Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome

by Ridley Pearson

  “Run, Jess, run!” Mattie cried.

  My vision blurred with tears, but I did just that: out into the park, racing at full speed, choking on my realization that Mattie was the girl in my kidnapping dream.

  Mattie, not Amanda.

  Out of breath, with no one following, I leaned against a wall.

  A father was explaining Walt’s motto to his family. “Dreams really do come true,” he said.

  You have no idea, I thought, tears spilling down my cheeks.

  AMANDA

  Fresh off my encounter with the OTK Bishop, I made my way back to Philby’s neighborhood. By the end of the bus ride, I found myself on the hate side of my love/hate relationship with the Orlando city bus system. I’d taken three connecting lines, one of which required me to wait forty minutes at the bus stop because of mechanical problems.

  Trying to detect a potential spy outside the Philby house was a new and daunting challenge. Deciding where to hide when I suspected others were hiding forced me to consider all angles, the distances and lighting. I settled on approaching from the rear, through a neighbor’s yard, which meant trying to stay calm while a large dog growled at me from inside the house. I navigated a backyard with no less than six of those creepy garden gnomes before climbing the fence and dropping into the Philbys’ backyard.

  Using the plants along the side fence as my screen, I took my time reaching the front of the house. Once there, I hunkered down between two young banana trees and remained stock-still. I had a partial view of the back and a better one of the front. My brain told me Luowski—or one of his gang—would attack from the back, as they had at Finn’s. My gut said otherwise, directing my attention to the street.

  As I waited for something to happen, I worked over my options. I’d be outnumbered; I anticipated the Philbys being unprepared, despite our earlier warning. Grown-ups had a bad habit of always believing they were right.

  Since moving the comatose Finn to Wayne’s cabin earlier, his sleeping face had been fresh in my mind and heart. I found it difficult, if not impossible, to suppress my feelings. Whether the result of hunger or fatigue or both, I gave into my worry and felt the tears running down my cheeks.

  Without the Keepers, Finn and I would never have met. Yet a big part of me wished the DHI technology had never been invented, that he and I had found some other way of connecting, something that would have allowed us to share unusual experiences without any of them being life-threatening.

  Weary, emotionally raw, I wanted whatever could be described as a normal life. Without special powers, I might have had a real childhood. Without Overtakers, I might have had a real boyfriend.

  Wiping away my tears, I blinked, taken aback. At the front corner of the house, a garden gnome was facing me. His little Irish green leggings and ginger beard showed clearly in the darkness. I couldn’t remember seeing him there before.

  I glanced toward the back fence. The only gnomes I’d seen had been in the neighbor’s yard. Now four of the ugly little things stood sentry in the garden by the Philbys’ back fence. Angry at myself for not paying enough attention, trying to blame it on the growing darkness and my concern about staying out of sight, I wheeled around to study the street and the low bushes—which would provide ample space for Luowski to hide.

  The ginger gnome was no longer at the corner of the house. He stood three feet away from me now. Still and solid as a ceramic statue.

  I looked left: the gnomes that had been in the back now commanded the bushes along the fence, against which my back was pressed. Same order. Same frozen expressions. But they had moved.

  I stole another look: the ginger was gone, neither by the house nor immediately alongside me. I started to shake: the gnomes to the left were now a yard closer. I stretched to the right for another angle. Ginger stood stoically by a red and green succulent. Left! All four, another yard closer; the lead gnome, with a cherub’s face and bushy mustache, delivered a penetrating stare from perhaps ten feet away.

  Right! Ginger was closer.

  Left! The quartet had inched forward.

  Something bit my calf and I squealed. When I looked down at my torn jeans, I jumped, crashing into the fence, almost screaming. A small piece of my blue jeans lay at the stubby ceramic feet of the ginger gnome, who still looked perfectly inanimate. His bite had broken the skin of my leg.

  And there was the quartet, now spread in a semicircle in front of me. I had yet to see a single one of them actually move.

