Harrison Squared (19 page)

We emerged at a backstreet that was almost as dark as the alley. She walked toward a house with unlit windows. Stairs led down to a basement entrance. Lydia fished out a chain she wore around her neck. More than a dozen keys dangled from it.

“Whoa,” I said.

“I collect them.” She chose a key and unlocked the door.

“You mean you steal them.”

“People are careless.” She pushed open the door.

“Is this breaking and entering?” I said.

“Just entering,” she said. “It's my house.”

“But I thought you lived with—?”

“Get in here.” She shut the door behind us. We were in an unfinished basement of cement floors and cinderblock walls, lit by a single bare bulb. Overhead, copper pipes and valves zigzagged through the floor joists. Several pipes dropped to connect to a huge metal tank that could have been a water heater or a fuel oil container. Against one wall, wooden shelves on stacks of cinderblocks were filled with hand tools, jars of nails and screws, and mechanical parts I didn't recognize. One shelf was occupied entirely by a dozen manual typewriters.

I nodded at the ceiling and lowered my voice. “Are we going to wake anybody up, or…?”

“No one lives here anymore.”

I followed her across the room, thinking, Does everybody have a secret hideout but me?

She opened a wooden door and gestured; four people were waiting on the other side. I recognized three of them: Flora, with her painted eyebrows and red lipstick; eager-faced, bat-eared Garfield; and the tall, long-haired boy with the Frankenstein forehead. Bart. The boy who preferred not to answer Mr. Waughm.

The fourth person was a short, pinch-faced girl in a dress as long and shapeless as a nightgown. She looked to be a freshman, maybe younger. It didn't help that she held a large porcelain doll in one arm. The doll wore a similar long dress, and her features looked a lot like her owner's. Maybe they'd mail-ordered the doll to match. Girls were weird about this kind of thing.

Both the girl and the doll stared at me coldly. Nobody was looking friendly, except for Flora, who seemed amused.

“Wait,” I said. “There
is
a study group?”

This new room was almost as unfinished as the one we'd entered through. The walls were drywalled, though, and the floor was covered by a faded carpet. A collection of beat-up chairs formed a semicircle in the middle of the room.

“It looks like you're set up for Voluntary,” I said.

“Just the opposite,” Flora said.

Tall Bart frowned. “We've never let an outsider in here.” His hands hung at his sides, his fingers fluttering. The others behind him signaled in response. “However…,” he said.

“
Extraordinary circumstances
,” the girl with the doll said. “
Extraordinary measures
.” Her voice was deep yet hollow, like wind through a cave.

“Agreed, Isabel,” Bart said. He held out his hand to me. “We've never spoken directly,” he said. “I'm Bart.”

I shook his hand, and winced. His grip was crushing. “Sorry,” he said, and seemed genuinely apologetic.

I held out my hand to the young girl. “We've never met, Isabel. I'm Harrison.”

“She's Isabel,” the girl said in a whisper. “I'm Ruth.”

“Uh…”

“
What are you, Indonesian?
” she said in that subterranean voice.

“Isabel!” Ruth exclaimed.

Lydia cut in. “And you know Flora and Gar.”

“We're the Involuntaries,” Flora said.

“Oh. ‘Just the opposite.' Right.”

“See? He's quick,” Garfield said, grinning. “Kids have no choice about going to Voluntary, but they can decide for themselves to join
us
.”

I laughed. “Wait, are you telling me all those kids in Voluntary are faking it?”

“Most of them aren't,” Lydia said. “They believe in the Congregation.”

“And some are on the fence, but we don't trust them completely,” Flora said.

“So you're telling me it's basically you five,” I said.

“
Six
,” the girl with the doll said. But she'd used that low, spooky voice instead of her whispery one, so maybe it was more accurate to say, “the doll with the girl.”

“Who's the leader?” I asked, and looked at Bart. “You?”

“We don't have a leader,” he said.

“Come on, there's always a leader. Who decided to bring me here?”

“
Too many questions!
” Isabel said.

“
We
have questions for
you
,” Bart said. “Take a seat.”

“You sound like a leader to me. What if I prefer not to?”

Garfield laughed. Lydia didn't. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, Are you going to fight me on this?

“Fine,” I said. “I'll play along. But it's question for question. Every one I answer, you have to answer one of mine.”

Fingers fluttered. Bart nodded. “Deal.”

The group parted and directed me to sit in a wide, ratty armchair that had seen better days.

“Tell us how you know about the
Albatross
,” Bart said.

“I found it down in J. Ruck's Marine Engineering,” I said. “It's got a big hole in it.”

“How did you know to—?”

“Uh-uh, my turn. Who owns the boat?”

“That's complicated.” Bart exchanged a look with Lydia. “Technically the
Albatross
is owned by Lydia's uncle Micah.”

“Okay, but who actually owns it?”

“The Congregation.”

That name again. “Who or what is the Congregation?” I asked.

“My turn,” Bart said. “Why do you think the
Albatross
had anything to do with your mother going missing?”

I was not about to tell them about Lub. “I got an anonymous note telling me to look for the
Albatross
.” I told them about going down to the docks and asking Chilly Bob about the boat, then following him to Ruck's. “I saw the
Albatross
there. And that's when I had my run-in with the Scrimshander.”

The Involuntaries—including Isabel the porcelain doll—stared at me.

“Don't try to tell me he's a myth,” I said. “Chief Bode called him a boogeyman.”

“Where'd you learn about the Scrimshander?” Gar asked.

“He read about him in a book,” Lydia said.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “But before that he tried to slit my throat.”

“You didn't run into the Scrimshander,” Bart said. “Because if you did, you'd be dead.”

“
Or worse,
” Isabel said.

“How'd you get away?” Flora asked.

“I dove into the water.”

