“We have to start somewhere,” Finn said. “Jess got…I don’t know…a signal…when she was at Epcot. Then she got more last night in a dream.”
“It’s some gibberish on a wall, some horses, and an old guy in a chair,” Maybeck complained.
“It’s a place to start,” said Charlene. “We have to start somewhere. Right? We wasted enough time in the Magic Kingdom these past couple weeks. What’s wrong with trying Epcot?”
“But our tickets—our passes—were pulled,” Amanda reminded them. “Every girl in Mrs. Nash’s house was given a year’s pass for free. But they took ours. And it’s not like we can afford to buy tickets.”
“Which is why I’m going to suggest something radical,” Finn said. “I’ve thought about this a lot, so before you go shooting it down”—this was aimed directly at Maybeck—“at least think about it a minute. Okay? Give it a chance.”
“That’s some setup,” said Philby.
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” Finn said. “And I know that we can make all sorts of arguments against it, but I also know that when you look at it from every side, as I have, it makes total sense. It may seem random, but it’s not. I promise.”
He had everyone’s undivided attention, especially as he lowered his voice so that it wouldn’t carry.
“The point is, Jess will tell you that she hasn’t completed the sketch. Amanda said she saw her go into kind of a trance when they were in Epcot. I think that’s because she can feel Wayne there. She dreamed about him later, but the inspiration for that dream came from what had happened at Epcot. Now they’ve both been told they can’t go back in any of the parks. Security will be watching for them: they’re on the list. They certainly can’t get in with us, at night—because we aren’t exactly ourselves then, are we? As it is, we’re going to need to get our DHIs from MK over to Epcot. And even if we figured out a way to get Jess and Amanda inside the center with us, since they’re human, they could be caught. If we’re chased, we can zap the remote—cross back over and be in our beds at home—like we did the other night. They can’t do that.”
“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Philby asked.
“Do you see any other choice?” Finn asked him right back.
“Will someone clue me in?” said Charlene.
“Yeah, me too,” said Willa.
Maybeck sat up and stared across the table at Finn intently. If anyone was going to make a fuss, it was going to be Maybeck. He nodded slowly. “Okay, I get it. I see where you’re coming from.”
“Well, I don’t!” Charlene announced.
All eyes found Finn as a moment of expectation overcame them all. The buzz of the conversation in the room swirled around them. Spoons clinked against dishes. As the door came open, sounds of traffic out on the street could be heard.
Finn leaned forward, as did everyone else. For a moment they were in a tight huddle.
Finn said, “I think it’s time we turn Amanda and Jess into DHIs.”
THE MAGIC KINGDOM closed at nine o’clock that night; Finn went to bed at nine-fifteen. So did Philby, Maybeck, Willa, and Charlene. Had their parents and guardians communicated, perhaps the plans of their children might have been revealed, perhaps someone would have stopped them. Instead, Finn said good night to his parents, who were currently caught up in an episode of Survivor, closed his bedroom door and, fully clothed, climbed between the sheets.
He’d long since learned that he couldn’t will himself asleep. If he tried to make it happen, he only prolonged his wakefulness. Philby had given him a book on self-hypnosis that included a series of relaxation techniques; Charlene had given every Kingdom Keeper A New History of the Roman Empire, a book so dense, so turgid, that no human being could read it for more than ten minutes without dozing off. Maybeck had recommended some songs to be downloaded to their iPods; he found them soothing and a gateway to sleep. Finn used a combination of all three: he listened to music while reading about the Romans and flexing his ankles and doing deep breathing exercises. He fell into a deep sleep ten minutes later.
