The Deceivers

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “Then why don’t I see you carrying out an arrest this very minute?” Mayor Mayhew sounded peevish. “This room’s empty! There’s nobody here!”

  “We’ll find them,” the other man replied. “No matter where they’re hiding.”

  Chess heard more footsteps pounding down the stairs above him.

  Then he heard the closet door open.

  Thirty-Seven

  Natalie, a Few Minutes Earlier

  “We can trade off,” Natalie said, settling down onto Other-Natalie’s bed, while Other-Natalie watched her curiously from the desk chair. “We’ll take turns asking questions. I’ll go first.”

  “Why don’t I get to go first?” Other-Natalie asked. “I’m the real Natalie Mayhew! While you’re just . . . what is your name?”

  “Natalie Mayhew,” Natalie responded automatically. “And there. You did get the first question. I even answered it.”

  Other-Natalie’s face flushed, and Natalie knew exactly how she felt, being tricked.

  Careful, Natalie told herself. Don’t make her mad.

  “Fine.” The other girl all but snarled the word. “Your turn.”

  See, she’s going to play fair, Natalie thought. Because I would play fair, if I were her.

  It was dizzying to peer back at Other-Natalie and try to figure out how to see her. Were Other-Natalie and Natalie exactly alike, pretty much the same person except for living in separate worlds? How different could someone be when she had your same face, your same hair, your same brain, your same parents?

  She doesn’t have the same parents, Natalie reminded herself. She has the Judge, not Mom. And her dad’s running for governor, not selling sports cars. And she lives in the bad world, so that’s got to affect her, too. . . .

  And Other-Natalie’s parents were still married. And her grandma was still alive. And her mother wasn’t missing.

  Natalie glanced up at the poster sagging down from the wall, to remind herself of that difference with Other-Natalie, too. With the top part of the poster bent over the bottom, Natalie could see only the poster’s white backing. But she could remember the menacing look on all the kids’ faces in that poster—even Other-Natalie’s.

  “What are you looking at?” Other-Natalie asked, turning to follow Natalie’s gaze. She let out a loud gasp. “Did you do that? Did you start tearing that down, and Grandma caught you, and, and . . .”

  Natalie caught herself flinching guiltily. And Other-Natalie saw. What could Natalie say now? If she lied, Other-Natalie would see straight through her. And if she told the truth . . .

  Well, how would I react if some stranger came into my room and started trashing it?

  “Hey—it’s my turn for questions, remember?” Natalie went for the snarly, defensive mode. But Other-Natalie’s eyes were so wide and awestruck, her expression almost hopeful, that Natalie softened her voice. “Let’s talk about other stuff first.”

  Natalie wouldn’t have relented if she’d been in Other-Natalie’s place. But maybe they weren’t completely alike. Other-Natalie only glanced back at the poster once more, tilted her head to the side, and muttered, “So, ask.”

  It surprised Natalie into blurting, “Are you and your grandma close?”

  This wasn’t the right question for getting Other-Natalie on her side, for getting her help rescuing Mom, Mrs. Greystone, and Joe. And it was only the beginning of what Natalie wanted to know about Other-Natalie and Almost-Grandma. She could have gone on, Are you and your grandma best buddies? Is she the person who cares about you most in all the world? Does she hold you together when everything else goes wrong? Could you ever recover if she died?

  But Other-Natalie recoiled, disbelief spreading over her face.

  “Me and Grandma?” she asked incredulously. “Are you kidding? Grandma doesn’t have time for me. She thinks I’m a spoiled brat. She tells Mom and Dad that every chance she gets. She says I’ve grown up too sheltered.”

  Other-Natalie put air quotes around “sheltered,” as if she were quoting her grandma exactly.

  “But that’s . . .” Natalie stopped herself before she could finish her protest: That’s not what Grandma’s like. She switched to “How could she not have time for you?”

  Other-Natalie snorted.