  I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off Ginger. Again, he bit my ankle. This time, I managed not to scream—and I pushed, hard. Ginger flew straight and fast, burrowing down into the garden’s soft earth as if I’d dug a hole for him. I brushed dirt in over his head and stomped it down.

  Two more bites followed, like bee stings, on my left leg. I stood, jumped over the gnomes, and dashed to the house. When I looked back, the four gnomes were facing the house perfectly still. Ginger’s head protruded from the grave I’d dug for him. All five were still. As long as I looked at them, they did not move. If I so much as blinked, they changed.

  My eyes snapped shut of their own accord. Opened again. Ginger was now only waist deep in the dirt. The four had progressed to the edge of the gravel driveway.

  At Barracks 14, Jess and I had engaged in staring contests. Sadly, we considered that an exciting form of entertainment—it was all we had. I won more often than I lost. And a good thing, too, because now the bizarre little gnomes and I were locked into just such a game.

  It was, of course, an exercise in futility: a ceramic statue with beady black eyes doesn’t have to work hard to avoid blinking. An eighteen-year-old girl? Not so much. My eyes watered. They stung. They blinked.

  The four gnomes moved closer with eerie speed. Ginger grew from the earth like a well-fertilized plant.

  What were they supposed to do, nip me to death? Chew my feet off and then work their way up? That would take what, a week? Two weeks? No, there was something else at play here, and I’d been a fool to miss it: they’d stolen my time and my attention. They were nothing more than a pesky distraction meant to move me up against the house with no view of either the back or front yard.

  That meant only thing: the Philbys were under attack!

  Racing forward, heart in my throat, I kicked the gnomes out of my way like a string of soccer balls. One of them broke on the driveway; the others flew into the bushes.

  Coming around to the front of the house, I knew what to expect; I’d been through this sort of ordeal at the Whitmans. But there were no preparations to stop the OTKs this time. Luowski would strike fast and hard, as he’d done at Crazy Glaze, all those years ago. I anticipated the use of a stun stick, at least two OTKs, and a boatload of determination on Luowski’s part.

  Slowly and quietly opening the front door, I found Mrs. Philby on the floor of the entry, cowering on the other side of the same dark-haired girl I’d seen at the Whitmans’. With her back to me, I pushed, not waiting for discussion or drama, propelling the girl off her feet and along the carpet.

  Had Finn or any of the other Keepers been with me, they would have witnessed the change that came over me in that moment. I didn’t tire with this push; I didn’t waste a speck of my considerable energy. For perhaps the first time, I was in control of my power, real control. It felt delicious.

  The girl rolled, aiming a large squirt gun at me—likely filled with some toxic concoction. I waved at her with one hand and the gun went sailing. She looked horrified, and for good reason: I was suddenly a witch.

  I thought back to stories of Salem, to my own youth, my body changing, my powers increasing. I’d always used two hands to push, but now one would do. As I soon found that out, I could use my hands and arms independently, too.

  For the first time, I pulled, dragging the couch with my right hand while pinning the girl in place with my left. The newfound control of my power exhilarated me! I felt less like a magician with his wand, and more like an orchestral conductor. With a jerk o
f my fingers, I tipped the couch over on top of her legs; she wasn’t going anywhere now. The new freedom to use my push thrilled me. I couldn’t stop myself; I was overcome with it. I pulled Mrs. Philby to her feet, slid her back, and set her down gently in a stuffed chair.

  This was fun. I felt light-headed with glee. I’d need to learn how to use it properly, to train myself. As the Aladdin soundtrack proclaimed, I was in “a whole new world!” Like a sprinter, I’d found another gear, another tool. I was Dorothy with her ruby slippers. Buzz Lightyear with his wings.

  And I was practically down the far hallway. I leaped over a conscious but prone Mr. Philby, blasting doors open as I went. A bathroom. A study. A guestroom.

  Philby, in bed. Luowski, hovering over his laptop computer.

