Greystone Secrets #1

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  But he knew better than anyone that it had only been an act eight years ago. And surely it was only an act now.

  The resolution on the screen was so precise that he saw Mom’s chin tremble, ever so slightly. She only lost control for an instant, but it was enough to make the crowd jeer and cry out, “Coward!” “Traitor!” “Destroy her!”

  Nobody silenced them. Nobody said, “She’s innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

  Chess sniffed, the foul smell of the alternate world filling his nostrils once again. He could feel the anger of the crowd growing around him like something physical—a beast devouring everyone. He felt a surge of anger himself. What could Mom say or do to defend herself against that mob? What could anyone do to help her?

  The full meaning of the glowing screen and the chair on the stage finally sank in.

  “We’re already too late!” he turned to hiss at Emma. “If we try to rescue Mom now, every single person in this room will see us!”

  Forty-Three

  Finn

  The big kids have a plan, Finn told himself. The big kids have a plan. They know what they’re doing. We’re getting Mom back.

  Those words kept him moving forward, even as the crowd pressed in around him, constantly threatening the grip he had on Emma’s hand in front of him and Natalie’s hand behind him. He almost broke the link when Emma stepped through the doorway with all the terrifying carvings, and someone smashed Finn’s hand against the stone head of some evil beast—a wolf, maybe? But then Natalie shoved him from behind and aimed her elbow right into some man’s belly to make a space for both of them.

  They were inside the building now, and Finn had never felt so small before in his life. The pillars that lined the walls around them soared high over his head, with more carved marble creatures staring down at him from the heights. The statues threw horrible distorted shadows onto the ceiling, because all the light in the room came from the front.

  And then the floor before him sloped downward, and he could see the source of the light:

  It was Mom.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly right. It was the image of Mom. She herself hadn’t grown to thirty feet tall, or whatever the actual size was of the glowing screen before him. But there was her radiant face, bigger than life, framed by her familiar brown curls. Finn was so used to that face he had every detail memorized: the dancing eyes, the hint of freckles across the nose, the wide mouth that always seemed ready to smile at Finn’s antics. Even when she looked serious—as she did now—her face held the possibility of joy and laughter.

  Finn hadn’t entirely understood what the sign had meant about a “trial and sentencing,” or why anyone would call his mother a criminal. There hadn’t been time to ask. But surely anyone seeing Mom’s face right now would understand that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The crowd around them began to yell, and Natalie crouched beside him.

  “Don’t listen to them,” she whispered. Her voice trembled. He had to tune out everything else to hear her. “And don’t look at how your mom’s trapped, with the handcuffs and all. I’m sure . . . I mean, she’ll have a defense attorney, of course, and . . .”

  “She’s wearing handcuffs?” Finn asked. He stood on tiptoes, trying to see. Even though Natalie had told him not to.

  “It’s not showing on the screen right now anyhow,” Natalie murmured. “But in person . . .”

  And then Finn saw that there wasn’t just the image of Mom, up there at the front, but she was actually sitting there. He felt a little mad at being tricked.

  “Can’t we get closer, to see her better?” he asked Natalie. He cupped his hands between his mouth and her ear, to block anyone else from hearing. “Or will that ruin the plan?”

  He saw Chess and Emma conferring in whispers ahead of him. Probably in a moment they’d turn around and tell Finn and Natalie what to do.

  But before that could happen, a man’s voice boomed out from overhead, louder than any of the crowd’s screams.

  “Order! Order! The trial will commence. The People versus Kate Greystone.”

  The crowd immediately went silent. Finn reached forward to clutch Emma’s hand again.

  Up on the stage, a raised platform slid out, along with two large wooden structures. Finn had seen a cartoon version of a trial once—maybe for Bugs Bunny?—and that was enough for him to realize that these were seats for a judge and a jury. And maybe witnesses, too—didn’t trials have witnesses?

  The chair Mom was in slid back and locked into place behind one wall of the wooden structure. Maybe she was the first witness? But now Finn could no longer see her in person, only on the giant screen.

