While You Were Gone (11 page)

“What?” I look at the clock on the desk. It's 9:30. “Where?”

“Didn't you read the note?” He stands up and pulls on his skullcap.

“You mean that paper you showed me when we were out digging? I have no idea what that said.”

He laughs. “Well, this should be fun.”

“You're not going to tell me?”

“Nope.” He grins. “Put on a hat.”

I scowl at him and pull a baseball cap out of the closet.

“Come on.”

If there's one thing I know how to do, it's climb out of windows. At the foster home, I used them more than I used the front door.

“Where are we going?” I whisper once we're outside. I start to walk across the yard toward the road, but Germ grabs my sleeve. He points at the streetlights and shakes his head. “This is going to be so much easier when you get a clue.”

We creep along the front of my house, through the side gate and across the backyard to the alley. Keeping to the shadows, we slink from garbage can to garbage can. The air feels damp, heavy. At the end of the alley, Germ stops me with his hand. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and flashes a small light on the key chain once. Down the street, headlights flash twice and go dark. Germ looks both ways and we leave the shadows for the road.

Parked in the darkness is the strangest vehicle I've ever seen. Tiny cab and a bed lined with slats, like a vegetable truck or something, painted black and rigged with oversize tires. Germ jumps into the back, and I follow. There are eight or so people sitting there. They say
hi
like they know me, shake my hand, bump my fist.

Without a sound, the truck starts moving. No engine noise. Is it electric? Like a silent black ship, we sail through the streets, stopping now and again for others to join or to wait for a patrol car to pass. It's after curfew and the streets are empty. No one in the back says a word.

As the truck continues southeast, the city changes from cookie-cutter houses to double-wides. Streetlights move farther apart. We pass a lonely and run-down taco stand:
TWO FISH TACOS FOR $3.50.
And then we leave the streets behind. Trade paved roads for dirt. Whispers kick up in the dark. Germ leans toward me and says in a low voice, “Wonder if anyone from RD will show.”

“
Where
are you taking us?” I hiss.

“Castle. You'll see.” He rests his head back on a wooden slat. “If Neil's there, I'm gonna…” He pounds his fist into his hand.

The farther we drive, the bumpier the road gets. At one point we hit something big, a boulder or a downed tree maybe, and everyone in the back jostles. Laughter rises from the darkness.

“That's gonna hurt.”

“Better not get stranded out here.”

“We'll make you push.”

“Almost there now.”

“Look.”

The truck's lights flash on for a second. A huge mountain stands before us, surrounded by a sea of cars. The truck comes to a stop.

I turn to ask Germ where we are, but he's already climbing out.

Thumping bass drones through the night air. We walk with the others toward a strange building at the base of the mountain. Our feet raise dust that the breeze quickly carries away. Germ claps me on the back. “Tonight is going to be out of this world.”

Jonas slows as he approaches the checkpoint, and reaches one hand back toward me. I give him my ID and credentials, just in case. We shouldn't need them since the car has political plates, but you never know.

He'd had no reaction when I told him where to take me. And I acted like it was no big deal. Now that we're on our way, though, my heart feels like it's going to pound right out of my chest. There's a chance he'll tell Dad, but maybe he won't, too. It's not the first time he's driven me to an event on my own. A date once, even. And if things go really badly, I can always rat out Warren.

Jonas rolls down the window, but the military guys wave him on. Behold, the power of political status. The car accelerates and we're on our way again, driving away from the city. I lean my head against the window to look at the sky. Too many clouds to see the stars tonight. Even if it were clear, Phoenix has so much light pollution, you can only see a couple of the brightest ones anyway. I roll down the window for a better look, but the wind does a number on my hair, so I roll it back up.

Jonas looks at me in the rearview. “We aren't going Outbound, are we?”

I overlaugh at the question. “Don't be silly. Outbound is on the
other
side of South Mountain.” I chew on my lip. He's definitely going to tell Dad.

The last business—a fish taco stand—gives way to ramshackle houses and trailers, then nothing. I've never been this far before. Never had reason to.

The car bumps over the end of the road and the headlights fill with dust. Jonas slows to avoid boulders and dips. This is crazy. We're going to blow a tire and get mugged out here. I shouldn't have worn heels. Or maybe I can use one to stab out someone's eye if I need to.

Please don't let me need to.

He slows to a stop. The engine idles and dust swirls in the headlights. “Is that it?”

I lean forward to look through the windshield. At the base of the mountain stands the same strange rock structure I saw in the book at the library.

