Cragbridge Hall, Book 1: The Inventor's Secret Hardcover

by Chad Morris

  A girl with long, black hair that fell flat and shiny down to her shoulders turned around. She was unloading one of five suitcases opened on the floor and bed. That was three more than Abby had.

  The girl held a skirt and a hanger. “Hello?”

  “Hi! I’m Abby. I guess we’re roommates.”

  “Oh.” Her smile revealed perfect teeth several shades whiter than was naturally possible. “I’m Jacqueline.” Her voice was filled with energy. She surveyed Abby from bangs to sandals, a head-to-toe evaluation. “Nice to meet you.” She offered a hug. Abby accepted, though it felt incredibly awkward. “So, tell me about yourself,” Jacqueline said.

  “What do you want to know?” Abby had no idea where to start.

  “Where are you from?” Jacqueline asked.

  The girls exchanged answers. Jacqueline was from New Hampshire. “So what did you do to get into Cragbridge?” Jacqueline asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” Jacqueline answered. “Aside from grades and citizenship, they look for the whole ‘ambitious youth,’ thing—‘trying to excel and to contribute to the world.’”

  “Um,” Abby hesitated. What could she say?

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” Jacqueline said. “I was a student body officer, and I played cello in the New Hampshire Youth Orchestra.” She spoke and moved with a poise and grace that surprised Abby. “But my real claim to fame is that I have my own fashion line—Jaq-L. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course I have,” Abby blurted out. She had seen it on several teen-based sites. She’d heard it was designed by a girl her age, but she never imagined she would be roommates with her. “I think one of my tops is a Jaq-L.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Jacqueline sifted through her suitcase and picked out a red shirt, which had layers around the neck that draped down in different levels. “Here, have this one. It should be about your size.”

  “Thank you!” Abby said, thrilled. “It’s beautiful.” She thought about asking Jacqueline to sign her new shirt, but wasn’t sure if it would just wash out. She could picture telling her friends back home about her roommate. They would be so jealous. Abby hung her new shirt on a hanger in the closet and turned to her packed suitcases.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Jacqueline said. “So what about you? How are you ‘excelling and contributing to the world’?”

  Abby pulled her Cragbridge blazer from her case. “What? Oh. I do okay in school. I’m decent at track. And I was part of a service club.” It all sounded so ordinary coming out of her mouth.

  “You’re just being modest. ‘Okay’ and ‘decent’ don’t get anyone into Cragbridge.”

  Abby looked at her jacket, slowly threading the hanger into its sleeves. “Hopefully I’m a bit better than okay.” She placed the jacket on the rack, wondering if she deserved to have it. “My twin brother is here, though,” Abby tried to change the subject, “and he is a genius. Perfect grades. Aces every test. He designed a virtual program that supposedly could train him to be a samurai. He wants to market it to the video game crowd. He’s done it all.”

  “He sounds great. I’d love to meet him.”

  Hoping to keep the conversation away from her, Abby asked if Jacqueline had brothers. Then she asked about the rest of Jacqueline’s family, her business, and her future. She even asked if Jacqueline had left a special boy back in her hometown.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Jacqueline said. “What makes you special? We’re roommates. We’re destined to be best friends and know everything about each other. You might as well just come out with it.” She sat on her bed, gazing at Abby, ready to listen.

  She had a point. She would find out sooner or later.

  Abby clenched her teeth for a moment. “I’m not like my brother. I don’t have a list of accomplishments.” She exhaled slowly. “I’m just average.”

  “Whatever.” Jacqueline stood and hung up another skirt. “So do I have to guess?” When Abby didn’t respond, Jacqueline kept on going, “You probably like invented some new math formula and run a four-minute mile.”

  “No,” Abby said quietly. “I didn’t even get straight As. And I couldn’t break any team records. Well, I got close to one, but that’s it.”

  “You’re just holding back.”

