by April Henry
She had to go to the police. Now that she had proof of Bob’s secret message, they would have to listen to her. They would arrest Joanne and force her to reveal where she was keeping Bob.
As she got dressed, Bridget debated whether to tell Ajay, who by now would be on his way to Seattle. She was still hurt he hadn’t believed her, but he also deserved to know the truth. It was too complicated to explain in a text, so she put it in an email. Writing it all out helped organize her thoughts.
After she hit the SEND key, she set out for the small-town police station closest to Bob’s house. Driving in silence except for the occasional direction from Google Maps, she rehearsed what she would say.
The police department was housed in a one-story redbrick building. Bridget’s breathing went shallow as she walked in. The lobby held a few chairs, a fake plant, and a large rack of brochures. The room was cut in half by a counter topped with thick glass. Behind it two people in street clothes were working at metal desks. The younger African American guy was on the phone. The older white woman looked up from her computer. When she saw Bridget, she stood and walked up to the counter. She pressed a button, and her tinny voice issued from an intercom overhead.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to speak to an officer.” Bridget wiped her sweaty palms on her pants.
“What about?”
“I want to report a kidnapping.”
The woman’s gaze sharpened. “Who’s been kidnapped?”
“B—I mean, R. M. Haldon.”
Her brows drew together. “The author?”
Bridget nodded.
After a pause, the clerk said, “All our officers are on patrol, but I’ll have dispatch send one back here. What’s your name?”
“Bridget. Bridget Shepherd.”
“Okay, Bridget. Have a seat. We’ll have an officer here in about ten minutes to talk to you.”
But Bridget couldn’t sit. She went over to the wall of brochures. Just running her gaze over the titles heightened her anxiety.
HOME ALONE: A PARENT’S GUIDE
BEING FORCED INTO HAVING SEX IS RAPE AND IT’S A CRIME
FIREARMS SAFETY DEPENDS ON YOU
ONLINE ALONE: INTERNET SAFETY TIPS FOR KIDS
DON’T BE THE VICTIM OF A SCAMMER
DATING VIOLENCE: IS IT ABUSE?
WOULD YOUR CHILD KNOW WHAT TO DO?
IF A POLICE OFFICER STOPS YOUR VEHICLE
“Bridget?” a man said behind her.
With a start, she turned to face an Asian guy who didn’t look much older than her. “Yeah?”
“I’m Samuel Poon.” He held out his hand. His head was faintly shadowed where the hair had been shaved off. Maybe he’d been going for tough, but instead it made him look vulnerable, like a baby bird.
Her carefully crafted explanation flew out of her head. “I’m here because Bob—R. M. Haldon—has been kidnapped. He tried to send me a message, but I didn’t understand it at first. Then I figured it out, and now I’m afraid something even worse has happened to him.”
His brows rose. “I want to help you, but first why don’t we go back and sit down. Then you can explain to me what’s happening.”
“Okay.”
He waved his keycard over a sensor. A door into the glassed-in area opened. They walked past the two clerks, both now on the phone.
Officer Poon ushered Bridget inside a small, plain room that held two chairs and a table. He left the door open.
“So you were saying something about how R. M. Haldon has been kidnapped?” From his chest pocket, he pulled out a little notebook and flipped it open, clicked his pen.
Bridget took out her phone. “Look. It started when he sent me this email. I knew something was wrong with it, but it took me a while to figure out it’s all in code.”
“In code,” he repeated. He set down his notebook and took her phone. As he scrolled down, his brow furrowed.
“But I finally unscrambled it.” And it all came tumbling out—her work on the database, her parents’ real names and the names Bob had used, what she’d seen on Reddit, and finally how she’d figured out the clues and solved the true meaning hidden in Bob’s message.
Officer Poon twisted his head as if he was having trouble hearing her. “So all that is why you think Mr. Haldon’s been kidnapped.”
“Yes!” Bridget was relieved someone was finally listening to her. “Like he says in the hidden message, he was kidnapped by his assistant. That Joanne Dart woman. Or”—the thought suddenly struck her—“I don’t know, maybe she just says she’s his assistant but she’s not really.”