* * *
The air smelled bitter, the result of the fireworks at the park’s closing. Finn found himself sitting on a low concrete retaining wall next to a life-size bronze statue of Mickey Mouse holding hands with Walt Disney. Beyond Walt and Mickey, Cinderella’s Castle was washed in a rich blue light, its spires stabbing the night sky. No matter how many times he visited, the magic here remained. For all the cynicism of his jealous friends at school who teased him about his now permanent connection to this place, he loved the Magic Kingdom and understood it would always be a part of him.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Maybeck was sitting on the concrete walkway, his back against the metal fence. His eyes hid behind a pair of sunglasses. His dark clothing would help him blend in with the night and included a pair of black Converse basketball shoes. He looked cool, and that annoyed Finn. Maybeck couldn’t help himself—he was the kind of guy who didn’t ever try for cool, but always had it. Maybe it was the artist in him. Maybe it was that he didn’t have parents and he’d had to forge an identity for himself out of what his aunt offered. Maybe some kids understood stuff others didn’t and Maybeck was one of the ones who did. He had this thing about him, part attitude, part confidence, part selfish knuckleheadedness. Whatever it was, Finn would have given up a lot to understand it. To grasp it. There were times he disliked it, was revolted by it. There were other times, like now, when he coveted it.
“Have you seen the others?”
“That would be no,” Maybeck answered. He opened his hand and showed Finn that he’d retrieved the fob from the bushes where Finn had tossed it. Maybeck passed it to Finn, who pocketed it.
The Kingdom Keepers each had to hit a patch of deep sleep in order to cross over. They seldom all arrived at once, but instead appeared over ten to twenty minutes. Finn now carried the device that could alone return them to their beds. At some point he would hide it so that any of them could use it, in case he were captured. He couldn’t allow the remote to be captured along with him.
“Are you okay with this?” Finn asked. Maybeck had been an outspoken opponent of the idea in the ice cream parlor.
“It’s not that I don’t see your point. I do. I think, all things being equal, it would be good to have the sisters with us. Maybe we can’t find Wayne without Jess, like you said. Maybe that’s true. But…and it’s a big but…I think it’s too big a hassle to make it happen. Right? First we’ve got to record them somehow, then Philby has to upload the data. That’s a lot, in my opinion.”
“Jess only got part of the picture.”
“We don’t know that. I mean…I know what you’re saying, it’s like half drawn, but we don’t exactly know what’s real and what isn’t. We never have. Right? I’m supposed to believe this is real. You kidding me? A couple holograms talking to each other. Who knows, Whitman? Maybe you know what you’re doing. But maybe you don’t. In which case this is a big waste of time.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact, so convinced. Finn found it depressing. He looked around, hoping someone else—anyone—had arrived. The place was empty.
“We voted,” Finn reminded. He didn’t want Maybeck thinking he’d forced this on them.
“Yeah, yeah. And I was the minority. Imagine that.”
“You’re mad about it.”
“Not true. Chill. I’m along for the ride, dude. Baa baa black sheep, that’s me. I’m going along with you.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You know.”
“Point out that we’re different?” Maybeck asked.
“Make a deal out of it.”
“It’s me, Whitman. It’s like Philby and his brain, or Charlene being hot. I’m not saying that makes me special, but I’m different from the rest of you and I’m not going to dance around it as if it isn’t there. I’m African American. So what? Right? There’s good parts of that and bad parts of that, bu
t I’m not going to pretend I’m white and I’m not going to not talk about it just to make you comfortable.”
“I’ll tell you something: I don’t think of you as African American. I don’t even see that part of you anymore. Maybe I’m supposed to, maybe it’s disrespectful not to, but I just see you as…Maybeck. Listen, there are kids at school…you know who I’m talking about. They try to be…cool. They make a big deal about listening to rap, wear the lowriders, talk ghetto talk. I hate that kind of stuff. They want to act like they’re something special. But then there’s you calling yourself a black sheep and making these little jabs and reminders like I owe you something for who you are, what you are—and I don’t get that. I just end up not knowing which is the real you.”
Maybeck eyed him. “So how cool am I?” he asked.
“Shut up,” Finn said, smiling.
“Ultracool, smokin’ cool, plain old cool?”
“Uncool,” Finn said. “Did you mishear me?”
“I heard you okay, Whitman.”
