The Vanishing Game (20 page)

Tree branches swayed in the wind like the arms of hula dancers, while thick clouds passed across the face of the sun. Birds flew and dipped above us. How pleasant it would be to come here for a picnic when the sun was shining and no bad guys lurked in the shadows. I wondered if there might ever be a time when my life was not haunted by the past or threatened by the future.

Noah grabbed a pencil from the glove box and wrapped the strip of paper around it, but no message appeared. “It wouldn't be that easy, would it?”

“Nope.”

“But there wasn't a scytale rod hidden in the back of the painting. And what about this key? It looks like it might be to a post office box. Except whatever number was on it has been scratched off. Why would he do that?”

I shrugged. “Probably because if Paul Gerard is looking for the clues Jack left, then he wanted to make sure only we could decipher them. He wants us alone to read the message.”

Noah watched the movement of the swaying branches. “So all we have to do is find the scytale rod.”

“Yes.”

He started the Jeep and we headed out of the park, driving past willowy trees, ferns, and giant clovers the size of a baby's fist.

“Where are we going?”

“To get something to eat. It's one o'clock and I'm hungry.”

I didn't understand how Noah could think about food when we had an unsolved clue, but I didn't say anything. Soon we were back on the main road heading into Watertown. He parked behind a restaurant and opened the door.

“Do you think it's safe for us to stop here?”

“Nothing is safe, Jocey, but for now we've lost Gerard. Besides, I've had time to think it over. He isn't going to try and kill you until after he gets what he wants.”

“That's reassuring.”

Inside the restaurant, the hostess seated us at a booth and gave us menus. I looked around. “I think I remember this place. Didn't we come here when we skipped school and went to see a movie?”

“I'd almost forgotten that. It was my first time eating here. They have the best roast beef sandwiches.”

The waitress came back and Noah asked me if he could order for both of us. I let him. After she left he said, “Why was it we skipped school that day?”

“It was September and school had just started. I hated being back. For one thing, there was that nasty group of
girls. They were walking around with their glittery T-shirts and new little boobies.”

I stripped the paper off my straw, fiddling with it. Noah studied me with an interested expression. “They were rotten to you.”

“To all of us, really. I used to wonder what was wrong with them. Here we were just poor foster kids. They came from decent homes and had whatever they wanted. All I wanted was to be left alone with you and Jack.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“On that day when we skipped, remember how hot it was? Everyone was groaning because normally it would've been a lot cooler. We were trying to find some shade during the lunch hour. Those girls had their little electric fans, misting themselves with spray. Of course I was so busy doing
Star Wars
dialogue with you and Jack that I didn't even see them coming.”

“
Star Wars
dialogue?” he asked.

“Don't you remember? Jack and I were testing that amazing memory of yours. All day long, if anyone talked to you, you could only answer with a line from the original trilogy. He made a bet that you couldn't pull it off. A week's worth of dish duty was the prize. You were doing great. Except I think you got in trouble with Mr. Farlen for saying, ‘Will someone get this walking carpet out of my way?'”

I laughed at the memory. “He wouldn't have been so insulted if it wasn't for the bad toupee he wore.”

Noah smiled and his eyes took on a faraway look. “That's right.”

“During lunch break, when we were outside, you responded to any question with a
Star Wars
answer. Some of the other kids were starting to pay attention. They'd throw out a silly statement and you'd come back with the coolest stuff. Monique and the others couldn't stand not being the center of attention. They showed up and called us geek freaks. Then they went off to fix their hair.”

“Jack was furious. He stomped over and chewed them out.”

Now that we were talking about it, more images from that day came to mind. “We were all mad. Even Beth, who'd been standing with us. Remember how their bangs caught on fire?”

Noah nodded. “They were putting all that hairspray on with the hot sun shining down on them. Their hair just ignited. It was hilarious. They were screaming and slapping themselves in the head. Someone threw a carton of milk on Nessa to put her out.”

“And then the lunch lady showed up and shouted at everyone for laughing.”

During all the noise we'd slipped through the fence and taken off. There was going to be an assembly after lunch, and we knew no one would miss us. We went to the movies and then came to this same restaurant to eat.

Noah leaned back with folded arms, smiling. “That was a great day.”

“It was. But the thing is, until I came to Watertown I never saw kids' hair just catch on fire like that. Or curtains that put fires out once they started. Or walls warp like in a
bad dream even though I was awake. Sometimes hidden things would disappear, and the kids would be so frustrated. Beth used to get furious when her secret switchblade vanished from under the mattress. It showed up in her dresser drawer or other places. Sometimes I found it under my pillow, and that happened to Jack and Dixon too.”

I looked through the restaurant window, not seeing the road outside but instead a distant memory. “Worst of all, one time I dreamed about being down in the cellar and getting attacked. The next morning I found bruises. Until I lived at Seale House, stuff like that only happened on TV.”

I turned back to Noah, and there was reluctant acceptance in his eyes. He said, “I hate to admit it, but you're right. Something strange was going on. At first I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to get worse over time.”

“Any theories?”

“Maybe one, but it's really out there.”

I leaned forward, intrigued. “Tell me.”

“A couple of times I wondered if someone in the house had abilities.”

“What kind?”

“Maybe some sort of mental powers.”

“I just don't see how that makes sense,” I said. “From everything I saw, it seemed to me that the problem was Seale House itself. It was like the more controlling and mean Hazel got, and the more dangerous Conner acted, the more the house became that way too.”

He took a drink and then stared down at the ice cubes
in his glass. “I guess we'll never really know. Besides, five years is a long time. If stuff happened back then that we couldn't explain, maybe it's not worth trying to figure out. Especially now that Seale House is half burned down. I'm just happy to be done with foster care. We should forget about it.”