Bart looked at Lydia. “And that's how you got away—by
swimming
? That's like outrunning a cheetah.”

“Yeah, well, that's what happened,” I said. “I guess I got lucky. Now, tell me about this Congregation. Who's in it?”

“That's complicated,” Bart said.

“You could stop saying that now,” I said.

“Most of the town is technically in the Congregation, so—”

“You can also stop saying ‘technically.'”

Garfield laughed again. I was killing it with the bat-eared demographic.

Lydia said, “You have to understand, there are
circles
. Most of the families of Dunnsmouth belong to the Congregation, and they go to the major services. But there's an inner circle of people who run everything.”

“Kind of like you guys running the Involuntaries,” I said.

“But we think there's an
inner
inner circle of people who
really
run the Congregation,” Lydia said.

“
Wheels within wheels
,” Isabel intoned.

“Sounds like a university,” I said. “My mom's an academic. She said no matter how many committees there are, all the decisions are made by three white guys in a room.”

“Sounds about right,” Flora said.

“As ‘children' we're not supposed to know anything,” Bart said. “But the Involuntaries have made it their job to know what the church is up to. We don't trust them. We just can't buy into the religion anymore.”

“So you've stopped believing in God,” I said.

“
Gods
,” Isabel said.

“Of course we still
believe
in the gods,” Ruth said in her breathy voice.

“We just don't believe in what the Congregation wants to do for them,” Bart said.

“Listen,” I said. “I just need to know one thing—who was on the
Albatross
that night? They kidnapped my mother, and I need to know where they're keeping her.”

“Back up,” Flora said. “Kidnapping?”

“Who told you they had your mother?” Lydia asked.

“Don't say, ‘an anonymous note,'” Bart said.

I thought for a moment. “I can't tell you.” Bart started to object and I said, “I promised confidentiality, okay? You're going to have to trust me.”

“
We do not even know you
,” Isabel said.

“She means, not that well,” Ruth whispered.

“But we liked the way you stood up to Waughm,” Flora said.

“
Oh
yeah,” Garfield said. “That was great. It sounded like the kind of thing Bart's saying all the time. This is what the Involuntaries stand for.”

“We keep the Congregation in check,” Bart said.

“So does that mean you're going to help me?” I asked.

*   *   *

They each took a seat—Ruth put Isabel the doll on a seat by herself—and I told them everything I knew about the night Mom disappeared, except how I knew it. None of the Involuntaries could tell me who'd been on the
Albatross
when it rammed Mom's boat, but Lydia had another part of the story to share.

“My uncle Micah got a call that night,” she said. “It was late. He went out, cursing. And when he came back it was nearly dawn. He was soaking wet.”

“Who called him?”

“I don't know,” she said. “If I'd thought it had anything to do with the Congregation when the call came in I would have listened in on an extension.” She said this matter-of-factly. I wondered how many times she'd spied on her family. She said, “It wasn't until later that I realized it might have something to do with your mother. And when you brought up the
Albatross
…”

“The boat was damaged, so they called Micah to take care of it,” Bart said.

“So is Uncle Micah part of the inner circle?” I asked.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “I don't think he's that … sharp.”

“So who is?” I asked. The candidates included several known deacons whose names I didn't recognize, and Principal Montooth.

“Probably Waughm, too,” Garfield said. “The whole administration.”

“So who do you think is the leader?” I asked. “Not Waughm.”

“There may be someone else,” Ruth said quietly.

“
The Intercessor
,” Isabel intoned.

I blinked in surprise. The doll was in the seat next to me. I could have sworn that a minute ago she'd been sitting on the other side of room.

Bart said, “It's someone we've overheard the adults mention once or twice. We don't know who he is.”

“The Intercessor between what and what?” I asked. I already had an idea, though. Lub said the
Albatross
met with the Elder Dwellers every few weeks.

“We don't know that either,” Bart said.

“Okay, so Montooth has to report to the Intercessor sometime, right? We've got to put him under surveillance. Find out where this inner circle is meeting.”

“Then what?” Garfield asked.

“I don't know. Maybe Montooth will lead us to where my mother's being held.”

“This is a pretty flimsy plan,” Lydia said.

“What else are we supposed to do?” I said. “I can't go to the cops. Chief Bode already lied to me about the
Albatross
—he said it was up on blocks for weeks. I could go to the detective from Uxton, but what am I supposed to tell him? ‘Hey, the principal at my school runs a secret cult, and he's kidnapped my mom, and oh yeah, I have no proof of this at all.'”

“Cult's a strong word,” Bart said.

“Doesn't mean it's wrong,” Flora said. “I've always thought it was a cult.”

Lydia's fingers were moving. “Could you stop with the under-the-table conversations?” I said.

“Sorry,” Lydia said. “I need to get back home.”

“We'll take shifts to watch Montooth, as best we can,” Bart said. “Maybe we'll get lucky.”

“Or someone will send you another anonymous note,” Flora said.

We turned out the lights in the basement, and then Lydia locked the door behind us. Bart, Garfield, Flora, and Ruth, with Isabel in her arms, hurried up the stairs.

“Hey,” I said. They stopped. “Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow,” Bart said.

*   *   *

I walked with Lydia through the alley, back to Main Street. The cold didn't bother me as much as it had earlier. I think I was so relieved to have someone believe me that I was a little giddy.

“Can you keep listening in to your uncle's calls?” I asked. “If the inner circle calls him, or if he calls them—”

“He's an underling,” Lydia said. “There's no telling when they'll need him again, if ever.”

“But they need his boat,” I said.

“Right,” Lydia said. “
His
boat.”

“Every couple weeks they take it out. They're going to need it soon.”

Lydia stopped walking. “How do you know that?”

“I want to tell you, but I promised confidentiality.”