  I pushed Luowski. Furniture moved, including the bed. The bully skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall. I cautioned myself, trying to keep my emotions out of it, to stay focused and clinical with the use of my powers. I’d tasted control; it was time to demonstrate it. In this moment, Philby’s computer, not Philby, was the prize for both Luowski and me. Maybe Luowski wanted to hurt Philby, maybe not. Regardless, the OTK had gone first for the laptop, not the boy in the bed.

  I used my left hand to hold Luowski. With my right, I directed the laptop to the edge of the desk, bringing it nearly within my reach.

  Despite my open palm aimed at him, and despite my considerable intention, Luowski lifted his forearm to screen my force, looking like a man fighting against a strong headwind. To my astonishment, he took a step forward. I increased my power, bringing my right hand up to join my left.

  Leaning steeply into the unseen, punishing wind, Luowski marched forward. Impossible! I too leaned in, delivering what felt to me like enough energy to move a truck. And still Luowski trudged toward me, step by heavy step.

  It shouldn’t have taken me so long to remember that he was possessed, charmed, enchanted. The snarl on his face should have told me as much. His newfound ability was no doubt meant to instill fear in me. To weaken me. It had the opposite effect. I’d been born with my powers; they were part of me. His had been added on; they were a modification.

  The closer he got, the more our opposing energies dispersed and swirled around us. Curtains flapped; the ceiling fan whirled at high speed; any piece of loose paper or clothing pasted itself to the walls. Before he took his next step, I heaved toward him—and watched as his face of evil changed to one of surprise. He had not expected that. He opened his mouth to say something, but lacked the energy. His jaw slacked.

  I took another daring step. We were perhaps three feet apart. The room and everything in it seemed to spin at the center of a tornado.

  Whoever had done this to him had no doubt planned for victory, and in victory, our silence. Philby’s computer would be seized; Philby would be harmed. Those who stood up to Luowski would be captured and thereby kept silent. It was late enough that Luowski might have already tried Maybeck’s and Willa’s.

  It thrilled me that I could calmly consider the various strategies set forth against me even as I held this demon-boy at bay with raised palms. Yes, he had put up a good fight. Yes, he had surprised me by doing so. But my newly discovered control, my ability to push and pull ambidextrously, gave me an unrivaled confidence.

  Feeling ten times stronger with every passing second, I held him now with only my left hand as I maneuvered a pair of scissors currently stuck to the wall. The scissors pulled away and, as if connected to me with wires, sliced through the powerful wind to fix their blades just below Luowski’s chin, pointing at his throat.

  “You will go now,” I said calmly, wanting to impress upon him that I wasn’t rattled. A little white lie. I was terrified. “You will forget about hurting the Keepers. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you’re the next one hurt. Give up before it’s too late.”

  He didn’t answer with his voice, but his green eyes spoke volumes. Greg Luowski was not about to give up anything. Being overpowered by a girl had humiliated him; if he could have, he would have punched me in the face. But the scissors at his throat delivered my message more articulately than I could. I pulled and pushed and turned him until I was no longer standing between him and the bedroom door.

  But I’d allowed my powers to go to my head. I acted impulsively. And Luowski was waiting.

  In an instant, he dropped his arm, his shield. He seemed to be using my power to help him. He slid across the floor like a surfer. He snatched Philby’s laptop off the desk, skated out the door, and was gone before I realized I was doing this, not him.

  I pulled to get him back, but only swung the door shut with a loud bang, trapping my powers—and me—inside. The thump of the couch sounded; I opened the door and launched into the hallway. I tried to push, but I was too far away; all I could do was break two lamps. I collapsed to my knees, furious with myself for allowing my false sense of control to control me. Luowski had Philby’s laptop! With it, the Imagineers might have found a way to return the Keepers. Without it…I feared I just condemned the Keepers to SBS for eternity. In my effort to be their savior, I’d messed everything up.

  Mrs. Philby reached me, breathless. “Well done!” she called out.

  I collapsed to my knees. “I’ve ruined everything!”

  MATTIE

  I came awake in what looked like a basement storage room. I was lying on an air mattress. My head hurt. A funky, damp smell clung to the windowless space, the lovely perfume of rot and mildew. It permeated everything, including my clothing.

