Forever Lost

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Mmmmmff?” I asked him.

  “Just relax,” Justin whispered, looking sympathetic. “It’s okay. They just gave you a little purple—not enough to give you the Big Sleep. It should wear off soon. You’re going to be woozy for a while, but it will pass. I just need you to be quiet for a minute. The docs will be back any second now.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. Okay.

  Justin smiled. “Man, I’ve become a total expert on disconnecting IVs in this place. You take it off and then play dead, and the docs never figure out you’re conscious. That’s how I escaped the first time, and I still don’t think they’ve caught on. Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, down here. They think if they give you enough drugs, they can totally control you.”

  I nodded again.

  “Before I escaped,” Justin went on, “that’s how I got in trouble. I was getting older, you know, and starting to remember what life was like with my parents before I got down here. I started asking too many questions, challenging the doctors too much.” He scowled. “That’s when they start drugging you to keep you out of their hair. They gave me so much purple, I was messed up for days—even once I got to the hospital. But even while they were drugging me, I knew I had to get out. Because they’ll give you too much and your heart will just stop. That’s what happened to Sarah.”

  Sarah? I remembered—the one of the Misty Falls Lost whose remains had been found in an abandoned bear cave. For years those remains had given credence to the idea that the disappearances had been due to bear attacks and other natural accidents. But was Justin—and Alice, she’d said something before about the “Bad Time”—were they saying that Sarah had been killed accidentally? Given too many drugs, then placed out in the wilderness to throw off the investigation?

  I had so many questions. What was this place? How and why did Justin escape? Did all of the Misty Falls Lost end up here? But before I could get through even one—before I could even convince Justin to lift up his hand and let me talk—he cocked his head, listening. Then he quickly plugged my IV back in. I let out a shout of protest, but Justin shook his head at me.

  “They’re coming,” he hissed, then dove back to his own gurney, reattaching his IV and playing dead.

  I closed my eyes and heard heavy footsteps enter the room.

  “Well, you’re in big trouble now,” says Baby Doc. “The Big Boss is coming—and he’s not happy.”

  Map Quest

  Detective Cole and I stood in the parking lot of Misty Falls Hospital, both shaken. I felt like neither one of us knew quite what to say after that meeting.

  “Listen,” I said finally. “If you want to back off the investigation—to save your job or whatever—I totally understand. I won’t leave Misty Falls until I find Frank and get some answers, but there’s no reason you should lose your job over it.”

  Detective Cole just snorted. “Forget it, kid,” he said defiantly. “I’ve worked for the Misty Falls PD for almost thirty years, and done a damn fine job of it, except for finding these kids. I’m not about to lose this job, or be kept from finally finding them, over some deadbeat dad’s guilt. I don’t know what Jacob’s problem is, but he’s wrong. Dead wrong. Now let’s go find that letter.”

  Well, all righty then. We hopped into the police cruiser and drove to the park, then hiked up from the parking lot to the site where Stanley, Alice, and their family had camped. It felt strange being back in the park. The last time I’d seen this campsite had been with Frank, when Farley, the now deceased crusty park ranger, had been giving us a tour to support his theory that the disappearances were all natural. Of course, that had been before we realized that Farley was Justin’s biological grandfather, and before Farley had been savagely murdered in his own cabin. So much had happened since Frank and I had arrived on the scene. One thing was for sure: This was bigger than a few random bear attacks.

  “Here,” said Detective Cole, pointing to a tree that had been broken in half, probably by lightning. “It must be under here.”

  Sure enough, we found a little mound of loose black dirt right near the tree’s base. Detective Cole started gingerly digging with his fingers, and before long he pulled out a bright pink piece of ruled paper, filled with colorful writing and drawings in multicolored marker. He unfolded it, and we both looked down.

  “Help me, Lee,” the letter started out, in the childish handwriting of a ten-year-old. “I need you.”

