The Pilgrims of Rayne

by D. J. MacHale

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s all we got to go on?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “You’re telling me this mystery guy is some kind of inventor?”

  Courtney was about to say no, but that’s exactly what Mark was. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s an inventor. If Gunny were here he’d tell you how important it is that we find him. But he’s not. It’s just me. Can you help?”

  Courtney watched as Dodger frowned, deep in thought. He paced. He scratched his head. He paced some more. None of this looked good to Courtney. Her spirits sagged.

  “I know,” she admitted, defeated. “It’s hopeless. There’s no way we can find somebody that way.”

  “No!” Dodger said. “Finding him is no problem. I got friends who work for the government.”

  “Are you kidding?” Courtney shouted, her spirits suddenly back up. “Why are you looking all concerned?”

  Dodger said, “I can’t figure out what’s so important about some kid inventor that Gunny would want me to find him so bad.”

  Courtney grabbed Dodger by the lapels and shouted, “Ask him when you see him. Right now, let’s find Mark. Got that Tony?”

  Tony the dishwasher shrugged and went back to work.

  A few minutes later Courtney stood outside a telephone booth near the lobby while Dodger made a call. The door was closed, so she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could tell he was doing a lot of laughing and gesturing. Courtney noticed that Dodger did a lot of gesturing with his hands when he spoke, for emphasis. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Dodger hung up and pulled open the glass door of the phone booth. He looked at Courtney without saying a word. He had no expression. There were no hand gestures.

  “Well?” Courtney demanded impatiently.

  “People think bellhops are just guys who carry around luggage and flag down cabs, you know? But we have power most people don’t see. For example, if somebody’s big-shot boss was coming to town and the hotel was booked solid, I could make that somebody look really good by getting his boss a room, because I know that some of the real special suites are saved for last-minute VIPs.”

  Dodger smiled proudly at Courtney. Courtney stared blankly at Dodger.

  “And you’re telling me this because…?”

  “Because a friend of mine needs a favor, and I’m gonna fix his boss up with the best suite in this joint. Now that friend owes me a favor, get it?”

  “Not really,” Courtney said.

  Dodger stood up and combed his already perfectly combed hair. “This friend just so happens to work in Washington and has access to certain files that aren’t always open to the public, if you get my drift.”

  “Just tell me!” Courtney shouted.

  “Two forty Waverly Place.”

  “And that is…?”

  “It’s an apartment building in the village where your friend Mark Dimond lives,” Dodger announced proudly. “Now do you think I am who I am?”

  Courtney threw her arms around Dodger and hugged him tight. “I don’t know who you are and right now I don’t care, because you might have just saved all humanity from total destruction!”

  She let go of Dodger and ran for the exit. He stood there for a moment, basking in the glory.

  The smile dropped off his face.

  “I just did what?” he shouted as he ran after her.

  FIRST EARTH

  The cab ride from midtown Manhattan to Waverly Place was a short one. It seemed to Courtney that the deeper they got into the neighborhoods of Manhattan, the less it felt like she was in the past. The buildings didn’t look all that different from the buildings of Second Earth, especially as they drove through Greenwich Village. Most buildings were three-or four-story brick walk-ups. The ground floors had restaurants and cleaners and clothing shops. The upper stories looked like apartments. It was pretty much the same as on Second Earth. With no Starbucks. The only obvious, in-your-face sign that things weren’t like home was the cars. The streets were clogged with big, growling monsters with gleaming chrome grills. They had names like “Studebaker,” “Hudson,” and “Cord.” There wasn’t a single Honda, Volkswagen, or Volvo in sight.

  The streets of Greenwich Village were narrower than the wide avenues of midtown. They crossed one another at odd angles and had weird names like “Bethune,” “Gansevoort,” and “Bleecker.” Courtney was happy to see that the cabbie knew exactly where he was going. In no time he made the turn from Bank Street onto Waverly Place and stopped in front of a quaint corner eatery called “Ye Waverly Inn.” Dodger wanted to pay the cab fare, but Courtney wouldn’t let him. This was her mission, after all. As they got out of the car, Dodger looked around at the narrow street and shook his head in wonder.

