Nightmare Academy (37 page)

Elijah's ears were ringing and his head was spinning, but for now, for this one brief moment, the ride was over. He was weak and trembling, hunched over. His hands were shaking. He'd already thrown up a third time and his stomach felt like it would never hold food again, but at least the floor, the ground, the haze, the bog, the water, the sand, whatever it was under his feet, had stopped moving. The white fog around him was clearing. He thought he saw a wool rug below him, and then . . . a wall made of logs . . . a soft couch . . . a crackling fire in a stone fireplace.

Was he still alive? It was so hard to think, to place one thought after another.

“Elijah,” came a lovely voice, like an angel. He knew that voice. “Elijah.”

He saw his sister, seated in a comfortable chair, smiling at him.

“Sis?” he asked, his voice hoarse from screaming.

“It's all right, Elijah,” she said. “Come and sit down. Take a load off.”

He hobbled forward, comforted by her smiling, serene face, by the warmth of the lovely room. This had to be real. He wanted very much for it to be real. “Is this heaven?”

“It's anything you want it to be.”

He sank onto the couch, then reclined, his head sinking into the soft pillows.

“It feels great to finally rest, doesn't it?”

He could only sigh a deep, tired sigh and nod his head.

“So just . . . just let go.”

Even with his mind mangled, Elijah still found a tiny spark of curiosity. “Let go of what?”

“The struggle. Trying to know. That's where all the pain comes from, Elijah: trying to believe that some things are true. Life is so much easier when you don't have to worry about truth.”

“That lying little imp!” Elisha said to herself as she watched herself on the screen. “Elijah, don't believe her!”

So the whole thing was a hologram, an incredibly realistic, three-dimensional projection! That explained the mysterious image of her brother that lured her into this place. She looked around her, above her. For the first time, she noticed a camera lens pointing down at her from the ceiling. These clever people were recording her image as she sat in the chair, enhancing it with all their fancy computers, and reassembling it in front of her maze-dazed brother, making it tell the most outrageous lies.

I've
got to get through to him!

Nate and Sarah followed the pickup to a slightly sagging little cabin off a side road. By now, they were more than ready for a direct approach. Sarah walked right up on the front porch and gave the front door several sharp raps.

The little man opened the door, plainly curious and annoyed. “Yes?”

“Hi. Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning. I was wondering, have you seen a boy and a girl around here, both sixteen, good looking, like their mother?”

He started to shake his head. “No, I haven't—” But then he got a good look at her.

She confirmed it for him. “You're right! You know me from somewhere!”

“I, I don't think so.”

“Sure. The Dartmoor Hotel in Seattle. You were the desk clerk, remember?”

He started to close the door. “I'm busy—”

She kicked the door, hurling it open and hurling him a good distance, too. “Or maybe it was the Light of Day Youth Shelter. I get the two confused.”

He was about to argue further, but there was an angry mama bear coming into his house, and while she was not
overly
hefty, she was not petite, either. He turned and ran through the cabin and out the back door—where Nate was waiting for him and quickly slammed him face-first against the back wall, holding him there in an inescapable armlock. “Now we can make this really simple. You have our kids and we want them.” He gave the little man another slam against the wall. “Your turn.”

She confirmed it for him.
"You're right! You know me from
somewhere!”

“I don't know what you're talking about!”

Another slam. “Wrong answer.”

A voice behind them ordered, “Let him go, Springfield.”

There was a tall, imposing man standing in the backyard, one hand tucked inside his suit jacket.

Sarah and Nate froze, but Nate didn't let go.

“Easy now,” said the man. “We're on the same side.” He pulled some ID from his jacket pocket and showed it to them. “The name's Nelson Farmer. I'm with the Bureau for Missing Children. I've been on this case since your children disappeared.”

“Nelson Farmer,” Sarah repeated thoughtfully.

“So who's
this
guy?” Nate demanded.

“One of the people we're after. You're right. He's a front man for the Knight-Moore project, and we're in the same boat as you are: There are kids missing and we want to know what he knows. Now just take it easy and let him go.”

There was a wooden bench on the back porch. Nate put the man there, keeping an eye on him.

Sarah approached Nelson Farmer. “What do you know about our kids? Where are they?”

Farmer stepped forward, reaching inside his jacket again. “We're clearing up the details right now—”

“NOOO!” Sarah grabbed his arm, forcing it skyward.

His hand was holding a gun.

Nate was there in an instant, but Sarah already had Farmer in a very painful armhold, and with a skillful judo move she threw him to the ground. In less than a second, Farmer was looking up into the barrel of his own gun, now in Sarah's hand.

Nate smiled and gave a little nod. He never doubted.

“I've had someone pull a gun on me before,” Sarah told Farmer, “and that's what it looked like.”

Nate caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

The little man was gone; the bush at the corner of the cabin was still wiggling where he'd passed.

“Be right back.” Nate took off after him. He cleared the corner of the cabin and saw the man disappearing around the front. Close enough to catch, Nate figured, pouring on the speed. He heard a cry of pain and a scuffle as he came around the front of the cabin, then came face-to-face with four big guys in green jackets with big yellow letters on the front: U.S. MARSHAL. The little man was dangling from their strong arms.

Sarah thought the marines had arrived. More deputy marshals began flooding the backyard, guns ready. “Sarah Springfield?” asked one.

“Yes.”

“Sorry we're late.”

They had Farmer. She handed over Farmer's gun.

“He was going to kill you just as he killed Alvin Rogers,” said a familiar voice coming around the cabin, “which would have repaired the breach in secrecy—except for the children, of course.” It was Morgan, walking with Nate. “Your little hotel clerk was simply a decoy to lure you here.”

“To a secluded place with no witnesses,” said Nate.

“Exactly. You would have disappeared without a trace. Hello, Sarah. As for your red-headed woman, she is actually a Ms. Marian Winger, a longtime confidante and associate of Mr. Farmer there. Once cornered, she was very cooperative, and warned us that Mr. Farmer was following you. Since we knew where you were, we knew where Mr. Farmer would be.” They strode right up to Farmer, now on his stomach as a marshal handcuffed him. Morgan spoke to Nate, but also for Farmer's benefit. “He's been taking advantage of a sacred trust: using his position and the files at the Bureau for Missing Children to screen and recruit runaways for experimentation. Ms. Winger was acting as his field agent, and she gave us all the details.” Morgan knelt beside the handcuffed Farmer. “And now, Mr. Farmer, you will tell us exactly where the children are.”

“He was going to kill you just as he
killed Alvin Rogers,” said a familiar voice
coming around the cabin, “which would
have repaired the breach in secrecy—
except for the children, of course.”