I slipped into the empty seat, pulled up a white-pages search site, and got a list of phone numbers for anyone named Anderson in Spencer. Then I did a similar search for the last names of my other Edgeview friends—Woo, Grieg, Dobbs, and Calabrizi. I tried Dad’s name, too, just in case my parents had gotten a different phone number, but nothing came up.
It was dark by the time I left the library, which made me feel less like a target. I wasn’t going to try to get any more change. I had way too many calls to make to be pumping a pocketful of quarters into the phone. So I swung into a corner store and bought a phone card. Then I went back to the pay phone and got busy. I called each Anderson on the list and had pretty much the same conversation.
“Hi, is Martin there?”
“Who?”
“Martin.”
“I think you have a wrong number.”
“Sorry.”
About halfway down the list, calling a Richard Anderson, I got a different answer.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m a friend of his. Is he there?”
“He’s grounded. No calls.”
“Can I leave a message?”
“I told you, he’s grounded.”
“Please? Can you just tell him that—”
The guy slammed the phone down before I could say anything more. At least I knew I’d found him. Maybe there was more than one kid named Martin Anderson in Spencer, but the man on the phone was such a jerk I figured that pretty much proved I had the right number. Martin rarely talked about his parents, but from the few things he’d let slip, I got the feeling he had a rough time with his dad.
So did I. But I didn’t care if I had problems with my dad. I wanted to go home. I wanted to put on my own clothes—my own broken-in sneakers and my own worn-out sweatshirt from the Dali Art Museum. I wanted to sit on the couch in the living room and watch television, or pull apart the paper just for the comic section. I even wanted to hear Dad talk about his business deals, or listen to Mom make endless phone calls to raise money for her favorite charities.
I headed for 30th St. Station and caught a train to downtown Sayerton. It was just a couple blocks to my house from there. As I passed green lawns and flower gardens bathed in the whitewash of streetlights, I felt like a ghost, traveling streets I hadn’t walked since last winter. It seemed wrong that the trees weren’t bare and the wind wasn’t icy. It seemed weird that the air didn’t carry the heavy smell of burned firewood.
My parents must have thought I’d run away or something. I tried to imagine how they’d react when they saw me. Mom would cry and hug me so hard I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Dad rarely let his feelings show. He was always doing huge business deals with people who didn’t understand the real value of the companies they owned. It was sort of like playing poker, except the stakes were way higher and Dad was the only one who could see all the cards. He wouldn’t act surprised when he saw me, but I was pretty sure he’d be happy.
I was half a block away from home when a car pulled to the curb across the street from my house. Nobody parks on the street around here. Everyone has a garage. And visitors park in the driveway.
“Idiot!” I smacked my fist against my leg.
Obviously, this was the first place I’d run to. I moved behind a tree and peeked out, hoping I was wrong. Maybe the guy in the car really was visiting someone. But he just sat there, looking at my house. I was pretty sure he wasn’t one of the guys with the lab coats. That was bad. It meant Bowdler had other forces he could bring in to help with the hunt.
At least he hadn’t spotted me yet. But I was trapped. I couldn’t go in the front door. I couldn’t even risk walking away. Once I moved out from behind the tree, he might notice me. I needed a distraction.
I glanced back the way I’d come. A dump truck loaded with gravel was rumbling down the street. All I had to do was reach out with my mind and yank the steering wheel hard to the driver’s left. The truck would swerve and ram the car. That would definitely be a distraction. But the thought of someone getting crushed made me feel sick.
There was an easier solution. I jiggled the truck’s steering wheel back and forth, just enough to get the driver’s attention. He stopped right next to the car, hiding me from view. I turned and dashed back to the corner, walked around the block, and cut through the yard of the house behind us. I went to my back door and tapped on the glass. I wasn’t sure whether my parents were there. But if they were, I didn’t want to startle them by walking in.
There was no answer. I risked a louder knock. Still no answer. So I pulled the dead bolt with my mind, and went inside. “Mom?” I called. “Dad?”