  I had lost my sense of time, but it felt like I hadn’t been down here long. I thought it was probably late night the same day the 14ers had grabbed hold of me. Jess knew I’d been taken. She’d be looking for me.

  Knowing I had a responsibility to escape, I conducted a quick sweep of the small room for anything that might serve as a tool or weapon. The most promising item, a locked closet door, presented both an opportunity and a challenge.

  I had no idea how to get it open, but if I could…

  I tried not to think about my captors, or my friends, or the Keepers. Instead, I focused solely on my mission.

  Get out. Get free.

  JESS

  Working on a lightning-never-strikes-twice strategy, I’d returned to the Odyssey Center and had hidden there following Mattie’s abduction.

  Crouched down, out of sight, I’d stayed hidden for hours wanting to get out of there and try to help Mattie. But every time I tried to leave I’d see a Cast Member or Disney Security outside and retreat back to my hiding place.

  I committed myself to getting Mattie back, no matter the challenge. Mandy and I had coaxed her into escaping the Barracks in the first place. We couldn’t let them take her back there.

  On one of my attempts to get out of there I passed a collection of Disney paraphernalia that caught my eye. Inside the display case were old photos—boys in khakis and button-down shirts, girls in skirts and white socks—old fashioned toys, a harmonica. And older women in high heels, thick lipstick and white gloves.

  White gloves.

  When combined, the items nearly matched exactly the contents of Finn’s mysterious soy protein can.

  I took a handful of phone photos before hurrying out into the warm evening. I walked with my head down, my heart racing. Maybe I’d just cracked Finn’s puzzle.

  I used my phone as a flashlight to reach the cabin, carefully avoiding the tripwire we’d installed.

  Greeted by a openly worried Amanda, Wanda, and Bess, I was wild with a mixture of panic and excitement. I described for them Mattie’s abduction at the hands of men I presumed were Barracks 14ers. I briefly related my discovery of the display and showed them my photos. But it was Mattie’s rescue that held our collective attention.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I said.

  “We’re supposed to calm down,” said the ever-calm Bess. Wanda nodded.

  “It’s my fault. I feel horrible. I should have left sooner.”

  “T
hey were looking for you, too. You did the right thing,” Wanda said.

  Bess said, “What’s done is done, child. We have to remain positive. There is a solution to everything.”

  “How can you say that?” I shouted.

  Bess never raised her voice. “Because it’s true, child. You will see.”

  AMANDA

  We spent the night making plans. Wanda woke Joe and told him about the missing Mattie. He said he’d make calls. The Imagineers would try to pull security video of the Transportation Center to identify the culprits. While the adults worked to save Mattie, Wanda wanted me and Jess to continue trying to make sense of Finn’s cryptic message.

  “We can’t allow the Barracks 14 men to distract us from saving the Keepers,” Wanda said. “That would be travesty.”

  Reluctantly, Jess and I agreed; it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, leaving Mattie to others, but I knew Wanda was right.

  I met Mrs. Angelo, Willa’s mom, at Downtown Disney’s Once Upon a Toy, where she worked part-time. She looked frail and exhausted.

  I felt sick, seeing her like this. I had a bad headache, and every muscle was sore, a result of the confrontation with Luowski. All hope of manually returning the Keepers had been lost along with Philby’s laptop. I couldn’t get over my own role in that.

  I fought against increasing sense of failure, but there was no escaping it: we were losing on every front.

  I sat next to Mrs. Angelo. “Willa has always bragged about how tech savvy you are.”

  “Does she?”

  “Says that’s where she got her abilities.” I showed her the photo from the soy can. “Well, I could use some help.”

  Mrs. Angelo took the photo from me. She extended her arms, then searched her purse for a pair of glasses and put them on. “Old,” she said.

  “Can you see the reflection off the glass?” I asked.

  It took her a moment. “Interesting,” she said. “I think you’re right. Older man or woman—and in color, no less.”

  I hadn’t noticed that, and I said so now.