Forever Lost

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Watching this, my blood chilled. Chloe had completely changed personalities in a matter of seconds. And her dedication to this place—whatever this place was—clearly outranked any feelings she had for me or anyone else. I wondered, for just a moment, whether Chloe could be behind this whole thing. Could she be the Big Boss? I’d always heard Big Boss referred to as “he”, but still . . .

  Alice looked at me for just a second more before running off down the hall. Chloe stared after her fondly.

  “Chloe,” I said when she was gone, “what goes on down here, really? Please tell me. You can tell me the truth. I can see it’s important to you.”

  Chloe turned and looked at me again, her expression thoughtful. I could tell she was debating how much to tell me. Finally she sighed. “Well, all right. You’re not going to be around much longer anyway; I guess I can tell you.”

  Not going to be around much longer? I tried to block out that chilling statement and listen to the rest of what Chloe was telling me.

  She cleared her throat. “This,” she said, “is Happyland.”

  “Happyland?” I croaked. “It seems more like a laboratory.”

  Chloe nodded. “Well, it is, in a way. Happyland is a facility dedicated to raising children in the most age-appropriate, happy, and stress-free way possible. And yes, before you ask, all of the Misty Falls Lost were here at one point.”

  I gasped. But Chloe rushed on: “And they’re better off for it! All you know about these kids is the news stories, how their parents missed them sooo much and were sooo sad. But what kind of parents were they really to these children? They fought; they got divorces; they argued about money and housing and work. In the real world, parents impose their worries on their kids; here, the children are free to just be children!”

  “Except when they’re drugged,” I pointed out dryly. I could still feel the “purple” slowing down my reflexes.

  Chloe made a face. “Oh, you’re one of those, are you?”

  “One of what?” I asked.

  Chloe sneered. “The new agey, antidrug brigade. Sometimes drugs are good for children, Frank! What is a drug but a chemical that makes you feel better? And childhood is hard; there are disappointments and confusions. Sometimes these kids have memories from their less-than-perfect family lives, and a little dose of sedative helps them deal with those fears and worries! And it also helps them . . . to forget.” She paused, pulling her mouth into a tight line.

  Even under the effects of the “purple,” my heart was pounding at the craziness of what Chloe was spouting. It was okay to take children away from their parents if their parents weren’t perfect? It was good for those children to forget those parents? But why did they need to forget? Why were they afraid and worried? Why were all bad emotions banished in this place, even if the only alternative was to feel nothing at all?

  Before I could speak again, though, there was a commotion in the hallway. The operating room doors swung open, and suddenly Baby Doc and Scar were struggling to bring in the comatose body of a large adult.

  “Oh, good,” said Chloe, looking completely unsurprised by this development. “You got him. What about the other?”

  Baby Doc sighed. “Well, we tried, but he, um, he had his phone in his hand—it didn’t seem safe to go after him. Besides, we got the important one.”

  Chloe glared at him, clearly furious. “The other one was more important! My God, we have his brother! Do you really think he’s going to let that go?”

  Baby Doc didn’t answer as he and Scar laid the body on the gurney next to mine. As they rolled it over, I gasped and recognized him: Detective Cole.

  Before I could react, though, a familiar voice boomed in the hallway. “Are they here? Did you get them all?”

  A figure burst through the door, glaring right at me.

  My mouth dropped open.

  It was Dr. Carrini.

  Bear Habitat

  Twenty minutes after I first realized Detective Cole was missing, I was still standing in Farley’s study, unsure what to do with myself. I hadn’t heard anyone approach the cabin, or any kind of struggle. Was it possible Detective Cole had left of his own accord? I even considered: Was it possible he was somehow involved in the bunker, or had turned on me?

  It didn’t take me long to realize that was nuts. Just the crazy wonderings of a freaked-out, desperate ATAC agent who still hadn’t found his brother and had now lost his only friend. The truth was, I had no idea how to proceed. I hardly ever worked alone. And now, with the maps spread out in front of me on Farley’s desk, I was so close, and yet so far.

