Secret of the Sevens

by Lynn Lindquist

  My stomach rumbles like the washing machine when I stuff too much in there.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Her eyes scan the walls again, looking for anything she might have missed. When they land back on mine, they’re full of concern. “Do you want to wait here? I can go alone and try to find a way out.”

  “No, I’m okay.” Except for my exploding heart and the radioactive nausea building in my gut. “We’ll go together.”

  She comes alongside me and hooks her arm around mine, squeezing it tight. “I’ll help you the whole time, don’t worry.”

  I want to pretend I’m fine, but it’s no use. One step in and the tunnel feels tighter than a noose. I take deep breaths and shuffle down the passage.

  Our beams of light bounce around an arched passageway lined with disintegrating bricks. It’s humid and stuffy, like a clammy summer night by a dirty river. The deeper we go, the more the air reeks of mildew and decay, a cross between vomit and rotting fish. I swallow to keep from gagging, but it’s no use. My stomach is already upset. I pull my arm away, spin around, and puke all over the wall.

  Laney rubs my back, but I nudge her hand away. Between gags, I warn her, “If you tell anyone about this I swear I’ll kill you, Shanahan.”

  She strokes my shoulder. “Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  I’m humiliated and pissed and I swear the minute I figure out who’s behind this, I’m going to pummel them until they’re throwing up too. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and steady myself against the wall. I figure Laney will gag at the sight and smell. Instead, she wedges herself under my arm and helps me up.

  “C’mon.” She squeezes my hand. “You can do this. I’m here for you.”

  “Do you have any toothpaste?” I give her a weak smile. I’m clammy and shaky, but I don’t want her to let go. Her voice and touch soothe me.

  As we continue down the hall, my stomach settles a little. After a while, we stumble on an intersection.

  “Should we turn or keep going forward?” she asks.

  I think for a minute. “Don’t turn. The poem said straight, remember? ‘Straight, straight, straight into the night.’”

  “Oh, that’s right. Nice catch, Talan.”

  I breathe through my nose and walk on, trying to concentrate on anything but the walls trapping me in this underground prison. I think about the way Laney’s soft hair tickles my neck as she leans into me, and how good she always smells, even in this sewer hole. Like lavender.

  I’m not even sure what a lavender is; I just remember reading the word on a bottle of her lotion once. Laney was sitting at a chair in the kitchen, slowly rubbing the cream on her bare legs, and I was watching her, thinking … well … never mind.

  We pass another tunnel to the left, and then another. A few more feet and Laney steps right into a nasty web. She karate chops the air and wiggles around until she’s sure she’s shaken every bit of it off her. I lean against the wall and laugh weakly until a humongous roach races across my shoe. To say I scream like a little girl is an insult to little girls. I yelp like a Chihuahua, kicking and shaking my foot like I’m putting out a fire.

  Whatever tough guy reputation I once had is now trashed. But it’s Laney, right? What do I care what Shanahan thinks? Still, my face burns when she laughs and says, “I didn’t know you could River Dance.”

  “Yeah? Well, I didn’t know you were an epileptic ninja.” I imitate her martial arts moves.

  She laughs even harder, and it feels like some kind of prize. Slowly, she catches her breath, smiling and staring at me with a weird expression. She rubs the back of her neck, clears her throat, and steps toward me, gently slipping her arm around mine again. “Let’s go.”

  We march ahead, a little faster now. I don’t say it out loud, but all my fears rush back about this secret society thing. What were we thinking? The last group of Sevens were murderers. For all we know, we could be the next victims instead of the next pledges. No one even knows we’re here. Who would find us if we just made the biggest mistake of our lives and climbed into our own underground graves? I’d turn and run but I know Laney wouldn’t follow, and I can’t leave her here.

  We come up to a wall and Laney swivels her flashlight from side to side. “It’s a T-intersection. Which way now?”