  Then four guards marched out on the stage. The one in the fanciest uniform stepped to the front, and his face appeared on the giant screen, instead of Mom’s.

  Finn felt like he’d lost her all over again.

  “The protocol will be different than previously announced,” the guard said, somehow sounding stiff and formal and angry all at once. “The defendant has decided to confess. That will happen first.”

  Confess? Finn thought. Wouldn’t that mean Mom admitted she’d done something wrong?

  Around him, the crowd gasped and buzzed. The man held up his hand for silence.

  “Let us begin,” he said.

  And then Mom’s face was on the giant screen again. She leaned forward to grasp a microphone someone had put on a stand beside her; she had to reach with both hands, since they were bound together at the wrists. The handcuffs clanked.

  Finn tugged on Emma’s arm, and then Chess’s, too. His brother and sister had to know how to stop this. They had to stop it now.

  But when Emma and Chess glanced back, their faces were anguished, their matching dark eyes full of matching despair.

  Emma and Chess don’t have a plan, Finn realized. They don’t know what to do any more than I do.

  Finn turned to Natalie, still crouched beside him. She had her head down, defeated.

  None of the big kids know what to do, Finn thought. We’re all exactly the same.

  Up on the screen, Mom opened her mouth and began speaking into the microphone.

  “I am guilty of everything I have been accused of,” she said in a strong, firm voice that was completely hers, completely the way she always sounded. “I committed all of those murders.” Her voice filled the entire room. She paused only to stare more directly at the camera. “I even killed my own husband.”

  Chess and Emma slumped in front of Finn, staggering as if they’d been hit. Natalie buried her face in her hands.

  Maybe they weren’t all the same. Finn didn’t stagger or slump or drop his head. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. Because suddenly he knew exactly what to do, exactly how to help Mom.

  He opened his mouth, too.

  “None of that is true!” he screamed. “Someone’s making her say that! She’s just doing it to . . . to . . .” Ideas clicked together in his brain. “To save those kids! Somehow!”

  He stepped forward, ready to run down to the stage and grab the microphone from Mom’s hand and keep screaming, keep explaining until the whole crowd rose up and agreed, “Oh, you’re right. We’re sorry. We’re sorry about those kids being kidnapped, too.”

  But before he could take another step, someone grabbed him from behind.

  Forty-Four

  Emma

  Oh, Finn, Emma thought, one horror flowing over another. He’d said what she was thinking, but he’d said it out loud. When they were already standing in this dangerous place, surrounded by people who looked mad enough to kill.

  For a moment, she was too paralyzed to do anything. Then she saw the angry faces of the crowd turning toward Finn. Now it looked like they wanted to kill him. She spun around and hissed, “Stop talking! Stop talking and run!”

  How could Finn not see how much danger they were in? Hadn’t he heard the terrible things the crowd had screamed? Traitor . . . Killer . . . Couldn’t he see how much thes
e people despised Mom without even knowing her? How the people at the front had started banging their hands against the clear Plexiglas wall separating them from the stage, as if that was the only thing keeping them from running up and attacking her?

  How could Finn be so brave—and so stupid?

  But Finn was no longer right behind her. She whipped her head left to right, and there was Chess still frozen beside her, all the color drained from his face, and Natalie scrambling up from the floor, her hands pressed over her mouth in horror. But Finn, Finn, Finn . . .

  Finn was nowhere in sight.

  An arm thrust out from the crowd and drew Emma in; an old lady in an orange cap put her face to Emma’s ear and whispered, “If you run, you look guilty. Move with the crowd. Blend in. It’s the only way to hide.”

  Emma yanked her head back. She would have started screaming as loudly as Finn—screaming his name, probably—except that in that moment the old lady moved her dark blue coat to the side, giving Emma a quick glimpse of Finn’s brown hair and startled face, hidden behind her.

  Emma pressed her finger to her lips. She let her eyes beg Finn: Stay quiet, stay quiet, oh, please, you can’t make a sound. I think this woman is helping us. . . .

