The Vanishing Game (14 page)

“Find a book written by someone named Theodore Hall, of course.”

Noah scowled, his lips drawn into a tight line.

“Please don't be angry.”

Shaking his head, he gave a weary sigh. “Let's get out of here, okay?”

He caught my arm and led me to the stairs. I glanced down at the way his long fingers comfortably slid to my wrist and then curled around my hand. Although Noah seemed hardly aware of his casual touch, I couldn't help thinking how twelve-year-old Jocey would have been thrilled.

We headed out the main front doors of the Parliament building and passed a throng of touring Tibetan monks in orange togas. As we left through the main gates, Noah glanced down at our linked fingers and looked almost surprised.

We walked past shops and cafés. Red-and-white maple leaf flags hung from balconies and flagpoles, and cars inched down the packed road as drivers searched for places to park. All kinds of shoppers and tourists passed us. A dark-skinned man wearing a sombrero and a suit made entirely of zippers got a nervous glance from a woman in a tailored business suit. We heard a bagpipe playing; in the distance was a guy in a kilt and full Scottish attire. People stopped to watch him play and put cash in his copper bucket.

A block-long flower market, its framework heavy with bright hanging baskets, caught my attention. Workers with watering cans and misting bottles catered to the
plants, and the sweet scent of flowers drifted on the breeze. I wished we could stay longer and play tourist.

Once we got in the Jeep, it took us another half hour to get out of Ottawa. Noah sulked for most of the drive back to Watertown, and I couldn't blame him. Jack had always gotten a little too caught up in making outrageous clues for his treasure hunts, but this was extreme. Why did my brother have to make every clue so difficult and involved? Not impossible, though. He never made it impossible.

I promised Noah that once I got home I'd send him some cash for the gas, or that Jack would reimburse him. It didn't seem to help his grouchy mood, and he cranked up the music. After that I didn't say anything else, just watched the sun sink behind the trees.

My mind wandered back to Seale House. No matter how I tried to shove down memories of that place, one insisted on surfacing: my last night there.

In the dull setting of my childhood, that single evening stood out—all harsh sounds and flashes of color:

The radio playing.

White snowflakes falling outside the kitchen window.

Dixon's blue-and-yellow pajamas.

His cry of terror.

The red of Hazel's furious face.

A reedy voice reciting an awful poem.

Angry Beth hissing demands.

Fists hammering on the cellar door.

The heavy gun in my hand and its deafening blast.

Noah's betrayed voice: “If I ever see you again, I'll kill you.”

Finally, we entered Watertown, and it was a relief the trip was over. We drove down Washington Street and pulled into the parking lot of the Flower Memorial Library. It was unchanged from five years ago: a large, elegant building with marble facing, an octagonal dome on top, and a series of double columns in front.

“When Jack and I lived here, I loved this place.”

Noah didn't answer.

We got out of the Jeep, stiff after the long ride, and went up the steps. A plaque on the double doors showed the hours. “They're not open much longer,” Noah said.

“What time is it?”

“Eight forty.”

We found a bank of computers and sat down. I pulled up the library catalogue and did an author search for Theodore Hall. A long list of writers with the last name of Hall came up, but none of them was Theodore.

“It's not here,” I said.

“So I see.”

There were a lot of authors named Hall whose first names started with the letter
T
, and I clicked on them all. There were a variety of book titles, including novels. Others were nonfiction about everything from sports to history. There was even a picture book. None of the subjects
related to Jack though, and I knew he wouldn't have left it so unspecific.

“What now?”

Noah shrugged.

A new idea came to me. “Do you remember Theodore Hall's middle name?”

“No. We should've written it down.”

I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the memory book. A few seconds later my eyes flew open. “It's Gregory. Theodore Gregory Hall.”

Clicking back several pages to the list of
G
names, I saw there were several Gregory Halls. But when I checked, none of their books seemed right, either. “Jack wouldn't put a clue in just any old book, especially not ones about dog training or weight loss.”

Scrolling up the list there was the name Greg Hall, and I clicked on it. Three nonfiction books came up:

The BASIC Conversion Handbook
Neuro-Linguistic Programming
Revision Control Reference: A Guide for
     Application Source Codes

“Programming books,” Noah said.

“Yes! And what about that last one? It's got the same three letters as the clue on the back of the star: R C R. I'm sure that's it!”

I glanced at Noah. He was studying me more than the screen and gave a grudging smile. “Smart girl.”

I enjoyed hearing the phrase that had, in the past, been his positive appraisal of me. I was also relieved his earlier irritation had softened.

After copying down the reference number, I exited the library catalogue. We were ready to go find the book when an unexpected voice behind us startled me.

“Hello, Noah. Who's your girlfriend?”

The guy standing behind us was in his early twenties, and for no reason I could explain I felt an upsurge of anxiety. He looked down at us and instinctively I stood, wanting to be on an even level with him. Though he was a stranger, for an odd second or two it seemed like I should know him.

He had a shaved head. Pale lashes and eyebrows gave him a mildly surprised look, and he grinned at me with swaggering self-confidence. Some girls might have found him attractive, but I didn't. Maybe it was the rubbery tan of his skin that reminded me of Silly Putty, maybe it was just my gut instinct, but I sensed he was not someone to be trusted.

“What are you doing here?” Noah asked. It wasn't until he spoke that I saw he, too, was standing.