  “Coming down here feels like taking a trip into the past,” he marveled.

  “You have no idea,” Courtney said with a snicker.

  Dodger put on a brown hat that made Courtney chuckle.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “You trying to be Indiana Jones or what?”

  Dodger shook his head in frustration. “You know what I’d like? Just once I’d like it if you said something that made sense.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Courtney replied.

  Next to the restaurant was the entrance to a four-story brick building—#240.

  “This is it,” Courtney said nervously.

  “Now do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  Dodger took a small piece of paper out of his pocket. “My friend said the patent was issued to Mark Dimond at this address. Apartment number four-A.” He put the paper back into his pocket and asked, “If you could get the patent number, how come you couldn’t get the address?”

  “I don’t know,” Courtney answered as she started toward the door. “Computers aren’t infallible I guess.”

  “There you go again not making sense,” Dodger said as he followed her toward the door.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” Courtney said. She stopped at the bottom of the steps that led up to the black front door.

  “Now what’s the problem?” Dodger asked.

  “I’m debating about letting you come in with me.”

  “Why?” he whined. “I got you this far, didn’t I?”

  Courtney nodded.

  “So why don’t you trust me?” Dodger asked.

  Courtney looked him over, thinking, then said, “You can come. If you’re Saint Dane, I’d rather know where you are.”

  “Good. I think.”

  Courtney walked up the stairs and scanned the door.

  “What are you looking for?” Dodger asked.

  “The panel with the security buttons so we can get buzzed in.”

  Dodger gave her a strange look and opened the front door. It wasn’t locked.

  “Oh,” Courtney said, and stepped inside. It was yet another subtle sign that she was in a different time.

  The building was too small to have an elevator, so they climbed the marble staircase up to the fourth floor. It wasn’t a fancy building, but it was clean. The smells of cooking filled the stairwell. Good cooking. Courtney thought it was either spaghetti sauce or some yummy soup. It gave the building a warm, inviting feel. She was glad that Mark had landed in such a comfortable place.

  Mark. With each step up, Courtney grew more tense. What would she say to him? More important, what would he say to her? Courtney couldn’t imagine any excuse for why he’d brought technology from home to a different territory. He knew how wrong that was. She couldn’t come up with a scenario that would explain it. As she grew closer to her reunion with Mark, Courtney wasn’t sure how she should feel. Angry? Hurt? Frightened? Sympathetic? All the above? The best thing she could do was take it one step at a time. First find Mark and make sure that he’s okay. After that, the way to go would be clear. Or so she hoped.

  They arrived on the fourth floor, where they were faced with five doors le
ading to different apartments. Number 4A was to the far right of the landing.

  “What do we do?” Dodger asked.

  Courtney’s answer was to stride across the landing to Mark’s door. Before she could change her mind, she boldly knocked. No answer. She knocked again, louder. Still no answer. They waited a solid minute, knocking a few more times.

  “Either nobody’s home or they don’t want company,” Dodger said.

  “I’m not leaving until we find out who lives here,” Courtney said adamantly.

  “That thing you said before? You know, about saving humanity from total destruction? That was a joke, right?”

  Courtney gave him a serious look. She didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t scoff and say, “Nah! Just kidding!” either.

  “Right,” Dodger said thoughtfully. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how huge it is,” Courtney finally answered.

  “Right,” Dodger said again. “Just making sure.” He took a step away from the door, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, then suddenly ran for the door of apartment 4A.

  “Hey!” Courtney shouted in surprise.

  She had to jump out of the way or she would have been bulldozed. Dodger hit the door with his shoulder, hard. With a loud crack the door gave way, swinging in and smashing against the inside wall. Dodger tumbled inside, falling to his knees. Courtney ran to him.

  “You’re crazy!” she exclaimed.

