Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (25 page)

“So there’s no sick aunt?”

“No, no, no. I just made that up to get you out of there.” Carly pulled back to rummage through her purse for a tissue. “Russ, what are we going to do?” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I don’t know.” I put my arm around her shoulder and glanced back at the row of windows which fronted the building. We were visible from any number of classrooms. “Let’s talk in the car.”

She led me through the parking lot, babbling as she went. “I’ve been completely freaking out. They left this horrible voice mail and I knew right away it was the Associates. I’ll let you listen to it.”

“Okay.”

“They said if we go to the police they’ll kill him.” She paused before the word “kill” like it was too awful to even say.

“That’s not going to happen. We’ll handle this. I’ll meet with them and we’ll get him back. Everything is going to be fine.” I had no idea where I’d gotten this smooth confidence. I wasn’t just saying the words, I meant them. It seemed that along with acquiring electricity I’d gotten a boost of certainty in myself.

My reassurances calmed her. By the time we got to the car, her sobbing had subsided somewhat. I was a true sister whisperer.

When we settled into the car, Carly put on her seat belt and locked the doors right away, as if that would make us safe. Then she stuck the key in the ignition and got her phone out of her purse. “I’ve listened to the message six times already,” she said. “It makes me sick. Do you know how scared Frank must be? He doesn’t even sleep unless I leave the hall light on.”

I knew this was true from his overnights at my house. He said he kept the nightlight on in case he had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, but we all knew he didn’t like the dark. Although, to cut the kid a break, our house did make weird noises sometimes, especially when it was windy out. When I was his age, it freaked me out too.

She wiped her eyes and pressed some buttons to retrieve the message, then held it out so we could both hear it. The man who left the message used a voice changer: the words came out thick and deep. “We have your son, Frank Shrapnel Becker. To get him back, send Russ Becker to the downtown Greyhound bus station in Milwaukee today by five thirty. There will be instructions at the ticket counter. Do not contact the police. Do not tell anyone. Your son’s life depends on it.” And then Frank’s voice, sounding amazingly calm, “Hi, Mom. Can you send Russ to come get me so I can come home?” A click, and it was over.

They didn’t specifically say they wanted to meet with me, or that they’d kill Frank, but I guess both things were implied. “Are you sure this isn’t faked?” I said. “Frank’s not at school or a friend’s house?”

She sniffed. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Frank stayed home from school today. I called in sick to stay home with him, and I ran to Walgreens for cough syrup—I swear I was there and back in like fifteen minutes, okay a half hour at the very most—and when I returned he was gone. Just gone. I couldn’t believe it. There was a note on the counter saying to check my phone messages. That’s when I heard this.” She still had the phone in her hand. “I knew it was the Associates who took him. I couldn’t call the police, so I came right over to pick you up. Oh, Russ, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to the Greyhound station in Milwaukee,” I said, looking at the time on her phone and doing a mental calculation. “And we better hurry. We’ll be cutting it close.”

She started up the car and gestured toward the glove compartment. “Get out the GPS. I can get us to Milwaukee, but I’m not sure which exit we need to use.”

I got the address off my phone and programmed it into her GPS, wondering all the while if the Associates had tapped into my phone and were following our movement even now. I imagined some guy in an office whose job was viewing my life as it played out on a computer screen: monitoring all the stupid texts I got from friends, knowing what I looked up on Wikipedia, seeing my grades when I checked my student page on the school’s online site. I knew it was possible for them to do that and so much more. If they got into Carly’s apartment and took Frank without the neighbors hearing and calling the police, what else could they do? Maybe my bedroom or even my whole house was bugged and they knew everything I ever said and did in the privacy of my home. But, I thought with some satisfaction, they didn’t know what I talked about with Nadia during her nighttime visits. No one could get inside our heads.

After we’d been driving on the interstate for half an hour or so, Carly said, “I just had a thought. You’re going to be expected at home. What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“We’ll tell them I’m staying overnight at your house to help Frank with homework.”

“But there’s no school tomorrow. It’s Good Friday—the beginning of spring break. How’s that going to work?”

