Dead Air

by Michelle Schusterman

  Some stuff just hurt too much to say out loud.

  Talking about not talking about our problems actually did help in one way—all the tension between Oscar and me had pretty much disappeared. It was like we’d bonded over our mutual agreement to shove our feelings down and not talk about them, ever. Roland would probably have a lot to say about how unhealthy that was, but I didn’t care. Telling someone about the Thing wouldn’t make any difference at this point. The Thing was officially indestructible.

  “Why do we have to completely unload?” Mi Jin grumbled, crawling back into the van. “Can’t we leave some of this stuff in here?”

  “Can’t lock it,” Jess said, grabbing a stack of tripods. “It’s a prison van—two lock systems. The exterior lock keeps people in, the interior lock keeps people out. The guy I bought it from said the interior lock has been broken for a few years, so we can’t stop anyone from getting in. That’s why it was so cheap.”

  She headed back inside, followed by Sam, who was loaded down with several equipment bags. The drive through Brussels had been amazing—I’d never seen such opulent buildings, with arches and turrets and intricate carvings all lit up and golden against the purplish-blue sky. We’d passed some of the fanciest, most castle-like hotels I’d ever seen.

  Our hotel was not one of them.

  “Looks like my college dorm,” Mi Jin joked when she noticed my expression. “Only with smaller rooms.”

  I grinned, taking the bag she was holding out. When I stepped away from the van, Oscar pulled me aside.

  “What?” I asked, but he just shook his head. I watched as he checked to make sure Mi Jin was all the way inside the van. Then he grabbed the handle to the sliding door and pulled hard. The door slammed shut, and through the barred window, we saw Mi Jin spin around.

  “Hey!” She tugged on the door, her expression confused. “What are you doing?”

  “Exterior locks!” Oscar said. “Just wanted to test them out.”

  Mi Jin grabbed the bars, and made a face like she was screaming. Laughing, I pulled the Elapse out of my pocket. “Do that again!”

  A minute later, Dad came out of the hotel and found us in the middle of a photo shoot, with Mi Jin smashing her face between the bars, and Oscar pretending to pick the lock.

  “That’s enough,” Dad said mildly, pulling the door open. Mi Jin hopped out, looking pleased.

  “Send me those, okay?”

  “Sure!” I flipped through the photos on my viewfinder. Several of them were pretty funny-looking. Hopefully the P2P fans would think so, too. I turned off the Elapse, and it promptly turned on again. “What the . . .”

  WARNING! High Voltage

  I frowned, holding the camera closer to my eyes. I’d almost forgotten the other time I’d seen this message—in Crimptown, right before I’d tried to take the photo of Sonja. But it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like a camera could shock you.

  “There’s an Internet café over there,” Oscar said.

  “Huh?”

  Oscar pointed across the street. “You could post those on your blog.”

  “Oh,” I said. “How’d you know I was thinking about posting these?”

  “Why do you think I locked her in there in the first place?” he replied, and I smiled.

  “Dad, we’re going to the, um . . .” I paused, squinting at the name of the café. Ciel Numérique. “Uh . . . whatever that says.”

  “Ciel Numérique,” Oscar said. “It’s French, I think . . . Which is weird. I thought Aunt Lidia said they speak Dutch in Belgium.”

  “Dutch, French, and German are all official languages here,” Dad replied promptly, heaving a speaker out of the van. “Be back at the hotel by nine, okay? Not a minute later, and no detours.”

  “Okay.”

  Oscar and I headed to the intersection and waited for the light. “You speak French?” I asked him.

  “Portuguese,” he replied. “Sort of. My grandparents speak it—the only time I really use it is around them. Some of the words are similar to French and Spanish, though.”

  “That’s really cool,” I said, reaching for the door. “I—ow!” A thin, pale woman with dark hair and a haughty expression pushed past us.