  An instant later, the glare of a spotlight cut through the crowd, reaching the exact spot where Finn had stood only seconds earlier. The crowd as a whole darted away from the light, leaving an empty space on the floor. Emma and Finn and the old lady moved back, too. Panicked cries rose around them: “It wasn’t me!” “It wasn’t my kid!” “Whoever it was ran away!”

  Emma saw Chess and Natalie on the other side of the empty space, at the edge of the circle of light. They seemed to have unfrozen enough to call out with the others around them, “It wasn’t me!” Chess’s voice cracked. Natalie seemed about to cry.

  The booming voice from the man on the stage called out, “Five-minute recess while the guards deal with a disturbance in the crowd. They need to make another arrest.”

  Mom’s face disappeared from the giant screen, replaced by the blank, blinding light again. And that made Emma’s eyes flood with tears, too. Emma needed Mom so much right now. Even if Mom was up there saying the most un-Mom-like things ever.

  She didn’t kill Dad, Emma told herself. She didn’t kill anyone. I know it. . . .

  It was like knowing that two plus two equaled four, like knowing how to breathe.

  But how could Mom even speak those words? How could she think saying that would save anyone? How could anyone believe her?

  Emma didn’t have time to think it all through, because a dozen guards came shoving their way through the crowd. The shoving was unnecessary; all the clumps of people in blue and orange fell over themselves to get out of the way. A young woman with dreadlocks sagged against the man beside her; Emma wondered if she’d fainted in fear.

  Emma took a shaky breath, fighting against terror herself. How had the mood of the crowd changed so quickly? Was just the sight of the guards enough to horrify everyone?

  The acrid odor around them seemed worse than ever.

  Maybe, maybe . . . maybe I don’t actually know how to breathe anymore? Maybe it doesn’t work the same here? Or breathing in makes me smell the odor more, and that’s making me more and more afraid?

  She held her breath, and somehow that steadied her. She could concentrate on locking her muscles, keeping herself from trembling. But as soon as she inhaled again, she felt lost.

  Or maybe this time it was because the guards were so close now. They were so muscular, so stern in their dark blue uniforms. They thronged into the circle of light, just inches from Emma and the old lady—and from Finn hiding behind the old lady’s coat.

  “Who was yelling?” the guards demanded again and again as they stared out into the crowd. “Who dared disturb the trial?”

  The crowd’s panicky cries of “It wasn’t me!” were replaced by mumbles: “I didn’t see. . . .” “I didn’t hear. . . .” “I was watching the screen. . . .” “That was behind me. . . .”

  Could it be true that nobody saw Finn except the old lady? Emma wondered. Or . . . is the crowd trying to save him, too?

  Did the crowd care about Finn, or were they only trying to stay out of trouble themselves?

  Or were they all just too scared to think straight?

  When the guards weren’t looking directly at her, Emma tried to scan the faces around her, too. They were young and old, fat and thin, dark skinned and pale, surrounded by thick curls or bald scalps. . . . But all of the faces were twisted in terror, and that made them all look alike.

  The old lady dug a bony elbow into Emma’s side.

  “Look down,” she commanded, in a whisper so soft that Emma might have just been reading her lips. “Don’t let them see your face.”

  But how could Emma see the guards and the crowd without letting them see her?

  How could she see if it was time to grab Finn and run?

  Emma compromised, bending her neck only partway. She peeked out through her eyelashes and the random strands of hair that slid down over her face.

  She saw a man’s dark shoe on the other side of the circle nudge something round and metallic toward the clump of guards. Was it a magnet? A bullet? A miniature bomb?

  Emma’s teachers were always telling her she had a scientific mind, but science only helped when you had enough data to come up with a good hypothesis. All Emma could see was a piece of metal rolling out into the bright light. The guards blocked her view, so she couldn’t even see who had kicked it.

  Are there light-activated bombs? she wondered. Heat-activated bombs? Remote-control bombs?

