I stayed frozen, though I knew I needed to hurry. I wished for Marti’s heart-calming spell, again.
“Now, I’m going to let you go, son. And I’m going to ask a favor of you. In order to make your brink as powerful as possible, we need something, and I can’t get it. Intersoc stole it from me—just like SOaP stole the Tangle Rope that I managed to recover. But if you can get this thing for me, we can make your brink far more powerful than anything anyone has ever made.”
“Why?” I said. Why would anyone want such a powerful tool?
“So we can defeat the Solar Flare.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t tell me what it means.”
“No time to explain. He’s coming here any minute, now, and you need to get out of here or the gig will be up. Ask your parents about the Solar Flare, okay?”
“Oh, you can bet I will. But they probably won’t—”
“Listen.” He spoke quickly now, with his eyes wide as if with fear. “I need something called a ‘multiplier.’ When you use it while blowing up emotion, it multiplies the power of the brink. It’s at Intersoc. In the Archive. Get it and bring it to me, and we’ll make the brink.”
I didn’t want to commit to it, so just stood there, frozen.
From his pocket he took a little cloth bag with a drawstring. He held it out to me.
“Here is some brink, a lighter, and some instructions.”
I reached out and took it.
“Now go, son.” He looked over his shoulders, at the cabinet behind him. Then he glanced up at the window, as if trying to see something outside. “He’s coming. Get out of here! Run!”
Something broke in me. I obeyed and bolted from the room.
Chapter 27: Escape attempt
Winging it has rarely worked for me. But something about Richie makes me want to wing it more often. I guess my brains just go out the window when I’m around him.
-Marti Walker
Marti already waited back in the hallway, with a zip-door drawn and lit. When she saw me, her face brightened with relief, though the remnant of tears still clung to her cheeks.
Without speaking, she grabbed my hand and plunged us into the zip-door. In a moment, I found myself standing in her pretend bedroom. She ran to the bed and flung herself down on the blankets, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed.
I stood there like an idiot, not knowing what to do. After a moment, I stepped over to the bed and reached out a hand toward her back, but stopped short and didn’t touch her.
“What happened?” I said.
She turned and sat up on the bed, wiping her eyes. “Did you get the emotion?”
“I found it, but didn’t get it. You get the Tangle Rope?”
Her mouth quivered. She couldn’t seem to wipe her cheeks fast enough. “The mission was a complete failure.”
I wanted to make her feel better. She stood and moved toward me. Given her tendency to inflict pain, I flinched. But instead of hitting me, she wrapped her arms around my neck and sobbed in earnest into my shoulder.
Surprised, I put my arms around her, and patted her back. Any friend would do that.
“I was scared,” she said. “I didn’t think I would get out. You must think I’m an idiot.”
I tightened my arms around her and started to speak. She interrupted me.
“They’re all going to think I’m a failure. No one will trust me again. Everyone will think I’m worthless! Maybe I am!”
I began to comfort her, to tell her she wasn’t worthless, but the door opened. Agent Maynerd, Mom, and Dad rushed in.
And that’s when things got really ugly.
Chapter 28: Despite what they say
Is it all teenagers, or just Richie? Heaven help the world if it’s all teenagers.
-Elizabeth Van Bender
It’s too embarrassing to relate how Mom had a cow. Right there in Marti’s fake bedroom. I don’t know how other moms are, but mine has particular skills at causing scenes. Her eyes get all buggy. She spits as she talks. Her face turns almost incandescent red. Her hair even stands on end. I’m not sure how she does it, but she does. Her hair just stands. Right up on end.
I’m not even sure she noticed the pictures of me hanging everywhere.
As usual, Dad’s reaction was worse. He got silent. A dark expression masked his face. Agent Maynerd showed a surprising amount of concern for our safety. He verified several times that we weren’t injured, and started to order a physician before Mom and Dad assured him we were fine.
I don’t know how they knew what we’d done, but they did. I guess that’s how it goes—adults always know what you’ve done. It’s like some innate sixth sense adults develop when they hit thirty. It replaces the ability to have fun. Or something.
I kept my story straight, only fudging when it came to meeting Nick. Instead, I said I just couldn’t get the cabinet open. They made me relinquish the diffuser—which really upset Marti. She said she had to return it to Intersoc or she would “be in a load of horse crap.”
They asked a lot of questions. I felt like a criminal, not a reckless kid. Mom made a big deal about the necklace, said it wouldn’t work anymore. I gave it back to her, thanking her.
After the interrogation, Agent Maynerd led Marti away. I ended up in the helicopter with my parents. Dad kept trying to talk to me, but Mom silenced him with sharp words or looks. I could tell he wanted to fulfill the promise he’d made earlier, to tell me everything, but simply couldn’t with Mom around. At one point, she mumbled something under her breath that I thought sounded like, “Can’t wipe it away this time.”
We flew to where the car waited. After the pleasure of zipping, the nausea from a little flight on a helicopter felt downright joyful. It took almost until 1:30 a.m. to get home. I just tried to enjoy the fact that I had my parents together in the same location.