  “Did you take this job thinking you’d have fun hanging out with a seventy-six-year-old woman?” she asked. “Grandma’s busy managing Mom’s political career. Don’t you watch any news?” Then, to Natalie’s surprise, Other-Natalie winced. “I mean, I’m sorry. I guess no one would take this job for fun. And maybe you don’t have access to any news, or knowing anything. I guess you’d have to be pretty desperate, to be willing to maybe die so that I don’t have to be in danger.”

  That’s what Other-Natalie meant, thinking her parents hired me as her body double? Natalie marveled. People really do that in this world?

  Other-Natalie stared down at her lap for a moment, then peered back at Natalie with a hard-to-read expression.

  “Grandma probably is right, that I’ve been sheltered,” Other-Natalie said. “It’s like Mom and Dad—especially Dad—they’ve tried to keep me like some princess in a tower, always protected. Always ignorant. They don’t tell me anything, and school . . .” She rolled her eyes. “School’s worthless. But I read things nobody knows I read. I’ve figured out how to work around most controls on my computer. And I’ve heard, for people who aren’t politicians or business leaders—or their kids—for people who aren’t rich . . . I’ve heard that those people lead horrible lives. People like you. Is that true?”

  “Is that your next question?” Natalie asked weakly. She was stalling. As much as she missed Real-Grandma, she longed for someone else now: Mom. Real-Mom. Mom was really, really good at her job as a Realtor, and she’d made a lot of money, but she’d told Natalie a million times that no one should measure their value in money, no one should think a poor person was any less of a human being than a rich person. Other-Natalie sounded like she needed that lecture.

  Or does she?

  Natalie remembered the desperate people crowded into the Public Hall two weeks ago for Mrs. Greystone’s trial, and the way they’d been lied to and manipulated. She remembered Emma’s theory about how there was some chemical released into the air that controlled people’s emotions—that made them angry and afraid. And obedient.

  That had been horrible. Before Emma had figured out what was happening and told Chess, Finn, and Natalie to hold their breath, Natalie had felt all that despair herself. She’d almost gagged over the constant odor and the constant fear and hopelessness.

  And . . . there was no hint of that odor here at Other-Natalie’s house.

  “You’ve got to tell me,” Other-Natalie said, almost begging. She leaned forward, waving her hands emphatically. “I want to know everything, and nobody will tell me anything!”

  Was she acting? Lying? Only pretending to care?

  She’s genuine, Natalie told herself, because Natalie would have said the same thing the same way, if she’d been in Other-Natalie’s shoes.

  “I’m not actually from here,” Natalie began cautiously. “But I’ve seen a little of how ordinary people live in your city. It is bad. And . . . I think some of it is your mother’s fault.”

  “Of course it is,” Other-Natalie replied. “She runs this city. Maybe the whole state. My dad’s just a figurehead. He’s worthless. Believe me, I hate my parents. They’re awful people.”

  This plunged Natalie into a different memory. The first day she’d met the Greystone kids after their mother went away, Finn, Emma, and Chess had been distraught and confused. Natalie had tried to comfort them by telling them how awful her own parents were; she’d told them that that’s just how parents were.

  She’d used the word “hate,” too.

  But her own parents weren’t actually hateful. They were annoying and difficult, and sometimes they made Natalie’s life miserable. Especially during the divorce. But Dad had been a good sport about taking the Greystones i
n when they had nowhere else to go, and Natalie didn’t know anyone else’s mom or dad who would do that. And Mom . . . Mom was all about helping other people. That was how she’d ended up trapped and missing. She put herself in danger only because she’d been trying to help the Greystones.

  And because she’d been trying to help Natalie.

  “Why do you want to know stuff?” Natalie asked Other-Natalie. “Just for the sake of knowing it? Wouldn’t you want to change things, if you could? Don’t you want to do something to really make a difference?”

  Other-Natalie stared into Natalie’s face, her intense brown eyes locked onto Natalie’s matching pair.

  “Yes,” Other-Natalie whispered. “I do want to change things.”