I thought for a minute. “I think I got something,” I said, pulling out my cell and dialing home. After the beep, I said, “Hi, Mom, this is Russ. I’m with Carly. Frank had a big science project for school that he didn’t do. His teacher said if he dropped it off at her house tomorrow he could still get full credit for it. The kid is having a breakdown, so I said I’d help out. We’re going to be working on it until late, so I’m just going to stay overnight at their place. Carly said she’d drive me home tomorrow.”

I held the phone under Carly’s chin. Quick as always, she improvised. “Frank is practically having a breakdown over this. Thanks for letting Russ help out. He’s a real lifesaver. Right after we drop off Frank’s project tomorrow morning I’ll bring Russ home. Love you!” After I ended the call, she glanced my way. “Aren’t you the sly little liar? I didn’t know you had it in you.” I wasn’t sure if she was being disapproving or admiring. A little of both, I guess.

“I don’t normally lie to them,” I said, defending myself. “But in an emergency…”

“Yeah, I know,” Carly said. “Russ, can you do me a favor and get me a piece of gum? There’s some in the glove compartment.”

Since she quit smoking a few years earlier, Carly had become gum dependent whenever she was stressed. At first she used the kind with nicotine; eventually she worked her way to regular sugarless. I dug around until among the fast food napkins and broken sunglasses until I found a pack, then handed it to her.

Carly popped a piece into her mouth and then held it out to me. “Want a piece?”

“No thanks. I’m trying to cut back.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The Greyhound station wasn’t what I expected at all. In books, bus station buildings are short, nondescript cubes with seedy interiors consisting of hard plastic chairs, dirty restrooms, and scuffed linoleum. The Milwaukee Intermodal Station was a shining glass structure—the front of the building was made up almost entirely of windows divided by narrow metal strips. It was beautiful, in a way. I said, “This isn’t what I expected at all.”

“It’s pretty new,” Carly said. “A bus and train station combined.”

Across the street was a parking lot with a sign that said “$6 All Day.” After we pulled into a space and I paid the attendant, we made our way across the intersection to the building. Carly walked purposefully and fast, as if that would get Frank back to us more quickly, like maybe we’d get to the station and find him inside waiting for us at the ticket counter, and we’d all go home and everything would be okay again.

Inside it was airy and open. Full-sized trees in planters divided up rows of seats. We’d entered the Amtrak end of the building. The place was crowded with people coming and going and waiting. Mothers with small children, businessmen and women, people with suitcases like they were on a leg of a long-distance trip. A man pushing a cleaning cart came by, and Carly grabbed his sleeve. “We need to be at the Greyhound counter.” The urgency in her voice suggested we were late, but in fact, we were well ahead of our five thirty deadline.

The man looked startled, but he had a kindly face. “Pardon?” he asked.

She softened her question. “We’re looking for the Greyhound counter. Can you direct us, sir?”

He pushed back his baseball cap and pointed down to the other end. “The Greyhound ticket office is at the west end of the building. Just keep going. Can’t miss it.”

Carly took off running, and I went after her, turning back for just an instant to yell, “Thanks,” to the maintenance man. “Carly, wait!” I called out. I had longer legs than she did, but she was still quick, past the All Aboard Café, darting around individuals, pushing through clusters of people, passing rows of seated customers who looked up as we went by.

When we got to the counter there was a short line. Carly skidded to a halt and leaned over to catch her breath. She had her hands on her knees and was bent at the waist.

Clearly her office job had not prepared her for this.

“Are you okay?” I asked. A clock on the far wall indicated we had plenty of time.

She straightened up. “No, I’m not okay, Russ. I’m going out of my mind here. They have Frank. They have my baby and I—”

I shushed her; people were looking. I spoke under my breath. “It’s okay, Carly. I told you, we’ll get him back.”

She took in a big gulp of air and lowered her voice. “I keep thinking about how scared he must be.”

“I know, but we have to be on top of this. Falling apart isn’t going to help Frank.” The words coming out of my mouth sounded like something a character in a movie would say, but they had a calming effect on Carly.

