Six (22 page)

“Here's fine!” said Parker. He was too late, though; “here” was already right outside the main doors.

Michael paid as Parker and Emma scrambled to collect all the papers. Parker jumped out and ran over to the left of the glass doors. He pressed his back against the redbrick wall, hoping he hadn't already been spotted, and waited for Emma to join him. Michael was last, somewhat slowed by the weight of the backpack on his back.

“Do you think they saw us?” asked Parker.

“If they did, they're probably wondering why we're standing in a line by the wall in broad daylight,” said Michael. He pointed up to the security camera.

“Oh no!” said Parker as Emma turned to him with a look of utter panic on her face.

The problem was, there was nowhere for them to run to for cover. Green lawn stretched out from the building in all directions, with not even a tree trunk to hide behind.

“Let's try again tomorrow,”
signed Emma.

Parker shook his head and turned on Effie as he spoke to Michael. “We're here now. Let's just go in before anybody drives up. We have a better chance of hiding in there than we do out here.”

But Michael was supposed to hide!
said Emma.

“If they've seen the two of us, they've seen Michael, too. I say we just do what we planned and pretend that Michael is our friend.”

“Pretend?”
said Michael.

“I didn't mean that! I . . .”

“I know what you meant,” said Michael. “I was joking. Come on, let's get this over and done with.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

Of all the obstacles they had faced since his dad had gone, arriving at the secure room of the secure ward of a psychiatric hospital should certainly have been the most complicated. In reality, the opposite had turned out to be true. What actually happened was this:

* They walked in to find nobody at reception.

* They walked down the main corridor and past a person—possibly a visitor—who smiled and bade them good afternoon as he passed.

* They reached the secure ward and watched through the glass doors as the nurse behind the counter stood up to answer the call that Michael had placed on his phone.

* Parker entered the code into the keypad, and the doors unlocked.

* They made their way to the far end of the ward, unnoticed, and through another set of doors that opened on Parker's first attempt. Though they heard people in the ward—someone singing, another person shouting—they saw nobody.

* They ran up the stairs and arrived at the only door on the small landing: Room 43.

Parker couldn't believe their luck.

“Not luck,” corrected Michael as they approached the door. “I do not call staying up till three in the morning trying hundreds of passwords to get the codes
lucky
.”

Parker gave Emma a put-my-foot-in-it-again look. “Sorry, Michael. Good work.”

They all turned to face the door.

“What now?”
signed Emma.

There was only one thing they could do—go in and find out if this was the man they were looking for. It seemed so simple, and yet not one of them made a move. Parker knew he should probably be the one taking the lead, but he couldn't quite bring himself to unlock the door—the fear of the unknown waiting for them on the other side had suddenly hit him.

“You're coming in with me, right?” he whispered.

Emma and Michael both shook their heads firmly.

“That was definitely not part of the plan,” said Michael.

“Please?”
said Parker. He was aware of how nervous he sounded. “Three against one.”

“Against one what?” replied Michael. “Three against a normal human being, maybe. Three against a crazed giant, not so much.”

There had been nothing in the records of Simon Grimm that had described him that way, but evidently Parker was not the only one who was imagining that he was at least eight feet tall. He pictured him drooling, too, for some reason—like a rabid dog. It was not a comforting image.

Parker raised his hand slowly to the keypad and then withdrew it quickly.

“Actually, maybe this isn't really such a good idea,” he said.

We're here now!
said Emma on Effie.
Think about Dad, Parker. Please.

“We can wait by the door,” offered Michael. “We'll leave it open. If anything happens, you can just run out. Or we can come and help you.” He said the last part with little conviction.

Parker shook his head in resignation. “Fine,” he whispered. “I'll do it. But
don't
close the door.”

Michael nodded, and Parker reached out to punch in the numbers, but once more he stopped abruptly. He turned to Michael.

“Maybe I'll take one of those shields.”

Holding the disappointingly small plastic shield in front of his chest, and with the rubber machete tucked into the back of his jeans, Parker entered the six-digit number that Michael held up for him to read.

Click
.

Parker turned to Michael and Emma, who were also both holding their useless shields in front of them, and nodded.

“Good luck,” whispered Michael as he pulled down on the handle and swung the door open.

Upon entering Room 43, Parker found himself facing a small corridor that led out onto a room, of which all he could see was a desk piled high with books and a window on the back wall overlooking the green lawn. On his right was the open door of the bathroom. Parker, still standing in the doorway, leaned slightly forward and craned his neck to look inside. The bathroom was empty. Parker turned to face the window again and waited a moment but heard nothing. He took another step. Still nothing. Parker turned to look behind him, and Michael—his feet still very much on the other side of the door—motioned with his head for Parker to keep going.

Parker took a deep breath and started to walk forward, his fear deepening as each step took him farther away from the safety of the door.

The room began to open out in front of him, revealing a small table and a chest of drawers, but still no sign of
him
. Another step, and Parker reached the end of the tiny corridor. He paused and listened, but the only sound he could hear was the loud thumping of his own heart. Half hoping that Simon/Solomon wasn't there after all, Parker took another deep breath and stepped into the room.

He was there.

For a moment—seconds possibly, though it felt longer—neither Parker nor the man said a word. They both stared at each other—Parker frozen midstep and the man, in a dark blue dressing gown, looking up from the armchair he was sitting in. Parker should have been the first to speak—after all, he was the one entering unannounced into the room—but he wasn't capable of saying anything; fear had rendered him speechless.

On a positive note, the man wasn't drooling. And he didn't appear unduly tall. However, both of those things would have been less unsettling than what Parker found instead. The man was, far and away, the strangest looking person who Parker had ever set eyes on.

