Fueled by sugar, Dylan made a rather bouncy escort back to my room. The parents came along too, but I think Mom was dragging her feet on purpose. She’s over the initial shock of sending her firstborn off to college, but even this second goodbye made her sad. I’m sure Dad has similar feelings, but he’s better at hiding it.
“Will you two be all right?” Mom asked, pausing in my doorway. I also heard the unspoken phrases: in here, alone, and by yourselves.
Of course we’d be alone in my dorm room, but I knew what she meant. The hallways were surprisingly deserted due in part to many people packing up for the weekend and many others having social events to attend beyond these quiet corridors.
“We’ll be fine,” I assured her. A quick hug further sold the notion. Time and circumstances turned me into a liar, but that can’t be helped now.
“Where should I put this?” Dad inquired, shuffling in with Katy’s stuffed backpack.
“The middle of the room is fine for now. I’m sure there’s stuff she’ll want to dig out of it,” I answered.
Katy made a beeline for the bag as soon as Dad set it down. After a flurry of goodbyes, the parents intercepted Dylan as he headed for the bunk bed and herded him to the door.
By the time I turned around, Katy was unpacking her collection of nail stuff. Sometimes, I think she stole most of the girly genes in the family. I quickly moved my iPad and laptop from paint range by chucking them up onto my bed for safekeeping. I was okay with indulging Katy’s current obsession, but I draw the line at glittery nail polish on my computer.
My sister gasped at the sorry state of disrepair I’d let my nails fall into, but she gleefully set about putting it to rights. In deference to my school colors, Katy gave me dark blue nails with gold glitter sprinkled on the tips. Both my big toes were treated to golden lion paw prints prancing across them.
Once I had no more fingers or toes to pick on, Katy turned her artistic abilities on herself. She started with a white base coat then added a teal, glittery section with a thin, untouched white band near the cuticle. Although this could still be a temporary fad for Katy, she does have some talent for nail art. Certainly more talent than she had for counted cross stich, sand art, or knitting.
As our nails dried, Katy chattered about school, boys, girls, teachers, and things she likes and dislikes about the boys, girls, and teachers at her school. For one second of insanity, I considered telling her about Varick and me, but that would not qualify as a subtle way of breaking the news to my mother. Tying the message to a flaming arrow and shooting it through the kitchen into the refrigerator would probably go over smoother.
When the nails were completely dry, Katy begged me to give her a princess hairdo, but I told her it would get ruined when she took a shower. She claimed she didn’t need a shower. Eleven really is a weird age. Katy recently started loving showers, but if something better comes along, she’s still ready to fall back on that kid-like disregard for basic principles of cleanliness. Once she realized I wasn’t going to budge on the shower-first, hair-later issue, she insisted on getting the shower over with.
Feeling about ready for a shower myself, I guided Katy through the things to-bring and not-to-bring on our shower seeking trek to the Ladies’ room.
“Is the water pressure hard?” Katy wondered in the same tone one might ask—Is it going to hurt?—before getting a shot.
I paused before entering the bathroom code and gave her a puzzled look.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Katy wiggled her fingers so her fresh paint job sparkled under the harsh hallway lights.
“Too much water pressure will ruin the nails.”
Turning the impulse to laugh into a mild coughing fit, I punched in the door code.
“We’ll have to risk it.” Somehow, I managed to keep my tone solemn.
She sighed deeply but moved past me as I held the door open for her.
Who’s the diva and what’d she do with my kid sister?
I rolled my eyes and finished directing Katy toward the shower stalls. Thankfully, the nails weathered the cleansing storms perfectly fine.
Things didn’t get crazy until well after we were both back in my room. I’d just finished Katy’s much anticipated fit-for-a-princess updo and started on the nightly wind down activities when trouble came out and bit me. Actually, I was midway up the ladder to my bed so I could clear it of computers, books, and other college-life debris. I had told Katy about Karen’s generous offer of the use of her bed, but as I suspected, a spacious bottom bunk held little appeal. I’d come to my senses and realized I should take the bottom bunk tonight when three polite knocks sounded on my door. I’m starting to despise polite knocks.
“I’ll get it,” Katy volunteered, thrilled for the chance to play with the locks.
I hopped off the ladder, but I didn’t see any harm in letting her answer the door. Katy took off the little metal chain and threw the bolt to the “unlock” position. She didn’t even get a chance to greet the person. A surprised yelp told me something was wrong a split-second before Katy stumbled back into my arms. Instinctively, I caught her shoulders and braced to stop her backward progress.
Before the message of trouble could break through the shock and disbelief, Ethan entered, shut the door, and slapped something on to the door. Everything I knew about Ethan, which wasn’t a huge amount, fired through my head—last name unknown, psych major, handsome, nice eyes.
Faint rock music reached my ears about the time I guessed Katy might need protecting. Making good use of the grip I already had on her shoulders, I backpedaled and yanked to the right, effectively throwing my sister into the corner created by the bunk beds and the wall. Katy caught hold of my right hand and squeezed the feeling out of it.