Officer Poon exhaled heavily. “Ms. Dart actually is his housekeeper. I’ve dealt with her several times.”
“Oh.” Bridget recalculated. “Okay. Well, I guess that makes sense. If she works for him, it would be easy for her to kidnap him.”
“And now you say she’s selling chapters of Mr. Haldon’s new book on the dark web? Have you seen this yourself?”
“I don’t even know how to go on there,” Bridget admitted. “It didn’t seem safe to look for it myself.”
He pressed his lips together. “Then how do you know that’s what’s happening?”
“I told you. I saw it on Reddit.” She took the phone back, went to the site, and started clicking and scrolling. “And then I saw this photo. I’m almost certain that’s Bob, only he’s thinner for some reason.” Tears pricked her eyes. “It sounds like they might be making him do tricks for money.”
She held the phone out, but instead of taking it, he said, “Let me ask you something, Bridget. Do you think people are following you?”
What was Officer Poon saying? Had he seen something suspicious out in the parking lot? She hadn’t paid much attention on the drive over. “I guess they could be?”
“Hm.” He nodded, as if deciding something. “Are you under a doctor’s care? Is there someone I can call to be with you?”
The truth crashed down on her. “You don’t believe me.”
“Look—I believe you believe it.”
She got to her feet. “But Bob’s really in trouble! You have to believe me.”
Raising his open hands, he patted the air. “Calm down. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need help. It’s Bob that needs help.”
And suddenly Bridget saw herself as Officer Poon must. She had become a living version of the meme from in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, the one where a paranoid Charlie covered the wall with layers of printouts and photos, and drew a web of incomprehensible connections between them while ranting about conspiracies.
Officer Poon was probably waiting for Bridget to declare the CIA was controlling her mind, or that she was an angel of the Lord.
And then things got even worse. Bridget saw movement out of the corner of one eye. When she turned, she saw Officer Rubio, with her hands on her hips.
“What’s the topic of discussion? It wouldn’t be Mr. Haldon by any chance, would it?”
“Miss Shepherd has a very complicated story,” Officer Poon said, his voice sliding on the word complicated. “I was just asking her if she was on any medication.”
“Which I am not!” Bridget crossed her arms.
“Sam, I dealt with Miss Shepherd yesterday, and I don’t share your concerns. She’s just a very big fan, one who’s maybe gotten in a little too deep. As I told her yesterday, Mr. Haldon is an adult. He’s allowed to leave town or even the country whenever he wants. He doesn’t have to tell anyone—including his fans—where he’s going, whether that’s Europe for research or just down the street for coffee. And as you learned yesterday, Bridget, Ms. Dart’s been in touch with him.”
“Been in touch with him! She kidnapped him!”
Officer Rubio inhaled sharply. “Look, do you know how many times we have been called to his house to deal with a fan claiming she’s married to him, or that they’re really his daughter or son, or the mother of his child? Or they think he really is King Travis or whoever
that guy is?”
Bridget started to protest, but Officer Rubio overrode her. “Listen to me. You need to get a life. You need to pull yourself together and snap out of it. You’ve been watching too many movies, playing too many video games. Those fantasy books may be full of excitement and convoluted plots, but this is real life, which, frankly, is pretty boring.”
Bridget resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “But I’m telling the truth. Bob’s been kidnapped. Or why else would he send me a coded message?”
Officer Rubio made an impatient noise. “I’m not going to get deep in the weeds here. Maybe one of your friends is pranking you. All I know is you’re taking this way too personally. Go talk about it at your Comic Con or your fan club or whatever. But you have to stop wasting our time when we’ve got more than enough real problems to deal with.”
BOB
An Odd, Defiant Joy
In the darkest cell, deep under the castle, Ken Pipem was singing. He sang of ancient kings who had gladly laid down their lives for their men. Of the noble unicorns. Of the magical mirror that could both save and destroy. Of betrayal and murder and sacrifice. He sang of Skin Changers and hanged men, of endless love and eternal longing. His voice was full of pain and bravery and an odd, defiant joy.