“That's what I've been trying to do ever since I left. Until Jack decided to drop me right back in the middle of it.”

The waitress brought the food, cutting off our conversation, which seemed all right with Noah. The aroma of the roast beef sandwich and fries made me hungry.

We ate in silence until I pushed my plate aside. Opening the brown envelope, I dumped out the five puzzle pieces. Two were edges and I snapped them together. “This looks like a sidewalk.”

“Is that all you're going to eat?”

“I'm full. You can have my fries if you're still hungry.” I focused on the jigsaw pieces, trying to find other matches and disappointed when they didn't fit.

He said, “Back when we were kids, you could put away more food than either Jack or me.”

“I was also taller than you. You've caught up and then some, if you haven't noticed. It's nice, by the way, not to look down on the top of your head anymore. I got tired of seeing your dandruff when you were a kid.”

I scooped the puzzle pieces back into the ziplock bag and turned my attention to the red strip of paper that we
were sure must be a scytale. I grabbed the straw from my drink and wiped it off. After wrapping the paper around the straw, it was soon clear this wasn't the right size either.

“This is so stupid! Why give us a scytale with no rod?”

Noah's cell phone buzzed and he answered. “Hi, Don, what's up?”

I assumed it was his detective friend, Don Iverson. “What?” Noah's eyebrows drew together as he listened. His face grew anxious. “Okay. I'm on my way.”

He stood, pulled some cash from his wallet, and dropped it on the table. “Let's go.”

I followed him from the restaurant, hurrying to catch up. “What's the matter, Noah?”

“My place is on fire.”

Noah drove fast. We didn't talk much along the way, and I couldn't blame him. I gazed at the road winding through the trees as it led to his neighborhood.

We got to his street and saw emergency vehicles, a fire truck and two police cars. Some of his neighbors stood across the way, talking to each other and nodding with concern as they watched. Massive black plumes of smoke billowed skyward, blown at an angle by the wind. It caught and scattered ashes through the hazy afternoon air.

Driving closer, it became clear that the detective's statement about his home being “on fire” hadn't given a complete picture. It was a lot worse than that. The walls were still standing but badly charred. The windowpanes had exploded, and much of the roof was either blackened or caved in. Compared to this, Seale House's fire was just a little barbecue. I glanced at him with concern. He looked stunned.

“Noah … I'm so sorry!”

As we pulled around the fire truck we saw that the garage was more intact than the rest of the place. It seemed that the heaviest damage had been at the back of the duplex. The vacant other half was also seriously charred.

The garage door was partway up and an emergency vehicle blocked the entrance. Saying nothing, Noah parked on the far side of a police car. We got out and walked up the driveway. The smell of smoke stung my nose, and I knew that the black cloud was rising from water-doused wood, not from an actual fire.

His books, DVD collection, computer, and everything else must now be worthless rubble. If there were a few things that hadn't been burned, then they were probably either heat-warped or ruined by water. Until now, I hadn't really thought about how important Noah's little duplex was to him. Nobody, except foster kids who were bounced around like an unwanted dodgeball, could understand just how much it meant to have a home and permanent belongings. My heart ached at the ruin, and from his expression I could see he felt like he'd been slugged in the stomach.

“Noah,” a man called, and we turned to see someone approaching.

“Don,” Noah answered in a depressed voice. He gave a curt nod to his friend.

At first I was surprised someone so young could be a police detective, though as he came closer I saw this was an illusion. He was probably ten or fifteen years older than he
looked—one of those men with a slender build and young features. If it wasn't for the gray at his temples, I would have put him in his late twenties.

“We need to talk, Noah,” Detective Iverson said in a clipped voice. He glanced at me, doing a speedy assessment. “Who is this young lady?”

I quickly introduced myself, using my foster family's name. “I'm Jocelyn Haberton, visiting from Troy, New York.”

Noah hardly seemed to notice. “Jocey, this is Detective Iverson.” His eyes continued to scan the ruined duplex.

The policeman nodded at me. “If you'll excuse us, I'd like to talk to Noah alone.”

“That's okay, Don. She's been staying with me and we're good friends. She can hear whatever you have to say.”

The detective thought this over, looking at me again. I didn't think he approved of a girl staying with Noah.

“Yesterday when you came into the police station and made a complaint, you said you had no idea why those teenagers threw rocks at your windshield. Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Don, why are you here if this is just a routine fire?”

“Not routine. Neighbors heard a loud explosion. The back part of your house, farthest from the garage, has the most damage.”

“A bomb?”

“Seems like it.”

Noah and I looked at each other, shocked. Paul Gerard
had attacked me last night and then come to the art gallery today. It was too much of a coincidence. He had to be the one who set the bomb. I could see the same conclusion in Noah's eyes.

The detective was closely studying us. “What is it?”

Noah glanced away. “A bomb. Why would someone do that?”

“You tell me. Who would have a reason?”

“I don't know, Don. I've lost everything, haven't I?”

“I believe so. At least you weren't inside. You might have been injured or killed. And it's fortunate the other half of the duplex was empty.”

Noah tried to hide the major sense of loss he felt. “I'm so sorry,” I repeated, as if those pathetic words could somehow ease the misery of losing all his possessions.

“What's going on?” Noah asked as his eyes scanned the emergency vehicle parked in the driveway.

Iverson glanced back at the garage. “You and I have known each other for almost five years now. I've kept a watch out for you since those first troubles at Seale House. You know that. I helped you stay out of foster care, like you wanted. You've even been to my home and had dinner with my family.”

A shadow of concern crossed Noah's face. “Yes.”

“And I've been pleased you could turn things around and make a better life for yourself. Especially since the odds were against you. But if it wasn't for the kind of young man I know you are, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.”