“Okay, okay. We’ll get through this.” She said it like she was trying to convince herself.

“We’re already getting through this,” I said.

When I got to the front of the line, I told the older gentleman behind the counter, “I’m Russ Becker.”

I was about to explain when he said, “Oh yes, Mr. Becker, we’ve been expecting you.” When he looked down to open a drawer, I got a view of the thin strands of hair artfully arranged over the top of his head. While he was hunting through the drawer, Carly took her sugarless gum out of her mouth and purposely stuck it to the underside of the counter. Her small way of showing her contempt for this whole situation. The pink gob marred the perfect white underside of the counter, but luckily no one else noticed it. A microsecond later the clerk pulled out a sealed envelope, which he handed over the counter to me. “I see you’re one of our VIP passengers,” he said. “Please let the staff know if you require anything at all during your trip. Your happiness is a priority for us.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping away from the counter.

“What the hell was that about?” Carly hissed when we’d moved out of earshot. “You’re a VIP passenger? Your happiness is a priority for us? It’s a Greyhound bus. They’re mocking us, Russ.”

“Maybe so,” I said, tearing into the envelope. “But we can’t get distracted by any of that.” I pulled out a ticket; it looked a lot like a concert ticket, scan code and all. I read the destination aloud. “Apparently, I’m going to Chicago. Leaving at six fifteen.” I peered inside the open envelope. It was empty. “No note or anything.”

“Why don’t you ask Baldy what’s going on?” Carly said, looking back at the service counter. “Maybe he knows where Frank is.” From the look on her face I could tell she was going to start something.

I grabbed her arm. For the first time I wished I had Mallory’s gift of mind control. I’d have loved to be able to force her to release her anger. “Don’t. Make. A. Scene.” I said it in a low key-way, but I think I made the point. Miraculously, she calmed down, which was a good thing. I had the feeling we had to play by their rules. They’d said no police. Screaming at the clerk at the Greyhound station wasn’t quite the same thing as calling the authorities, but it still wasn’t good. “I’m going to get on the bus and go where they want me to go, and I’m going to get Frank and bring him home. Be cool.”

She started crying again, but at least this time she did it silently. She sniffed and said, “I have a very bad feeling about this. You’re going to get on that bus and I’ll never see either of you again.”

“That’s not going to happen.” In fact, I knew it could happen, but one of us had to be rational and calm here and it was turning out to be me. “You’ve seen what I can do. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, Russ, you have no idea.” She wiped her eyes. “They can do things you can’t even imagine.”

“Hey, I once got shot and pulled the bullet out of my neck and was completely healed half an hour later. Don’t worry, I’m fairly indestructible.”

“That’s what David thought. And he’s gone. And now they have Frank.”

Across the way, a businessman holding a briefcase stared in our direction. When I made eye contact, he shifted his attention to his phone. Behind him, a short chubby woman wearing a Green Bay Packers jersey leaned against a wall and chewed on a granola bar. She too seemed to be watching us. All around us people swirled and moved and talked on phones and glanced our way. Any one of them could be with the Associates. They couldn’t all be wearing dark suits. That would be way too obvious. “Try to keep it together,” I said. “I know it’s hard, but we can’t lose our cool. If they’re watching, we want them to think this doesn’t faze us. We don’t want to show our hand.”

She sniffed. “When did you get so old and wise?”

“About two weeks ago,” I said. “I was out walking late at night and I saw these lights up in the sky…”

“Say no more,” Carly said, giving me a slight smile, even though her eyes still glinted with tears. “I think I’ve heard this story before.”

“Here’s the plan,” I said. “I’ll get on the bus just like I’m supposed to, and you head for home and wait for me to call.”

“Go home? I don’t think so.”

“Carly, someone has to be at your place. What if Mom and Dad stop over and no one’s there?”

“And what if they do stop over and you and Frank aren’t there? What am I supposed to say?”

“Make some excuse. You could tell them we went out to buy supplies for the project. You’ll think of something. You’re good like that.”

Carly hesitated; I could tell she was thinking it over. She shook her head. “I don’t think I can just sit on the couch and not know—”