London Escape (3 page)

I try to remember if this is true.

She shows us into the house, still speaking. “Would you believe I haven’t heard a thing from that boy since last week?” She sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to her pearl necklace. “But you know how he is.”

I nod, because I know exactly what she means. Though he had promised to call, I haven’t heard a word from him since the day he left.

“Oh, he’s probably off scaling the Alps or spelunking in Brazil or some such nonsense,” she continues airily.

I laugh quietly to myself. Sure, Jason is quite adventurous, but he is more likely to be lost in the Louvre than cave exploring in Brazil.

“Have you spoken to him it all? Y’all were always close, weren’t you?” She’s ushered us to the buffet table, but all this talk of Jason has made me lose my appetite.

I shake my head, but Mrs. Barron isn’t even looking at me, she’s busy surveying the food with a critical look.

“Nothing in an entire week! You’d think he’d be a little more grateful since his father and I are paying his rent. But, no.” She sighs again and straightens a flower arrangement that’s already perfect.

Before I can say anything in response, she’s exclaiming, “Oh dear, what is wrong with these salmon croquettes!” She sweeps up the offending platter and throws a last comment over her shoulder as she hurries away. “Enjoy the party, I have to speak with the caterer immediately!”

I turn to give my dad an incredulous look and find him stuffing caviar into his mouth.

“What?” he asks around a mouthful when I give him a disdainful look.

“Did you hear all that?” I nibble nervously on a plain cracker.

He simply shrugs. “So, Jason’s gone MIA again. Remember last summer? He was incommunicado in NYC for four days. Turns out he was just at the Met.”

I’m still unsatisfied. “It’s not like him be completely out of touch with everyone. And also, since when do you use words like MIA and incommunicado?”

He shrugs again and goes for more caviar. Before he takes another bite something behind me catches his eye. Immediately I see his face change. It’s his “work” face that I know all too well.

He gives me a grim look. “I’ve got to go speak to someone.”

I nod, I know the routine.

“Don’t wander off,” he admonishes, back into overprotective dad mode. “And no drinking or sneaking off with boys.”

I have to laugh at his warnings as he disappears into the crowd. Really, those last two things are the furthest from my mind at the moment. As far as wandering off, now that is quite tempting.

Suddenly I’m regretting leaving my cell phone at home, but my dress didn’t have pockets and I wasn’t about to carry a purse. I decide to sneak upstairs to Jason’s room and borrow his laptop for a few minutes. He’s not there anyway, and maybe Alexa is still around on Skype.

As I slip up the staircase unnoticed I spot my dad, engrossed in conversation with a dark-haired man. I don’t immediately recognize him. He’s probably ten years younger than my dad, solidly built with a sharp, square jaw. I don’t know why but he seems strangely familiar. Whatever they are discussing, it looks serious, since both seem oblivious to the party swirling around them. I feel a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach knowing this can only mean one thing: he’d be leaving again, and soon.

Admittedly I know next to nothing about what my dad actually does for a living, besides the fact that he makes good money and travels a lot. I’ve heard a lot of general terms like “acquisitions” and “contracts” so I assume it’s in investments or something. His job is just another item on the list of things we don’t talk about.

I find Jason’s room easily, even though I’ve only been in there a handful of times. We usually hung out in the family room downstairs when I came over. This was another one of my dad’s rules of course.

I push open the door to his room without a thought, not knowing how it would make me feel to walk in. But as soon as I do the memory hits me like a punch in the chest, taking my breath with it. All I’m left with is the awful feeling that lingered from our final parting on the night he left. After he’d left me there on the doorstep, with so much unsaid between us, I’d decided to go see him one last time.

I had tried calling first, but he didn’t answer his phone, and when I finally arrived at his house no one answered the door. Like my dad, Jason’s parents work a lot. His mom is involved with several different charities, and his dad is a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So it’s not a surprise to me that there appears to be no one home. I walk around back, searching for a light on in the house. Sure enough the fourth window over on the second floor is lit, Jason’s room. Like I have done many times before I let myself in using the key code he had given me years ago. As I start up the stairs I have a flash of apprehension about what I’m doing, but manage to convince myself that he’s probably just too busy packing to answer the phone or the door. 

