Red Shirt Kids (6 page)

MIKE AND AMY
sat at the kitchen table as they looked through a yellow phonebook. Amy ran her finger down the page of names.

“Daniels. That’s his last name, right?” asked Amy.

“Yeah,” said Mike.

“Okay, here it is,” she said, finding the entry in the phonebook. “Only one in town. Twelve Shayler Lane.”

“I know where that is,” said Mike.

“Hold on,” said Amy. “Shayler Lane … isn’t that the street that Diane and Darren Miller lived on?”

“Who?” Mike asked.

“Those kids that are missing,” said Amy. “Wait a second.” She flipped through the phonebook, looking for “Miller.” “Here it is. Yeah, they lived on Shayler Lane. Hey, maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“Why not? I mean, they didn’t get taken from there.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Amy.

“Besides, nobody’s gonna see me.”

Laura walked over to them from the stove, where she had been cooking. “I’m on to you.”

Amy quickly shut the phonebook and looked up, surprised. “What?”

“The cake? The candy?” asked Laura.

Amy sighed, relieved. “What cake, Mom?”

“I don’t mind giving you kids sweets, but you need to keep it within reason.”

“What? What happened?” asked Amy.

“Well, someone’s been sneaking treats.”

“Okay, Mom, we’ll do better,” said Amy, her eyes shooting daggers at Mike.

Laura went back to preparing dinner, and Amy whacked Mike on the back of his head.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

“You used your shirt to sneak snacks, didn’t you?”

“What’s the big deal?” Mike asked.

“The big deal is that if you keep it up, they might wonder how you’re doing it—and they might start asking questions. Just knock it off, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Mike. He hated being told what to do, but Amy did have a point. After what happened to Sam, Mike was starting to understand the value of protecting their secret powers.

Mike and Amy stood by the front door. In the kitchen, Laura and David were cleaning up after dinner.

“You have forty-five minutes,” said Amy.

“Okay,” Mike replied as he lifted his flannel shirt off over his head and disappeared.

Amy stood still, waiting for Mike to leave. “Okay, are you going?”

“Just think it’s so cool you can’t see me,” said Mike’s voice.

“Well get over it, genius. Just be back in forty-five minutes. And be careful.”

SHAYLER LANE WAS
in a more modest section of Falton. Duplexes and apartment homes lined the street. Located off of Main Street, it was about half a mile from the town park where the carnival had taken place and Darren and Diane Miller had been kidnapped.

A long row of bushes rustled as Mike sprinted past them. He felt powerful, invincible. On Main Street, he had passed a few people out for evening walks. He had even walked with a group of teenagers for a few blocks, just to see if anyone could feel his presence. But no one noticed.
You could take his wallet,
a dark thought raced through his mind. He shuddered and pushed the thought aside.

Mike crossed the street and came to a single-floor, ramshackle house. The front door was dented, and the paint was peeling all over the house and garage. There were weeds growing out of cracks in the sidewalk and driveway; and, where there may have once been a green lawn, there was only dirt.

In the driveway was a green tow truck. Mike noticed that the overhead lightbulb on the garage was busted. He made his way to the front of the home. He could hear the sounds of a television. He moved over to the garage and lifted himself up to look inside a grimy window.

Inside the garage, Mike saw a lot of trash, old tools, and dying lawn equipment. In the corner, by the side door, Mike saw Sam’s red bike. Mike dropped down from the window and shuffled over to the door at the side of the garage. It was locked. He again hoisted himself up to look in the window and peered inside the garage. At the back of the garage, Mike could see that there was a door that led to the inside of the house.

Mike eased back to the front of the house, being careful not to make a sound. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on his pants as he crept over to the front window that looked into the living room.

A man was sitting in a recliner, beer bottle in hand. He had on a greasy T-shirt and dark blue mechanic’s overalls. The man was watching a sitcom on TV, laughing halfheartedly as he dropped the bottle into a pile on the floor and cracked open another one. His face was unshaven and dirty, and his hands were coated with grease. The man may have been forty, but Mike couldn’t be sure.

Mike leaned back away from the window and thought.

Amy sat on her bed as she sketched. Her door creaked open, and Laura peeked in.

“Have you seen Mike?” asked Laura.

