The Vanished (6 page)

Michael let out a long sigh. “I don't know.”

He held her for a few minutes, rocking her until her tears stopped. Then he pulled away, holding her shoulders.

“You know what I've got?” Michael asked.

Maria wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Uh-uh,” she said.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth satchel tied with a dark red ribbon. He waved it in front of her face. “Remember this?”

Maria's heart skipped a beat. It was the aroma-therapy satchel she'd made for him. She couldn't believe he carried it with him.

“Take it,” Michael said.

Maria held the little satchel up to her nose. The smell of rose petals, eucalyptus, and pine needles filled her sinuses, clearing them with the strong fragrance. She held on to the satchel for a few moments, inhaling deeply. Those were three of her favorite scents in the world.

“Better?” Michael asked.

Maria nodded, giving him a smile that felt like it could break into pieces any second.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No,” Michael said, putting his arm around her. “Thank you. Somebody's got to let themselves feel all this crap we're going through, and nobody can do it better than you.”

And all of a sudden Maria didn't want to be anywhere but where she was.

Michael did love her. Not the way she dreamed of him loving her. But still.

Isabel winced as she watched a look of pain cross Adam's face.

She, Adam, and Max were up in Ray's apartment — Michael's apartment — and Max had connected to Adam, trying to find out if Adam had any buried memories of the time DuPris had been in control of his body.

Adam's face screwed up in pain again, and Isabel shut her eyes. After Max was done with Adam, she was next. Isabel knew it was important, even crucial, but she was looking forward to it like a trip to the dentist.

When Isabel heard Max sigh, she opened her eyes again. Max and Adam were sitting beside each other on Michael's bed, and Adam was rubbing his forehead.

“Anything?” Isabel asked. “Zilch,” Max said. “Except that Adam's interesting in there. He's got powers I've never even
heard
of.”

Adam smiled. “I've just been practicing longer,” he said.

“Okay, Izzy, it's your turn,” Max said.

Adam hopped up and headed downstairs. “I'm going to go see what Liz is doing,” he said.

Isabel took his seat, her heart pounding with apprehension.

“Ready?” Max asked.

“Sure,” Isabel answered, trying to sound calm, even though she knew Max was the last person on earth she could fool. But he didn't call her on her false bravery. He simply took her hand gently, and they were instantly connected.

Isabel felt Max's emerald green energy mingling with her own rich purple, and they headed for Isabel's memory centers.
Their
memory center. The connection between them was more than a simple attachment — it was a true sharing of souls.

The first image they uncovered was completely familiar. She was shopping at Victoria's Secret for something that would make Michael's mouth water. She'd taken the bus back to the museum, and then DuPris had used her to hurt Michael. Isabel watched in shock as the memory replayed in their mind. DuPris had made her betray one of her best friends. The very idea of it filled her with fury.

Max sent soothing images of family dinners with their parents at her until she calmed down. When Isabel had relaxed, she sensed Max asking her if she was ready to continue. Yes, she was ready. Go for it.

Her brother dug deeper, unleashing a torrent of memories of her time under DuPris's control. Isabel transformed into a child, hiding out with DuPris at the ranch. DuPris touching her face in the most loathsome way. DuPris laughing as Isabel raged against his hold on her. Isabel using her powers to fling Max against a wall.

There had to be something in her that would let them find DuPris. How she would love to rip out his lungs and use them as bagpipes!

Max soothed her again, willing her to stay calm. They'd learn nothing if she broke concentration.

Then Max poked at a dark, unformed image. Isabel concentrated on the black memory, curious despite her fear of what it might contain. There was no visual to it, only a sound . . . the sound of a car . . . and the smell of exhaust and oil.

Max encouraged her to replay the memory. DuPris had locked her in the trunk of his car. She'd felt so claustrophobic and terrified. Then DuPris opened the trunk, but the recollection remained hazy and dim.

DuPris was making her walk through the darkness. Isabel stumbled over loose rocks and held on to a guide rope to assist herself down the cavern path.

Cavern?

