The Vandemark Mummy (21 page)

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, with 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 darkness 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.

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.

“I need a shower,” Althea said, sounding like a little girl.

“Then go take one,” her father advised.

“But I don't want—”

“We won't. Cross my heart and hope to die, and stick a million needles in my eye, there'll be no talking until you get down,” Mr. Hall promised. “Or,” he corrected himself with an eye on Phineas, “nothing you'll want to be in on. I have something to say to you, young man.”

Phineas couldn't think why he should be in trouble.

Althea turned at the doorway to ask Phineas, “You too.”

“Promise,” Phineas promised. The skin around her mouth looked raw, where he'd ripped the tape off. He could feel himself getting angry again, the seesaw balance
sinking into anger as glad relief floated up, getting lighter. He was more angry than glad, seeing his sister's face, and he didn't much care if he was in trouble.

Phineas followed his father into the house, into the kitchen, where Detective Arsenault sat hunched over a mug. He looked big, even sitting down. He looked tired. He looked relieved. “Both of them,” he said. “Thank God.”

Mr. Hall turned around to face Phineas. He wasn't much taller than his son, but he was a lot angrier. Phineas had his own anger, as shield and weapon. His father ought to be grateful. Hadn't Phineas brought Althea back safe? He watched while his father's mouth tried to find words to get out. He knew what he'd done and he wasn't going to be bullied into thinking he hadn't done something terrific.

“You didn't even leave a note,” Mr. Hall said.

Phineas's mouth fell open, but before he could get out an explanation or apology, his father was speaking again.

“How could you? Just take off like that? And not leave any word? And just let me come home to an empty house? And—”

“I'm sorry,” Phineas said. “I didn't think of that. I should have, Dad, and I won't make the mistake again.” He meant it, every word, including the sorry. He knew what it was like to have someone just disappear, and to have no idea where someone was. “I'm really sorry, Dad.”

“I was so worried—” But that was the end of it for Mr. Hall. “Okay,” he said, “Okay. You're back. You're
both back.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and then yanked at it, as if he needed to make sure he was awake, as if he was so glad he needed to do something physical to show it. Like, yanking at his hair.

“Don't pull it out,” Phineas said, and felt like laughing. “Okay if I get myself a glass of milk?”

“Get me a beer, for celebration,” his father said. “And a glass too please. Lou, do you want a beer?”