  “The next line of the poem is ‘Left, right, left—the soldier’s pace.’ I think that means our next turns are left, right and left.”

  With our arms linked together, we veer left, armed with only our flashlights.

  I squeeze Laney’s arm tight, and her voice reassures me. “There’s our next turn up ahead.”

  We swing down a passageway to our right and plod on a few more minutes more before another tunnel comes up. “We take this left,” I remind her.

  We creep another hundred yards before Laney blurts out, “The quiet is spooking me. Let’s talk about something, okay? So … so what’s with the claustrophobia? Since when have you had claustrophobia?”

  “Since I was little. My mother locked me in a closet once and forgot about me.”

  Why did I tell her that? I’ve never told anyone that.

  Suddenly, Laney’s not so chatty. She stares up at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

  “The day DCFS removed me from our home, the social worker guessed that I’d been there almost two days. Mom thought I’d be okay while she went to score drugs. She hadn’t planned on getting arrested.”

  Laney squeezes my arm tighter. I gotta admit, I don’t really mind right now. Still, I’m eager to change the subject. “So can I ask you a question, Laney? Since I’m risking my life, following dicey instructions given to us by a secret society that murdered for profit, do you think you can at least explain to me why this is so important to you?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you need the money so bad.”

  When I don’t answer, she says, “Okay then, let me guess. Gambling debt? Child support payments? No, I know. To pay for rehab for your cereal addiction.”

  I try to come up with one of my typical, smart-ass answers, but I’m too fixated on the darkness to be clever. “The money is for me.”

  She slips her hand out from my arm. “Of course.” Her voice carries an edge now. “I should have guessed. Money you’ll probably blow on vodka and girls.”

  “Vodka? Money I’ll probably blow on rent and ramen.”

  Her squinty eyes travel up and down me. “What do you mean?”

  “Not everyone has a mommy and daddy to take care of them, Laney. You know the deal. Once you graduate, you’re done at Singer. My free ride is over the second they hand me my diploma. I have no family to go back to and I’m not going to college. I’ll be homeless again. Did you ever think of that? Because I think about it every day.”

  “Oh … ”

  I turn and walk ahead so I don’t have to face her pity eyes.

  “Mom and Dad would help,” she blurts out, behind me. “Or maybe the school could—”

  “No.” I spin around. “The school will forget about me. And you and your parents will forget about me. Just like my father, whoever the hell he was, forgot about me. Just like Gram, who dumped me at Singer and my mother, who forgot me in the closet. I can take care of myself.”

  My chest tightens so much it hurts. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  I walk away, but she catches up and touches my sleeve. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out,” I say. “You asked what I wanted the money for and I told you—I need to set myself up somewhere until I can find a decent job. Unlike you, when I graduate I don’t have a family or a future waiting for me.”

  Laney acts like I spit on her. “What do you mean you don’t have any family? You have a family. We’re your family.”

  “What don’t you get about this? It’s not the same for me as it is for you. I was abandoned by my mom, Laney. Your parents may have raised me, but they aren’t my real mom and dad.”

  “That’s exact
ly the same as me,” she snaps.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m adopted. My real mother abandoned me too.”

  The words are slow to sink in.

  “You’re adopted? Why didn’t I know that?”

  Her face tightens. “Nobody knows. My parents hide it from everyone. They never even told me.” She stares up at the ceiling and blows out a slow breath. “Do you remember the community service project I spearheaded sophomore year?”

  “Which one? You do more volunteering than United Way.”

  “The blood drive.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, my parents came. Of course. To make a long story short, they both donated type O blood.” She rubs the back of her neck and mumbles. “I’m type A.”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “Geez, you took biology. Don’t you remember anything from the genetics unit? Two type O parents wouldn’t have a type A child. It’s impossible. That’s how I figured it out. They lied to me all those years.”

  “You’re kidding? … Well, what’d they say when you confronted them?”