  I was freaked for another reason too. If Cole had really been taken—if he’d left against his will—then that meant someone had come here, to the cabin, undetected. Farley had known he was in danger—someone was after him, probably the same person who was after me, my brother, and Cole. And if they took Cole, they had to know I was here too. Were they still outside, lurking, waiting for their chance to grab me? I reminded myself that I’d run around the whole perimeter of the cabin, alone, looking for Cole—that would have been an ideal time to grab me. But I had no idea who these people were, or what their motives might be.

  With a sigh, I picked up my phone and called the Misty Falls PD.

  “Misty Falls Police Department, Casey speaking.”

  I took a deep breath. “Hi Casey. This is Joe Hardy, the student who’s been working with Detective Cole. I have some . . . um . . . disturbing news.”

  “What’s that?” Casey sounded a little wary.

  “Well . . . I’m afraid he’s missing.”

  “Missing? Detective Cole?”

  “That’s right. We were searching Farley’s cabin for clues, and when I went to look for him, he was gone. I’ve searched the whole cabin, and the perimeter of the property, but there’s no sign of him. I’m afraid he was abducted.”

  Casey let out a breath. “Are you sure he didn’t just leave on his own?”

  “Yes. His cruiser is still here, and all his stuff. He wouldn’t just leave me like that, I’m sure of it.”

  There was a pause as he seemed to take that in.

  “All right. We’ll send out a team immediately. In the meantime, don’t move, and don’t touch anything.”

  Click.

  I pushed the end button on my phone. Well, it was official: I was persona non grata with the Misty Falls PD. No big surprise really, since things had started getting really weird with this case ever since my brother and I had showed up to do “research.” And now with many of Cole’s men turning against him, claiming they weren’t sure the hatch was what he thought it was, I was sure they saw me as a bad influence on their man. Now I’d gone and lost him. I was a troublemaker extraordinaire in their eyes.

  I turned back to Farley’s map and Alice’s letter. They were laid out side by side on the desk. Each document was missing pertinent information, which was probably why Farley had never located the bunker and Alice—well—Alice was just a young kid. Still, taken together, they seemed to tell a story. Alice’s drawing showed two rock piles north of the broken tree by her campsite and close to what looked to be a cave—the entrance to the bunker, I was pretty sure. But the distances were all off. Frank and I had been to that part of the park, and there had been no cave that close by. I had no doubt that Alice knew these landmarks, but it seemed she was missing some directional details.

  Farley, on the other hand, had a comprehensive map that included topography, pertinent landmarks, even little notations about deer habitats and beaver dam locations. But he’d clearly still been trying to figure out what the rock piles led to, because there were questions scrawled in various locations, like Entrance here? Cave looks recently disturbed—part of plan? Could they be underground?

  Frowning, I looked from one drawing to the other. Farley had a rock pile just north of Alice and Stanley’s campsite too, but he didn’t have a second rock pile, and he had a cave noted on the west side of the park—on the wrong side of the river to be
Alice’s cave/entrance. So where could the entrance be? I stared at Farley’s careful drawings and notations. How close had he been to finding the truth? And how different might this case have turned out, how many lives saved, including his own, if he had just had a little more info?

  That’s when I saw it. Bear Habitat. The words were scrawled over a little circle by the river—close to, if a good bit east from, where Alice had drawn the entrance. I knew from Farley (and a host of cartoons) that bears liked to hibernate in caves. And the little abducted girl whose remains had been found, who they insisted was attacked by bears—her remains had been found in an abandoned bear cave.

  Could that cave be the very entrance to the underground bunker?

  My heart sped up. I knew I was onto something. According to the map, the cave was about a fifteen-minute hike from Farley’s cabin; I could be there before it got dark. I frowned, glancing to the driveway, where there was no sign of visitors. Should I wait for the police?