Yes, Isabel realized with a rush of excitement. They were in a cave. Her eyes were adjusting, and she'd seen stalactites, stalagmites . . . swooping bats. What cave was it? She just had to remember a little more, notice a landmark —

But then the memory went black. Something had knocked her out.

Max let go of Isabel's hand. “Do you have any idea where that cave was?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” Isabel said, her mind still reeling. “But we have to figure it out.”

“There are a million caves like that around here,” Max said, rubbing his forehead.

Isabel grabbed his hand and looked him directly in the eye. “I know it's practically hopeless,” she said. “But it's the only chance we've got to save Alex.”

I should have thought of coming here myself, Liz thought as she climbed through the first-floor office window of the
Astral Projector,
the tabloid newspaper DuPris had published before he disappeared. She fell through the window and landed on the floor at Adam's feet.

Adam had found a copy of the
Astral Projector,
with its pages of doctored photographs of alien encounters, in Ray's museum. Apparently Ray subscribed — probably to give himself a good laugh every month. As soon as Liz explained to Adam what the newspaper was, he'd been sure the tabloid's office was the perfect place to search for clues to DuPris's whereabouts. And he didn't want to wait for Max and Isabel to be done upstairs.

Liz didn't want to wait, either. She was glad to have something to do. Anything that might lead to getting Alex back home.

“Where should we start?” Adam asked.

“You take the desk,” Liz said as she looked around the dark office. “I'll go through DuPris's file cabinet.” She shut the blinds and flicked on the overhead light.

Adam started rifling through the desk, and Liz opened the top drawer of the file cabinet, marked Abyss–Humidity. She pulled out the first file and scanned it.

“Abyss” turned out to be a bunch of articles about a hole in Colorado that led to the center of the earth, where an alien race had built a civilization. This was according to some questionable sources that DuPris had interviewed. It sounded insane to Liz, but then the
Astral Projector'
s stock-in-trade wasn't exactly reality. DuPris had just used the newspaper as a cover for his investigation of Michael, Isabel, and Max and his search for the Stone of Midnight. Liz was amazed that he'd kept records at all.

Diligently Liz skimmed every article in the drawer, even though there were hundreds of them. She didn't want to miss anything that might help Alex. By the time she reached the file titled Humidity, she was struggling to contain her giggles over the ridiculousness of it all. “Humidity” was an article about how aliens from some planet called Neutron-6 needed to keep their skin moist at all times or they'd shrivel up like worms on the sidewalk after it rained.

“The scary thing is that people believe this stuff,” Liz muttered to herself as she replaced the file. She had just closed the top drawer of the filing cabinet when she heard footsteps in the hallway outside the office.

The hair on Liz's arms rose as the doorknob started to turn. She glanced at Adam, and his eyes were wide with fear.

“Quick!” Liz hissed. “Under the desk!”

A second later the two of them were smashed together in the small space in front of DuPris's desk chair. “The light,” Adam whispered as the door creaked open.

Liz squeezed her eyes shut. There was nothing to do about it now.

Liz strained her back until it hurt and peered under the metal edge of the desk. She stretched and managed to glimpse a pair of sensible shoes and a set of wheels on a cart. An odor of disinfectant wafted through the room.

It was the cleaning service. Liz's heart calmed in her chest. Although it still wouldn't be good to be discovered, she'd take the maid over DuPris any day.

“Always leaving the light on,” the cleaning woman mumbled to herself.

As the cleaning lady emptied a garbage can near the door, Liz started to become very aware of Adam's arm lying across her stomach and his cheek pressed up against her shoulder. She could feel his heart beating . . . and it was thumping pretty rapidly, too.

She glanced at his face, and in the moment before he looked away, she saw that he was staring at her with wide, amazed eyes. Liz tried to shift away, but the space under the desk wasn't exactly roomy.

Adam's obvious crush on her had always seemed kind of sweet . . . from a distance. But up close, it was making her nervous and tense. Liz held her body taut, trying to prevent any skin contact whatsoever, trying to send out an anti-attraction vibe. She listened to Adam's ragged breathing and felt her face flush.

Liz stole a peek at Adam again. It wasn't that he wasn't cute — quite the contrary. He was muscular and sleek. But Adam wasn't Max, and that was that.