  They keep us here and they call it Happyland. We have lots of toys and we get to play all day. The grown-ups here are fun, not like normal grown-ups, and they like to pretend and help us use our imaginations.

  But yesterday I asked about Mommy and Daddy, and where you are and when I would see you again. Today they gave me purple and made me sleep for three hours. They said I need to relax and stop worrying about things that don’t really matter. They give my friend Justin the purple too, and I’m worried because I don’t want him to get the Big Sleep. Justin says he’s going to leave this place, so I’m giving him this letter to give you.

  Please come get me, Lee. I don’t want to stay in Happyland anymore. I want to live with you and Mommy and Daddy and go to school and wear normal clothes. When I say that to grown-ups here, they say that’s not being a kid, being a kid means getting to live in a world of imagination. But I miss you. Here is a map to the bunker. Please come get me, Lee.

  Underneath were some crude drawings, that looked like the piles of rocks Detective Cole and I had noticed earlier that we thought might have some role in leading people to the bunker entrances. I tried to make sense of Alice’s drawings, but I couldn’t. They were the drawings of a young girl—and worse, a young girl who hadn’t been aboveground in years now. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that this letter included some good information. The piles of rocks were carefully colored and drawn. If I could compare them against another map—a more reliable map—maybe we could find our way to an entrance?

  That’s when I remembered: the notes I’d seen on Farley’s calendar! When we found Farley’s body, I’d noticed some interesting notes he’d made on the calendar on his desk, but the handwriting had been so chicken-scratchy, I couldn’t make it out. I’d taken photos and sent them off to ATAC headquarters to be decoded. I’d been so distracted the last couple of days, I hadn’t finished reading the analysis from ATAC. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and checked my e-mail—and there they were, waiting for me! Translated notes from ATAC.

  See area A4 on map—pile of stones on right—entrance believed to be in vicinity . . .

  “I think I’ve got something,” I told Detective Cole.

  “What’s that?”

  I showed him my phone, the e-mail containing the translated notes. “Notes I found on Farley’s calendar last time I was there. The handwriting was so bad, I couldn’t make them out. I had to send them to ATAC to be translated.”

  Detective Cole frowned. “See area A4 on map . . . what map?”

  I nodded. “Exactly. Sounds like Farley must have had a map we never came across.”

  Detective Cole nodded slowly. “And maybe if we compared that map to this letter, we’d come up with something.”

  I nodded again. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  Without another word, we hiked back to the cruiser and headed for Farley’s cabin. It still stood empty. I had a feeling the state park was going to have a hard time recruiting rangers considering what had happened to Farley and another park ranger, Bailey, who’d been killed by a rattlesnake just days after Farley was found. Something rotten was definitely going down at this park, and I didn’t care what Jacob said—something as crazy as what my brother had been suggesting was the only thing crazy enough to explain everything that had happened.

  “Here we are.” Detective Cole pulled into Farley’s driveway and cut the engine. Without another word, we glanced at each other and got out, climbing up the stairs and under the police tape to enter the house.

  The cabin was deadly silent inside, and it gave me the
willies. It’s hard to describe, but it felt like someone—or some thing— was inside, watching us, or had just been inside. I still had trouble believing that Farley had been killed here just days ago. I remembered how freaked I was when we first arrived at camp—terrified by the weird noises at night, sure that something ghostly was after us. Now those fears seemed almost cute compared to what was really going on. Murders, drugged kids, underground labs—I had never imagined that such crazy stuff could happen in the wilds of Idaho!

  Detective Cole and I split up: He searched the downstairs, I searched the upstairs. The cabin had been searched for evidence after Farley’s death, of course, so little of note remained. I looked everywhere: closets, under the bed, behind the furniture, even in the tank of the toilet. Anywhere the police might have missed. But after an hour of searching, I’d come up with nothing.

  “You finding anything?” I called to Detective Cole.

  He took a minute to answer. “Um . . . not exactly,” he said finally. “Not what I was looking for, but . . . why don’t you come on down?”