“You can scream, but people will only hear music for a few minutes,” Ethan explained. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been ordered to retrieve you.”
“Retrieve me,” I repeated dumbly, still working through the people-only-hearing-music part.
“Will you come with me?” Ethan invited. He held out his right hand, palm up in an oddly polite gesture.
“Where?” The question popped out even as my brain spit a few dozen no-no-no bursts.
Katy made a hybrid noise that combined moan with grunt and increased the pressure on my right hand.
“Don’t go, Dani,” she whispered urgently. “Don’t leave me.”
“I can’t leave her,” I said, like the logic should make the whole bad situation go away.
“You’ll have to,” Ethan replied. His head turned slightly like it was moved by a sudden thought. “I guess she could come with us.”
“No.” I squashed the idea almost before Ethan finished voicing it.
“Please!” Katy begged. Her bottom lip quivered with the monumental effort to not completely lose her composure. “I don’t want to be alone!” She sniffled to fend off rising sobs.
I’ve had my share of strange conversations, but having my kid sister begging to come with me while getting myself kidnapped—yet again—was a new one. This kidnapping thing is a highly stressful habit that I really need to kick soon.
Katy’s pending tears made me angry, but not at her.
“No.” This time, I directed the solid little protest toward my sister, turning so I could face her.
“We need to go now,” Ethan urged. He had a slippery demeanor that reminded me of Devya. “This is the last time I’m making it a request.”
I gave him the best glare I could muster, but it was weakened by confusion and heartache. My heart pounded inside my chest, rushing blood to my brain and making me lightheaded. My throat constricted, but I tried to soften my voice when I next addressed my sister.
“You’ll be safer here.”
“But what about you?” Katy cried, as the tears finally won release.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, sounding way calmer than I felt. My left hand reached forward to absently brush at the tears streaming
down my sister’s face. As gently as possible, I withdrew my right hand from Katy’s grasp.
As she felt me break free, Katy launched a full body tackle. Only the fact that she’s a lot shorter and thinner allowed me to keep my footing. Even so, I staggered into Karen’s desk chair. I fiercely returned the embrace. Katy needed a good cry, and although I wanted to join her, I concentrated on absorbing what could very well be my final moments with my sister.
Ethan stood rooted to the floor inside the door, waiting out Katy’s fit.
“Miss Matheson, it is time to go,” he said, when the sobs returned to sniffles.
The sudden, formality set off those little starbursts of anger inside my head.
“My name is Danielle,” I muttered, getting a small taste of what Jillian must feel when Devya insists on calling her by the project name, Ashlynn. Oddly, the statement released the pressure like a valve letting off steam. As the anger fled, resignation set in.
“I know,” Ethan acknowledged. “And I wish I could explain better, but you need to come with me.” He took a silver necklace with a small, circular black pendant out of his right pocket and tossed it to me. “Put that on her.”
Instinctively, I caught the object before it could smack Katy in the back of the head.
“What is it?” Now that I held the necklace, I could feel the pendant’s disproportionate weight compared to the delicate chain.
“A means of control,” Ethan answered. Once again, the Devya-like nature of the statement hit me hard.
We had a brief staring contest, which I think I won.
“It contains a neurotoxin,” Ethan reluctantly continued. “It will ensure your cooperation.”
My grip on the evil necklace tightened at his words. I didn’t know how it worked, but I also didn’t want to find out what dropping the object could do. “I can assure you of my cooperation,” I argued. “I’m not putting this on her.”
“I could kill her,” Ethan said, speaking quietly.
“But why?” Panic made the question burst forth like a cannon blast.
Katy stiffened in my arms.
“But if I release only traces of the neurotoxin, it should simply knock her out,” Ethan explained, ignoring my question.
A surge of resolve entered me from somewhere. Staring at the evil necklace and silently cursing its existence, I fumbled with the clasp and looped it around my neck. The skin where the pendant landed felt chilled for a moment.
“What are you doing? That’s not—”
“This is what it was meant for, right?” I spat the question as I broke free of Katy’s grasp. The emotions soaring through Katy had exhausted her to the point of near collapse. Scooping her up, I carted my sister over to Karen’s bed and placed her on the soft, down comforter.
“She must not interfere,” Ethan explained.
“She won’t,” I promised, brushing past him to reach the medicine cabinet. I honestly don’t know where the crazy idea came from, but it seemed like a heck of a better plan than letting Ethan fit Katy with a death necklace. Finding the Benadryl quick-release tablets, I took one out, broke it in half, grabbed a Dixie cup from the stack next to the sink, filled it with water, and brought everything over to Katy. “Take this,” I said, feeling like I’d sailed past some point of no return. My hands shook with tension.
Sitting up slowly, Katy reluctantly accepted the pink pill and the cup. Her eyes once again begged me not to leave, but I steeled my heart until she swallowed the pill.
“Good girl,” I murmured, helping her lie down. I smoothed some hair that had escaped the bobby pins during the excitement and pecked Katy on the cheek like Mom usually does. “Sleep now, and try not to worry about me.” My attempt at a smile failed, but I hope Katy drew some comfort from the effort.
