The Stolen Chapters (6 page)

The man in the suit jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, and Owen turned to find police officers dragging in what looked to be an entire criminal gang, all dressed in black. “Book 'em,” the man in the suit said. “These boys are going away for a long time.”

Just then one of the officers yelled, and before Owen knew it, the largest of the criminals broke free and grabbed a gun from an officer's holster, aiming it right at Owen. “Let me go or the kid gets it!” the man shouted.

The man in the suit sighed and, almost faster than Owen could see, kicked the criminal in the back of the knees, grabbed the gun from midair, and punched the man in the face. The criminal collapsed to the floor, and the man in the suit handed the gun back to the officer. “Try holding on to this a bit more tightly next time,” he said, then turned and walked away.

Wow.
Apparently, police stations were exactly like every cop movie or TV show Owen had ever seen. Who knew those were so realistic? Right down to the innocent kid getting threatened when a criminal breaks away. It was almost a cliché, it happened so often.

Like a fictional cliché.

Owen frowned, something small and annoying tickling his brain. There was something off here. Not by much, just—

And then a shove in the back derailed his train of thought.

“Move,” said the police officer who'd arrested Owen, pushing him farther into the police station. In spite of everything that was happening, a familiar feeling of excitement came over Owen. It was like when he and Charm had been under fire on the
Scientific Method
, Charm's spaceship. Sure, he was being arrested, but at least it was happening in an awesome way.

The officer led Owen down one of the quieter hallways and into an empty room with two metal chairs, a table, and one lone light—exactly what Owen expected. He was going to be interrogated! Classic.

The man shoved Owen into one of the chairs, which faced a long mirror on the wall, then slammed the door as he left, leaving Owen to stare at himself in the mirror. It was probably one-way glass, with people on the other side watching him, right? That was how it worked in movies. The boss watched as the police interrogated the criminal.

That thought killed the excitement instantly.
He
was the criminal here, and
he
was being framed for his mother's library burning down. The image of the building going up in flames hit him almost as hard as the memory of Kiel returning with his spell book did, and he felt like throwing up. He had to convince the police that he was innocent and get them to find Doyle. If not, Owen would be going to jail, probably for the rest of his life. But, even worse, he'd have to explain this to his mother!

Not to mention that Bethany was missing, and they only had . . . an hour and forty minutes left to find her before, well,
something
bad happened.

Why did this all have to be such a stupid mystery? Owen
hated
mysteries. Why spend an entire book just waiting to find out what had actually happened? It was like the world's longest magic trick, only usually really lame when you found out how it was done.

Okay, so
exactly
like the world's longest magic trick.

He'd read a bunch of mysteries, of course. Sherlock Holmes, Encyclopedia Brown, all the ones his mom recommended, but he just couldn't get into them. Magic was just so much cooler, and involved a lot fewer details and clues and convenient plot devices that revealed exactly what the detective needed to know exactly when they needed to know it.

But since he was clearly living out a mystery now, he might as well embrace it. Doyle had said he'd planned this mystery by the book, so maybe that was a hint. Owen would just have to treat this like a mystery in a book, and maybe he'd be able to figure out what was going on. So first, he needed to list the questions that needed answering.

Where is Bethany?
No idea. Could be anywhere.

How did Doyle get out of his book?
Bethany had to have done it. Who else could have?

But why would Bethany take Doyle out of his book?
Maybe by accident? But how did you accidentally take a freakishly masked guy out of a book with you? Maybe he grabbed her at the last minute. But how would he have known to grab ahold, anyway?

And that led to the next question:

How does Doyle know who we all are?
It's not like Kiel's books existed in the fictional world. Did they? Did books also exist in the fictional “real” world, the realistic place where all non–fantasy or science-fiction stories took place? Was there a library in the fictional real world with Kiel's books?

The idea of a fictional real world just gave Owen an enormous headache, so he moved on. Even if Doyle had Kiel's books, how did he know
Owen's
name? He couldn't have gotten that from any book. Maybe he'd learned it when Doyle had escaped, somehow? He just couldn't remember, and that was the most frustrating part.

Speaking of not remembering:

Why did Doyle make Kiel remove their memories?
What was so important for them to not remember? Maybe where Bethany was? Even so, Doyle had gotten them arrested, so it's not like he thought they'd be able to run around looking for her. So what was the whole point? Or to put it differently:

Why is Doyle doing this?
Yeah, seriously. Why?!

Okay, so those were the questions, none of which had any answers. He did have a guess here or there, but none that helped him. Perfect. This whole detectiving by the book was going
so
well.

And this was exactly why Owen hated mysteries.

Minutes passed, and Owen kept checking the watch Doyle had put on his wrist: 01:38:47. 01:37:19. 01:36:12. Where were the police? Couldn't they just throw him in jail already and get this over with?

At least Kiel was out there, a real hero. If anyone could rescue Bethany, even without any magic, it was Kiel Gnomenfoot. After all, he'd been written to do just that kind of thing, hadn't he? When Owen had tried living Kiel's life, he'd almost died. But this was what Kiel was made to do, beat the bad guys and rescue the good guys. He'd have Bethany back in no time.

Or hopefully in 01:35:34. 01:33:29. UGH.

A knock came at the door, and after a pause it opened, revealing the man in the suit from earlier. The man nodded at Owen, then turned his gaze to the file in his hands. He slowly closed the door, his attention on the file, then sat down in the chair across from Owen.