“No. Have you checked his room?” Amy asked.

“Just did. He’s not there.”

“Well, a minute ago he was wandering around and checking for cool hiding places. I bet he’s doing that.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Laura turned and headed out of the room, yelling Mike’s name.

Amy felt a small pang of guilt, but she didn’t see a way around lying to her mom. She turned back to her sketch—a lifelike portrait of a doll that looked strikingly like Mike.

Mike moved to the front door of the house. He put his hand on the doorknob and was relieved that it turned easily. He eased the door open slowly and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.

Mike stood in the front entryway—a small space with a crooked coatrack and a straw welcome mat. He could see the man in the living room devouring a sandwich in front of the TV. Chunks of mayonnaise and pieces of lettuce hung onto his beard in globs.

Mike turned as he heard a toilet flush from the hallway to his left. Ben opened the door to the bathroom and walked toward Mike. Mike held his breath as Ben moved past him and into the living room. Ben had a pretty bad black eye from the tennis ball that Sam had flicked back at him.

Ben slinked down onto a ratty couch. Mike watched closely, frozen. He knew they couldn’t see him, but waves of terror cascaded over his body.

Ben’s father turned to Ben. “Get the kitchen done.”

“Can’t I watch TV with you, Dad?” asked Ben.

“Get the damn kitchen done. Now,” said Ben’s father.

Ben sighed and slowly rose off of the couch.

“Dishes dried and put away. Don’t be stacking wet dishes in my cupboards,” said Ben’s father.

Ben hung his head and slunk into the kitchen.

Mike tiptoed into the living room and held his breath as he glided past Ben’s father and into the kitchen, where Ben was getting started on the dishes. Ben wiped his eyes. Mike stared as he watched Ben crying at the sink. Mike was still angry that Ben had stolen Sam’s bike, but mixed with anger was a new emotion—pity.

Mike leaned into the wall as Ben’s father stormed into the kitchen, coming within inches of crashing into Mike. Mike gasped and then put a hand over his own mouth.

Ben’s father hovered over Ben at the sink. “You crying? You crying? Get rid of those sniffles. What are you, a girl?” taunted Ben’s father.

“I just wanted to watch TV with you,” said Ben through tears.

“I just wanted to watch TV with you,” Ben’s father mocked. “Grow up. You think I watched TV when I was your age? Huh? No! I learned how to be a man. Now get the dishes done!” Ben’s father grabbed another beer from the fridge and headed past Mike and back to the living room.

Mike remained frozen against the wall, watching Ben continue with the dishes, intermittently wiping his eyes. When Mike finally got the courage to move, he opened the door in the kitchen that led to the garage and slid inside.

In the garage, Mike quickly located Sam’s bike and maneuvered to the side door. He paused at the door, listening to Ben’s father yell at Ben once again. Mike unlocked the side door and quietly slid the bike outside. He frowned all the way home.

LAURA POPPED HER
head inside Amy’s bedroom.

“Any sign of Mike?” asked Laura.

“He’s in his room. I think he’s sleeping,” said Amy, pretending to work on homework.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think he was really tired.”

Laura scrunched her brow and headed out of Amy’s room, down the hall, and into Mike’s room.

The inside of Mike’s room was dark. The curtains were closed, and she could see the outline of Mike sleeping under the covers on the top bunk. She shook her head, feeling foolish for doubting her children. “Goodnight, sweetie,” she said. She backed out of the room and closed the door to a crack.

On top of Mike’s bed there was indeed a lump and a face that looked remarkably like Mike’s. Of course, this lump wasn’t breathing, and the proportions weren’t exactly correct. But Amy’s “Mike doll” had done the trick.

Sam stood at the kitchen sink. The warm, sudsy dishwater felt relaxing on Sam’s forearms. Sam’s mother, Kathy, strolled into the kitchen and held up a saucer for inspection.

“Let’s see. Great job, Sammy. Thanks so much for doing this for me. It means a lot to me,” said Kathy.

“It’s okay, Mom,” said Sam. “Mom?”

“What is it?”

“I left my bike over at Mike and Amy’s house.”

“Okay, well, we’ll just get it tomorrow.”

“No. I really need to get it tonight.”

“Sam, it’s past dark. I’ll drive you over if you have to have it.”