The cleaning woman finally left, shutting off the light and closing the door behind her. Liz scrambled out from under the desk as fast as she could and brushed herself off. The darkness in the office seemed far too intimate, so Liz hurried to turn the overhead light back on.

Adam didn't emerge for another minute, lingering as if he'd hoped their uncomfortable situation didn't have to end. He smiled awkwardly at her as he climbed to his feet.

Liz needed to take control before Adam said or, even worse,
did
something they'd all regret later. “Okay,” she said. “Back to work.”

“I'm done with the desk,” Adam said. He sounded almost remorseful, as if he'd done something wrong. As maybe he had . . . in his imagination. Liz cut that thought off before her
own
imagination started supplying details.

“Then check out DuPris's bookshelf,” Liz ordered. “Look inside the books, too, in case he's hidden something inside one of them.”

Liz returned to the file cabinet, and by the time she was halfway through the third drawer, she had a monster crick in her neck. As she reached deep into the drawer to pull the files and condense them so they opened more easily, her finger grazed something along the side of the drawer. Liz yanked her hand away. “Ow,” she muttered. She stuck her index finger into her mouth, tasting the coppery flavor of her own blood. Paper cut.

But what had she cut her finger on?

With her other hand Liz reached into the space between the hanging files and the side of the drawer. And found a manila folder that had been inserted into that space sideways.

She pulled it out, her hand shaking with excitement. It could be a folder that had been dropped there accidentally, or it could be something DuPris hadn't wanted to be easily found. . . .

Liz opened the folder. It contained a single photo.

A photo of a middle-aged guy in a military uniform shaking hands with Sheriff Valenti. Both men were smiling at the camera.

With a jolt Liz realized that she recognized the man in the uniform.

It was Mr. Manes.

Alex's father.

Liz's stomach lurched.

This doesn't have to mean anything, she told herself as she stared at the picture. Alex's dad is retired air force, and Valenti was the town sheriff. There could be hundreds of reasons why they were hanging out. It could be some kind of macho-guy barbecue.

But the scene in the picture didn't look like it was taking place at a barbecue. It looked like an office. Valenti's office at the Clean Slate compound, to be exact.

Liz's heart dropped to the floor. It can't be, she thought. But what other explanation is there?

If Alex's father was at the secret compound, he had to be a member of Project Clean Slate, too.

Maria tried to open the front door to her house as quietly as humanly possible, but she wasn't doing a great job. The keys seemed to be making an incredibly loud jangling racket as she unlocked the door. It was late — very, very late. She'd still been on the road back from the ranch house with Michael at nine, and that was hours ago.

Not that it really mattered. Her mom was probably out somewhere wearing clothes that were way too tight for someone her age.

Maria stepped into the house and saw her ten-year-old brother, Kevin, standing on the stairs in his pajamas.

“You are in so much trouble,” he whispered, his mouth exaggerating the shape of his words.

“Why?” Maria whispered back. “Is Mom — ”

“Maria, is that you?” her mother called from the living room.

As Maria groaned, Kevin zipped back up the stairs. Little weasel, Maria thought without any real malice. Her little brother was an expert at getting out of the line of fire, a skill she wished she possessed.

Maria turned to see her mother swooping toward her across the foyer, a worried look on her face. She was wearing regular mom clothes — sweatshirt and jeans. Not a good sign.

And right beside her was Sheriff Kasey Dodson. A very bad sign.

For a second Maria thought her heart, trailing her entire circulatory system, was going to leap out of the top of her skull. Sure, she was late, but so late that her mom called the
police
on her?

Or what if Sheriff Dodson was Clean Slate, like Liz and Max suspected? What if she knew who Maria's friends were and had come there to interrogate her?

“Where have you
been?
” Maria's mother demanded. “It's after eleven, and I got no call, no note. Not acceptable.”

“I was just over at Liz's,” Maria lied quickly.

She couldn't say she'd gone on a road trip with a guy — even Michael. Her mother would freak, and mentioning him in front of the sheriff seemed like a bad idea — just in case she did know who Michael, Max, Isabel, and Adam really were.