  For a moment, both of them sat frozen in place. Then Other-Natalie whipped her head around, looking back toward the sagging poster. She scrambled to her feet, took a giant step onto the bed, and yanked the poster completely from the wall. She ripped it in half. She kept tearing until the poster was only a pile of scraps on the bed and pillows.

  “There,” Other-Natalie said, breathing hard and shoving the scraps to the floor. “I finished what you began. Those are the people who don’t want change. They want to keep their power and leave everyone else in pain. And I am done pretending I’m one of them! I don’t care what Mom or Dad or Grandma think!”

  She’s braver than me, Natalie thought. She will help.

  She took a deep breath of her own.

  “Okay, then,” Natalie began. “Have you ever heard of alternate worlds?”

  Thirty-Eight

  Natalie

  The minute Natalie finished talking, spilling everything, Other-Natalie spoke just two words: “Prove it.”

  “How?” Natalie asked. “What would convince you—”

  Other-Natalie tilted back in her chair.

  “Show me the lever in the basement,” she said. “Take me to the other world. Your world.”

  Natalie wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but she had more immediate problems.

  “Have you forgotten we’re locked in this room?” Natalie asked. “And that your house is full of cleaners who would freak out seeing you and me together? Even if we screamed for help and one of us hid until we got out . . . we can’t risk anyone seeing what they’d think was the same girl coming down the stairs twice.”

  Other-Natalie tapped a finger against her chin.

  “How much do I trust you?” she muttered. “You already saw me tear up the poster, but I could always deny that. . . .”

  Other-Natalie bit her lip, then seemed to make a decision. She stood up and went over to her dresser, pulling out a red wool scarf that could have been the twin of one Natalie had worn all last winter.

  Why should that surprise Natalie, when she and Other-Natalie appeared to be wearing the exact same dark jeans, the exact same cream-colored T-shirt?

  “Blindfold,” Other-Natalie said, holding the scarf out to Natalie.

  “You think that will keep the cleaners from figuring out I look like you?” Natalie asked. “Wouldn’t—”

  “No,” Other-Natalie said impatiently. “That will keep you from seeing how I get us out of here.”

  Natalie frowned but put the blindfold on. Other-Natalie spun her around, then guided her forward. The scarf was hot on her face but didn’t entirely block her vision.

  Didn’t Other-Natalie ever play blindfold games when she was little? Doesn’t she know you can almost always see out the bottom? Natalie wondered.

  Natalie could tell they were walking toward the closet. She heard the closet door sliding open, and hangers being shoved to the side. Possibly shoes being shoved to the side as well.

  Doesn’t she know my hearing works fine? Natalie wondered.

  Then she heard a click.

  “What was that?” Natalie asked.

  “That would be what I didn’t want you to see,” Other-Natalie said.

  There was the sound of something else sliding away, and Other-Natalie pushed Natalie forward again. Natalie forgot herself and cried out, “Are you trying to slam me into the wall?”

  But the wall inside the closet had vanished. Natalie could peek out of the bottom of the blindfold, and see her spare pair of Nikes—oops, no, Other-Natalie’s—pushed messily off to the side, soles up. The toes of the shoes should have been nestled against the closet wall, but instead they pointed into a dark space.

  Natalie gasped.

  “Your house has secret passageways?” she asked. “Like, like . . .”

  “Well, not like the house you were telling me about,” Other-Natalie said, leading Natalie forward. “This passageway doesn’t lead to other worlds. There’s nothing like that in my house. I mean, there wasn’t until you got here. As far as I know.”

  They’d only taken about a dozen steps before Other-Natalie warned in a whisper, “Stairs. And be quiet from now on, because someone might be able to hear us through the walls. And we can hear them.”

  Natalie had a million questions racing through her head, but she stifled them and concentrated on stepping down and down and down, one step at a time. The stairway wrapped around a single pole, like a spiral staircase, and Natalie was on the narrow side of every step. With her eyes still covered, it would have been so easy to fall.

  Maybe that’s what Other-Natalie wants. Maybe she’s trying to get rid of me. . . .

