Fear, he thought, this must be fear. Serious fear.
He hadn’t ever imagined that fear would feel like this, making it hard to think about anything else. Live and learn. He heard his own voice saying that, and he tried to laugh.
The flashlight lit a doorway. He was just standing in front of a door, staring at it. Like all the other doors, this one was flat and painted white. Only a handle, with a key slot at its center, told you it was a door. Phineas stiffened his shoulders and pulled them forward, to loosen the muscles across his back. He blew out a breath of air, in a whooshing sound. He’d been holding his breath too.
“Okay,” he said, not even whispering. The darkness swallowed up his voice. He shouldn’t have spoken out loud.
The question was how to find her. What he had thought was that he would go to the cellars and find her. He hadn’t really thought. His trouble was that his natural inclination was to go for a service ace, whomp, and take the point. But this game wasn’t tennis and couldn’t be played that way.
In the mazelike corridors he’d get lost, disoriented. Down here he had no sense of direction. All the corridors looked the same, all the floors looked the same, there was no landmark. But there was, he realized, a series of numbers. All the rooms were numbered. Numbers never duplicated themselves. Numbers were always different. Numbers wouldn’t get him lost. All he’d have to do is remember which ones he’d counted.
Phineas didn’t know if he could do that. This was like a game of Grandmother’s Trunk, but it wasn’t a game.
He didn’t even know how many rooms there were, except there were more than fifteen—since the collection room was number 015. “So start with oh-oh-one,” he whispered to himself. “Jerk.”
To his left lay 001, the number painted beside the door, and he got started. He took the three keys, and his first try was the right one. The door opened. Phineas followed his flashlight into a boxlike room.
He used the beam of light the way he’d use his eyes, really looking for something. At floor level, he lit the entire edge of the room, all four sides. Then he did the same thing at shoulder level. This looked like an office, with a desk in the middle and a couple of chairs, and bookshelves. An empty office.
He stepped back to the door, and then had an idea. “Althea?” he asked the empty room. He listened, to the count of twenty, for any sound at all. There was no sound.
Rooms 001 through 004 all seemed to be offices. Some of the bookcases had books lined up in them. None of the rooms had Althea in them. Neither was she in any of the stalls of room 005, a bathroom.
Room 006 was at the corner, and his flashlight showed a huge square thing that made him jump. Not because he was afraid, but because he was expecting a desk and chairs. He went up to it, silently on sneakered feet. A furnace. He examined all around it, anywhere a fifteen-year-old girl might be hidden. Nobody.
The numbers went back and forth, and so did Phineas, like a sentry pacing his guard area, except that at the end of each line of march he moved forward a little. Followin the numbers, 007, cross a corridor, 008, 009, cross a corridor, 010, corridor, 011 against the parking lot wall again. All rooms empty of Althea, and some of them just empty rooms—he traversed the underground width of the library.
Rooms 012 and 013 were side by side, because 012 was in fact a broom closet. Cross a corridor to 014. Cross a corridor to bypass 015 since he didn’t have a key that would let him into that room anyway. Rooms 016 and 017 were the opposite wall again, and both were small rooms, lined on two walls with filing cabinets. College records, he was willing to bet.
Phineas got the drill down: key in the door—018, 019—flashlight at floor level—020—then flashlight at shoulder level—021. Room 022 was hidden behind the staircase, narrow shelves stacked with paper towels and toilet paper, probably a hundred-year supply of toilet paper. Big whoopee. When the light was at shoulder level, he studied the walls carefully, in case there were closets—023, 024, 025.
He had to double back a corridor, turn right, then right at the next turning to find 026. Why couldn’t they have numbered the rooms down the length of each corridor? It would have made his job easier.
The last step of the drill was calling her name. “Althea?” Each time he had to say it out loud it got harder to say it out loud. Rooms 027, 028, 029, 030. He said her name, and waited, to the count of twenty, his ears listening hard. The walls were thick, too thick for his voice to carry beyond the one room he was searching. If there had been any way for a mouse to get into this concrete rabbit warren, he’d have heard it move—so intently did he listen.
But he didn’t hear anything, not the slightest movement, and certainly not a relieved and grateful voice saying his name, “Phineas?”
His flashlight found 032. Wrong. The beam went on to the corridor’s end. Maybe he was at 032, maybe he’d miscounted, maybe—with everything the same—he’d gotten lost in the numbers. He turned right, walked up a few paces to another blank wall, and moved the flashlight until the light showed a number painted on the wall beside a door: 031.
“All right,” Phineas said, relieved. His voice sounded normal. He was feeling almost normal, now, so accustomed was he to the drill. He was relieved to have found 031 so easily, because keeping track of the number he was on, and the count of twenty in each room, was about all his brain was up to, what with the worry, and the silence, and the solitude, and not finding her. He unlocked the door to 031, let the flashlight go around at floor level, and saw stacks of folding chairs folded up. He had no idea how long he’d been down here. Not only did he not know what direction he was moving in, with the darkness closing in behind him constantly as he followed the light; he had also lost his sense of time.