Mom and I had lived in the house at Point Dume on Malibu beach for just over two years. It was huge, with great big open rooms and widows looking out over the ocean. I usually liked the place, but right then I would have rather been at Intersoc, learning about brink and spells.
Once inside, I headed for my bedroom, but in the hallway Dad directed me to the couch. I paused with my back to him, trying to decide whether to disobey him. To my left was the kitchen, and to my right was the sitting room with two couches, a coffee table, and the 72” TV. The place smelled like Mom’s cinnamon candle.
Cinnamon. The same aroma as brink. Did she do brink in the house, and used the candle to blend the scent? Unbelievable.
“Richie,” Dad said. “We have to talk. Sit on the couch.”
I decided not to press my luck, so flopped down on the couch and crossed my ankles on the coffee table. I picked up the TV remote and aimed it, but my parents stood with their arms crossed between the coffee table and the TV.
I felt guilty at betraying their trust. But it was also hard not to be angry with them. For everything. All the information they’d kept from me. How they’d hidden me from the world. If I could, I would probably run off with Marti again, even despite what I owed them for all they’d done for me.
Mom started her tirade. I didn’t hear most of it. I blocked it out even at the best of times, but this time I couldn’t stop thinking about the bag in my pocket.
Eventually, Mom took a breath.
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Brink, SOaP, and Intersoc? Seems like you could have told me about it all without much trouble.”
She muttered something about “your own good.” Dad looked flustered.
I started to stand. “Since you seem to have lost your desire to chat, I guess I’ll hit the sack.”
Dad frowned, shook his head, and motioned for me to stay seated. “It’s more complicated than you know. We had no choice but to keep it from you.”
I halted, half standing. “Try me. I’m a smart boy. I can do long division and even some algebra and geometry. I can handle some pretty complicated ideas.”
They looked at each other for sev
eral seconds. I don’t know how they do it—maybe it’s a skill you gain after being married to someone for a long time—but an entire conversation seemed to pass between them. Or maybe a continuation of a conversation.
Still looking at Mom, Dad said, “We planned on telling you everything when you turned eighteen.”
Mom’s face softened. Her eyebrows moved together, and she shook her head. “From the moment Kurt put that YouTube video up, I’ve been afraid of this day. I knew that so many things could go wrong. I’ve tried the best I could to keep you safe. The last thing I wanted was for it to happen this way.”
That wasn’t the story I’d gotten from Dad, earlier, back at SOaP. He’d looked forward to this day.
She continued, “I thought maybe when you were a little older, your father and I could take you somewhere, teach you about brink. We could find a nice, remote place on some island in the Bahamas and teach you all about it. We wanted to. We really did.”
“Too bad it didn’t work out that way,” I said.
“It is too bad,” she said. “If we’d had our way, you could have learned about the power little by little, without being thrust into the most dangerous situation we’ve seen in decades, if not ever.”
Dad had his mouth clamped shut, and he looked away from her. I understood with certainty that she did not speak for him.
“So now what?” I said. “Are you still going to take me to the Bahamas? Or have I lost out on that privilege, now?”
Dad grunted.
“You’re still not ready,” Mom said. “You’ve got another three or four years before—”
“Elizabeth,” Dad said. “You think he can wait that long? We need to teach him today. Tonight.”
She looked at him in horror. “Have you lost it? We can’t do that. He’s not ready.”
“It doesn’t matter. Nick Savage saw to it that he would never be ready the way you wanted him to be ready.”
“David, we had an agreement.”
He clenched his fist and punched his thigh. “Enough with the agreement!”
Despite everything that had gone on—their separation and all—I’d never actually seen them argue. This was the first time. Crazy.
Mom’s face turned redder as Dad continued to rant.
“The agreement has done nothing for us! All it’s done is forced us to erase Richie’s memory half a dozen times—”
“What?” I said. “You’ve erased my memory before?”
What had they purged from my memory? The thought angered me.
But Dad just plowed on. “—And get him in trouble tonight.”
“And keep you out of his life,” she said. “You’re the one who insisted on working for SOaP and going back to Intersoc.”
“Forget Intersoc! Forget them all!” He moved toward her, and took both of her hands in his. He stared down into her eyes like some lovesick teenager. “I’d prefer to live in constant peril than spend another second away from you and Richie. I’ve had enough. Haven’t you?”
She stared up at him, her eyes moist, the anger slipping away.
“What have you erased from my memory?” I said.
“You need to go to your room,” Mom said, her tone quiet, subdued.
“No, really. What’s going on here?”
“Go to your room so your father and I can talk.”
“Mom!”
“Go!” She raised her arm and pointed. I’d long since learned that when she pointed, things were serious.
“Elizabeth,” Dad said, “I think we can tell him everything. I don’t think we have a reason or cause to withhold any information from him.”
“Richie,” she said, “get to your room.”
I gave her a long look. Dad smiled and shrugged helplessly at me.
I glared at Mom. “Why can’t you do what Dad wants, and tell me?”
“Because he’s wrong. Now, go to your room.”
I faltered, but Dad gave me a nod, and pointed with his chin to the door. I grunted and shook my head.