Philby arrived. He was lying down on the grass behind Maybeck. He spoke as if they were already in midconversation. “It’s a cryptogram.” He held a piece of paper in his hand. He waved it as he sat up. The edges of his image were sparking.
Finn was having the same problem: a strange static coming off him.
“What is?” Finn asked.
“The letters behind Wayne’s head are a cryptogram.”
“Is that supposed to be some sort of hypnosis?” asked Maybeck.
“A code,” Philby said.
“A letter code,” said Finn.
“Exactly.”
“An engram?” said Maybeck.
“Anagram?” Philby said, correcting him. “No. A cryptogram substitutes letters of the alphabet for one another. It’s like spy stuff. Tricky-to-solve stuff used by the CIA and people like that.”
“How tricky?” asked Finn.
“Seriously harsh,” said Philby. “And because it’s Wayne, I’m thinking it’ll be tough toenails. But if it’s for real, if it really is Wayne, and he somehow knew Jess would dream it—and I know you believe that, Finn, but I’m not so sure I do—then he’d make it solvable. At least I think he would. He’d know I’m on it. And he’d know I’d Google it and find sites that could help decipher it.”
Since Philby had been working with Wayne when Wayne had been captured, he blamed himself for it. He’d dragged around for the first couple of weeks after the event, only snapping out of it when Finn had suggested they start trying to find him by crossing over into the Magic Kingdom.
Philby had supported Finn’s call for the sisters to become DHIs because it promised to keep him busy. He acted impatient, picking at the grass behind Maybeck, sitting with the low metal fence between them. He was the first to spot Charlene and Willa. “All here,” he announced.
“How are we going to do this?” Maybeck asked.
The others gathered around, all five kids standing in front of the statue.
“You mean leave the park?” Willa asked.
“We’ve never done that before,” Maybeck reminded her. “Not as DHIs. We don’t even know if it’ll work.”
“There are DHI projectors in Hollywood Studios now,” Philby said. “They project us there as guides. It makes sense that we should be able to see ourselves, see each other, once we’re there. When we’re away from the projectors, I don’t know, it’s like when we’re inside the teepee, I think. We’re there, but we’re in shadow so we can’t be seen.”
“We’re invisible,” Maybeck said. “How cool is that?”
“Totally,” Philby said, agreeing. “But being invisible is not going all-clear the way Finn can. We’re still physically there…here…whatever. That’s why we can pick up sand and throw it. And if we can touch stuff, then stuff can touch us…”
“As in the Overtakers,” said Charlene.
“That’s my point,” Philby continued. “We’re still at risk. And we’ll be in Epcot, whether in projection shadow or not. Who knows if the Return—the remote button—is going to work anywhere but here? This is where Wayne brought us. This is where we were when he sent us back. Maybe the fob will work inside Hollywood Studios or Animal Kingdom or Epcot, but who knows until we try? We’ll bring it with us and try to Return from the Studios. And if we get separated, if we can’t all get back here to cross back over together…”
“Then whoever was stuck here would be stranded,” Willa said. “The Syndrome.”
The DHIs glowed slightly. More static sparked off Philby. It went away as he set the paper down. Finn set down the history book and his static stopped as well. Finn tucked Philby’s sheet into the book and showed the others that he was leaving the remote there as well. He hid them beneath a bush within reach of the path. He double-checked that everyone knew the location.
“Let’s face it,” Finn said, “there’s a lot more that we don’t understand than what we do. This stuff…we’re not going to figure out any of this stuff until we try.” He looked around at the others. “The buses and the monorail run until midnight. We can get from here to the Transportation Center, and from there to Hollywood Studios.”
“We need to get back as well,” Charlene reminded. “So we’ve got to be back here by midnight.”
“I would suggest we don’t touch anyone. We don’t bump into anyone. We don’t speak,” said Philby. “Chances are we won’t be able to tell who’s where or what’s going on once we’re outside the range of the projectors. So if we get split up by accident, we meet by the Kodak shop just inside the Hollywood gates. No one leaves there until we’re all there together.”