“Our boss wanted me to come see you, but you're a hard guy to track down.” Turning to me, he introduced himself and offered his hand. “I'm Zachary Saulto.”

I looked down at his tan-pink flesh and just stood there.

Noah shifted his weight to move slightly in front of me, and Saulto dropped his hand, though his smug smile stayed in place.

“Tell Sam I don't have anything else to say. I thought that was clear the last time we talked.”

“You may not want to talk to us, but maybe Jocelyn does. So what brings you to Watertown?”

“How do you know me?” I asked.

“I work for ISI, the company Jack interned for. I'd like to offer my condolences about your brother.” His smile was replaced by a falsely sympathetic gaze. “He was a great kid who did good work. I can't tell you how sorry we are that he's gone. He was a brilliant programmer.”

“Thank you.”

“It's nice to finally meet Jack's beautiful sister.” His eyes seemed to glint with an insider's joke.

“Let's go, Jocelyn.” Noah took my arm.

“Don't you want to hear what I have to tell you?” Saulto asked him.

“No. In case you've forgotten, I don't work for you anymore.”

Saulto stepped forward, blocking our path. “You signed a contract when you came to work with us, you know.”

“So sue me.”

“We don't hire losers at ISI. And in my book, a quitter and a loser are the same thing.”

“Save your sports talk for the handball court.”

Saulto leaned near, the thick muscles of his chest
straining the fabric of his blue shirt. “Think about Jack,” he said in a quiet voice.

I studied the guy's glass-hard eyes and said, “What do you mean?”

Saulto's smile emerged again and he pulled back. “Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Very nice to meet you. Jack never said much about you, but I wish he had.”

A low bell chimed, and over the loudspeaker a woman's voice announced the library was closing. Noah led me away from Zachary Saulto. He didn't follow, but a glance back showed he was staring at us.

“What was that about?” I asked as we rounded a corner.

“Nothing. The guy is just full of hot air. Let's go.”

“But we still have time to find the book by Greg Hall.”

“No. We don't.”

I stopped walking and he turned to look at me with barely concealed irritation. “The library is closing. We'll come back tomorrow.”

I couldn't accept the idea of waiting all those hours before getting the information we were so close to. I started to backtrack. “I'm not leaving. Go ahead if you want, but I'm staying. I'll hide in the restroom and come out when it's clear if I have to.”

When I started walking away, Noah caught up with me and grabbed my shoulders, turning me around. “Listen, Jocelyn, now is not a good time. Whatever clue Jack left, he meant for you to find and no one else. You don't want to go looking for it right now. Understand?”

He must have read the anxiety in my eyes because his grip softened and so did his voice. “The library opens at ten. I promise I'll bring you back here first thing tomorrow.”

Glancing past Noah, I saw Zachary Saulto round the corner and head in our direction. Suddenly his advice about Jack's clue being for our eyes only made sense. I gave in, walking with him through the glass doors.

We bought Chinese takeout, and by the time we were back at Noah's place, it was getting late. We sat at his kitchen table, dishing the food onto our plates. I was tired, and all my aches and pains from yesterday started to surface. I dipped my egg roll in hot mustard, thinking about how much the three of us had loved Chinese food. I remembered the meal Noah and Jack made for New Year's Eve, and how we'd laughed at Jack's awkward use of his new chopsticks. The memory should have been pleasing, but instead a melancholy mood crept in.

“You're quiet. What happened to Miss Chatty?”

Shrugging, I ate a forkful of rice.

“I promised we'd go back to the library tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know. I was just thinking about my brother. You two chatted online all the time, but you never got a chance to get back together.”

“We planned to meet up for real, but stuff kept coming up. Like when he got strep throat. I wanted to come see you both, and I regret not making it happen.”

“Until Jack found you online, he missed you a lot. Both of us wondered what happened after we left Watertown, but it bothered him the most. I think he felt he owed you, in some weird way. You were the guy always taking care of us kids. The one who kept Seale House running.”

I stared down at my half-eaten egg roll. “The last time we were together, he told me you were his closest friend.”

“Nothing can unite two people like early morning insomnia. It was a bond Jack and I had that you never did. You always slept like you were dead. But at three or four in the morning, when no one else is awake, it's a lot easier to open up.”

I had a fleeting memory of rousing from a nightmare at Seale House and going in search of Jack, only to find him and Noah out on the roof. They were looking at the moon with an old pair of binoculars they'd found in the cellar.

“In the early mornings,” he said, “when I couldn't sleep, I'd get on the computer. Jack was usually already there. We started talking about all kinds of stuff. I think it's easier over the computer than face-to-face. Guess I ended up knowing him better during this last year than even when we were kids. One thing we almost never talked about, though, was you.”

“Because you were still mad at me?”

“No, of course not. Jack just made it clear that talking about you, other than in the distant past, was off-limits. He didn't want to discuss your current life or what you were up to. I don't know why exactly. I sort of figured he was being protective. Maybe he thought I was still upset about how you left Seale House. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that he started to be more open to my asking about you.”

This was unexpected news. “Why did you want to talk about me?”

“You were important to me, Jocey. The only girl from my past I ever cared about.”

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

“Jack told me about all the moving you two did. About your mother and what life was like. It wasn't hard to figure out why you two ended up in the system.”

“What about you? Did you finally tell Jack why you were sent to Seale House? You used to insist your father was Count Dracula and he was forced to leave you behind because Professor Van Helsing seriously burned him with a cross.”