Disney in Shadow (5 page)

“You’re through for the night—probably for the year.”

Through for the night,
Amanda heard. They’d barely just gotten started. Then again, Jess’s plan had worked: the woman was stuck back on the boat. They’d gotten away from her.

Probably for the year.

Could Disney do that? She supposed they could probably do a lot of things that didn’t seem possible.

“There’s a lavatory down there,” the worker said, pointing, having ushered them away out of view of the ride.

Jess elbowed Amanda.

“Huh?” Amanda said.

“The girls’ room,” Jess said emphatically.

“Oh, yeah,” Amanda said, “right.” It wasn’t a stretch to try to look embarrassed. She headed toward the sign.

Behind her, two workers in lab coats appeared and moved directly for Jess.

Amanda hoped they weren’t Overtakers, hoped like mad that Jess hadn’t gotten them out of one trap only to lead them into another.

M
RS. NASH, ARMS CROSSED
, looked down on Jess and Amanda with fire in her eyes. She was a woman who, to judge by her appearance, ate well, and had no love of cosmetics, nor of hairdressers or fashion magazines. She was currently stretching out a green T-shirt to the point that the writing on it was too distorted to be legible. Her arms bore white patches of dried skin scratched to scarlet, flaming islands that came down her arms like the Alaskan archipelago.

“What exactly were you thinking?” she wheezed. Mrs. Nash had trouble breathing.

“Amanda had to use the facilities,” Jess said.

“I thought we had an understanding that the Disney parks were off limits,” Mrs. Nash said. “After everything that happened to you, Jessica, I’m surprised you’d get anywhere near that place.”

“I love Disney World,” Jess said. “Especially Epcot. And it had been forever, and we just wanted to go there.”

“Did you plan on missing dinner and curfew as well? Did you realize you might lose your passes? You know how much one of those costs?”

For Mrs. Nash everything came down to dollars.

There was a stomping upstairs that won her attention and distracted her. Seven other foster girls lived in the house along with Jess and Amanda, in a total of three bedrooms, with two baths. Making a ruckus was strictly forbidden and the rule against it even more strictly enforced. Mrs. Nash had been born strict.

“We had no intention of missing dinner,” Jess said. “The meals here are so…wonderful.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, young lady.”

There was great need for sarcasm where the meals in this home were concerned, but Jess held her tongue. “Yes, Mrs. Nash.”

“Why wouldn’t you wait for the weekend?” she asked, still concerned with the money involved.

“We acted spontaneously,” said Amanda, answering her. “We realize now that was a mistake.”

“You’re both grounded for two weeks. Do you understand me? Directly from school to this front door. ‘Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.’ Are we clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Nash,” both girls said, nearly in unison.

“Your behavior reflects poorly on this house and my ability to care for you girls. I hope you’ll consider that the next time you think about doing something as foolish as what you’ve done. And next time,” she said directly to Amanda, “you think about going on a ride, you might think about using the girls’ room first. You’re a young woman, for heaven’s sake, not a four-year-old.”

“Yes, Mrs. Nash.”

“Up to your room,” she said. “You will do your homework and miss dinner. I’ll keep plates for you in the fridge. You can warm them up after you show me your homework.”

“Yes, Mrs. Nash.” Again, nearly in unison.

Mrs. Nash eyed the girls suspiciously, wondering if they weren’t mocking her by saying her name in concert. But Mrs. Nash wasn’t intelligent enough to understand fully what people were thinking or trying to do; it was everything she could do to understand what people were actually doing. She understood punishment. If something confused her—which was often—she punished the offender. It was a simple formula for her that had worked nicely for nearly twelve years of looking after wayward girls: punish first, figure it out later.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

The girls took off upstairs. Suzie Gorman and Patricia Nibs had been spying on them from the stairwell. The girls took off as Amanda and Jess approached. Upon their arrival at Nash House, Amanda and Jess had been hazed and harassed by the other girls. But then, one day, after Amanda had peed into a toilet with plastic wrap over the bowl, all the furniture in one of the rooms had instantly rearranged itself—
with no one in the room
. From that moment forward, the tricks had stopped and Amanda and Jess were kept at a respectful distance, never included in anything to do with the other girls, but never tortured or threatened either. It was a workable, serviceable arrangement.

In their room now, open to the hallway—there were no doors on any of the bedrooms, only half-hinges left where the doors had been removed—the girls sat down on Amanda’s lower bunk and pulled out their notebooks. There were no desks or bookshelves in the room. All available space was given to the three beds—a bunk bed and a twin-size roller bed—and a single, four-drawer dresser that the girls shared for their few clothes.

Amanda started in on her math assignment. But she looked over at Jess and saw that instead of her homework Jess had her diary open in her lap and the wrinkled, mascara-stained receipt unfolded next to it.

“What’s up?” Amanda said.

“It’s just…it was like a dream. You know? One of
my
dreams.”

“Outside The Land?”