  “Part of me wishes I was ... or were, or however you say that,” Abby said. “But I’m here, and I’m hoping to keep up.”

  Jacqueline looked at her for a moment, gave a half-smile and turned back to her clothes. As she put the second shoulder of a blouse on a hanger, her hand slipped, and the shirt fell. It landed on top of Abby’s suitcase. “Sorry about that,” Jacqueline said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Abby said.

  When Jacqueline picked up the shirt, she noticed Abby’s name on the suitcase tag. “Your last name is Cragbridge?” She pointed at the tag.

  “Yeah,” Abby said.

  “Are you related to the Oscar Cragbridge?”

  Part of Abby did not want to answer. She loved her grandfather dearly, but she didn’t want to be known as just the inventor’s granddaughter. She wanted to stand on her own. Abby wanted to change the topic, but could see no way around it. Jacqueline would find out sooner or later. “Yes, I am.”

  Jacqueline stopped putting her things away. “He founded this school,” she said slowly. Abby could almost see Jacqueline’s mind working. “Wait a second.” Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed. “You had average grades, but you’re the granddaughter of the man who founded this school.” She began to speak louder. “Gee, how did you get in?”

  Abby twisted her hair into a ponytail. “Um ...”

  “That isn’t fair,” Jacqueline said. She began unpacking quicker. Her trained hands pulled clothes from her case and hung them in the closet with surprising speed. Her brow furrowed more and more as she worked.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I can’t say that I’m a complete fan of the situation either. I’m kind of nervous that—”

  “Just let me think for a second,” Jacqueline said, cutting her off.

  Abby sat on the edge of her bed, quietly hoping for the tension to fade.

  After several minutes, Jacqueline broke the silence. “Do you know how many of my friends applied to Cragbridge?” Abby didn’t answer; she could guess it was a lot. “Tammy got perfect grades her entire life, and she was declined. Amiya was the junior racquetball champion of the United States and a mathlete. Jared was published in the fifth grade.”

  “I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I don’t know how the admissions board works, and I’m sorry your friends—”

  “No. Don’t even say it.” Jacqueline was nearly shouting. She reached into the closet, found the shirt she gave Abby, and ripped it off the hanger. “I’m taking this back.”

  Abby couldn’t believe it. Minutes ago it seemed like the two of them were going to be fast friends. Now, it was shaping up more like archenemies.

  “In fact,” Jacqueline said, “this isn’t going to work.” She pinched a series of Abby’s clothes between her two arms, and lifted them from the bar in the closet. She walked outside of their dorm room and dropped them on the floor. “There is no way I can room with you.”

  Abby stood there in shock. Was this really happening? “What do you mean?” she asked. “Let’s talk about this for a—”

  “No. No talking,” Jacqueline interrupted. “This ... is ... over!” She grabbed the rest of Abby’s clothes and threw them in the hall. Abby walked to the hall and started to pick them up. Several girls peered out of their doors, watching the commotion. When Jacqueline came back out, pushing both of Abby’s suitcases out of the room, she noticed the gathering crowd.

  “This girl,” she said, pointing at Abby, “got into this school because she’s the granddaughter of Oscar Cragbridge.She didn’t work for it. She didn’t earn it.” Jacqueline looked into the eyes of the other girls. “She’s taking the spot of someone else who got denied—maybe one of your friends—because s
he got a free pass.” Jacqueline shook her head, then disappeared back into the room.

  Abby looked into the eyes of the girls in their doorways. Some looked on curiously; some scowled.

  “I really have worked hard,” Abby said in her defense. “It’s just that ...”

  Jacqueline returned, holding one final suitcase.

  “Let me take that,” Abby started, trying to grab her suitcase. “Some of my things are very special to—”

  “I don’t care,” Jacqueline said. “My friends are special to me, and thanks to you, they aren’t here.”

  “Where am I going to go?” Abby asked.