The Mystery Castle.

“Yes.”

Jonas's face in the rearview is unimpressed. “I can't get any closer than this.”

“It's okay. I'll walk.”

He turns off the engine and goes around to open my door. “I'll see you to the entrance.”

“You don't have to.”

He holds out his hand and I take it. Thumping bass mingles with the dust. A rave? Disappointment washes over me.

As we near the entrance, the music grows louder. Now and then a voice rises above the noise. Jonas clears his throat. Is it in judgment or because he's choking on dust? I stumble over a rock and he grabs my hand to keep me from falling down.

“Thanks.”

He stops at the chain-link fence encircling the castle and waits for me to enter first.

“I can manage from here.”

He looks up at the castle, the rising rock pillars and mountain beyond. “Text me a half hour before you want to leave. I'll meet you back here.”

I check my pocket to make sure my phone is there. “Thank you.”

He disappears into the dust and darkness. I turn to face the noise and unknown.

The Mystery Castle grows out of the ground, walls and arches made of stone from the surrounding foothills. Movements from the shadows catch my eye. I'm not alone in the courtyard between the fence and the castle. I walk toward the lights, and the music grows louder. Shallow steps lead past a high wall of stacked and mortared stones. I slide my hand along the smooth and jagged surfaces. This place is like something from my dreams. If only I had my drawing pad and charcoals. The wall curves, wrapping around to the right. Music thumps through me, a constant percussion in my bones. I step through the gap where the wall ends, and stop. An inner courtyard opens before me, carved out of the mountain. Hundreds of bodies move with the beat, strobes and lasers skating across skin and stone. The hair on my arms stands on end. Who are they? Where did they all come from?

A woman slides through the gap behind me and melts into the movement. Through the laser lights and raised-up hands I see the source of the music: a makeshift DJ table loaded with equipment. Two guys, one with headphones draped around his neck, stand behind the table talking, their shadows cast against the walls.

I do a double take.

The one with the headphones is Warren.

I ease myself along, dodging dancers and trying not to step on toes. The place is huge. And old. I'm sure officials know it's here, but do they know it's being used for
this
? I look back toward the entrance, imagining military personnel charging through, and a shiver runs down my neck. I shake the thought away and focus on the ravers instead. The music shifts, transitions, and a new beat, faster, takes over. Everyone follows. The music presses into me. I can't keep my body from moving in time.

Finally, I make it to the DJ stand. Warren sways as his hands turn dials, push buttons. He holds one side of the headphones against his ear, then lets them fall to his neck again. Gone is my oddball study partner. This Warren's jeans are skinny, his shirt striped like a cat. Perched on his head is a pair of goggles. Now and again the lenses catch the lights. This Warren is…cool. The guy he's talking to is thin as a pole and decked out head to toe in black. Even his hair, which is long and slicked back. If it weren't for the lasers and strobes, he'd blend right into the night.

The thin guy nods toward me. Warren turns and smiles wide. He shouts, “You figured it out.”

“Why am I here?” My own voice doesn't even dent the noise. I can tell he didn't hear me. He says something to the thin guy, who then glares at me. He gives Warren a nod and walks off the stage. I try again, shouting, “Why am I here?” but Warren holds up a finger, pulls the headphones onto his head and goes to work. He loses himself in the music, eyes closed, body jerking in a dance that is both erratic and infectious. Then he focuses again, pressing buttons and moving levers. The music morphs and a hundred arms go into the air. He's running the show, watching the crowd with a smile on his face. He presses a button and steps away from the table. At the front of the stage, a single column of laser light fans out into fifteen. Each one a different color, they shoot up into the sky.

He stands behind them, holding his hands out flat at his waist. His head bobs with the music as he slides his left hand into a beam of light, cutting it off midstream. His palm lights up yellow and an eerie undercurrent rises in the music. He pulls his left hand back and slides the right forward. His hand glows blue and the music shifts again. Ghostly voices emerge. He holds his right hand there, his body one with the beat, then slides it out and places the left one in. I watch him, mesmerized. He's creating music with light.

Without looking, he reaches out to me, takes my hand and stretches it into the light. My palm glows purple and the music shifts. He picks up my other hand, moves it forward into blue. Then he holds out both of his own hands at me like,
Here you go,
and steps back with a bow. The show is mine. Panic flickers inside me, but I close my eyes and let the music overwhelm me until my whole body buzzes. I open my eyes again and look at the beams of light. Move my hand to the green before switching back to the purple. The lasers are programmed with chords, pedal tones. I know this stuff like, well, like the back of my hand. I move through a progression of chords, creating a new composition. Each time the music shifts, the crowd follows. It's like magic. My skin rises in gooseflesh as an old flame awakens in me. This is how music should feel. This music is alive.