“Yes. But I didn’t get it all. Nowhere near all of it. And I thought…” She sketched into the diary a clearer image of what she’d begun on the receipt. It looked to Amanda like a piece of a wall, but with horses drawn on it. And then, the same letters as before:

MKPFP IFP

It was almost like a torn piece of a photograph; part of the picture was there, part missing. The horses looked as if they’d been stabbed from the top with what appeared to be lances.

“Do you remember it?” Amanda asked.

“Not all of it, no. But what I do remember is pretty clear. Like the rest of them.”

“And you think it’s important?”

“It has never happened to me like that: during the day, in the middle of everything. It’s always at night when I’m dreaming. It’s always when I wake up and I can’t get it out of my head. But today, in the park…it just hit me all of a sudden. Like you’d put a bag over my head or something. Like I’d walked into a movie theater. Yeah, more like that. Only now I can’t remember exactly what I saw. All I know is that it scared me, whatever it was. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to see it. Most of the time, you know, it doesn’t feel like that. I don’t really care one way or the other—it’s just sort of there, like that glow in your eyes after a camera’s flash. Like that.”

“So you think it means something?”

“It must,” Jess said, nodding. “I mean it seems like they all mean something. And this one…this one was different.”

An hour later they’d made it through their homework, microwaved their dinners, and hurried to get in line for the bathroom so they could take showers before bedtime. Another hour later they were both in their beds reading prior to lights-out at ten o’clock.

Amanda leaned out of her upper bunk to speak to Jess. “I wish we could have talked to him,” she said.

“Shh!”
hissed Jeannie Pucket from the rollaway. Jeannie made a point of being obnoxious whenever possible. She was Mrs. Nash’s favorite and, as a result, got all sorts of privileges the others girls did not. Amanda suspected she was also a spy for Mrs. Nash, so she didn’t mention Finn by name.

“He figured it out,” Jess said. “He’s smart that way.”

“But still.”

“I’ll see him tomorrow at school. You’ll see. I’m sure he’s worried about us, but he won’t be mad.”

Mrs. Nash didn’t allow the girls to take phone calls. Finn had no way to reach them, even if he wanted to.

“Be quiet,” Jeannie said. “It’s disrespectful. I’m trying to read.”

Amanda groaned and lay back in her bed. Not long after that, the lights were turned off and Mrs. Nash patrolled outside the rooms, prepared to punish anyone who spoke after curfew. Amanda fell into a troubled but deep sleep, drawn down by what had been an exhausting afternoon.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the bunk shook and Amanda felt herself torn from a strange dream that involved Finn in a boat in the middle of white water. She sat up to see an indistinct shadow cast onto the wall, only to realize that the glow casting the shadow was coming from a portable reading light in Jess’s lower bunk. Amanda hung her head over the edge.

Jess was sketching in her diary again.

“What are you doing?” Amanda said in a thin whisper to avoid waking the spy.

“Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I had a dream.”

“That’s the idea,” Amanda said. “That usually happens when we sleep. I was just in one myself.”

“One of
my
dreams,” Jess said. “The same dream I had at the park today.”

“The same one?” Amanda tried to view Jess’s dream diary upside down, but finally slithered off the top bunk and pushed Jess over and climbed into bed with her.

“Is that who I think it is?” Amanda said.

“I think it is,” Jess said.

“And what’s that behind him?”

“I don’t know, but it was
exactly
the same as I saw this afternoon, only this time I got the whole thing.”

The image she’d sketched was striking. Amanda felt tempted to point out how much of what she had drawn borrowed from this very room, for it appeared to be an older man sitting on the edge of a bunk bed with a string of gibberish written on the wall behind him.

“So you dreamt this twice, exactly the same?” This fit a pattern for Jess, and they both knew it: her dreams that repeated eventually came true in the future; this had happened too many times for them to believe it had anything to do with coincidence. It was a gift—Jess’s gift—nothing less.

“And that’s who I think it is,” Amanda continued.

“Wayne,” Jess said. “Has to be.”

“He knows about your…ability. About your dreams,” Amanda said. “You suppose he’s trying to communicate with you?”

“Who knows?”

Jess was still drawing. She was adding a horse to the background behind Wayne. “We’ve got to show this to Finn,” Amanda said. Jess continued to shade the sketch by adding dark circles under Wayne’s eyes. He looked haggard and much older than Amanda remembered. “He’s in trouble,” Jess whispered. “I think we all are,” said Amanda.

I
F FINN HAD RIDDEN HIS BIKE
straight home, none of it ever would have happened. So in a way, Amanda was to blame, because she was the reason he walked his bike rather than riding.

He’d just been climbing onto his bike when she’d come running up to him, red-faced and out of breath.

“Oh, good. I thought I’d missed you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I have something I have to show you.”

“Ah…okay.” He climbed off the bike.

She reached into her backpack, slipped her hand inside, and then happened to look over her shoulder.

“Oh, no,” she said.

Lousy Luowski was coming toward them, flanked by Mike Horton and Eric Kreuter. Smarter than Luowski by a long shot, both Mike and Eric wished they were as tough. They worked hard to act and look the part. Finn thought of them as pilot fish, the fish that swim with sharks and feed off the scraps that spill out of the scavengers’ mouths while they feed.