  But that was crazy. Other-Natalie could have screamed for a guard when they were back in her room and demanded that Natalie be taken away. She didn’t have to go to all this effort, unless she really did believe Natalie.

  And trust her.

  She does trust me, right? She must look at me and feel like she understands me the same way I feel like I understand her. Doesn’t she?

  They reached the bottom of the first circular flight of stairs. Somehow all that turning around and around had disoriented Natalie—she couldn’t picture where on the first floor they would be now, or which wall they were hidden behind. Somewhere off in the distance she could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner, but that could have been anywhere in the house.

  And then suddenly a door slammed, and Natalie heard a voice over a walkie-talkie somewhere on the other side of the wall from her: “All call for guards! This is not a drill! All guards must report downstairs immediately to deal with intruders!”

  Then she heard the sound of running feet.

  Natalie felt Other-Natalie’s hand freeze on Natalie’s arm.

  “Maybe we . . . ,” Natalie began cautiously, in a whisper.

  “I know, I know,” Other-Natalie muttered. “Change of plans. We stop in Mom’s office and you introduce me to those other kids. No matter how many guards swarm the house, none of them would be allowed in Mom’s office. So we’d be safe there.”

  Would it be dangerous for Other-Natalie to meet the Greystones? Should Natalie suggest just going back up to Other-Natalie’s room until the guards were gone?

  That would sound suspicious, Natalie decided. And . . . I want to make sure the Greystones are safe.

  She let Other-Natalie pull her in another direction. Five steps, ten . . . Natalie felt even more disoriented when Other-Natalie stopped her and pressed a hand over Natalie’s blindfold, as if to make absolutely certain that Natalie didn’t see. This time there were beeps, as if Other-Natalie were entering a code into some sort of electronic lock. Natalie felt a whoosh of air on her face, and then she could see a burst of light even through the wool blindfold.

  “I thought you said those other kids were waiting in Mom’s office,” Other-Natalie muttered, pulling Natalie forward.

  Natalie ripped the blindfold from her face. She whirled around, looking everywhere. She and Other-Natalie were indeed back in Judge Morales’s office, but Chess, Emma, and Finn were nowhere to be seen. Behind her, Other-Natalie was easing the closet door shut.

  “Were you lying?” Other-Natalie asked.

  Natalie stumbled forward. Now she could see the backpacks she and the Greystones had dro
pped on the floor.

  “Oh, they’d be smart enough to hide, hearing someone enter the room,” Natalie said. “Chess? Emma? Finn?”

  No answer. She turned and saw two laptops angled carelessly on the couch—the two laptops Chess and Emma had been using. She walked over and brushed her hands over them. They were still warm; they’d just gone into sleep mode. Natalie’s touch brought them back to life. One screen showed Mrs. Greystone’s mysterious code; the other showed images of campaign posters.

  Chess and Emma would have been smart enough to hide their laptops, too, if they’d heard someone entering the room. For that matter, wouldn’t they have hidden the backpacks?

  Maybe they just didn’t have time. . . .

  Natalie glanced under the desk, the best hiding place in the room. No one was there. Fighting panic, Natalie clutched the edge of the desk. Her finger hit the same button Finn had discovered, bringing the projection back to the wall. It showed a view of the basement Natalie had seen before.

  It also brought the sound of her father’s voice—no, Other-Dad’s voice—saying, “Where are they? You say they were last reported down here?”

  “Oh no. Oh no,” Natalie moaned.

  “What?” Other-Natalie asked, craning her neck so she could see the projection on the wall, too. “What’s happening?”

  “They must have left . . . They must have seen something down there that made them . . .” Natalie could barely get words out. She sprinted for the door. “I’ve got to find them before he does!”

  “Wait! What are you doing?” Other-Natalie reached out to grab Natalie as she ran past.

  But here was a difference between the two girls: Right now, Natalie was much more determined. She shoved Other-Natalie away, practically knocking the girl over. Natalie let out a gasping, “Sorry . . . I can’t . . .” before giving up words completely and concentrating only on running. She tore open the office door and slammed it shut behind her.