by Morris, Chad
She saw Lincoln working on the campaign trail and eventually being elected president. He surrounded himself with cabinet members who thought differently than he did. He wasn’t a polished type of person like other politicians Abby had seen. He was just him. He stayed up through the night agonizing over the Civil War. He lobbied and pushed to free the slaves.
Abby typed a few notes with her rings. She had a history assignment on the sixteenth president due tomorrow, and she had to keep her grades up. She had a list of other events she had to watch. She scanned down the list of available events until she saw the assassination. She knew he had been shot at a theater. The event had an asterisk by it, which meant that if students felt the event was too violent, they didn’t have to watch it. Abby wasn’t sure.
She selected it, knowing she could stop the playback if it got too intense. She watched the president and his wife step into a theater booth about twelve feet above and off to the side of the stage. She was still surprised at how tall he was. He had to be well over six feet tall, towering over his wife. The play was already underway, but it soon paused, and the entire audience arose as the orchestra played “Hail to the Chief.” There had to be more than one thousand people, maybe closer to two thousand, packed into that small theater.
Abby fast-forwarded, watching Mrs. Lincoln and her husband holding hands. Cute.
The Bridge perspective switched and Abby saw a man—younger, maybe in his late twenties with a mustache and a slightly receding hairline—approaching the president’s box from the hallway behind. He handed a card to an usher there who let him pass.
Abby scanned her notes again—John Wilkes Booth. He was a well-known actor and had performed at the theater several times. No wonder the usher had let him pass.
Booth stepped through the first door and then barricaded it behind him with a stick. He looked through some sort of hole in the next door between him and the president. Abby wondered how the peephole got there.
Booth waited. Why?
Abby heard the raised voice of an actor on the stage. “You sockdologizing old man-trap!” The audience burst into laughter. Booth opened the second door and pointed a small revolver at the back of the president’s head.
Abby stopped the scene; she didn’t want to see it. Booth had waited for a funny line so the sound of laughter would cover up a gunshot, a shot that would kill the same man who had fought to keep the United States of America united, who had worked and pressed to free the slaves—a man who had fought for what he believed in.
She opened her notes and scanned page after page. It was amazing that historians years ago had been able to figure out the details of this terrible event without the Bridge. They couldn’t see it happen as Abby could, but they had pieced it together from accounts, evidence, and logic. They were like the Sherlocks of history. Booth had made the small peephole in the second doorway to the president’s box earlier that day. Again, he was no stranger to that theater. Historians had learned exactly how he did it—and even why.
Abby stopped. Ms. Entrese. She had been shot. She wasn’t dead, but someone else had shot her for standing up for what she felt was right. If Abby knew exactly how that strange man shot her with a tranquilizer, would it help anything? Would it help them find the man and capture him?
Abby closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. She had to finish this assignment. She moved her fingers to select the next event in history.
She couldn’t do it.
They caught Booth, the man who had assassinated Lincoln. Whoever had tranquilized Ms. Entrese was still out there somewhere. Grandpa said that the camera had malfunctioned somehow and didn’t record the actual attack. Could she figure out what had happened?
Abby stepped out of the Bridge booth and walked down to the art rooms. They were about the only place she knew she could find paper. She took several sheets back to her room. The assignment on Abraham Lincoln would have to wait.
Once inside her dorm room, she tried to imagine it was her English class. Her bed could be Ms. Entrese’s desk. Abby propped up a pillow to represent Ms. Entrese. Carol’s half of the room would be the desks. She tore off several pieces of paper and rolled them into balls. They would be her darts. She had seen this in an old movie once. She then rolled a sheet of paper into a thin tube. It would be her straw. She would try to recreate what had happened.
She had seen the footage from the hallway of the man entering through the door. It probably hadn’t been locked. Abby stood by the door to help her imagine. The easiest and quickest way would have been to shoot Ms. Entrese with a dart immediately. Abby loaded her paper straw and shot a wad of paper. It didn’t even come close to her bed, let alone the pillow representing Ms. Entrese. Abby would make a terrible assassin. She tried again and again, gradually becoming better.
Wait. Abby tried hard to remember. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene as she had happened upon it. She was surprised at how vividly she could remember. Maybe because it had been so traumatic. Or maybe it was because of all her practice for English class on the Chair trying to flesh out the setting for book presentations. She could picture the desks. Some of them had been moved out of place, including the one where Abby sat. She could picture Ms. Entrese collapsed behind her desk, her chair behind her. Then Abby really wanted to make sure she remembered correctly. Yes. She could picture the small dart stuck in the right side of her neck.
She thought it through again, just to be sure. But the right-hand side of her neck would have been away from the door. Maybe that just meant that she had heard the intruder coming in and turned to see who it was.
Abby walked to the mirror but faced off to the side of it. She then turned to see how much of her neck was exposed. Not much. It was highly unlikely that Ms. Entrese had merely turned as the man entered and was shot in the right side of the neck.
Abby closed her eyes again, trying to remember. What other clues were there? What would Sherlock Holmes or Joseph Bell have noticed? The chair. Not the famous invention, but the chair Ms. Entrese sat on behind her desk. It was a foot or so behind the desk and upright.