  She shouldn’t think about bombs. Or any other dangers besides the guards.

  The round metal thing clunked against one of the guard’s shoes and fell over on its side. Through her lowered lashes, Emma saw the guard bend down and pick up the piece of metal. Still crouched low, he held it up to the light. Then he stood and carried it over to another guard, the one whose uniform held the most medals and the fanciest braided orange trim. Was he the guard leader?

  Emma held her breath again. She forgot the old lady’s advice and lifted her head to watch.

  The guard leader held the metal in one hand and tilted his head to the side to speak into his collar.

  “Looks like it was an electronic voice we heard,” he said. “The perp who set this up could be anywhere in the crowd by now. We’ll reroll the security footage, do the facial rec—we’ll have this arrest by the end of the sentencing.”

  Emma felt the old lady behind her stiffen at the words “facial rec.”

  Rec, Emma thought numbly. Recognition.

  She couldn’t understand everything the guard had said, but she’d caught enough. The guards thought they were looking for someone who’d set out an electronic device; they thought Finn’s voice had only been a recording.

  But there was security video of the crowd. And when the guards looked at it, they’d see Finn. They’d know he was the one who shouted. They’d come back for him.

  The spotlight dimmed, then disappeared. The guards began marching away, shoving a few more people for no reason, as if the guards were just overgrown playground bullies.

  Emma leaned back against the old lady who’d rescued her and Finn.

  “Thank you,” Emma breathed. “You saved us. Can you . . .”

  She had a whole list of ideas to ask for. Can you help us save our mother? Can you get us out of here safely? Can you tell us what to do?

  But the old lady was pulling away.

  “You didn’t see me,” she murmured. “I wasn’t here.”

  The old lady nudged past Finn and melted back into the crowd. Emma had never really gotten a good look at the woman—her main impression was of pruny lips and the orange cap that shadowed the rest of the old lady’s face. So that’s what Emma looked for.

  No one anywhere near Emma was wearing an orange cap now.

  Did the old lady take it off so I wouldn’t find her? Em
ma wondered. Or is she just hiding from the guards?

  “Emma, please . . .”

  It was Finn, grabbing her around the shoulders and holding on tight. If he’d been too fearless before, he seemed terrified now. His eyes were wide and swimming with unshed tears. His lower lip trembled.

  “It’s okay,” Emma lied, patting his back. “We’re fine. Just stay quiet. We’ll get back together with Chess and Natalie and maybe, maybe . . .”

  She scanned the crowd. How could she explain that she was searching for a man she’d seen nothing of, except for a dark shoe? A man who may not have even known what he was doing when he kicked a little electronic device toward the guards? How had that become her only hope?

  Maybe Emma didn’t know anything about shoe fashions, and it’d been a woman instead.

  Most of the men across from them were wearing dark shoes.

  So were the women.

  The crowd pressed forward, jostling Emma. Everyone seemed to want to get away from the spot where the guards had found the device. Chess raced over and grabbed Finn, and his arms were long enough to wrap around Emma at the same time. Natalie put her hand on Finn’s head and Emma’s both.

  The others silently turned to the front. Even though the screen stayed blank and there was no movement on the stage, it seemed like the trial could resume any minute. Still, Emma kept facing backward. She gave up on trying to identify shoes and raised her gaze, studying all the people crammed in behind her. She was hoping for a wink or a nod or maybe a simple hand signal—something to tell her who she could trust. The man who’d kicked the electronic device had done nothing but buy a little time for Finn, but maybe he’d done it on purpose. Maybe Shoe Man—Shoe Person?—was braver than the old lady. Maybe he’d be willing to help more. Wouldn’t he give her some sign of that?

  The people behind her shifted restlessly: squinting, frowning, biting their lips, crossing their arms. . . . Maybe someone in the crowd behind her was trying to signal her, and she just couldn’t tell. Why hadn’t she learned sign language? Or semaphore codes? Or whatever people used in this alternate world?