  “Excuse you,” Oscar said loudly. Scowling, she glanced from Oscar to me, and her eyes widened a little. Shoving on a pair of oversize sunglasses, she hurried down the street toward the bus stop without so much as an apology.

  “Rude,” Oscar muttered.

  I stared at her retreating back, hit with a feeling of déjà vu. “I’ve seen her before, I think. Did she look familiar to you?”

  “Nope.” Oscar pulled the door open, and I followed him inside. We found two free computers side by side and sat down. I powered on my computer and waited for it to load, thinking about the sunglasses woman. It wasn’t until I saw the coastal wallpaper on the desktop that I remembered.

  “The waterfront!”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s where I’ve seen her,” I told Oscar excitedly. “The day on the waterfront in Rotterdam. I bumped into her and she dropped her camera. It was her, I’m positive.”

  Oscar opened his browser. “So?”

  “So don’t you think that’s kind of weird that she’s here now, the same time as us?”

  He shrugged. “Just a coincidence. She’s a tourist. Brussels isn’t that long of a bus ride from Rotterdam.”

  “I guess.” But something nagged at me. Closing my eyes, I pictured her: pale, pointed face, sunken cheeks, sharp nose, long, straight dark hair . . .

  “Kat.”

  “What?”

  “Look at this.”

  Leaning over, I stared at Oscar’s screen, and all thoughts of the snotty waterfront woman vanished.

  P2P FAN FORUMS

  Do you believe? Think again.

  Anonymous

  “The most fraudulent show on television” is heading to Brussels to visit Daems Penitentiary. Fake lightbulbs are nothing compared to what they’ve got planned for this episode—after all, they know it’ll be their last one. Desperate times call for desperate measures . . .

  Maytrix [admin]

  Anon, please set up an account.

  presidentskroob [member]

  what makes you so sure it’ll be the last episode?

  YourCohortInCrime [member]

  Rumor is if ratings aren’t up by Halloween, the show’s getting replaced with that new vampire series. The Brussels episode will air on Halloween, so it’ll probably be the last one.

  randomsandwich [member]

  don’t forget the curse. even if the show makes it, this is Jack’s last episode.

  Anonymous

  It’s everyone’s last episode.

  AntiSimon [member]

  You don’t know that for sure. The preview of the Crimptown episode they released yesterday is already getting a lot of buzz. I think ratings are going to be good for that one.

  skEllen [member]

  SAM LOOKED AMAZING IN THAT PREVIEW!!! I CAN’T WAIT!!!

  Anonymous

  [comment deleted by administrator]

  skEllen [member]

  WHAT????!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!1!! D:

  YourCohortInCrime [member]

  Whoa. Anon, I was on your side. But death threats aren’t cool.

  Maytrix [admin]

  Post deleted. Sorry, all. Please keep an eye out for this troll and let me know if he pops up in another thread. I’m closing this one permanently.

  “Death threat?”

  Oscar frowned. “Why would he threaten anyone?”

  “To cause trouble,” I said in disgust. “Look—that post says it’s my dad’s last episode, and then Roland said it’s everyone’s last episode. And then he followed that with a death threat. The fans will definite
ly talk about that.”

  Oscar watched as I opened the forums on my computer and clicked CREATE NEW ACCOUNT. “Um, what are you doing?”

  “Making a forum account.”

  “Why?”

  Logging into my e-mail, I opened the new message that had popped up asking for me to confirm my P2P forum membership. “Because I want to post. I can’t write about this on my blog since I promised Lidia I’d get approval first. But they can’t stop me from joining the forums.”

  Oscar stared at me. “You’re not going to say anything about Roland, are you?”

  I ignored him, already typing furiously.

  “Don’t.” Oscar shook his head, and I smacked his hand away from the mouse. “No, seriously, Kat. Don’t post that.”

  “Too late.” I clicked SUBMIT, then sat back in my chair. My heart was pounding like I’d just sprinted a mile. Oscar let out a long, slow breath.