“Well, I can see you two have some adult things to talk about. I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
Mom gave me a somber look.
I made a face at her, crossing my eyes, turning my mouth crooked, and sticking out my tongue. It wasn’t very mature, but that’s my specialty.
I went to my room. The normal thing to do in a case like this might be to listen at the door. You know, crack it open and eavesdrop. But I had much more interesting things to get to.
I sat on the bed and took out Nick’s bag.
But I didn’t have a chance to open it before someone whispered my name.
Chapter 29: Friends to the rescue
I once tried to kiss Sandra while we hid in Richie’s closet, waiting for him. She punched me in the nose and said, “Try that again and I’ll kick you in the crotch. Got it?” Oh, I got it.
-Kurt Strand
My room is fantastic. One wall consists entirely of windows that overlook the beach. At night, the blinds automatically close. Against the opposite wall stands my queen-size bed with a stack of pillows the size of Mount Everest. To the bed’s left stands an amp and half a dozen different practice guitars, and to the right, a couch and TV with all the required electronic devices. Well, a BluRay player and Xbox—neither of them connected to the Internet. You know, Mom wouldn’t allow any kind of connectivity like that. I might actually talk to someone. Meet a fan or something. Scary!
Back in the corner by the practice guitars, double doors lead to my walk-in closet.
It was from there that I heard someone whisper my name.
Heart pounding, I stood from the bed and approached the closed closet doors. I wished for a weapon of some sort. Or some brink and knowledge on how to use it. That would have been nice.
“Richie!” came the whisper, again. I couldn’t recognize the voice. “Can we come out?”
“It depends on who you are,” I said. “And if you’re here to kill me. If you are, you should know that I’m not particularly interested.”
“Are you alone?”
My parents’ arguing came through the door, muffled.
“As far as I know,” I said. “Except for you. You don’t have an ax, do you?”
The door opened a crack.
And Sandra poked her head out.
I dropped Nick’s bag to the floor and gasped.
“Sandra!”
Her lips parted in a grin, and her dark eyes sparkled at me. “Is it safe to come out?”
“How did you get in here?”
I pulled the door all the way open. She burst out of the closet and threw her arms around me. Kurt followed, a wide grin on his face. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, looking at Kurt in surprise. He motioned for me to return Sandra’s embrace. Dazed, I did.
“How did you get in here?” I said again.
Still holding onto me, Sandra jumped up and down and spoke some muffled words of excitement into my neck. Her lips moved against my skin. I didn’t understand a word she said.
Kurt ambled around the bed, to the couch in front of the TV, and plopped himself down. As usual, he wore grungy denim and a blue T-shirt. His shaggy brown hair almost covered his eyes. He flipped his head, so he could look over his shoulder at me.
“We’ve been in here a few times,” he said. “Sandra has some hacking skills that would surprise you. We never thought it was worth the risk of being caught. Tonight, though, we couldn’t resist.”
Sandra pulled herself away from me. “Tell us everything. What has gone on?”
I took a step back and sat down on the edge of my bed. Thinking back through the entire night, I reeled at what had gone on. I didn’t know where to start. And on top of it all, Sandra had snuck into my room and embraced me. She wore dark blue denim pants with sparkly designs on the back pockets, and a white shirt beneath a blouse with blue and green flower designs. Big hoop earrings showed through her dark hair, which she had down so that it nearly reached her waist.
She’d hugged me.
I’d spent half the night with Marti Walker.
I could hear my mom now, lecturing me that girls weren’t allowed in my bedroom. As if I would do anything to make her worry.
“Nick Savage,” I said, not taking my eyes from her.
“Nick Savage?” Kurt said.
“Shh!” Sandra said, glaring at the door. “You want us to get caught?”
“Tell us everything,” Kurt said.
So I did. Well, not everything. Just the general things, figuring I could come back to the details later.
Until I heard a knock at the door.
“Richie.”
Dad. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Richie, we need to talk.”
Kurt and Sandra stiffened—but only for an instant. She bolted for the closet. He dove for the space under my bed. In a moment, they’d disappeared.
“Uh, can’t it wait until morning?” I said.
“Can I come in?”
I looked around, not seeing any evidence of Kurt or Sandra. She’d shut the door. He was gone. Except on the floor by the closet sat the cloth bag that Nick had given me. I stood and started toward it, to grab it.
Dad opened the door. Holding the handle, he leaned in, his face imploring.
“Can we talk for just a minute?”
I halted, unmoving, looking at him, wondering if I should try to get the bag or if he would even notice it. Clearly, I should have locked the door. I sure would next time.
“Uh, sure Dad. Sure thing. But only one minute. The clock’s ticking. I’ve got to go to sleep, you know. It’s late.”
At that point, if I got the bag he would see and wonder what it was. It was probably best to draw his attention away from it.
I moved around the bed toward the couch as he came in and shut the door behind him. I sat down and grabbed the remote. My hands trembled as I fiddled with it. At the edge of my vision, Kurt scooted deeper under the bed. Why hadn’t he gone for the closet? The idiot.
“You haven’t even changed your clothes,” Dad said.
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