His skin—even his lips—were gray. Not gray as in pale and sickly looking—gray as in the color of an elephant. Unlike an elephant, however, the man's skin did not appear to have a single wrinkle. It was as smooth as Parker's own, smoother even, and yet, perhaps because of his full head of shocking white hair, the man appeared to be old. He also had no eyebrows, and from where Parker was standing, it looked like he had no eyelashes, either. Most disconcerting of all, however, were his eyes; the left eye was twice the size of the right and a brilliant blue, pierced by a tiny black dot at its center. The right eye was completely black. It was entirely mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time, and Parker might well have stood there all day had the man not suddenly opened his mouth and let out the most terrifying yell.

“Aaarggghhhhh! We're under attack!”

In response, Parker let out an involuntary scream and half stumbled, half ran back into the corridor, where he tripped, jumped up, saw the same terrified looks on Emma's and Michael's faces, and then lunged forward in the direction of the door. And then he heard the man laughing.

Parker froze midrun.

“Kid! It was a joke! Come in.”

Parker and Michael locked stares, both wide-eyed and both clearly unsure what they should do next. They were, Parker realized, completely and utterly out of their depth. He would have run out, no question, if it hadn't been for one thing—the man had an unmistakably English accent. It was coincidence enough to keep Parker listening.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,”
squeaked Parker.

“Come back—I don't bite!”

All Parker heard was the word
bite
. He shook his head slowly at Michael and Emma and mouthed the words
no way
. Michael replied by holding up his hands as if to say,
What choice have you got?
and waved Parker forward.
Easy for him to say,
thought Parker as he turned stiffly around. With fear prickling every pore of his body, he stepped tentatively back into the room.

The man was still sitting in the armchair. He was now smiling.

“I thought the war had started,” said the man. His voice was not threatening. It might have even sounded friendly had Parker not been expecting the man to lunge forward in a sudden attack.

Parker's eyes went down to where the man was looking and realized he was still holding the shield.

“Oh,” said Parker, suddenly realizing what the man meant. “This . . . It isn't . . .” He felt himself turning red as he quickly hid the shield behind his back.

The man laughed again loudly, and his mouth opened to reveal a set of brilliant white teeth and a tongue the same gray hue as the rest of him.

“Good thinking,” said the man. “You don't want to be walking into the room of a madman unprepared.”

Parker could tell the man was teasing him, but he was still too scared to find it amusing.

“So . . . I'm guessing you must be my new doctor.”

“Me? No! I'm only twelve,”
said Parker, before realizing that the man was smiling again.
“Oh.”

“Tough audience,” muttered the man with a mock frown. “Are you going to tell me why you're here, or do I have to guess?”

“I . . . um . . . well . . . I don't . . . Areyousolomongladstone?” blurted out Parker.

“Was that a word?”

Parker shook himself and tried again. “Are you Solomon Gladstone?”

At the mention of the name, the man pursed his lips and leaned forward in his armchair. His eyes, or rather his eye—the blue one—narrowed.

Parker's grip tightened around the handle of his shield.

“How do you know my name?”

The answer was in the man's question and, as Parker realized this, his face dropped.

“It's you,”
whispered Parker.

“It was the last time I checked.”

The man waited for Parker to look at him before continuing.

“I have to admit, I'm curious. It's been a while since a child carrying a shield came in asking for me by a name nobody in this hospital even knows. Are you going to tell me what . . . what . . . what . . . what . . . Alberta!” shouted Solomon as his hand flew up in the air and slapped the back of his own head.

Parker leapt away terrified, and Solomon finished his question as if nothing in the slightest bit unusual had just happened.

“Is going on?”

“What?”
whispered Parker. He'd lost track of what he was being asked sometime around the time Solomon had shouted out “Alberta” and smacked his own head for no good reason.

“It's the way I unstick myself,” explained Solomon.

“What?”
repeated Parker. He was aware of how inarticulate he sounded; he just couldn't seem to do a thing about it.

“I get stuck on words sometimes—a side effect of my condition. Sounds like you might know what I mean. For some reason, a quick slap round the head and the word
Alberta
seem to get me back on track.”

“Is that where you're from?” asked Parker in a quiet voice.

“Never even been there. But
Madagascar
is a bit of a mouthful, and
London
just makes me think of rain.”

“Okay . . .”
said Parker slowly. Clearly, the man was a complete basket case.

“Back to my question . . . Why are you here?”

“My dad told me to find you.”

For a moment Solomon said nothing.

“Your dad?” he asked finally.

Parker had a feeling by the way Solomon was looking at him that he might already have a suspicion as to who his dad might be.

“Yes, sir. Geoffrey Banks.”

Solomon's smile had completely disappeared. He closed his blue eye and dropped his head. “What's happened to him?”

“He's been taken. To a place called SIX. He said you'd know.”

Solomon raised his hand slowly and rubbed his forehead. He didn't look up.

“Do you know where that is?” asked Parker.

Solomon, still hunched over with his hand on his head, nodded slowly.

“Can you tell me how to get there?”

Solomon didn't respond.

“Please help me. My sister and I need to find him.”

“How could this happen?” muttered Solomon. He seemed to be talking to himself.

“Mr. Gladstone, please. I just need to know where to go. You're the only person who can help me.”

Parker waited until, at last, Solomon looked up.

“What do you know about SIX?”

Parker shook his head. “Nothing.” Anteater's conspiracy ramblings were hardly worth mentioning.

“Then you'd better sit down,” said Solomon. He motioned to the sofa opposite him. “Your friends can join us too if they'd like.”