  I stood up, feeling restless and edgy. Something in my gut was telling me this was right. With Farley and Alice’s help, I was closer to finding the bunker than ever. And more than that, I just knew my brother was down there. If he were free, Frank would have found his way to me by now. And Frank was a professional agent, like me. It would take a seriously organized operation to hold him hostage. Otherwise, we’d been extensively trained in negotiation and escape. Frank could have gotten away—if it were possible to get away.

  Then there were Jacob, Smith, and the situation at the hospital. Everyone had been acting squirrelly—trying to make us believe Frank was out of his mind rather than telling the crazy truth. It seemed like they had some motivation to keep us from finding Frank, whatever it might be. And they all had access to him at the hospital. They might have easily taken him back to the bunker, if they were involved in the bunker in the first place.

  I sighed, grabbing the maps. I knew what I had to do. I had to go save my brother.

  I folded the maps, shoving them into my pocket, and looked outside. Already the light was fading and this long day was ending. It would be dark before long. And . . . I swallowed. I couldn’t really go alone, could I? From the way Frank described it, there was a whole staff down there. And whoever was running the place wouldn’t take kindly to visitors. I sighed again, feeling desperate, and redialed the Misty Falls PD.

  “Misty Falls Police Department, Casey speaking.”

  “Hi, Casey. This is Joe Hardy. I just called.”

  “Yes.” There was a pause. “Did you find Detective Cole after all?”

  I let out a breath. “No. Listen. Change of plans. I am entirely sure that I know where my brother and Detective Cole are being held, okay? I need backup to meet me at the following location.” Looking at Farley’s map, I did my best to describe the location of the “Bear Habitat.” “It’s where the young girl’s remains were found—the only member of the Misty Falls Lost to turn up. You remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Casey said. “Sarah Finnegan. That was a very sad day for all of us, Mr. Hardy. But what makes you think your brother and Detective Cole are being held there? It’s an abandoned cave.”

  I frowned. “Look—it would take too long to explain, and we’re losing light. I need you to trust me. Please.”

  Casey waited a moment before responding. “Most of my officers were just sent to Farley’s to look for Cole. Which is more important?”

  I sighed. “This is. Please. If it turns out to be nothing, they can be back at Farley’s cabin in minutes, no harm done.”

  There was another pause. “I’m sending one pair of officers to the cabin, and the rest to meet you. I want to make sure you haven’t disturbed the crime scene at Farley’s.”

  I felt a rush of relief. “Great. Thank you. When can they be at the cave?”

  “Give them half an hour.”

  Click.

  This time, the hang-up didn’t bother me. I put the phone into my pocket with a smile on my face.

  I just knew I was about to solve this thing.

  After about ten minutes of fast hiking, I arrived at the entrance to a cave. On the way, I’d passed a pile of rocks that hadn’t been on Farley’s map—that must have been the second pile Alice drew! Which made me even more sure that this was the entrance to the bunker. Once I reached the cave, though, I realized that it was nearly dark. In fact, in the silent dusk, as I waited for the officers, the night seemed to get even darker in a matter of minutes. Cricket chirps filled the air, and the occasional flutter of animal tracks through the trees. I gulped, thinking back to my first days with Frank at our campsite—how every flutter and noise had seemed dangerous. And in the end, it had turned out to be dangerous. For all of Frank’s teasing about my paranoia, he’d been the one abducted from the site in the early hours of the morning.

  Something evil was lurking in these woods, for sure. And it sure as heck wasn’t bears.

  That’s when I heard a snap behind me—like something (or someone) big stepping on a branch. Was it the police? But it sounded like someone trying to be quiet. . . .

  “Hello?” I called, hoping to spot a cluster of officers. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  I frowned, taking a breath to calm myself down. You’re expecting people, I reminded myself. Besides, it was probably just a deer or an elk. I pulled out Farley’s map to study it again. Bear Habitat. . . but the cave had been abandoned for years, right? So there was no reason to worry—

  I let out a cry as suddenly someone grabbed me from behind, and I felt the cold, sharp steel of a knife being held to my neck!

  “Are you with them?” a voice demanded. A familiar, somewhat crazy voice. Trying to protect my throat, I carefully turned to look at my attacker and gasped.