  “A little.”

  Courtney helped him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  Dodger rubbed his shoulder. “Sure,” he answered casually. “Wasn’t the first time I had to break down a door. Won’t be the last. Being a bellhop ain’t all glamour.”

  Courtney quickly closed the door. She didn’t want nosy neighbors peeking in to see strangers smashing into the apartment.

  “Looks like we’re too late,” Dodger said.

  Courtney saw that the place was empty. It was a small, clean apartment with white walls. The short front hallway led into a small living room. To the right was a door leading to a kitchen. To the left was another short hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom. There were no pictures on the walls. No plants. No rugs. No clues as to who may have lived there. Courtney walked into the kitchen. There was a small stove and a table. That was it. She left the kitchen, walked through the living room and into the bedroom. She found a small bed with no sheets or blankets. The one piece of furniture was a wooden bureau. Courtney deflated.

  Dodger said, “If he was here, he’s long gone now.”

  They were about to leave the room when something caught Courtney’s eye. On the floor was a plain white piece of paper. Most of it was underneath a closet door. One corner stuck out, which was the only thing Courtney saw. She knelt down and pulled it out. The paper turned out to be a four-by-five-inch rectangle. Courtney turned it over. When she saw what it was, she started to cry.

  “What is it?” Dodger asked.

  “It’s an accident,” she said, wiping her eyes. “No way this was left on purpose.”

  Courtney handed him the paper. Dodger took a long look and asked softly, “This him?”

  Courtney nodded. It was a photo that could have been taken at a local drugstore on Second Earth. It had a cheesy fake background that looked like a Cape Cod beach. Courtney knew it was fake because she didn’t think Mark had ever been to Cape Cod and nobody in the picture was dressed for the beach. It was a photo of Mark and his mom and dad…the mom and dad who had been killed. It was the sudden, shocking death of his parents that catapulted Mark into the trouble he now faced, and the trouble he was bringing to Halla.

  “He looks about fourteen here,” Courtney said. “He’s older now.”

  “His parents?” Dodger asked.

  Courtney nodded. She took the picture back. She wanted to see it again. She wanted to see the old Mark. The Mark who ate too many carrots and loved Japanese animation. The Mark who was Bobby’s best friend and had become her best friend once the doorway to Halla had opened. She wanted to see that Mark again. She wanted to hear him stutter. She wanted to know why the hell he had done what he did.

  Courtney wiped her eyes and stood up, tucking the photo into her back pocket. She was in control again.

  “So what do we do?” Dodger asked.

  “We talk to the neighbors,” Courtney announced, all business. “Somebody here must have known him. Maybe they know where he went.”

  They started on the fourth floor and worked their way down, knocking on doors and asking suspicious neighbors if they knew anything about Mark and where he might have gone. They pretty much got the same answer each time. Many people saw Mark, but nobody spoke with him. Nobody had a clue as to what had happened to him either. After a futile hour Courtney and Dodger found themselves back out in front of the building, not knowing much more than when they had started.

  “At least we know he was here,” Dodger offered hopefully. “That’s something. Maybe I can call the city, or the post office, and see if he left a forwarding address.”

  Courtney brightened. “That’s a good idea!”

  “Thank you,” Dodger said. “Trust me yet?”

  “No. No offense, but no.”

  “None taken. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

  As if on cue, a taxicab screeched to a stop at the curb next to them.

  “See?” Dodger exclaimed. “Things are looking up already!”

  The two got in the cab and settled in for the ride uptown.

  “Manhattan Tower Hotel,” Dodger said to the cabbie. “Don’t take the scenic route.”

  “No, sir!” the cabbie said brightly. “I’ll get you right where you need to be.”

  Courtney froze. She knew that voice. It took her two seconds to process the information and make a decision.

  “Get out!” she yelled at Dodger.

  “Wha—?” he asked dumbly.

  “Get out of the car!” she screamed, and grabbed at the door handle. It was locked. She went for the door lock. It was sawed off. She lurched across Dodger’s lap to the door on his side. It was just as locked and just as sawed off.