“No, Mom, I want to walk so I can ride it back. I’ll take Buster. It’s not that far.”

“But at night? You know I don’t want you out past dark.”

“I’ll be really careful.”

Kathy thought about it. “All right, but just tonight. And you take Buster along with you.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “I promise.”

Sam walked out of the front of his house with Buster, a massive German Shepherd who was currently nipping at his leash. Sam waved goodbye and tried not to notice the worried look on Kathy’s face. He understood her concern about the dark, but then his thoughts shifted to her other worries—namely, Grandma. Why didn’t his mom want him to see his own grandmother?

Sam was jolted out of his thoughts by a rush of wind accompanied by what sounded like, “Look out!” He looked behind and saw his bike moving down the street, pedals pumping, wheels turning rapidly. The bike skidded on the loose gravel on the shoulder of the road and tipped over with a loud crash.

“Mike?” Sam called out to the air.

“Yeah. Here’s your bike,” said Mike’s voice, sounding more than a little dazed.

“Mike, I can’t see you,” said Sam.

“Oh, crap, I forgot.” Mike appeared as he pulled off his red shirt. His torso was now bare. “I didn’t bring another shirt.”

“Yeah, but what I meant was, what if somebody saw you? I mean, if they
didn’t
see you riding my bike. Know what I mean?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, I know,” said Mike.

“So, it was Ben,” said Sam.

Mike hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I, um, found your bike in the park.”

“What? In the park—what do you mean?” asked Sam.

“I mean whoever took it just ditched it there. Okay? I have to go home,” said Mike, rushing his words. As much as he still hated Ben, Mike couldn’t bring himself to tell Sam the truth.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, okay. I need to get back too. Thanks for finding my bike.”

“No problem. I’m gonna go invisible again. It’s cold out here with no shirt.” Mike pulled his red shirt on over his head and disappeared.

The door to Mike’s bedroom inched open and then closed quietly. Mike came into view as he slipped his red shirt off. He quickly got into his pajamas and climbed up the ladder to his bed. Then he pulled back the covers and came face to face with—himself.

Mike screamed. “What the crap?” He could hear Amy giggling all the way from her room. But then he heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, so he jumped into the bed with his wax dummy.

David burst into the room. “Mike, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh, sorry, Dad. Just a bad dream.”

David stood next to Mike’s bed. “It’s okay, Son. We all have nightmares now and again. They’re not real.”

“I know that, Dad. I’m not stupid.”

“No, I know you know you’re not. I mean, I just, well, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” said David.

“Yup. I’m fine,” said Mike.

“All right then. Good. Goodnight.” David slowly retraced his steps to the door.

Mike sat up and looked at David. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

Mike didn’t know exactly how to say what he was feeling. He was silent for a moment as his thoughts about Ben and his dad raced through his mind. David took a step toward him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Mike. “I just … I just wanted to say that you’re a good dad.”

Tears filled David’s eyes, and he cleared his throat, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice. “Thanks. You’re a good son.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Mike laid back down. “Goodnight.”

David turned back to the hallway. “Goodnight, Son.” He shut the door, closing it all the way.

Mike stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. This town was a lot different from what he had expected. He let his mind run over the events of the evening until his thoughts began to turn to mush.

“Hey!” Mike was jolted out of his thought dreams by a voice next to his ear. Amy had crept into his room and was standing right next to him. “Did you find Sam’s bike?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Mike.

Amy sat down on the bed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Mike looked down at her and sighed. “Ben took his bike, but I didn’t tell Sam that when I brought it back to him.”

“Why not?” asked Amy.

Mike thought about it. He wasn’t sure how to put it. “Because I feel bad for Ben.”

“Why?”

“When I was at his house, I saw how his dad treats him,” said Mike.

“Oh,” said Amy. “Was it bad?”

“He was crazy mean. And he yelled at him a lot. Ben cried.”

“Ben cried?” asked Amy, shocked. “The bully?”

Mike nodded. “Don’t tell Sam, okay?”

“I won’t,” said Amy. She looked up at Mike with an expression he hadn’t seen before. “Hey, you want me to draw you some Krispy Kremes?” she asked Mike.

“Yeah!” Mike caught himself in his enthusiasm. “I mean, sure, if you want to.”