Sitting in her own cell, Jancy thought Ken’s song was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. It was a golden thread lacing together the patchwork of centuries, scraps of tales old and new, turning them into a tapestry of history. For a moment, Jancy saw she was just one small knot in a larger work.
She tipped her head back against the cold wall of her cell, the limestone damp against her scalp. She considered trying to lick the moisture from the walls. She had had naught to drink for two days, and her tongue was a piece of leather in her mouth. How was Ken even managing to sing? Had a guard given him a furtive sip?
Still, she could not begrudge it, because his strong, sweet voice offered the only respite from her thoughts.
Tomorrow, both she and Ken would die.
“Bob!” Derrick said from the doorway. “Earth to Bob! Come in!”
Bob lifted his hands from the keys. Slowly, the room came back into focus. The rough stone walls became smooth yellow pine. The sounds of Ken singing were replaced by the hum of the treadmill, the soft thud of his footfalls.
And by the sound of Derrick’s slightly nasal voice. “Already up and at ’em, huh? It’s your lucky day. You get a shower.”
Bob hit the stop button on the treadmill. He must have typed all night. His body might be in this room, but his mind was still in the world of Eyes of the Forest.
What would happen next? He could almost feel it. Almost see it, but it was as if he was peering through fog on a dark night. Ken would die, Bob knew that much, but not by the headsman’s axe. The truth of King Tristan’s murder would be revealed. Orwen, now King Orwen, would battle Rowan, the peasant rebellion’s leader. The battle would be infinitely complicated by the arrival of the Armies of the Night, which threatened to wipe out all humankind. The unicorns might ally themselves with humans or follow their own self-interests. And Jancy would finally have to choose between Orwen and Rowan—or would she? Suddenly Bob wasn’t quite sure.
Derrick was unlocking the shackles from the cable. Slowly Bob became aware of how his ankles were throbbing, rubbed raw despite new socks.
“Come on.” Derrick straightened up. After the shower, Bob would ask to wear two pairs of socks. Maybe request some sort of padding. But even if the boy denied him everything, it would still be a joy to climb back up on the treadmill, to put his fingers to the keys, and to let the story unfurl.
Somehow Bob had become Ken Pipem, singing despite captivity and the threat of death, weaving a story despite—or perhaps because of—the all-enveloping darkness.
BRIDGET
Compact and Discreet
It was up to her now, Bridget thought, driving home from the police station. First she had to figure out where Bob was, and then she had to rescue him. It seemed impossible. But she had to try.
Once home, she went straight to her computer and typed in Joanne Dart and Mt. Hood, both in quotes. Nothing. She tried substituting cabin for Mt. Hood. Still nothing. There must be property records someplace, but she had no idea how to access them, or if it was possible to start with the owner’s name and then work back to the address. And who knew if Joanne even owned the cabin? It could belong to a friend or family member. It could even be that she was taking advantage of a cabin only used in the summer.
Maybe Bridget could follow Joanne until she returned to wherever she was holding Bob.
Bridget put her fingers back on the keyboard. But now she substituted address for cabin. This time she got results. She clicked the top link.
We found 6 records in 6 states for Joanne Dart in the US. The top state of residence is California, followed by Arizona. The average Joanne Dart falls into the age group of 61–80.
And there on the list of names and addresses was Bob’s Joanne Dart, a veritable youngster compared to her peers. Joanne Dart, 48, 2377 SW Winding Road Way, Portland, Oregon. Next to Joanne’s name was a button Bridget could click to purchase more information, including email addresses, social media profiles, and criminal records.
But what Bridget needed—Joanne’s full home address—was right there on the main, free listing. Bridget could stake it out, wait for her to leave, and then follow her Honda.