I'm alive.

Warren taps me on the shoulder and rolls his hand like,
Keep going,
and walks back to the table. He transitions to a faster beat and I follow. Shouts go up from the crowd. Hundreds of bodies move in sync. I sway in time, creating a new chord progression, and look out over the faces appearing and disappearing in the crowd. I move my hand through the purple beam, and a single face catches my eye. My hands drop.

It's him.

The boy from the museum.

I watch the lights play across his face and remember the feeling of his lips on mine. Three times? Three random meetings? How is that possible?

Maybe they're not random.

I have to get over there. I have to see him. Between us churns a sea of people and no easy path. The way to reach him will have to be through.

Strobe lights flash across the castle walls. I've never seen anything like it. I've been to parties back home, but they were lame compared to this. Someone's parents go out of town and you hang out on their couch, listening to metal and getting high, wishing there were some girls around but too stoned to move. This place is alive. The music—stuff I'd never think of listening to—pulses through my body. It's like a whirlpool, pulling me in. I don't dance, but I can't keep still either.

Germ elbows me and points. He says something I can't hear and walks toward the far wall. As we move through the crowd, bodies slide up against me, slowing me down. If I lose Germ, I'll never find him again.

He approaches three guys. I've never seen them before, but when I finally catch up, they talk to me like we go way back.

“Mastermind is on fire tonight!” one shouts. He bounces his head with the beat and his stringy hair swishes over his eyes. Mastermind must be the DJ.

“So many people!” Germ shouts.

“Security was cake,” a guy in a skull sweatshirt says. He must be dying. It's a gazillion degrees.

“Too easy,” Stringy Hair Guy says.

Skull Guy bumps Germ with the back of his hand and points toward the corner by the DJ stage. A guy in a black coat leans against the wall.

Germ thumps me on the arm. “Okay?”

I missed whatever he said. “Yeah. Sure.”

He walks through the crowd toward the guy. I try to follow, but he slips through an opening too quick and I lose him. I can't catch up. It's like walking in the ocean with waves crashing against me, pushing me back.

Just when I think I'm totally stuck, there's a break in the crowd. I step through and find myself face to face with her.

The girl from the grocery store.

How?

A smile spreads across her face, a dangerous look in her eye. She slides up to me, puts one hand around my neck and raises the other in the air. Her body is warm against mine. Everything falls away until it's just the two of us, swallowed up in the moment.

The music shifts and the droning bass buzzes through my chest like a swarm of bees. Pressure builds inside. This isn't the music anymore. It feels like there's a weight pressing down. Static takes over the beat. My eyes cloud and I blink against the darkness. Lungs burning, I open my mouth in an empty scream.

Then stars. I see stars. Cold air whispers against my skin. Grass blades press into my hands. Everything is silent and I'm staring at the stars.

A face moves into view, hovering over me. Dark eyes peer into mine and long hair brushes against my arm. My name is on her lips but her voice is drowned out as the static swells and the darkness returns.

Falling fast, I land again—
wham!
—my feet hard on the castle floor, the strobes blinding my eyes. I cough and try to blink the crowd into focus.

She holds on to my arms. I watch her lips.
You okay?
They're the same lips I just saw—the same face but on another person in another world. I hang on to this beautiful girl like she's an anchor. Where was I? Why was she there with me?

Bodies press in, crash against us, break us apart. There's angry shouting, then fists flying. More fighting erupts as people get jostled and punches land. Holding her hand tight, I turn into the crowd, dodging fists and elbows, letting the force push us along toward the exit. Across the way, I see Germ deck a dark-haired guy in the face. The guy stumbles back before tackling Germ. Germ swings and hits a girl by accident. More people jump in to defend her. It's insane. The place is a shit show and I can't get close enough to help. The dark-haired guy staggers up the steps to the archway, Germ right on his tail. The crowd spills into the outer courtyard. I pull the girl close and we step into the stream of people surging toward the exit. In no time we're pushed out into the courtyard, too.

There's more room out here, not to mention air. People walk around dazed, blinking like they don't know how they got here. Some continue to fight; others fall down. Across the courtyard, Germ shoves the dark-haired guy to the ground. I run toward them, my hand still holding tight to hers.