  “Roland’s going to be mad.”

  “So?” I tried to sound indifferent. “I’m not going to let him get my dad fired.”

  Oscar grimaced. “I’m starting to think firing your dad isn’t the worst thing he could do.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I snapped, clicking back over to my e-mail. “Roland’s not actually going to hurt anyone. It’s just stupid publicity stuff.”

  But I couldn’t shake off a tingle of fear. And as I wrote a long e-mail explaining everything to Jamie and Hailey, I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a furious Roland barge through the doors at any second.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STALKER IN THE CITY

  P2P FAN FORUMS

  A Message for “Anonymous”

  Doctor Pain [new member]

  My name is Kat Sinclair, and my dad is the new host of P2P. Some of you have already seen my blog. I actually only started it for my grandma and my friends to read. But I’m glad you guys like the posts.

  I’m a skeptic when it comes to ghosts, but since I joined P2P, I’ve honestly seen some stuff I can’t explain. (I didn’t fake that picture of the outline next to Lidia. I still haven’t figured out what that was.) I’m going to keep posting behind-the-scenes stuff about Brussels and the Daems prison episode, and hopefully more episodes after that. I hope you’ll share them with your friends and convince them to watch and decide for themselves what’s real and what isn’t.

  And Anonymous, if you’re reading this: The only fraud here is you.

  Between traveling to Brussels and the creepy situation with Roland, I’d pretty much forgotten about school. Oscar and I spent most of the next few days in Mi Jin’s room going over history lessons and math problems. With our minds full of death threats and impending visits to haunted prisons, focusing on something as mind-numbing as linear equations was next to impossible.

  The Crimptown episode aired our second night in Brussels. Jess streamed it on her laptop, and I watched it in her room with the rest of the crew (minus Lidia, whose cold was getting really nasty). I had to admit, the episode was pretty freaky. The fans on the forum seemed to agree. So did Grandma, who’d e-mailed me an in-depth review a few hours later. But the best news came the following morning, right in the middle of a lesson on the Battle of Antietam.

  “Ratings are up 20 percent from the last episode.” I barely got a glimpse of Jess’s freckled face before she hurried down the hall to the next room. Oscar and I stared at the door, then at Mi Jin. She blinked a few times.

  “Good,” she said at last. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  Oscar and I shared a cautious smile. The response to my forum post had been insane—as of this morning, the thread was already six pages long. Most of them seemed to think I was either really brave or really stupid. But more important, there were lots of new members. More fans were joining the forums, which I figured had to be a good sign. And my blog post with the funny prison-van photos had gotten almost one hundred comments, most of them from people I didn’t know (in real life or from the forums). “Anonymous” had been silent so far.

  I was on my way to the vending machines for some celebratory candy bars when I heard Roland’s voice coming from Sam’s room. I paused outside the door, listening closely.

  “How many e-mails has she sent you?” Roland sounded angry—none of his usual sarcasm. “You promised you’d tell me if you heard from Emily again.”

  Sam’s response was inaudible. I pressed my ear to the door, heart pounding.

  “. . . how these things work, trust me,” Roland was saying. “I’m telling you, Sam—she’s coming back.”

  There was a muffled sound that I realized a second too late was footsteps. I leaped back as Roland yanked the door open. He froze, staring at me. I stared back defiantly, my face and neck suddenly scorching hot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Snacks.” I pointed unnecessarily to the vending machine at the end of the hall.

  Roland stepped out of Sam’s room and closed the door, still eyeing me. “Doesn’t that require walking?”

  I glared at him, then continued down the hall. When I got to the vending machines, I glanced back as he stepped onto the elevator. The doors slid closed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that could have been worse. Although my fingers still shook pretty badly as I dropped a few coins into the slot.

  So I was right—Roland was bringing Emily back. All he had to do now was find a way to get rid of my dad. Slowly, anger began to overtake my fear. I gathered up the candy bars and turned around just as Sam stepped out of his room.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  Blinking, he turned and saw me. “Oh, hello.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “I heard Roland yelling,” I said brazenly. “He sounded mad about something.”