  “Don’t care,” Jacqueline said. “Maybe you should try a normal school, with people who do normal things. You might fit in there.” Jacqueline slammed the door. The lock clicked behind her.

  Abby met the gaze of several girls staring at her from the hallway. No one asked if she needed help. Instead, most of them glared at her. They probably had friends who had been rejected too. One by one, they all went back into their rooms, some of them following Jacqueline’s lead by slamming their doors.

  Lights flashed in the hallway. Ten seconds later, the door to leave the floor automatically locked: 10:00 curfew.

  Abby could feel tears building up, threatening to stream down her face, but she closed her eyes and refused them. Then she wiped them away. She was not going to break down just because one drama queen overreacted. Then again, that drama queen had just kicked her out of her own dorm room. Now where was she going to sleep? What should she do with her things?

  Abby remembered the Cragbridge student-body helpline. She blinked and sniffled as she turned on her rings. She searched her history until she found the sync code. Within a moment, she was looking at a tired, middle-aged woman.

  “Cragbridge Hall. How can I help you?” the woman said. The words rattled out of her mouth without feeling. A small earpiece that accompanied the rings allowed Abby to hear what the woman said.

  “I ... I’ve been locked out of my room,” Abby said, careful to maintain her composure.

  “It’s past curfew dear, and Cragbridge has strict rules. You’ll just have to sleep in the hall tonight. That will help you learn to be in your room tomorrow.”

  “But my roommate—” Abby started.

  “No excuses,” the woman said, looking stern. “You have to take responsibility for your own actions. Now try to get some sleep.”

  “But—”

  “Is this an emergency?” the woman asked. “Is there a fire? A flood?”

  “No.”

  “Then night-night. I’m not going to send the teacher in charge of your floor over just because you were irresponsible.” The woman closed the sync.

  Abby exhaled, trying to keep the tears from returning. Deep breaths. Wipe eyelids. She tried not to think of home. She tried not to think about what it would be like when everyone else woke up and found her and all her stuff in the hall.

  Abby nestled against her things and hoped tomorrow would be better.

  4

  Three Days until They Are Dead

  Oscar Cragbridge woke up suddenly from pain running up his spine. His lower back was stealing his sleep again. In some ways, he could thank his herniated disk. It had kept him up many nights that had then led to great discoveries.

  As he propped himself up on his bed, he was careful not to twist his back. With a wince, he stood. A tingling sensation went down one leg. The disk had pinched a nerve.

  He thought back over the previous day, and a smile crept over his face. He was so proud of his two grandchildren. Now that he looked back on it, he thought they were more of a marvel than anything he had ever invented.

  He heard a faint click. Oscar’s eyes grew wide. They were here.

  What could he do? He couldn’t write a message to those he trusted to come to his aid; those who were after him would simply find and destroy it. He couldn’t sync, or they would check his history and hunt down whoever he’d talked to. Maybe he could leave a clue. He grabbed his electronic reader from the nightstand. He only used it when he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to make his way to his bookshelves.

  He opened the cover and scanned the book titles. He selected one, and then unselected it. He set the reader in the middle of his bed, and then made the bed over the top. It was a sloppy job, but he didn’t have time for anything else.

  Oscar walked out of his room and into the hall. He heard a swoosh like a rustling curtain. Something pricked his neck. A second later, he fell unconscious on the hallway floor.

  • • •

  Oscar woke up with a pressing headache. It felt like his skull had his eyes between vises.

  “I must apologize for such a rude awakening,” a thin voice said.

  Oscar’s eyes could not seem to focus, but he made out a slight man in front of him. He had slicked-back gray hair, and he wore a classic business suit. He sat in Oscar’s old chair with two figures flanking him. Both were dressed completely in black, with neither of their faces exposed. Oscar guessed that one of them had shot the dart into him.

  Oscar thought of all the security measures to his house. “How did you get in here?”

  “There are ways to get in anywhere,” the man said. “There are ways to do anything.”

