and it’s so dangerous for Chess and Emma and Finn. But for me, for me . . . Oh, Grandma. You’re still alive here, and my parents are still married here, and . . .

  Grandma kept shooting stern looks at Natalie, and that kept Natalie from cuddling against her or saying anything.

  But when we get to my room and no one else can hear us . . .

  It would be Other-Natalie’s room, not hers. And this was Other-Natalie’s grandmother, not hers.

  Natalie had to remember that.

  Natalie kept tripping as she followed Grandma across the expanse of the basement carpet, up the basement stairs, down the hallway again, then up the stairs to the second floor. Anyone who saw her and Grandma together would have every reason to believe that Natalie was sick and weak and in need of someone half carrying, half dragging her to her room. Natalie kept her head down, not even paying attention to whether the other cleaners stepped aside for them or just made themselves scarce.

  But finally Natalie and Grandma reached Natalie’s room—no, Other-Natalie’s room.

  “Here. I’ll tuck you into bed and you can sleep,” Grandma said too loudly, as though the words were meant for someone else’s ears. “The other cleaners and I, we’ll leave you alone.”

  She pulled Natalie toward the bed. Natalie could imagine Grandma tucking her into bed and smoothing her hair down, just as she’d done many, many times when Natalie was little. />
  Then Natalie saw the poster half ripped from the wall.

  Other-Natalie’s poster, Other-Natalie’s wall. Other-Natalie’s grandma.

  Natalie dug her heels into the carpet.

  “No, Grandma, you have to explain—”

  Grandma leaned close enough to whisper in Natalie’s ear: “The less you know, the safer you are. Don’t tell anyone you saw me. Not even your mom and dad.”

  “But—”

  Grandma was already turning her back on Natalie, turning to go. Natalie grabbed Grandma’s arm.

  “I know this isn’t just about cleaners!” Natalie said, her voice going shrill with desperation. “I know you disguised yourself at least one other time. To . . . to . . .”

  In one smooth motion, Grandma kicked the door shut and then yanked Natalie deeper into the bedroom. Distantly, Natalie realized that Grandma was pulling her toward one corner of the room that was out of sight of both windows.

  “You don’t know anything,” Grandma said.

  “You helped . . . other kids,” Natalie said, barely stopping herself from saying Finn and Emma’s names. “At the trial for . . . for Kate Greystone. You were there in disguise. Pretending to be just part of the crowd. Why? What are you . . .”

  Natalie saw surprise flicker across Grandma’s face. Then Grandma went back to looking crafty and began, “I wasn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Natalie protested. “I know what I know!”

  “Fine.” Grandma practically spat the word. She leaned in close again, but this didn’t feel friendly or cozy. “You keep all that knowledge to yourself. Because you don’t know who you can trust and who you can’t. I’m not even sure anymore who’s trustworthy. Natalie, cielo, we have enemies. Enemies who are deceivers pretending to be friends . . .”

  Was Grandma begging?

  The doorknob rattled. Then it clicked.

  Natalie heard a voice.

  “—so if there was some mix-up and Mom thinks I’m home sick from school anyway, then of course I decided to skip the rest of the day! I have an excused absence! Bonus!”