Amanda was holding a small book—no, Finn realized—a journal or
diary
in her hand.

“You and me…we’re going to fight,” Lousy said.

“You’re kidding, right?” Finn said.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“That’s original,” said Finn.

When Lousy Luowski stood next to you, it was like putting your face into a laundry bin in the gym locker room. He had a string of zits stretching away from his nose, several with hairs, like tiny antennas, sticking out of them.

Finn worked hard not to show his fear. His only advantage at the moment was that the bicycle remained between him and Luowski—a small advantage at that.

“Hey, Greg, can’t I talk to a friend if I want to?” said Amanda.

“Him and me, we’ve got some business to settle,” said Luowski.

“Spoken like a true diplomat,” said Finn.

Amanda shot Finn a look, chastising him for provoking Luowski.

“Why don’t we take it off school grounds?” Luowski said.

“Because,” Finn answered, “if we take it off school grounds then you will feel free to beat me to a pulp, and something tells me I wouldn’t like that.”

“You got that right.”

“So I think I’ll stay put,” Finn said.

“You can run, but you can’t—”

“Don’t even
go
there,” said Finn. “Mike,” he said to Horton, “you’ve got to get this guy a better speechwriter.”

Mike Horton bit back a smile, then lost it completely as Luowski looked his way.

“You gotta go home sometime,” said Luowski.

It was true. And it would be easy for Luowski to wait for him in any number of places along his route. He might be able to lock up the bike and call his mom to come pick him up, but he’d never live that down. He saw his dilemma for what it was, even if Amanda didn’t: a confrontation with Luowski now seemed inevitable.

“So,” Luowski said, “whadda we got here?” He snatched the diary from Amanda’s hand and waved it over his head tauntingly.

Finn lurched forward, but Luowski fended him off with a straight arm. It was like hitting a steel post.

“That’s private property,” Finn said. He’d seen Jess’s diary before and understood its significance as a portal into the future. If Amanda had brought him the diary, then it had to contain something significant.

“As if I care,” Luowski said.

“You’d better care,” Finn said. He’d made promises to people—Wayne, chief among them—as well as to himself, never to cross over outside the parks, never to reveal his abilities to people who wouldn’t understand. Wayne believed that to do so would jeopardize the future of the DHI program inside the parks, and therefore the existence of the Kingdom Keepers. But at the same time Finn’s friendship with Amanda and Jess demanded that he act. Luowski had no right to steal Jess’s diary, no right to enter its pages without her approval—a permission she would never give. Finn felt bound to do something more than just stand there watching this moron misbehave.

Rather than anger, Finn sought the inner quiet that freed him. He divorced himself from the moment, no longer fully present. His vision blurred. His skin tingled. He felt a lightness in his being. Freedom. He began to cross over.

It wouldn’t last long. He had to take advantage of the moment—become part human, part DHI.

He charged Luowski, ducking under the boy’s surprised reaction, a hastily lifted arm.

Finn snatched the diary from Luowski’s grasp and threw it at Amanda, knowing that as he transitioned fully, his DHI might no longer be able to hold on to anything material.

“Go!” Finn shouted, wondering if he was the only one to hear the electronic buzz in his voice.

The diary flew in slow motion, its pages fluttering like a bird’s wings. Amanda caught it and stuffed it into her purse. She turned and ran.

Luowski pulled back his right arm, loading it with purpose. He planted his feet and delivered the swing from low to high—a punch designed to deliver the most impact while, at the same time, snapping his opponent’s head back. It was a roundhouse punch, meant to clock Finn unconscious.

A second before, Finn felt his entire body tingle like a limb that’s fallen asleep. He’d done this enough times to understand that now he’d fully crossed over. So he stood there, chin out, awaiting the full brunt of Luowski’s fist.

The blow failed to land. Luowski’s knuckles went right through the space that should have been Finn’s face. Luowski fell forward and, off balance, onto the ground. As Finn ducked back, the fear of the moment overcame his ability to cross over and he transitioned. Mike Horton would swear he’d never seen someone move so fast, convinced that Finn must have somehow ducked the punch. Eric Kreuter would claim that Luowski hit Finn squarely in the jaw, but that nothing happened. For this, Luowski later punched Kreuter in the jaw, knocking him down and asking him if he still thought nothing had happened.

Finn mounted the BMX and was speeding away before Luowski had regained his balance.

“Get onto the seat!” he called to Amanda, who had turned to witness everything.

He slowed. She swung a leg over and slid onto the seat, reaching out to Finn’s waist as he stood, driving the pedals faster and faster. The bike wobbled and then sped away, Luowski cursing and shouting that he would do things to Finn that, technically speaking, were impossible.

“You’re insane,” Amanda said, her legs dangling on either side, her hands gripping him all the harder.

But the way she said it he could tell she didn’t mean it. She meant it as a good thing. A good insane.

Finn pedaled all the harder.