Locking the door of 031 behind him, Phineas had a moment of panic. Had he done the complete drill? He thought so, but he wasn’t sure. He was just going doggedly along, by now—however long it had been—no longer expecting to find her. It was like playing the last points of a lost set, just returning as best you could whatever your victorious opponent sent at you across the net, just not giving up.
He plodded back along his own path to 032. So he’d been wrong, even though he’d been sure. He wasn’t really surprised—033, 034. He’d had no reason—035, 036. It was an idea. A guess. Just a feeling.
Phineas had half a mind to give up now, and stop wasting his time. Probably, if he found his way out again—he’d use the parking lot door to leave by—he’d get home to find out that Althea was there, probably tucked into her bed asleep, with the light on. But there was no reason—037, a corner room, some kind of office with phones this time, and a bulletin board; the sports department office as it turned out, a pile of lacrosse sticks against a wall rising out of a nest of helmets and pads; he didn’t know they played lacrosse up here—There was no reason not to finish what he’d started. That way—he locked the door behind him—at least he could say for sure where she wasn’t.
In case he got through here and went home and his father was there and they still didn’t know where Althea was. Besides, he had to be almost through with the job. He traced his way back past 036 and 035, along the narrow corridor between 029 across from 034, and 030 across from 033, then turned left to find 039. Don’t get sloppy, he reminded himself, turning the key in the lock. He had to be near the end—“Althea?” and a count of twenty slowly in his head, listening as hard as he could even though he didn’t any longer expect to hear anything. It was when you were near the end of things, tennis matches, tests, that you tended to get sloppy—040—because the end was in sight. Because, with the end in sight, you started hurrying toward it, and that was when you made your careless errors. Like, trying a put-away shot that wasn’t a sure thing. He locked the door of 041 behind him.
That was it. That was all the rooms.
Then where was she? What had happened to his sister?
When they found out, how bad was it going to be?
Phineas almost wished there were one hundred and forty one rooms, w
ith a lot still to search. As long as there was a room to look into, there was something to do. He didn’t know why he’d been so stupidly sure of himself, thinking that he could think the same way whoever had done this would think. He went back along the corridor.
There was a jiggling in his brain. Like the feeling, as you walk home, that you didn’t follow the directions on a test, that you’d screwed up.
Something was wrong.
Phineas turned out the flashlight. Of course something was wrong. What did he think, did he think he could fool himself? He felt—so bad, so sad and bad and scared. . . . This was about a million times worse than his feeling last spring, getting used to the idea of his mother going to live all the way across the country from them.
He made himself turn on the flashlight. He was going to have to go back home, and do nothing but wait again.
Thirty-eight, he thought.
Where had that number come from?
Had he done room 038?
He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember. But he would have noticed, wouldn’t he have? He was keeping track. Was he sure he’d done every one? He wasn’t even sure he’d done 009, or 021, just to pick a couple—or any of them, after 006. All he was sure of was that he had been methodical.
Room 038 stuck in his mind. Half of Phineas figured that he was just giving in to panic, and the other half thought that he was making up something to hope for. And it wasn’t even that much to hope for, because even if he had skipped 038 there was no reason for Althea to be there, since she hadn’t been in any other room.
But he went back along the corridors, turning left, turning right, to locate 037.
If only to shut himself up.
He checked to be sure 038 wasn’t right next to 037, which it wasn’t, then went back around the U-shaped corridor to find 039. Room 038 wasn’t next to 039 either.
Maybe they’d skipped 038. Maybe it was an unlucky number, for some reason he didn’t know, like skyscrapers never had a thirteenth floor.
But wouldn’t he know it if thirty-eight was a big unlucky number?
You’d think he would, but he knew how much he didn’t know. You couldn’t live with two smart people and not figure out there was an awful lot you didn’t know.
He opened the door to 039 again, and did the whole drill, which was easy because 039 was a little empty closet of a room. Not like 037, which was the Sports Department office, he remembered. It was closed for the summer, but he remembered that it was big enough for two desks, and a filing cabinet, and a pile of playing sticks up against the wall.
He trooped on back to 037. He wouldn’t let himself run but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he’d been in a lot of sports departments, between his own school and the schools where they’d gone to play against other teams in the elementary leagues. In all the sports departments he’d seen, there had been masses of equipment, a lot more than would fit into that office. There should be goals, and bats, and big baskets filled with soccer balls and basketballs. Not just a pile of playing sticks up against a wall.
He put the key into the lock, and reminded himself that there was a gym, the equipment he thought was missing from the room would be stored in the gym.
Yeah, but in that case the sticks shouldn’t be piled against the office wall.
Besides, he told himself—and opened the door, and called out, “Althea?” No answer, so he called again, “Althea!” Besides, the gym was open over the summer, and all the sports departments he’d ever been near had been locked up tight at night. People stole equipment.
Phineas walked into the center of the room and pointed his flashlight at the pile of tall lacrosse sticks. The wall they leaned against was white, like all the other walls, but it wasn’t rough cinder block. It was flat, like the doors.
He shifted the flashlight to his left hand, because he wanted his best arm for shoving stuff away, and he shoved, arm and shoulder, and the pile clattered onto the floor. The key shook in his hand. The door opened into darkness and he almost didn’t dare shine the flashlight to look inside.