Reality set in. From watching cop shows, Bridget knew that when the police followed a suspect, they used several vehicles and took turns so the suspect didn’t get suspicious. Even though a Subaru Outback was Portland’s unofficial car, it seemed likely Joanne would eventually notice Bridget driving behind her, especially on rural roads.
In the Google search bar, Bridget typed in How to secretly follow someone.
A few clicks later, she was on an Amazon product page.
Peace of mind comes from knowing where everything is at all times. Do you need an easy yet stealthy way to track a teenager’s vehicle, a possibly philandering spouse, a wandering pet, an elderly parent, luggage, or other important belongings? Compact and discreet, our tracker is easy to slip into a backpack or piece of luggage. Or use its built-in magnet to attach it to the underside of a vehicle. Then our easy-to-use app will let you remotely track movements in real-time.
Just reading the product description made Bridget feel dirty. Since when were people “important belongings”?
Then she clicked the BUY button and paid extra for one-day delivery.
Next she drove to Joanne’s house to scope out the situation. It was in a newer clutch of houses, a neighborhood with cul-de-sacs and sidewalks. The houses were all variations on the same theme, two stories tall, painted in neutral colors, with closed two-car garages. This last observation made Bridget bite her lip. There would be no attaching the magnet in the middle of the night if the car was inside the garage.
But Joanne’s black Honda was sitting in the driveway. Bridget didn’t vary her speed or even turn her head as she drove past. A few blocks away, she found a spot on the edge of a small park where she could park the car when she returned with the tracker.
What else did she need? At Dick’s Sporting Goods, she picked up a pair of binoculars. Once she confirmed Bob was being held captive, she’d call the local police. In case she was confronted, she also got a baseball bat. Her last purchase was a Leatherman tool. If she had to, she could unscrew a door hinge or saw through ropes.
The tracker arrived the next morning. Bridget spent most of the day in her garage, figuring out the fastest way to slap on the magnet. When night fell, she dressed in head-to-toe black, like a pedestrian with a death wish. She even put on Ajay’s socks, which were surprisingly thick and warm. For a few hours, she dozed on the couch, dreaming terrible dreams of hitting Joanne in the head with the bat, or even worse, of Joanne shooting her.
Finally, at two in the morning, Bridget got up, put on her black coat and gloves, and pulled a black neck g
aiter over the lower part of her face and a black beanie over her hair.
After parking in the spot she’d picked out, she got out and immediately started to shiver. The forecasters were talking about snow, and she could feel it in the heavy stillness. The air was so cold each breath seemed to pull her lungs inside out. By the time she reached Joanne’s block, Bridget was shaking so hard she was afraid she’d drop the tracker. No matter how lightly she tried to walk, each footstep echoed hollowly. She kept waiting for a dog to bark, a light to blink on.
But the world around her remained dark and hushed. And finally she was on Joanne’s block, and then just a few feet from her car.
Hunched over, Bridget scuttled over to the driver’s side door, which was the furthest from the house. Just as she’d practiced on her dad’s car, she slapped the magnet underneath the door frame. And then she was gone. She ran the last two blocks to her dad’s car.
Back home, Bridget couldn’t sleep. Ajay hadn’t answered her email. Nobody knew what she was planning to do. At best, Ajay thought she was mentally ill and the police thought she was an obsessed loser. But in her heart she knew she was Bob’s only chance.
At four A.M., when she still couldn’t sleep, she pulled her laptop onto her bed and wrote Ajay another email, telling him what she was planning on doing and giving him instructions on how to use the tracker. Would he just shake his head, chalk it up to more proof she’d fallen down the rabbit hole, and then hit the DELETE key?
Finally, she was able to sleep. When she woke up, the light in the room told her it was late morning. Before getting out of bed, she went to the tracking page.
Joanne was already on the move. Bridget’s heart kicked in her chest. Should she run to her car, start following now? But, she reminded herself, that was what the tracker was for.
Five minutes later, the dot was stationary. It was still in Portland. In fact, when she zoomed in on the map, Bridget knew exactly where Bob’s assistant was. Not at a Mount Hood cabin.