A few minutes later I step into his room. The lights are on inside, but it’s empty. Clothing and belongings are strewn about as though someone has been packing in a hurry. A sound from down the hall catches my attention and I step back into the hallway. There is a thin beam of light shining on the floor from a room three doors down. I can just make out two muffled voices, both male, clearly arguing. They stop suddenly, so I quickly jump back inside the room, closing the door behind me just as I had found it.

A door slams and footsteps echo down the hall. I’m really wishing I had stayed home now. If Jason and his father are arguing I certainly don’t want to get caught up in the middle. I’m here now though, and the footsteps are coming my way. Jason enters the room in such a hurry that he doesn’t even notice me at first. He’s too busy stuffing something quickly into his backpack. I only see the object for a brief second, but it appears to be a small, black drawstring bag.

When he has finished zipping up his backpack he finally notices me standing there.

“Kit?” His look of confusion quickly changes into one of panic.

“Jase,” I begin, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I was just—” he shoulders his backpack and glances in the direction of the closed door, “—leaving.”

“Jason,” Robert Barron, Jason’s father, speaks as he enters the room. He’s an unremarkable looking man of average height with the same brown hair and eyes of his son. I’ve usually thought him to be quite friendly, but there’s nothing friendly about the way he looks tonight. In fact, when I hear the tone of his voice and see the way he is looking at Jason, I feel a shiver go down my spine.

Mr. Barron doesn’t seem to notice me, instead he marches straight toward Jason, who is standing as still as a statue. He’s silent for a long moment, staring into his son’s eyes as though challenging him. I’m not sure what I expect from Jason, but I’m a little surprised when I see him staring back with a look of utter defiance. Without warning I’m afraid for him. Instinctively I cross to his side and take his hand, as though my presence could protect him.

 “What were you doing in my office?”  he asks, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger.

“I told you, I was getting my passport out of the safe,” Jason answers quickly, holding his ground.

My gasp of surprise is barely audible. Jason is lying. I know it, and I’m pretty sure his father knows it too.

Mr. Barron’s gaze flashes from my face to Jason’s, his jaw clenched so tightly I can see a muscle twitching in his cheek. He eyes the backpack on Jason’s shoulder as through trying to decide something, then nods curtly. “Have a good trip.”

I feel more than hear Jason exhale with relief beside me as his father closes the door behind him with a slam.

He drops my hand and hurries over to the bookshelf. He’s still pulling off volumes and stuffing them inside his duffle bag while I stare incredulously at his back.

“Thanks for that,” he calls over his shoulder.

“For what?” I ask.

“He went easy on me because you were here,” he says nonchalantly.

For once in my life I’m struck speechless. First, his sudden change in plans and then acting all strange when he said goodbye to me. Now even his own father thinks he’s up to something. Clearly something strange is happening at the Barron household, and Jason is right in the middle of it all.

“Jase,” I say his name so softly I’m positive he can’t hear me, but I can’t seem to speak above a whisper. He pauses and lowers his head.

His reply is quiet too. “Kit, please don’t ask any questions I can’t answer.”

I stand silently, fumbling with the object in my hands, the reason I’m here tonight witnessing things I shouldn’t. I wait for him to turn and say something, anything to alleviate my fear. To tell me that it’s all just a misunderstanding between him and his father.

Finally, when he’s finished packing half his book collection, he turns to me. I force myself to look at him, even though I know my emotions are far too easily read on my face right now.

“Hey.” He moves closer and pulls me into a tight hug for a moment. Normally I would be happy to be in his arms once again, but this feels too much like a final goodbye.

I sniff back a sudden tear and crane my head up to look at him. “You’re not running away are you?”

Surprisingly he laughs out loud. “No, Kit, I’m not running away.”