“I didn't do it!”
Owen said as soon as the man's behind hit the seat.

The suited man's eyes briefly rose above the file, gave Owen a look, then went back to reading.

“Listen to me, my friend's in danger!” Owen said, his voice rising. “There's this crazy person who kidnapped her, and said that after an hour and a half I'll never see her again. She might die!”

Again the man's eyes flicked up from his file, but this time they stayed locked on Owen's. “Your friend is this Bethany Sanderson?” the man said.

“Yes!” Owen shouted, just thankful that someone had been listening. “She's
completely
not fake. She goes to my school. She has a library card. How could someone not exist but still have a library card?”

The man just looked at Owen, then glanced back down into the file. He closed it now and laid it on the table, then folded his hands on top of it, giving Owen an unreadable look. “I'm Inspector Brown,” he said finally. “From the city.”

The
city? Which city was that? But that could wait.

“I'm Owen Conners,” Owen said, sticking out his hand.

The inspector glanced down at Owen's hand, then shook his head. “I hate to say it, but you're in a lot of trouble here, Owen Conners. We've got a witness claiming you set fire to the library where your mother works. I'm told the lab boys are pulling prints now, but preliminary work suggests they're yours.”

“But I didn't do it!” Owen shouted, standing up. “I saw the guy who did it! He admitted that he was framing us!
And
he kidnapped my friend!”

“Can you describe this person?” the detective said, his hands still folded.

“Yes! He's wearing some kind of weird white mask with a question mark on it.” Owen paused, realizing how this sounded. “I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. And a Sherlock Holmes hat and coat.”

“A deerstalker hat,” the inspector said.

“What?”

“It's called a deerstalker hat, the hat that Sherlock Holmes was rumored to have worn. Not that he ever appeared in photos that way.” His hands still hadn't moved, not even to jot down a note. This didn't seem to be going that great.

“You don't believe me,” Owen said, falling back into his chair hard.

“Oh, I know who you're referring to,” the inspector said. “But considering his history with the force and me in particular, I'd find it pretty hard to believe that he's been setting any fires.”

What? History with the force? How would a fictional character have—

“Yo, Wikipedia,” said a police officer, opening the door. “No sign of the other suspect. We think he got away.”

The inspector flinched. “I've asked you all not to call me that,” he said, and the police officer just smirked, then shrugged and shut the door. The inspector shook his head, turning back to Owen. “Sorry. They think it's funny because of my childhood nickname. Owen, do you know where your friend, this Gnomenfoot boy, might have gone? Things might go easier for you if you cooperate.”

“He didn't do it either!” Owen shouted. “Don't you get it? We're being framed! I don't even know why, because none of it makes sense, but I saw this masked guy with my own eyes. He set the fire, not us. Kiel and I almost blew up! Why would we do that to ourselves?”

The detective stared at Owen for a moment, then sighed. “I've spoken to your mother, Owen. Would you like to know what she told me?”

Owen flinched. “Probably not?”

“She claims you're home in bed right now, at this moment. Said she was looking right at you.” The inspector raised an eyebrow. “Now, I don't know what to make of that. Do you?”

She'd said
what
? Why would his mother lie like that? Or was there some way Kiel had cast a magic spell to make it look like Owen was still in his bed? What was
happening 
?

Owen concentrated as hard as he could, trying to remember anything from earlier that night. Fighting through the fog in his brain to get to an actual memory was like trying to punch actual fog, though: it wasn't accomplishing anything, and probably made him look really stupid.

“Tell me about this Kiel Gnomenfoot boy,” the inspector said. “We don't have any record of him, either. Did he put you up to this in some way?”

“No, he's a
good
guy,” Owen said, his mind racing. Why couldn't he remember leaving that night? Kiel's magic was so annoying sometimes! “He'd never do anything like this either. We both just want to find our friend.”

“Bethany Sanderson,” the detective said. “You're right that there's no record of her, either. No one in your school by that name. No one in this city, even.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not even a library card.”

How was that possible? Owen's mind raced, launching through all kinds of different explanations. Was he going insane? Had he dreamed Bethany this entire time? Was this all a dream now?!

He pinched himself hard and jumped at the pain. Well, at least he was awake. But how could there be no record of Bethany? “That can't be true,” Owen said, almost pleading with the inspector. “She's my friend! I've known her for . . . well, for just a couple of months. I think. But I've seen her for longer, in class, in school. She
exists 
!”

The inspector sighed. “I don't know why you're lying, kid, but this is getting us nowhere,” he said. “Tell me what's going on. Tell me how this all started. From the beginning.”

“I don't know!” Owen said, dropping his head into his hands. “I don't—”

But just like that, a memory hit him like a hammer, and he
did
know.

One month ago . . .

T
he library was silent, with just one light left on in the back by the study tables, which were all covered in books. As if by itself, one of the books opened, and a cartoon hand pushed its way out, followed by two lines for an arm and a doodle of a head.

“So weird!” Bethany said as she emerged, her mouth in the shape of a large O, while her ponytail lines bounced behind her. She used her cartoon hands to pull herself all the way out of the book, then reached in to pull out two more life-size doodles.

“But
so fun
!” Owen said, a smile line stretching from one side of his round head to the other. “Look at this!” He yanked on the lines that made his body, then released them, letting them twang back into place. “It's like they're rubber bands!”