  “They got all flustered and denied it. Said I was ‘mistaken.’ When I gave them proof, they refused to talk about it. The next day, they came to me and finally admitted it was true, but insisted I let it go. They said they loved me and I had to trust them for now. They told me that someday I’d know everything.”

  “But why would they lie about it?”

  Her voice quivers. “Because they’re hiding something bad.”

  “No way. Not Mom and Dad. How could you even say that?”

  “Think about it. They’re all about taking in foster kids. Me being adopted isn’t something they’d be ashamed of or uncomfortable sharing. Plus, they’re fanatics about honesty.”

  “But what would they be hiding?”

  “I have no idea because they refuse to talk about it. I’ve imagined all kinds of dark secrets, like they stole me or my real mother was some horrible monster.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I joined the Sevens. That’s what I want for my greatest desire—I want to know who my mother was and what happened to her.” She crosses her arms. “I’m counting on you not to tell anyone, Talan.”

  I nod, and she slowly turns and walks away. I trail behind her in stunned silence until her flashlight reveals another passageway.

  “There’s our next intersection,” she says softly. “Where are we in the poem?”

  “Okay, it goes: ‘Until it leads right to a place, where everything you thought you knew, will turn around. And you will, too.”

  Laney says, “We turn right, then,” and swings down the dark passage. “Look! There’s a light ahead.”

  Up high, and in the distance, light streams from a shaft in the ceiling. I’m so happy to see it until I realize that we have no idea where it’s coming from. The tunnel dead-ends below it, but metal rungs protrude from the wall there. We lower our beams as we near it.

  Laney opens her mouth to say something, but she’s silenced by voices in the distance. We stare at each other and then up the chute. The voices are too muffled to make out. I climb the lowest rungs until my head barely rises above the hatch.

  The space around me is empty—a shadowy room that’s the size of a large closet. I wave for Laney to follow me up.

  We climb out, turn off our flashlights, and look in different directions. Laney points to a long horizontal vent that rides high along one wall near the ceiling. She cups her hand over my ear. “We must be in a hidden room or utility closet or something. Listen,” she whispers. “The voices are coming through the cold air return up there.”

  Light sneaks through the slanted slats in the metal register, illuminating the room with stolen light. Standing against the back wall, I see a brilliant crystal chandelier through the grates. Laughter passes through the slits, too. Laney holds a finger to her lips and nods toward a ladder that was conveniently left in the corner, right below the vent.

  A familiar voice on the other side of the wall calls out, “Is everyone having a good time?”

  Younger voices laugh and cheer. They sound kind of drunk.

  “This is what being a Pillar is all about. Success through excellence!”

  A familiar voice answers, “We’re all really grateful for your generosity, Mr. Kane.”

  It takes me a moment to recognize Cameron Moore’s suck-up tone. Laney’s eyes grow wide, signaling me she recognizes it too. I climb the ladder, leaning against the wall so that my face is in the shadows, and reach to help her up.

  The scene we spy when we gaze down through the narrow slats looks like Christmas at the Playboy Mansion, minus the skin. A long elegant table stretches across the center of a dark, wood-paneled room. The tabletop is crowded with plates of half-eaten lobster and steak, with ornate side dishes that look like art projects. There’s a tower of what looks like little bonbons and some lattice-work thing with pieces of chocolate-dipped fruit stuck to it. Open bottles of champagne are everywhere, along with crumpled wrapping paper and empty boxes.

  I can see Stephen Kane standing with Cameron in front of a wall-to-wall cabinet at the opposite end of the room, pouring himself a glass of brandy. The other Pillars relax around the table, dressed in tailored suits and shimmering dresses. Samantha Mann pulls back her hair while Kayla Kaminski fastens a sparkly necklace at the nape of Samantha’s neck. They both scream and make a toast when it’s on her properly, glinting in the light.