“We got sucked into a late movie and lost track of the time. It was some old horror flick about giant ants.” Maria knew that she ranked high on the list of the world's worst liars, but she could fool her mother if it was really necessary. Sheriff Dodson was another story. Maria glanced at the new sheriff to see how she was taking Maria's alibi.

There was a funny, small smile playing on Sheriff Dodson's lips, which could have been skepticism. But it was quickly replaced by a grim frown.

“You should call if you're out later than you expected,” the sheriff advised sternly. “It's not fair to worry your mother when picking up the phone only takes a minute.”

Maria blinked, turning over the sheriff's words, searching for any hidden meaning. She came up with nothing. The sheriff's statement seemed clean.

“You're so right,” Maria told Sheriff Dodson, then turned to face her mother. “I'm sorry, Mom. I should have called.”

“Next time, okay?” her mother replied.

“I will.”

Maria's mother let out a long sigh. “Would everyone like some tea?” she asked. “I even have some with caffeine that Maria doesn't know about.”

“Mom, you promised to cut out the stimulants,” Maria protested.

“Sounds great, Mimi, but I can't,” Sheriff Dodson interrupted, glancing at Maria. “If every-thing's okay here now, I've got to get home to Julie. If she wakes up and finds I'm not there . . . Well, it wouldn't be good.”

Maria stared at the sheriff in confusion. Her mother's first name was Margaret, and only her close friends called her Mimi. What was going on? Why were her mother and Sheriff Dodson suddenly acting all buddy-buddy? And who was Julie?

“Some other time,” Mrs. DeLuca said. “And thanks, Kasey, for helping me out tonight.”

“No problem,” Sheriff Dodson said as she headed toward the door. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She walked out. It wasn't until after she closed the door behind her that Maria felt her heart rate begin to slow. Even though the sheriff hadn't said one word that seemed suspicious, Maria still felt like she'd just had a close call.

Mrs. DeLuca put her hand on Maria's shoulder. “I could still make tea — some of your stuff,” she said. “I could use a cup myself. Want any?”

“Sure,” Maria said.

She followed her mother into the kitchen and took two teacups out of the cabinet. “Who's Julie?” Maria asked.

“Kasey's daughter,” Mrs. DeLuca replied. She filled a teakettle with water at the sink. “That's why she came over this evening. Tonight was my night to host my MWP group, remember? We had a good turnout.”

MWP stood for Mothers Without Partners, a support group Maria's mother had joined after the divorce. So Dodson's being here really had nothing to do with Maria — probably.

Maria took a deep breath. “That's great!” she said with a way-too-big smile.

“Kasey stayed after the meeting and helped me clean up,” Maria's mother said. She put the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “Then she hung around to keep me company while I waited up for you.”

“I didn't mean to make you worry,” Maria said as she sat down at the kitchen table.

Mrs. DeLuca sat down across from Maria and smiled. “All's well that ends well, right?” she said. “Just call next time.”

“I will,” Maria promised. And she would because she had no wish to come home ever again and find the sheriff in her house.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid, she thought. But the whole story about Sheriff Dodson just happening to hang around tonight seems a little too convenient. What if she's part of Clean Slate and just using Mom to keep an eye on me?

Yeah, Maria was being paranoid.

But sometimes a healthy dose of paranoia could keep you alive.

“You're not going to believe this,” Max said as Michael pulled himself into Max's bedroom through the window.

“Sounds big,” Michael said, brushing off the front of his black T-shirt.

“It's huge,” Max responded, his blue eyes wide. “Liz and Adam broke into DuPris's office.” Michael's face went slack. “They did
what?”
he demanded. “Do they have a death wish or something?”

“That's not even half of it,” Max said, plopping down on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. He looked up at Michael, hoping he wasn't going to lose it when he heard the news.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“They found a picture of Valenti in his office at the compound,” Max said. He took a deep breath.

“And?” Michael prompted.

“And he was shaking hands with Alex's dad.”

Michael just looked at Max for a moment. Then he slowly lowered himself onto the desk chair. “The Major is Clean Slate.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Max felt the need to answer it, anyway.