  Oscar blinked several more times. The tranquilizer was wearing off. He might know ... yes, he was sure of it. His whole body tensed as he recognized the man. “Hello, Charles.” He clenched his eyes closed for a moment, trying to get rid of the haze from being unconscious. “Did you decide to spend your fortune breaking into old men’s houses? I know you want to revolutionize the world, but I thought you’d have something a little nobler in mind.”

  Charles Muns smiled. “We’re getting to that,” he said. “I have made a discovery—quite a discovery.”

  “You mean the scientists you pay made a discovery,” Oscar corrected. He tried to keep his body from tensing. He knew where this was going, but refused to show any sign of it.

  “That is very fitting, giving credit where it is due,” Charles admitted. “They have discovered why no one but you has been able to make a Bridge.”

  Oscar glared at Charles. His heartbeat quickened.

  “It turns out that you have discovered more than you have let on,” Charles said. He began walking down the hall. “Please follow me.” The two men in black stood behind him. Oscar didn’t move.

  “They are more than willing to help you,” Charles said.

  Oscar Cragbridge found his cane and, holding the familiar carved handle, gingerly got to his feet. He walked slowly, fighting the dizziness. Eventually he walked down the stairs.

  The heavy metal lab door stood wide open. Oscar tightened his jaw.

  The small group entered the room, passing a series of complex devices attached to several points on both the door and door frame.

  “You have a rather thorough security program. It took me longer than I expected to get past it.”

  The large room was filled with screens, gadgets, tools, metal scraps, and gears. Plans and blueprint sketches lined the walls and were scattered across a round table in the center of the room. Several heavy doors stood along one wall, but the largest along another.

  “Sadly, tonight we only have time for what looked like the most important door.” Muns led them to the largest door. Thick locking metal bars and fixed gears showed its strength on its face, yet it stood slightly ajar.

  Oscar gasped.

  “Yes,” Muns said. “Quite an accomplishment to open this one. I was pleased to confirm my suspicions that you have a copy of the Bridge in your basement. It really makes things much more convenient.”

  “Changing the world, one trespass at a time, are we?”

  Charles didn’t respond, but led the group inside. He walked over to the controller and punched in specific dates.

  Within moments, the ghost of a large ship protruded from the front of the room. It was at least four stories tall and close to three football f
ields long. What looked like four stout towers blew dark steam as the vessel drove forward.

  “I believe you recognize the infamous ship,” Charles said, gesturing toward the vessel.

  Cragbridge nodded.

  “And the day you are seeing right now is April 12, which is, of course, quite close to its infamy.”

  “Did you really break into my home to give me a history lesson?” Oscar asked.

  Charles didn’t answer the question. “I noticed you didn’t sign the official reports about what the Bridge does. Your honesty would not let you.”

  Cragbridge sat coolly, careful not to change his expression.

  “That’s a decent poker face, Oscar, but it will soon go away. Though my scientists cannot duplicate your Bridge, they’ve managed to create a concentrated enough energy burst that ... well ... I think you’ll want to see for yourself.” Charles pointed to a part of the huge ship.

  Cragbridge watched very closely. He saw upper-class Americans in suits and dresses. Couples strolled the deck together. Others lined up to enter the dining hall. He knew that millionaires, Broadway producers, authors, a United States presidential aide, the Countess of Rothes, and even a silent film actress were all on board, but he recognized no one.

  “Watch,” Charles said, moving the perspective of the Bridge like a camera angle down through the stories of the ship. He pointed at a couple in the boiler room. The woman sat still with her head in her hands. The man paced back and forth.

  Oscar Cragbridge looked for a moment. His mouth dropped, a hollow groan seeping out. He pointed a quivering hand at Charles and yelled, “What have you done?” He raised his old body to his feet. He took a step toward Muns, ready to get in one good hit with his cane.

  The two men in black quickly seized Cragbridge by the arms.