  Not to be outdone, Kayla fingers her own necklace to show off the diamond pendant that hangs low in the plunging neckline of her gown. Across from them, Zack Hunter, Iman Kabal, and Nick Robinson are deeply engrossed in comparing new laptops.

  Stephen Kane takes a sip from his glass. “To business relationships!” He raises his goblet. “You all know I was able to achieve great things after my time at Singer. The least I can do is pay it forward, guys. Here’s to the Pillars.”

  “The Pillars!” they all cheer.

  “We certainly appreciate it,” Cameron says. God, the guy just can’t stop.

  Kane lays his hand on Cam’s shoulder like a proud father. “And I appreciate your support at the board meeting.” He addresses the other Pillars. “Consider this a lesson in orchestrating a mutually rewarding business arrangement. When you approve my plan to sell the school along with Singer Enterprises, we’ll all prosper exponentially.”

  Six heads nod their support.

  Kane lifts his glass again. “To teamwork!”

  The church bell rings with eight deafening bongs that sound like they’re coming from just outside the wall. Which means we’re in the north end of the Executive Building, right next to Providence Church. I’ve never been inside this building. It’s off-limits to students and only used by Singer executives.

  “My driver is waiting to take you back to Winchester House,” Kane tells them. “Which reminds me, I’ve been talking to an acquaintance who owns a Lexus dealership.” He flashes his shiny smile. “There may be some cars in your future.”

  Zack fist-bumps Nick as Kane walks them out the door. Kayla stops to scoop up some glasses from the floor, but Kane waves his hand at her. “No, Ms. Kaminski. We hire people for that.”

  As the last Pillar staggers out, I rub my face and try to process what I’ve just seen. Laney is already climbing down the ladder in a stupor. She pulls out her flashlight and I follow her back down the chute. My head is swimming and I’m starting to feel sick again. I can’t process anything in the dark confines of this creepy tube.

  I step off the last rung and she whispers, “I can’t believe what we just heard! Listen, we need to hurry to get back in time. Do you remember the way?”

  I normally have a killer memory, but the darkness has me freaking again. Suddenly, it occurs to me. “It’s the second half of the poem. We left off at the place that said ‘everything you thought you knew, will turn around, and you will, too.’ The next part said, ‘Left to sor
t what’s wrong from right, and why you’re going to have to fight—”

  Laney finishes, “To take what’s left and make it right.”

  “So we take the first left.” I start jogging to get the hell out of here, fumbling with my flashlight.

  Laney flicks hers on and catches up. “Well at least we know now that this is real.” She stares up at me. “And we know what the Sevens want from us.”

  “We do?” I only slow when we make the first turn.

  “Of course. They want us to stop Stephen Kane and the Pillars from selling the school.” She’s talking faster and faster, like she’s the one with ADHD. “It’s sickening. An old man hanging around teenagers, plying them with drinks and expensive gifts. Buying them off to get their support to sell our school.”

  I focus on our next turn ahead. If only it weren’t so suffocating down here.

  “I can’t believe the Pillars would betray their friends like that,” Laney rattles on. “I mean, what happens to the students here? A lot of them have nowhere else to go.”

  “It doesn’t matter to us. We’re graduating.”

  She inhales sharply. “Talan, I can’t believe you said that. What about our friends who aren’t? What about our housebrothers? What happens to them if Singer closes?”

  I hadn’t considered that. Still, I want out of this claustrophobic maze so bad I can hardly think straight. “I don’t know; I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

  The truth is, I thought this secret society would be about parties, pranks, and perks. I don’t have a lot of other options for money, but this Sevens thing isn’t exactly what I expected. My mind jumps back and forth from everything we’ve seen so far to the dark tunnel that wraps around me like a straitjacket.

  “What about my parents?” Laney says. “They’ve devoted their whole lives to Singer School. Where will they go? What’ll they do?”

  I love the Shanahans, but right now, the only ass I’m worried about saving is my own. “They’ll still need houseparents. Maybe nothing will change.”