  “Oh, that.” Sam’s expression cleared. “It’s nothing. Kat, has our ghost tried to communicate with you again?”

  “Huh? Oh, the boy ghost.” I shook my head. “No, why?”

  “Just wondering.” Sam gave me a vague sort of smile as he fished a few coins out of his pocket. “Let me know if he does, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I watched Sam head to the vending machines, whistling softly.

  The next afternoon while Dad and the rest of the crew packed up to head to the prison, Oscar and I had a video chat with Jamie and Hailey. I couldn’t wait to tell them what I’d overheard between Roland and Sam.

  “We’ve only got fifteen minutes before we leave for school,” Jamie told us. Next to him, Hailey yawned widely. “But we had to talk to you guys, because—”

  “We found Bernice!” Hailey interrupted, beaming. My mouth fell open.

  “What? How?”

  “I was going through some of the older forum threads,” Jamie explained. “Someone mentioned seeing her at the natural history museum when they visited New York. The museum’s just a few blocks from where we live, so yesterday Hailey and I went after school. It turns out Bernice works there now.”

  “And she was there!” Hailey added.

  Oscar’s eyes widened. “Did you talk to her?”

  “Yup. We asked her why she left the show, and . . .” Jamie paused, glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice. “Sorry, thought I heard Mom. Anyway, Bernice didn’t really want to talk about it, but we told her we were afraid your dad was going to get fired, too. So she told us what happened.”

  “Someone threatened her,” Hailey said in a loud whisper.

  My pulse quickened. “Did she say who?”

  “She didn’t know,” Jamie said. “She said she got unsigned letters telling her to quit by a certain date, or . . .” He paused, glancing at Hailey. “Well, she didn’t tell us exactly what the threat was. But obviously it was pretty bad.”

  “So Roland’s sent death threats before.” I shook my head in disbelief. �
�Did you see his latest ‘anonymous’ post on the forums?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we wanted to talk to you about Bernice.” Jamie leaned closer to the screen. “You guys should tell someone. Your dad, Kat—and Lidia, too. I’m sure Roland wouldn’t actually hurt someone, but still . . .”

  “We can’t prove it, though,” I pointed out. “It’s our word against his. If we tell them, I bet Roland will have a whole story worked out.”

  Jamie looked troubled. “Yeah . . . well, be careful. Especially at the prison tonight.”

  Oscar and I shared a glum look. “We’re not going,” I said, and Hailey let out a yelp.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Dad and Lidia said we’d be bored sitting in a cell all night—like this hotel is so much more exciting than a haunted prison. Really, it’s because this episode is a big deal and they don’t want us screwing it up.”

  Hailey sighed. “That’s—”

  “Jamie? Hailey?”

  “Gotta go,” Jamie said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. “E-mail us, okay?”

  “Okay!” I got the briefest glimpse of his smile before the call ended. Feeling deflated, I turned to Oscar. “What do you think? Should we tell someone about Roland?”

  He shook his head slowly. “You’re right about the proof. Maybe . . .” He stopped, mouth open, gazing at the chat window still open on the screen. I turned to look, too, and my breath caught in my throat.

  XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX

  They filled the window, as if an invisible hand was tapping the X key thirteen times, space, again, space, again . . . I jabbed at the keyboard and the typing stopped.

  I turned to Oscar, who held his hands up. “Not me,” he said. “I swear, I . . . I have no idea what that was.”

  It’s the boy ghost, I wanted to say, but it sounded too melodramatic. Still, I couldn’t help glancing around the otherwise empty hotel room.

  “We’re heading out in about fifteen minutes.” Startled, we turned to see Lidia in the doorway, looking more haggard than ever. “Kat, your dad wants to see you before we leave—I think he’s in your room.”