Abby grabbed the chair from her dorm room desk, sat down, and then tumbled out the side, pretending to have been hit by a dart. She got up and inspected the chair. It hadn’t moved.
Abby sat again. She stood up, hearing the chair rub against the ground as the back of her knees pushed it back. It was just like the position Ms. Entrese’s chair had been in.
So perhaps when the man entered, Ms. Entrese had stood. But she didn’t move far, because she had collapsed behind the desk.
But even if she had stood, he couldn’t have shot her on the right side of the neck from the doorway, unless she had completely turned. But if she had turned, it was likely she would have fallen and hit or moved the chair. No. Maybe the man had circled around to be right in front of her. And that was probably when she stood to face him. That would account for the desks that had moved. Ms. Entrese had shown her bravery even when facing one of Muns’s men.
Why had he waited to shoot her? He probably said something to her. Maybe he told her how Muns’s revenge fit her fighting against him. Maybe she knew the answer, just before she had been hit with a dart and fell unconscious.
19
Restrictions
Really?” Carol said. “I get all my restrictions lifted? You have to be the best friend ever! I can’t believe that no one wanted to be your roommate. Don’t get me wrong, there might be a possibility you could outdo even this, but it would be hard. I guess you could somehow get me a download of all of Bros Nixon’s movies, free passes to Disney Universe for the rest of my life, and a date with your brother; that would seal your place in the Best Friend Hall of Fame. But what should we do first? Maybe go visit the boys’ dorms?”
“It doesn’t mean we can just do anything that we want,” Abby said, blowing another spitwad against a target she had set up just above the trash can. It hit just above the target and slid down into the can. She was getting better
. “It’s past curfew and if we get busted out there without a good reason we could very well have everything taken back.” She shot again. This time it hit the outer left ring of the target.
“Did your grandpa say that?”
“Well, no, but I’m sure that’s how it works.” She rolled another ball.
“How do you know if he didn’t say it? Besides, if something happens we can just claim that we were looking for that creepy guy. In fact, I bet we could find him. I’m a smart cookie. That’s what my mother calls me. I’m not really sure why being smart should be compared to a cookie. It doesn’t really make sense. Cookies don’t even have brains. Plus they aren’t very good for you, so eating a lot of them isn’t very smart. Unless you were about to have a diabetic seizure, and a cookie would save the day, then one is very smart. Plus they can have chocolate in them, and chocolate is always smart.”
“You are so strange,” Abby said, shooting again. She hit the second circle.
“You’re getting pretty good,” Carol admitted, “but let’s go.”
“We don’t really know what we are looking for, and I’ve got a ton of homework.”
“What? You aren’t going to let homework get in the way, are you? Remember how last semester we totally saved the day? What if homework had stopped us then?” Carol paused, waiting for an answer.
Abby didn’t know what to say. Carol didn’t usually stop talking. “No. I think we should just stay.”
“Fine. You shoot your paper and work on your homework. I’m at least going to stand guard at the window and see if anything strange is going on down there.”
Abby sighed and climbed onto her bed and turned on her rings.
“I’m a sentry at my post. I’m like those guards in England that just stand completely still. They don’t twitch. They don’t talk. They don’t even blink.”
“You don’t talk?”
“Hey, I hadn’t started yet.”
“Now?”
“Almost. If I do see something should I tell you, or should I go all Wonder Woman and try to take care of everything on my own?” Carol mimicked a few twirls and kicks.
“You aren’t very good at the silent guard thing,” Abby pointed out.
“Just answer my question.”
“Okay—tell me. If something is actually happening, I need to try to help out.”
“Got it. Going into guard mode.” Carol made a few strange noises imitating a robot turning on.
Then, for one of the first times Abby could remember, there was silence in their room. It was such a change that Abby felt uncomfortable. She was so used to listening to Carol talking about her latest conversation with some boy, retelling a memory about acting in some webseries (which usually focused around an actor boy), or sharing her memories of home . . . involving crushes on some of the neighborhood boys. Now it was silent.
For about a minute. It wasn’t much, but it was a record nonetheless.
“I’m really feeling the guard thing,” Carol said. “I think my vision is sharper than ever. This could be my calling.”
Abby sighed.
“I’m holding so still, I didn’t even move to say that. Seriously,” Carol added. Abby could tell she had tried to say it with her mouth closed.
“Guards don’t have to speak with their mouths closed.” Abby looked at Carol over her bed railing. “That’s a ventriloquist.”
“Oh, well, that’s awesome too. I’m mastering all sorts of careers tonight.”
“Yes, you are.” Abby surrendered, closing her eyes. As Carol began talking about writing a puppet show about guards and who she would cast as the other guard puppets, Abby zoned out. She thought about Muns. What was he planning to do next? Who was this guy who had tranquilized Entrese and Mackleprank? Her thoughts began to come faster, one leading to another. Without realizing it, Abby started to drift off to sleep.
• • •
A hand covered Abby’s mouth.