“Agreed,” said Finn.
The others nodded.
“I’m a little scared,” Willa said. “I’m not so sure I like this.”
“We’re all a little scared,” Finn said.
“Speak for yourself,” said Maybeck.
AMANDA SAT UP IN HER BUNK, Mrs. Nash’s voice ringing in her ears.
“Did you just hear that?” she asked Jess.
“Yeah,” Jess said, swinging her legs off her lower bunk. Her voice signaled her mutual surprise. Mrs. Nash never called for them. She scolded them. She bossed them around. But she never barked their names up the stairs—shouting at Nash House was strictly forbidden and universally punished.
Jess slid off her bunk. Both girls hit the floor at the same time. Jeannie, who had been given DS privileges, looked up from the device.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Who knows?” Amanda said, unable to keep the terror out of her voice. She didn’t know how to respond to Mrs. Nash calling them this way. The girls looked at each other; Jess shrugged; they both finger combed their hair (Mrs. Nash was a stickler about appearances) and hurried out of the room.
“Girls?” Mrs. Nash was calling from the bottom of the stairs. She sounded so…sweet.
“Maybe she’s had a stroke,” Jess said, cracking up Amanda.
Standing to the side of the stairs and sneaking a peek down, the girls saw a tall woman standing inside the front door. She was a woman of thirty, properly attired, hair perfectly coifed. She was too well dressed, too pretty, to be from Social Services.
“Oh, no,” Amanda gasped. She grabbed for the banister to steady herself.
“Amanda?” Jess said. “What is it?”
“It’s her. I mean she was way far away, so I suppose I can’t be sure, but I am sure. It’s the woman who was watching the school. The woman Finn said was following around the Kingdom Keepers. She’d been at Maybeck’s before.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. And what’s Mrs. Nash doing accepting a visitor this late? Curfew’s in twenty minutes.”
“We can’t just hide up here,” Jess said.
“Girls?” Some of the sweetness was gone.
Jess took Amanda’s hand and the two descended the stairs together.
“You have a visitor,” Mrs. Nash said. “This is Ms. Alcott, from the Timmerand Sc
hool in Charlottesville, Virginia.” She introduced both girls by first name only, and led the three into the small public room. She was just about to sit down when Ms. Alcott spoke for the first time.
“If I could visit with the girls in private…”
Mrs. Nash looked as if she’d been slapped in the face.
“Of course,” she said.
“The four of us can have a discussion just as soon as I’ve met the girls and had a chance to visit.”
“That’s fine,” Mrs. Nash said, clearly upset by the rebuke. She pulled the pocket doors separating the parlor from the hallway shut on her way out.
The woman calling herself Ms. Alcott looked over both girls carefully.
“You look terrified, child,” she said to Amanda. “Is it me scaring you? I promise you there’s nothing to fear.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not from Timmerand, though I am on their board of trustees, and I did go there, years ago. I find the telling of small lies is most convenient, though I do not advocate the practice as it’s an extremely delicate matter, an art form of sorts. Bending the truth is like pulling back a spring—more often than not it snaps back and hits you. Stings like the dickens when it does.”
“Why have you been following my friend?” Amanda asked, careful not to give Finn’s name, but also wanting this woman to know that she, Amanda, was aware of her recent actions.
“For the same reason I’ve come here,” Ms. Alcott answered. “Because I need your help. And you need mine.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jess looked on, saying nothing. Amanda expected her to join in, and was disappointed when Jess did not.
“Wayne,” she said, surprising both girls.
“What about him?” Amanda asked.
“Your friends are his only hope.”
Amanda said nothing. She had no way of knowing if this woman was an Overtaker posing as a friend, or an honest friend of Wayne’s desperate to find him.
“The Kingdom Keepers,” Ms. Alcott said. “Finn Whitman, Terry May—”
“We call him Donnie, by the way, not Terry, but we know who our friends are,” Amanda said.
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