“We don't know that for sure,” he said. “It could mean nothing.”

“But it could mean something,” Michael said, his gray eyes flashing. “If he's Clean Slate, he's already out for our blood, and if he finds out we're responsible for Alex's disappearance . . .”

Max's stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he found himself staring at the carpet.
We're responsible.
There should have been some way to tell the difference between Alex and DuPris while the wormhole was open. Even though Alex had been molecularly altered to resemble DuPris, Max still should have been able to tell them apart somehow —

“It was an accident,” Michael said. “I can feel you getting your boxers in a bunch over there. Stop it, Max. How many times do we have to tell you it wasn't your fault? You were
tricked.
We all were. I was just thinking that any Clean Slate agent would
assume
it was us.”

Max nodded, but he wasn't totally convinced. He knew he was going to feel guilty until Alex was back where he belonged. On earth.

“So . . . what do we do about the Major?” Max asked, changing the subject.

“Avoid him like the plague?” Michael suggested.

“There's still a possibility that he has nothing to do with anything,” Max said. “I need more proof than a photo Liz found in
DuPris's
file cabinet. It's not like the
Astral Projector
ever printed a photo that wasn't doctored.”

“Good point,” Michael said. “We'll just keep an eye on him . . . from afar.”

“And act cool if we run into him,” Max added.

“Maybe you can
act
cool,” Michael said, smiling. “But you're never going to
be
cool, geek.”

“Dork,” Max replied.

“I don't have to take this abuse,” Michael said, pushing himself out of his chair. “I'm outta here.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. He shook his new keys with a grin. “I want to go kick back at Ray's place, now that it's my place. Jealous?”

Max rolled his eyes. “Insanely,” he answered. “Later.”

“Peace out,” Michael joked, climbing through the window.

When he was gone, Max lay back in bed and decided to distract himself with some mindless TV. He started surfing channels and stopped on a cooking show, but the combinations of ingredients didn't appeal to him. Humans just never mixed sweets and spicy foods for some reason. Like a hamburger covered in applesauce. Mmm.

The collective consciousness agreed with him. A ripple of approving images entered the back of Max's mind. Yes, they concurred. They loved fried meat and tangy fruit together. One of the beings gave Max a taste of a favorite dish, and he could feel the juices running down his throat. Awesome.

Then he realized he hadn't tried to connect to the consciousness at all.

Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? The idea that the collective consciousness would always be peering over his metaphoric shoulder gave Max the creeps. Will the connection keep getting stronger? Max wondered. Even when I'm not trying to connect?

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should cut back on the amount of time he spent willingly making a full connection to the consciousness. Maybe that would stop or slow down the automatic linking.

But if I do that, Max thought, then how can I keep tabs on how Alex is doing? I've got to keep everybody calm about Alex.

Max closed his eyes. That's what he should be doing right now — checking up on Alex. No matter how it affected Max, making sure Alex was safe was his number-one priority.

With a deep breath Max opened himself up to the full force of the collective consciousness and sank into the ocean of interconnected auras. Like he was floating in a warm bath, Max felt buoyed up by the network of souls. Then he became absorbed by them, one among the multitudes.

Alex? he sent out, along with an image of his redheaded friend laughing at one of his own jokes. How's Alex?

Most of the responses Max received in return were positive — friendly replies, from beings who had begun to adjust to Alex living among them.

Then Max bumped into an aura he recognized.

It was Alex himself. And he was terrified out of his mind.

Max received an image from Alex of pure fear, of shadowy threatening presences, of misery and loneliness. There was no place for Alex to relax or rest. He was constantly on the run. Running for his life.

What is it? Max sent out frantically. Alex, what's wrong? What are you running from?

But before Alex could reply, another being took his place — an unfriendly entity who blasted Max with images of fire and destruction. Max recoiled . . . and lost track of Alex in the whirlwind of auras.

He thrust himself into the storm, struggling to hold on to Alex's signature energy, but to no avail. The angry being had blocked Alex from further communication.

How can I get him home if you won't even let me talk to him? We want the same thing — we both want Alex back on earth! He knew he wasn't getting his message across. His reasoning was too hard to express in images.