I feel stupid now but I’m still glad I asked. Part of me wants to ask him what is in the bag he’d taken from his father’s office. I’m sure it’s not his passport like he said.

“What’s this?” He sees that I’m holding something now, and I offer it to him a bit sheepishly. A smile touches his lips and he holds up the framed photo for inspection. I watch his face as the smile slips and is replaced by something altogether different.

“I just wanted you to have something to remember me by.” I wince at my words, as is if isn’t corny enough that I’m giving him a framed picture of the two of us together. What else could I possibly say? He had been my best friend long before anything else, and I want to keep it that way.

“Thanks.” His voice is quiet again.

I decide to try again, even though he told me not to ask questions. “Jase, please tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can—”

“No,” he cuts me off forcefully. “Kit, listen to me, stay out of it.”

I take a step back, surprised.

“Promise me.” He places his hands on my shoulders and his eyes lock with mine.

I nod, because I don’t trust my voice. If I speak, I’ll cry, and if I cry I’ll never forgive myself.

He seems satisfied with this, because his look softens. “Don’t worry, okay.”

Again, I nod stupidly.

He doesn’t release me. Instead he gives me that searching look again. I find myself wondering if he’ll kiss me goodbye and desperately wishing he would, but he doesn’t. He pulls me into his arms for another hug that is all too brief.

 “Everything is going to be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” he whispers in my ear.

I try to ignore the feeling, but it’s unmistakable, my spidey sense is tingling.

Back in the present moment, I step into that same room, closing the door behind me. It feels like I was just here, watching him go, left wondering and worrying. Now that fear is back, only this time it’s even stronger. The fact that he hasn’t spoken to his parents at all worries me. Whatever falling out he had with his father that night must have lingered. But then again, he hasn’t called me either and we had parted on good terms. I’m reminded of my dad’s words. Jason isn’t exactly dependable, especially when he’s off on one of his trips. Still, no matter how hard I try to rationalize his silence, the bad feeling I had gotten that night seems to have lingered.

Stepping over to his computer, I plop down in the chair and move to hit the power button. Before I can push the button I realize the computer is already on. This strikes me as odd, since Jason has been gone for two weeks. When the screen finally flickers to life I can see more evidence that he had changed his plans at the last minute. There are several internet windows left open, one for American Airlines and another for an email account. My thoughts immediately go back to that night, and the secretive way he had been acting. Without a second thought, I click on the email and maximize the window.     

Instantly I know it’s not Jason’s email, he has a gmail account and this is an unfamiliar, official-looking work email of some sort. The recipient is listed as “R.Barron”, his father. This catches my interest right away, and I wonder if there is a connection between this and the reason his father was clearly angry at him on the night he left.

There is only one email in the inbox; the rest of the account is cleared out. The sender is an anonymous looking yahoo account with the screen name “Mr. V” and the email is equally brief, “Will be picking up package 7-9-10, 10 PM. Have it ready.”

If my curiosity wasn’t already piqued, that does it. Today is July 9, 2010. Somebody is picking up a package from Mr. Barron tonight.

The email is weird, to be sure, but Mr. Barron is an important man so it could mean anything. Besides there is a party tonight, so maybe it’s no big deal that someone would be picking up a package of some sort.

I could have easily forgotten all about it had I not heard footsteps outside, echoing down the hall. I hold my breath, but they pass me by. I’m not sure what makes me want to investigate further, but curiosity has overwhelmed me. I know the person who just passed my door could easily be the man from the email, on his way to Mr. Barron’s office to pick up his package. Something deep down inside of me urges me to investigate. 

 I stick my head outside the door and am surprised to hear once again the sound of raised voices down the hall. For a moment the déjà vu I feel is so powerful I wonder if it’s Jason, returned home and arguing with his father again. As I creep down the hall silently, thankful for my rubber soled sneakers, I immediately know neither of the voices belong to Jason.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from coming to a stop outside the room and listening to the voices inside.

“I’m not in the mood to play games Robert, where are the jewels?” A man’s voice, gravelly, tinged with a European accent, is just barely audible through the closed door.