She jerked awake and tried to scream. Her arms flailed at her attacker.
Wait. She recognized her. It was only Carol, who quickly pressed a finger to her lips, signaling for Abby to quiet down.
Abby looked around their room. She didn’t see anything. No one with a hood. None of Muns’s men. Just her and Carol. “Why did you wake me up that way?” Abby whispered. “You terrified me.”
“Shhhhhh!” Carol shushed, then pointed out the window. “Someone’s outside on the grounds. In fact, I think it’s two someones.”
“Really?” Abby said, moving toward the window. She gazed out at the darkness below. She could see the silhouettes of hedges carved to look like Saturn and the Mayflower, and behind them the other buildings—the Hall, the science building, and so forth. It was all blanketed in darkness except for the dim moonlight that cast darker shadows in one direction. A slim robot passed in front of the door to the Hall and continued down the path. There were more robots on patrol these days, and the human guards were working longer hours too. Abby didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary.
“Wait a minute,” Abby said. “If the reason for waking me was someone sneaking around outside, did you have to cover my mouth and shush me?”
“Oh, it just seemed like the right guard-type thing to do. I guess I was just caught up in the moment. Anyway, whoever it was went along the teacher’s apartments, then walked in the shadow of the hedges going toward the main hall. I think they’re in the bushes on the pathway just there, waiting for the robot to get out of the way.” She pointed.
Following Carol’s finger, Abby watched closely. A few seconds later, two shadows moved from behind a hedge shaped like George Washington and approached the door to the main hall. Whoever it was raised a hand and the door opened. They had clearance.
“Let’s go,” Abby said, grabbing a sweatshirt. “Should we send a message to my grandpa?”
“I’d wait until we know more. But you may want to message the boys.” Carol raised her eyebrows. “Just in case.”
No surprises there.
In a few moments they were out of the dorm and on the grounds beneath. Their unlimited access had worked. They had to find out who had snuck into the main hall in the middle of the night.
• • •
Derick read the words one more time.
The guys want to meet one more time before they decide if you can join.
One more time? Couldn’t he do anything right? What happened to the Derick that always succeeded? He was terrible at the giraffe avatar. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his sphere. And now he still hadn’t made his way into the avatar club. At least he still had a chance. Perhaps he hadn’t succeeded already, but maybe he could.
He read on.
Oh, and I apologize for running off so fast. I had noticed that Dr. Mackleprank hadn’t completely been himself lately. When I learned he might have been attacked in the night, it made some sense. But I had to check up on him. We are very good friends and I try to be there for him the best that I can. I think he is doing extremely well, especially considering what he has been through.
It was nice to know that everything was okay with Mackleprank and that Rafa and he were such good friends, but something about it didn’t completely sync up. Rafa had run out of the lab with such urgency. It hadn’t been a casual stroll to check up on a friend. Then again, it wasn’t every day a friend got attacked in the middle of the night at the most secure school in the world. He’d have to think about that some more.
He couldn’t help but read the words again.
One more time before we decide.
Ugh.
His rings vibrated again.
Someone is sneaking into the Hall. Carol and I are going in.
Derick stepped into his shoes and sent Rafa a message at the same time.
• • •
Abby and Carol sprinted across the grounds. Abby almost screamed when she looked over to see a bush sculpture of a bear.
A robot whirled out in front of them and a thin hand e
xtended. Again a near scream.
“Whoa there, Bolts,” Carol said. “We’re okay. We’re un-re-stric-ted.” She said every syllable with pride.
“Just stick out your hand, Carol,” Abby instructed, holding out her own. After a quick scan, the robot reversed out of their way.
“Well, it worked,” Abby said.
“So awesome. If there wasn’t someone creeping around in the dark, I’d suggest we use our all-access pass to find the kitchen and see if there are any leftover eclairs—ooh, or those brownies from yesterday. But I secretly think the lunch crew eats the leftovers.”
“Carol, focus.” Abby let the door scan her and opened it wide.
“Like you haven’t noticed that no one in the cafeteria is a beanpole.”
In a few moments they were in the dark schoolhouse, hoping to figure out who else was sneaking in in the middle of the night.
“This feels like an awesome spy movie,” Carol whispered. “But so rarely is it two girls, and if it is, usually they’re wearing dresses that are too tight and don’t have enough material. Yeah, like you could do much spying in high heels and a formal dress. But it’s just . . .”
Abby shushed again. Two moments of silence in one night was apparently just too much to ask.
They crept along the wall, making it to the next intersection of halls just in time to see someone turn the corner. “There.” Abby pointed down the hall.
“This is so incredible,” Carol whispered. “I bet this is where we confront them. I may even have to use a little karate.” She mimicked a few movements. “I don’t really know karate officially, but I played a girl who did taekwondo in a commercial. Some people said that I looked like a natural. Well, my mom said that, but I’m sure other people were thinking it.”
Whoever it was they were following was going down to the engineering hall. Were they checking on Mrs. Trinhouse? Did they know she had a key? Was she in her room, working late? Should Abby send her a warning? No. She would wait and make sure.