  “What are you doing?” Dodger asked in confusion.

  “Yeah,” the cabbie said. “What are you doing? Don’t want to take a spin with me?”

  Courtney didn’t have to look at the cabbie to know who it was, but she looked anyway. A glass partition separated the front seat from the back, but she could still see the cabbie as plain as could be. Staring back at them, wearing the floppy hat of a New York cabbie, was Andy Mitchell.

  “Saint Dane,” Courtney whispered.

  “Who?” Dodger asked.

  Mitchell snorted, smiled, and exclaimed, “Let’s roll!”

  The cab lurched forward, throwing Courtney and Dodger back into the seat.

  “Hey!” Dodger screamed. “Are you nuts?”

  “If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked me that…,” Mitchell said with a laugh.

  “Who is he?” Dodger asked Courtney.

  “He’s the bad guy,” Courtney answered.

  “Pleased to meet you!” Mitchell said, tipping his cap. “Mitchell’s the name.”

  “I thought you said his name was Saint Dane?” Dodger asked Courtney.

  The cab screeched around a corner, seemingly up on two wheels. Courtney fell into Dodger. The tires dug into the road. The car flew forward.

  “Where’s Mark?’ Courtney yelled.

  “You’re too late.” Mitchell laughed. “He’s a big shot now. He won’t be living in dumps like that anymore.”

  Horns blared as the cab snaked through traffic.

  “Hey, Mac! Slow down!” Dodger ordered, banging on the glass.

  “What’s the matter, bellboy? Ain’t you up for a little adventure?”

  Dodger yanked on the door. It was a waste of energy.

  “How did you do it, Saint Dane?” Courtney snarled. “How did you get Mark to come here?”

  Andy Mitchel
l laughed and gave a humble shrug. “Hey, it’s what I do.”

  He turned the wheel hard, cutting off another car, sending it careening off the road and onto a sidewalk.

  “Yeehaaa!” Mitchell shouted with exhilaration.

  Dodger yelled just as loud. In terror.

  Andy yanked the wheel the other way. They bounced off the sidewalk and screamed across three lanes of traffic. Cars spun out and skidded into one another to avoid the cab from hell. Dodger leaned back in his seat and kicked at the glass partition that kept them away from Saint Dane.

  “Stop…the…car!” he ordered.

  “Why are you doing this?” Courtney yelled. “If you wanted to kill me, you could have done it a thousand times over.”

  “I don’t want to kill you, Chetwynde. I just want to have a little fun.”

  “It’s below you to torture me,” Courtney said, trying to keep her voice in control. She was scared to death, but she didn’t want to let Saint Dane know that.

  “Then consider this a favor,” he said.

  “Favor?” Dodger shouted. He kicked at the glass. It was too thick to break.

  Mitchell skidded into a turn. Courtney saw the Hudson River directly in front of them. The demon spun the wheel again and they were on the West Side Highway, headed south, parallel to the wide river.

  “Why is this a favor, Saint Dane?” Courtney asked, trying to stay focused and keep the fear back.

  “Your job is done, Chetwynde,” Andy Mitchell said. “You did exactly what I needed you to do. Now it’s time for you to toddle on home.”

  “I can’t break the glass,” Dodger screamed.

  Courtney barely knew Dodger was even there. She was focused on Andy. On Saint Dane.

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Mitchell laughed. “Sorry you nearly died in Vermont but, hey, if that’s what it took, so be it. Nice to see you’re not crippled anymore.”

  Mitchell laughed and jammed past two drivers who were going too slowly for him. They blasted their horns. Mitchell giggled and waved at them.

  “What are you talking about?” Courtney demanded.

  “Are you stupid or do you just look it?” Mitchell asked. “We came to your rescue. Dimond and me. It was a real bonding experience. After I helped save your life, I looked like a real hero to him. After that, he trusted me, and it was all thanks to you.”