“Admit it!” Germ yells. “You set us up!”

The guy rolls to dodge Germ's foot. “Wait!” Germ doesn't wait. He kicks him in the side and the guy curls into a ball. Whoever he is, he's got information, which means he won't be of any use if he's dead. I grab Germ's arms and hold him back.

“What are you doing? Let me go!” He tries to wrestle free but he's no match for me. “This asshole planned to have us killed!”

Surprised, I loosen my grip. The guy's almost to his feet when Germ knocks him down again. He shouts, “It wasn't us!” I catch a glimpse of his face before he holds up his hands to shield himself from another blow.

I
know
him.

Germ stops short. “Who was it, then?” His shoulders heave.

When he's sure Germ isn't going to hit him again, he pushes himself up and holds his side.

“Neil?” I step forward to get a clearer view.

“What?” He glares at me and touches his tongue to where his lip bleeds.

Neil Pratt. Palo Brea dropout. Sells drugs to people like me. In my old life.

He turns back to Germ. “I don't know. But it wasn't us.”

“The directive sent us to the mall,” Germ says.

“I know.” Neil wipes the blood away. “I wrote it.”

Germ clenches his fists. “But you didn't try to blow us up.”

“You know how it works. Orders come from higher up. Friday was just supposed to be a message. Paint. That's all.”

“Then who set off the bombs?”

Neil gives a weak smile and more blood oozes from his lip. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Germ scoffs. “It wasn't us.”

“Yeah, well”—he touches his lip again—“it wasn't Red December either.” He moves his tongue around in his mouth. “I think you broke my tooth.”

“You're lucky I didn't break your face.”

Neil sneers. “Oooh.”

The roar of engines echoes across the courtyard and someone shouts, “Raid!” Light breaks over the wall. Armed guards in riot gear storm into the courtyard.

The girl grabs my arm and pulls me away. I look back to see Germ following us toward the dark of the mountain. When we reach the wall, she climbs up and over. The stones make for easy footholds. Before I know it, I'm over, too, running after her, with Germ behind. The ground rises as we approach the foothills. She stumbles, her shoes catching on the uneven gravel, and I grab her elbow to keep her from falling. The three of us slip into an alcove in the rock. Shouts carry up the slope from the castle below. Other ravers creep up the mountain and keep going. We watch them until they're swallowed by the night.

“Let's follow the Bounders,” Germ whispers. “They'll know how to get out.”

The girl pulls a phone from her pocket and dials, shielding the light of the screen. Footsteps approach. I take her hand, ready to bolt, but it isn't a guard who finds us. It's a skinny guy in a striped shirt and goggles.

“M,” Germ whispers, waving him over.

This is M? He ducks down and crouches beside us. When he sees the girl, he smiles.

“Jonas?” Her voice is shaky. She covers her free ear and listens, then creeps forward to peek out of the alcove. “Yeah, I see you.” She looks down the mountain. “I think so. Okay.” She hangs up and continues to watch what the rest of us can't see. No one says anything. Finally, she motions us forward, whispering, “Come on.”

We slink across the mountain. Below, the guards load the unluckies into vans and trucks. Looks like most of the revelers escaped. Our path takes us around the side, where the brush grows thicker. The girl leads the way, looking back now and then with wide eyes to make sure we're still with her. Soon the action is behind us.

When we get close to the flat of the foothills again, headlights blink. We break into an all-out run for the car, not stopping until we're inside with the doors closed. The car eases forward, lights off, turning away from the castle. The locks clamp down with a heavy
click.
No one says a word.

The driver is an older guy, balding. Wears a button-down shirt with a tie. He looks at the three of us—me, Germ and M—in the rearview. The girl sits in the passenger seat, rubbing her hands again and again on her jeans. Who is she? What kind of girl has her own driver?

“I'm assuming we're not heading to the Executive Tower?” the driver asks.

“No,” she says. “School, please.”

When the bumpy off-road becomes pavement, the driver turns the headlights on and drives on nonchalantly, as if he hasn't just picked up four outlaw kids. Everyone relaxes a little.

Until we reach the roadblock.

As the car slows, I look out the windows, thinking up an escape plan. Our odds are better if we jump out the passenger side, but none of us can outrun the bullets. I realize I'm holding my breath.

For some reason, though, when the car is almost at a stop, the guard waves us on. The driver continues forward unfazed, accelerating at a normal rate even as my brain screams for him to gun it.

The girl glances back at me, then turns around again, not saying a word.