That’s my long story somewhat short. I’ve done everything the cop shows tell a girl not to do. I willing—debatable point—left a familiar place with a good-looking stranger who wouldn’t reveal the final destination. If I were a cat, I think I’d be spending my 8th life here.
I’ll keep in touch when I can, but I believe thinking’s going to get harder soon. Ethan’s stopped the car and is preparing an injection. That’s never a great sign.
Quick recap. Try to keep my parents calm. Apologize to Katy for me. Let Jillian know what’s going on. If anyone’s got a chance of saving my hide, it’s her.
The Scared One,
Danielle Matheson.
Chapter 12:
The Summons
ITEM 195: Jillian’s 96th post-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Jillian Blairington
I got called down to the office today. It made me nervous and curious ’cause I’ve been doing better in school so far this year. I’ve only fallen asleep twice, and I think I got away with it both times.
The lady at the desk had me sit in a chair and wait until Mrs. Pike could see me. A man in a dark suit paced back and forth while he and Mrs. Pike had a heated discussion. I couldn’t hear their words ’cause the waiting chairs are purposefully kept out of eavesdropping distance. I knew they was talking about me though, so I moved over to the corner seat and leaned into the wall.
What Nadia would call my nervous anticipation of the unfolding situation made natural sleep hard to come by. That left me with only one option if I wanted to be asleep in time to hear any of the conversation. I flipped enough oxygen switches in my head to make me real drowsy but not quite put me under. Capturing real-time dreams is a lot like fishing. Putting myself in the dazed state of semi-sleep is like putting a juicy worm on the end of a hook to tempt a fish.
“—how this works, Mr. Jones,” Mrs. Pike spelled out in her patient, I’m-angry-with-how-dense-you-are tone.
If Mrs. Pike’s tone hadn’t already put me on edge, the man’s bland name woulda done the same. The government’s lots fond of common last names and dark suits. Not many people are overjoyed to see government agents, but me and my siblings have a whole heap more to fear from ’em than most folks.
“I don’t think you understand, ma’am,” said Mr. Jones. I’d keep calling him “government man,” but if he’s bothering with hiding his name, I might as well let him for now. He didn’t look familiar, but I couldn’t guarantee that I’d never seen him before. “This signed note from her mother grants me full access to the child in question.”
At the mention of a note, I switched the perspective so I could read over Mrs. Pike’s shoulder. I didn’t bother reading the note, but I peeked at the signature and saw Momma’s handwriting. That probably meant the note was real.
“I-I believe you,” Mrs. Pike stammered, placing the letter in the center of her desk. “But you must understand how unusual this situation is. Let me call her mother and confirm that the note is genuine. The child might not even be here yet.”
“This is a national security issue, and every moment you delay increases the danger level.”
Mr. Jones’s words had the opposite effect to what he’d been going for. Mrs. Pike placed a hand on her forehead like she needed to hold brains in.
“That makes no sense!” Standing her ground stronger now, Mrs. Pike placed her fingertips to either side of Momma’s letter and leaned forward, staring the man down over her desk. “What does an eighth grade girl have to do with national security?”
“I’m not at liberty to—”
A loud humph interrupted the man, and Mrs. Pike shooed his words away like annoying flies.
“I suggest you leave right now, Mr. Jones.” Her tone added that she’d sic security and the local cops on him if he didn’t follow the suggestion.
As the man stormed toward the door, I snapped myself awake and sat up straighter. Upon seeing me, Mr. Jones paused in Mrs. Pike’s doorway. His steady stare said the conversation with Mrs. Pike hadn’t ended the matter. The moment lasted an awfully long time. I stared back even though Nana said that ain’t a proper way to show respect for adults. When the moment broke, the man exited with quick steps.
“Jillian, you may go back to class now,” said Mrs. Pike. Her voice sounded steady, but I could tell the man made her nervous. As I got up to do just that, she changed her mind. “Wait. Would you mind coming in, please?” It wasn’t an order, but Mrs. Pike is the sort of lady who expects her requests to be followed like orders.
I felt like a lamb about to meet a butcher even after Mrs. Pike assured me I wasn’t in trouble. Sitting in one of the two guest chairs in front of Mrs. Pike’s desk, I leaned back and settled in to wait.
“Do you know that man who was here?” asked Mrs. Pike.
“No, ma’am. Did he say what he was after?” My question was partly ’cause I wanted to know and partly to distract Mrs. Pike.
“He wanted to speak with you. Do you have any idea why somebody … like that … would have an interest in you?”
I shook my head and held in words. Of course, I could guess at what the man was after, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. It ain’t a good thing to make a habit of, but sometimes, a lie is all you’ve got in terms of a safe road.
“He had this note with him. Do you think your mother wrote it?” Mrs. Pike plucked the letter off of her desk and handed it to me.
The note was sparse on details, but it said that the man was acting on Momma’s behalf. It also implied that I should leave with him. The language was wrong to have been written by Momma, but the shaky signature looked real enough. I guess the signature thing coulda gone either way, but the wrinkly spots where tears had hit the page convinced me Momma really had signed the paper.
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