  It was Smith—Jacob’s PI!

  Just Keep Him Talking

  “You,” Dr. Carrini growled, looking at me with piercing, cold eyes. He’d never been a warm and fuzzy guy, but now he looked steely. “You couldn’t just stay put, could you? I was going to keep you in the hospital as long as I could, keep you sedated, try to confuse you and convince you that you hadn’t seen what you thought you had. But noooo. You had to play the hero. Well, you’re going to suffer for it.”

  I squirmed on the gurney, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “Suffer?” I asked, and it came out squeakier than I intended. I wanted to keep him talking—an ATAC agent knows that a talking criminal is too busy to commit a crime—but I was also starting to fear for my safety, honestly. This was all getting really weird, really fast.

  Dr. Carrini sneered at me. “That’s right, I’m afraid. I’m not a violent man, Frank. In all my years of running Happyland, I’ve never intentionally hurt anyone. I’ve managed to keep my operation secret, and let the useless investigators believe that the children disappeared naturally. But then you and your brother showed up, and all hell broke loose.”

  I winced. “Well, to be fair, it really all started getting crazy when Justin escaped.”

  Dr. Carrini glared at me. I could see that I’d one-upped him, and he knew it, and it made me bolder.

  “And he escaped,” I said, “because you wouldn’t answer his questions, and you started giving him high doses of drugs. You lied just now when you said you never hurt anyone. You killed little Sarah Finnegan by giving her a high dose of sedatives, and then you dumped her body in a bear cave to throw off the investigators.”

  Dr. Carrini continued to glare at me, his right eye twitching slightly. “I said I never intentionally hurt anyone. As everyone here will tell you, Sarah’s death was an accident.”

  Seeing I’d hit a vein, I kept going. “An unnecessary accident. What kind of doctor messes up the dosing of a sedative? Are you even a real doctor?”

  His eyes flashed. “Am I a real doctor?” he repeated, incredulous.

  Chloe, who’d been watching our exchange with concern—concern for Dr. Carrini, not me, as far as I could tell—broke in. “Of course Dr. Carrini is a real doctor,” she
insisted, glaring at me like she was disciplining a naughty child. “He’s one of the foremost experts on memory in the country.”

  “That’s right,” Dr. Carrini said. “My research has changed the entire thinking on how memories are formed, kept, and controlled.”

  “Controlled?” I asked. “Like you were going to control my memories of being in the bunker? Like you control these kids’ memories of their parents by drugging them and confusing them?”

  His eyes narrowed. Chloe shook her head, like she was dismayed that I just couldn’t understand.

  “What is this place, anyway?” I asked. “Why did you create it? Why have you been stealing other people’s children?”

  Dr. Carrini let out a big sigh. He glanced at Chloe, who shrugged.

  “I suppose I can tell you,” he said, regaining some of his composure and fixing me with the same calm, condescending stare I remembered from the hospital. “Since you’re not going to be around much longer.”

  A chill ran up my spine, but I ignored it. Keep him talking, I told myself. Just keep him talking, and hope that something changes.

  “Start at the beginning,” I said, looking around. “What is this place? What gave you the idea?”

  He smiled. “‘This place,’ as you so elegantly call it, is an extensive nuclear bomb shelter that was built by an eccentric, wealthy park ranger in the 1960s.”

  I frowned. “How come nobody knows about it?”

  “I said the ranger was eccentric,” Dr. Carrini said. “He simply didn’t tell anybody, he paid the builders for their silence, and he confined the bunker to the most remote areas of the park, where the construction was unlikely to be noticed off-season.”

  Weird. “How did you find out?”

  “This gentleman came under my care late in his life,” Dr. Carrini replied. “Alzheimer’s. I was completing my residency in Boise. He told me these remarkable stories about the bunker, which I assumed—and I told his family—were false memories, the result of dementia. But then, one weekend, I just had to see for myself. And sure enough, it was all here, just as he’d described.”