Lumps and shapes, just as he’d thought, equipment.
He heard something moving.
“Althea?” he whispered.
No answer, just thumpings, muffled thumpings.
It was her eyes he saw first, wide open, her eyebrows like dark inked lines. Then her face, her hair a frizzy mess around it. A broad strip of tape covered her mouth. She moved like a beached fish, with little flipping motions.
Even though he’d dropped the flashlight, there was still enough light to see by. Phineas knelt down beside the pile of football pads she lay on, to tear the tape off of her face.
“Ow! That hurts!” Althea cried, and then she leaned her head against his arm and burst into tears. “It hurt.”
“It’s okay,” Phineas said, “Everything’s okay.” He cradled her head for a minute, feeling just like his father when Mom collapsed into tears with whatever pressure had blown her sky high. “We can handle it,” he said, over her sobs, just like Dad always said.
Althea nodded her head and sniffled. Phineas was sniffling with her, but he didn’t much care. Then they were both laughing, wet teary laughs.
“I’m tied up.” Althea rolled away, to show him.
And then Phineas did get angry. Anger was like a fire that dried his tears without any help from his hands or shirt, and cleared the sniffles out of his nose. She’d been tied like somebody in a prison camp, her wrists together behind her, her ankles tied together, and then the rope brought up to be tied to her wrists.
“I’m stiff. I hurt.” She was getting teary again. “I wet my pants.”
“So I smell,” Phineas said, and couldn’t figure out why that made her giggle. He was busy with the knots of the rope. He had to get the flashlight, but once he could see it wasn’t hard to untie them. They weren’t hard knots, not with both your hands free and a light to see by. They were just hard in the dark, with no way to move your hands. He’d never been so angry in his life. “Stretch out slow,” he told his sister. He rubbed at her wrists with his hand while she was rubbing at her knees. “Do you think you can stand up?”
“You sound funny, Fin,” Althea said.
“I’m okay,” he told her, finding his jaw so stiff it was hard to move it.
“I’m okay, you’re okay,” she said, and giggled again.
The fire inside Phineas flamed up again. Dumb jokes and giggling—somebody had locked Althea away here in the dark for hours. She was probably going to be permanently nuts, and he could kill—seriously kill—whoever did that to her. First, smash his face in, then kill him—or her, he didn’t care—
“Can you get up?” he asked again.
She got up onto her knees. Phineas stood up and reached down a hand.
“Hurts,” she said again, sounding surprised.
“I know, but if you work the muscles—”
“What muscles?” she giggled.
Phineas shone the flashlight right into her face. Tear stains, blotchy face, and swollen eyes—she shoved it away. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you,” he said through his tight jaw.
“I’m okay. I’m just a little hysterical.” Standing up she was bent over, like Igor. He reached out to help her with both hands, and she hugged him. Hugged him tight. “But I have to go to the bathroom, Fin.”
Phineas just happened to know that room number 005 was a bathroom. They hobbled out together, and he even remembered to lock the doors. Althea leaned on him.
“How did you find me?” she finally asked, as they went down the corridor.
“By looking in every room,” he answered.
“Persistence,” she announced, sounding like herself.
“What hap—?” he started to ask, but she said, “First I really have to go to the bathroom, I can’t even think—”
She could barely walk, either. Although, with every ten steps she walked better.
Phineas waited in the d
arkness outside of 005. Althea took the flashlight in with her, and he wasn’t about to quarrel with her about that. He didn’t even hear the toilet flush, the walls were so thick. She wouldn’t have heard him call her name the first time into the Sports Department office. If he hadn’t been keeping tabs on the numbers, he thought—
The door opened, and light emerged.
“It was Ken,” Phineas announced, although he had no idea how he knew so surely who it was.
“I told you,” Althea said, as if she had. Phineas figured she was in shock. He’d seen shock on TV. She didn’t remember that she hadn’t told anyone anything, that she’d just disappeared.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
CHAPTER 18
By the time they’d come to the road, following the beam of light Phineas cast before them, Althea had begun to move her legs more easily. She had stopped groaning little groans at every step. She’d stopped hanging off of Phineas, using his shoulder to keep her balance. He still held her left hand in his right hand, with her forearm braced against his own, but that was all the help she needed.
They hadn’t talked at all. They’d concentrated on keeping Althea moving, getting the blood circulating through her muscles again, getting the muscles working. Phineas didn’t ask her questions. He had a pretty good idea how bad Althea was feeling.
Himself, he felt terrific, seriously terrific. Their little house had lights shining in every window, like a birthday cake. Phineas felt like John Wayne, bringing back the raw recruit he’d snatched away from the enemy. He felt like Han Solo at the end of Star Wars, with everybody applauding.
Their father must have been waiting just inside the door, listening, because by the time they got up the three porch steps he was outside. Hope hovered on his face for an instant before relief took over. He grabbed Althea into his arms, then pushed her away to look at her, then grabbed her close again. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he said, including Phineas first in his glance and then in an arm that reached out to grab Phineas and pull him close.