  Hmmm. I quickly descended the stairs and found the detective standing in the living room.

  “Look there,” he said, pointing at the couch. It looked exactly like it had the last time we were there . . . except.

  “Did you move the pillow?” I asked. A hand-sewn pillow had been thrown to the floor by the end table.

  “Nope,” said Detective Cole. “But it wasn’t there before, right?”

  I shook my head. “It was definitely on the couch. Are you sure . . . ?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t the only thing I’ve noticed out of place since we got here. I’m pretty sure the shades in the study were down when we last left the cabin; now they’re up. And I think Farley’s files have been searched. There were files out of order and papers misfiled.”

  Hmmm. I looked at Detective Cole. “You sure Farley wasn’t just a bad filer?”

  He nodded. “I also found this on Farley’s desk.” He picked up a tiny item from the coffee table and handed it to me. I squinted: It was a hair.

  A short hair, probably male in origin.

  A distinctive chestnut brown, as though recently dyed.

  My eyes widened as it came to me. “Smith,” I whispered.

  “It looks like his hair color, doesn’t it?” asked the detective. “And about the right length and texture?”

  I nodded. “Definitely.”

  Detective Cole frowned. “When I unlocked the door, I noticed that the safety lock hadn’t been put on. I couldn’t imagine my men letting that slide. But Smith . . .”

  I nodded. “You think he’s been prowling around here?” I asked.

  Detective Cole sighed. “Seems that way.”

  “But why?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? To get evidence he or Jacob thinks we’re missing? To slowly drive us insane? I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is, he’s disturbing a crime scene—and that’s illegal.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Yeah, Casey. Get me Officer Dunham. I need you to bring in Michael Smith, Jacob Greer’s PI, for questioning.”

  I waited while he explained the situation to one of his men. When he finished, he hung up and looked around the room. “I wish we’d found something. But if Smith was in here, maybe he beat us to the map?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “But he doesn’t even believe the bunker exists, does he? Why would he need a map to a place he doesn’t believe in?”

  Right then, Detective Cole’s phone rang. “Cole here,” he answered. He paused while he listened to the officer on the other end of the line, then sighed. “You’re kidding me.” He shook his head. “He’s lying. I know he is. There’s something going on with those two. Something they’re not telling us.” He listened to the caller again. “All right. But put out the word that there’s a warrant to bring him in. And tell all the men to keep an eye out. Thanks.”

  I watched his face as the detective hung up the phone. “They found Jacob at his hotel,” he explained, “but Smith isn’t with him. He isn’t in his room, either. Jacob says he has no idea where the guy is—he was supposed to be taking a nap.”

  “You don’t believe that?” I guessed.

  “Do you?” Detective Cole asked. “Seems a little convenient, doesn’t it? But that’s all right. My men will find him eventually.”

  I nodded, looking around the room. “Well, I hope they find him. And I hope he has the map Farley referred to. Because right now, I don’t have any idea where it could be.”

  Detective Cole looked thoughtful. “Where would a guy like Farley hide something?”

  I shrugged. “On his knife? With his compass? He was such a survivalist kind of guy.”

  “Yeah,” Detective Cole agreed, “but both of those things are at the station with the rest of the evidence. And nobody saw anything unusual among the things they took.”

  I frowned. “Well . . . I’m stumped. Should we take one more look around before we go?”

  Detective Cole shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  He walked out into the kitchen, and I headed to the left, into Farley’s study. Most of Farley’s important papers had been kept in here . . . but they had also been searched by Cole’s men, who’d found nothing unusual. Little remained in Farley’s desk, and what was there was mostly harmless: pens, paper, Post-it notes. The bookshelf held just a few wilderness guides and a few framed pictures. I walked over and picked up one of the guides, flipping through the pages.

  One survival technique upon spotting a bear is to sing. The singing alerts the bear that you are human and thus not a threat. . . .

