No Passengers Beyond This Point(31)

If he helps me, I won’t have to tell Finn and Mouse I got gypped out of our fifty dollars. If they find that out, they’ll tell my mom. She’ll have more proof of how stupid I am.

“Maybe I could give you a duplicate.” He dangles a new ticket in front of me, smiling. “This is deed to ownership. For just half price.”

More money? That’s what he wants? Isn’t that what the guy on the phone told my mom? The one who said he could make sure they didn’t foreclose on our house? Throwing good money after bad, my mom said, but she did it anyway.

I back up, slamming into a white board advertising the special deals.

His big eyes goad me. “India, my India, you shouldn’t let them win, no?”

“You’re a slime ball!” I shout.

“Ahh well.” He wags his head right and left, eyeing my bracelet—the sapphire one my mom gave me for my thirteenth birthday. “Perhaps you want to know what became of your brother and sister.”

“Tell me!” I shout. “You tell me.”

His lips slide in, he nods his head as if he’s having a conversation with himself. “You give me the bracelet.” He wiggles his finger at me. “And I’ll let you know, Miss Beautiful India.”

Dean was right. Mickey is a slime bucket. But what else am I going to do? I have to find out where Mouse and Finn are. It’s just a stupid piece of jewelry, anyway. I undo the clasp and hand it to him. His fingers close slowly around the sapphire.

He smiles at me, gently, warmly—his smile is powerful. It feels like he’s stroking my hair with it. For a second I lose myself in it.

When I blink, he’s slipped inside his store. He’s locking his locks. Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk. “Haven’t seen them,” he calls through the glass.

I bang on the door so hard the glass trembles. I kick the wood and throw my shoulder against it.

He’s inside, laughing at me.

All of the shopkeepers are huddled in their shops. Signs advertising the mementos of your day, and the chance at another, blow in the breeze. The street is deserted except for a handful of small birds searching the ground for birdseed.

Mickey must have seen Finn and Mouse, otherwise how could he know I have a brother and sister? But then, our pictures were everywhere. Maybe he only saw them on the screens.

I look up at the movie playing. A new girl with braces and pigtails is tying her ballet slippers. Welcome, Rachel, it says.

I need to talk to Maddy. She totally helps me think through things. She is the best best friend I’ve ever had.

Wait . . . what did that Chuck dude say? Something about putting together . . . what was it? Oh, I know. He gave me that hunk of wood, so when I find Mouse and Finn we can assemble the puzzle and he’ll come get us.

I feel in my pocket for the wood piece. I need to have it in my hand.

But it’s not in my pocket. These aren’t my pockets. They aren’t my jeans. They’re the plum-colored pants like the ones Maddy always wears.





CHAPTER 17

THE EMPTY SCREEN

Idon’t know when I decide to climb back up the tunnel, but once the idea occurs to me, it seems so simple. Just go back the way I came. They can’t have security guys patrolling the tunnel. It’s too small. No one else could fit.

When I get back to my house, then I can talk to Mouse and Finn through one of those screens in that downstairs room. We missed each other, but we can arrange a meeting place. I’ve got this covered. No big deal.

Then I can get my own clothes back. And when we all meet up, I’ll have the missing piece. All I have to do is climb up that tunnel, right?

At first it was a little confusing knowing which one was mine. I remember generally where I came out, but not exactly. But then I noticed the address was stamped on the inside: 401.

The tunnel is about ten feet in diameter. At this end, it’s parallel with the ground, but soon it begins the steep climb to my house. The sides are shimmery black fabric reinforced with springy coils of wire. It’s like a giant Slinky covered in jet-black fabric.

It takes me a little time to get the hang of walking up the cylinder, but eventually I find a way of climbing by pinching the coils with my fingers and digging my toes into the fabric sides. It feels a little like scaling the playground slides, which I used to do when I was little.

The dark is disorienting, but when I’m totally confused, I feel an acorn drop, which gets me back on track. Where did it come from, I wonder. It was almost as if somebody was watching me and knew I needed help.

As I pull myself up, I imagine telling Maddy about this. Pretending to talk to her helps me forget how much my arms ache. I take little breaks. But even resting makes my arms tired, so I keep going.