  I looked up at the framed photos. Many of them were of Farley alone, on some sort of travels—Farley on a small boat. Farley on a mountain. Farley beside a waterfall. There were also a couple of Farley with his late wife, birthday- or anniversary-type poses. But . . .

  Then I saw it.

  It was a small picture, old and a little faded, in a tiny silver frame. Farley posed with a young boy, holding up fishing poles and smiling widely. I looked closer at the boy and gasped: It was Justin! He had to be only about three or four years old in the photo. Even Farley looked young and optimistic. I looked closer and noticed some paper sticking out of the side of the frame, like there was something in there behind the photo. I removed the photo from the frame and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. Opening it up, I smiled: It was a hand-drawn map of what appeared to be part of the park, including the campsites where kids had been taken. Was it possible? Had Farley had some sense that the underground bunker existed before he died?

  That’s when I noticed a hand-scrawled note at the top of the map:

  I AM BEING WATCHED. IF YOU FIND THIS AND SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED TO ME, IT IS BECAUSE OF THIS MAP—AND BECAUSE I AM CLOSE TO FINDING THE TRUTH.

  This was it. “Detective Cole!” I called. “I found it! The map! It’s unbelievable! Detective Cole!”

  I paused, and heard nothing in reply. I frowned. Had he stepped outside?

  “Detective?” I called again.

  Nothing. I didn’t even hear anybody moving.

  I could feel the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Something felt wrong—very wrong.

  “Detective Cole?” I ran through the living room to the kitchen now. “Detective Cole?”

  Some of the contents of the cabinets were disturbed, like Detective Cole had been searching through them—but there was no sign of him.

  “Detective Cole?” I called.

  I ran outside. The cruiser was still parked in the driveway, undisturbed. “Detective Cole? Detective Cole!” I started shouting now, running around the yard. I ran all around the cabin, shouting, but there was no sign of him. Then I ran back into the cabin, doing a quick search of the upstairs, then the downstairs, but there was nothing.

  It was like he had never been there.

  A cold fear gripped my stomach.

  Detective Cole was missing!

/>   Motives Unknown

  I braced myself to meet the Big Boss. Who could it be? Who would possibly run this kind of operation? But when the operating room doors opened and a figure rushed in, I didn’t expect to see—

  “Chloe??”

  She frowned at me, suddenly looking very cold and businesslike. “That was a stupid stunt you tried today,” she announced brusquely. “Did you really think you’d get away with it? Did you think we’d let you go?”

  Confused, I just stared at her for a moment. “I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. Why was Chloe acting like this? Who was she, really?

  Chloe shook her head. “You’ve really done yourself in, Frank. He’ll be here any minute, and I don’t know what he’s going to do. You need to be controlled.”

  My blood ran cold. Controlled? That didn’t sound like they were going to drug me up and feed me sandwiches. It sounded a lot more painful, in fact. Just then, Alice burst through the door and came running up to Chloe.

  “Chloe, Chloe!” she called. “Yay, you came today! Let me show you . . .”

  I expected Chloe to brush the girl off, but instead her demeanor completely changed. She brightened and her eyes warmed, and she looked down at Alice with excitement. “Oh, Alice! How wonderful! What beautiful thing have you made for me?”

  Alice held up some pink, fluffy, fairylike thing. “I made it in the Creativity Room,” she said proudly.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” gushed Chloe. “Can you tell me a story about it? What do you do with it?”

  Alice screwed up her face. “Um, I guess . . . you can use it to clean your room? Like if your mommy asks you?

  Chloe’s face darkened, and she gently shook her head. “No, Alice. You only have to use it for play. We’re all children here.” She rubbed Alice’s head gently, and Alice, looking only a little disappointed at Chloe’s answer, looked up at me.

  “Is Frank going to be okay?” she asked.

  Chloe smiled. “Don’t you worry,” she told Alice. “Frank’s going to get what he deserves.”