Trapped!: The 2031 Journal of Otis Fitzmorgan (14 page)

I awoke this morning with a start.
There wasn't time for sleep! We had to hunt down the bad guy!

It took me a second to realize where I was. The sharp kink in my neck helped remind me. I was in my parents' room. I had slept
in the chair between their beds again.

My eyes instantly went to them. Their IV packs were dripping away. They were breathing steadily, but their pulse rate was
still really high.

Teddy clicked and whirled, looking up at me with concern.

“It's okay. Teddy,” I told him, but I don't think sounded very convincing. Teddy's eyes didn't change, and he kept watching
me.

I told him to watch over Mom and Dad and headed out the door. Judge had sent me to bed last night, telling me not to worry,
she would stay with Asyla. The first item on today's agenda was to check in on them.

At the door of the Common Room, I heard the sound of voices.

“Don't you just love this?” It was Asyla speaking. She was standing in front of the window, and I saw that she wasn't admiring
the view. Instead, she was gazing at her own reflection.

When I entered, I was once again struck by how small Judge looked standing next to Asyla. I hoped we had made the right decision
in bringing her back.

Judge rolled her eyes toward Asyla when she saw me. “It seems some things never change. Can we get to work now, Asyla?”

Asyla touched her hair, as if savoring the feel of it. “Oh, I'm not here to work, little girl” She stressed the word little.
“That would mean I'd have to be paid.”

“Money isn't such an issue anymore,” I told her.

She didn't turn away from her reflection. “There's always something to be paid.”

I thought about the sacrifice Judge had made to bring Asyla back. “How about life?” I asked. “Is that enough of a payment?”

“What are you saying? You're going to destroy me unless I answer your questions?” She chuckled. “I don't think so. Not if
you're like the Fitzmorgans I remember.”

“Fine, can we just chat? Please?” I forced myself to whine slightly. And it worked. The begging tone in my voice seemed to
satisfy her.

“Very well.” She finally turned from her reflection and glided over to a chair. She perched on the edge, as if this arrangement
could change at any time. “What is it you want to talk about? My old friend Justine has told me all about your situation.
Quite a pickle you've gotten yourself into. Seems like the rest of us are always cleaning up Fitzmorgan and Moorie. messes.”

That's not true! I wanted to shout. But instead, I asked, “can you tell us about the statue?”

ASYLA SEEMED WILLING TO TALK

“Statue?” her voice remained calm, but she looked interested.

“That's one thing I didn't tell you about, Asyla,” Judge said.

Asyla ignored her. “What statue?”

I looked at Judge and nodded. She said, “It's a work by Maginold Moylan that's gone missing. We think it might be somewhere
on the Climber.”

I saw a flash of excitement in Ayla's eyes.

“Seems there might be something we know about that would interest you,” I said. “Let's strike a deal, Asyla. If you answer
a few of our questions, we'll answer yours.”

She waved a hand at me as if sweeping the idea from the air. “Even if there was a statue that once caught my eye, why would
I tell you about it?”

Judge replied, “Because all of our problems seem to have started with that statue.”

“And because your clones are on this Climber,” I added. “And they might die unless we get to the truth.”

“Yes, darling Justine told me all about my 'relatives' on this Elevator,” Asyla said. “How wonderful to be surrounded by such
fine company! I'm not worried about them. They must have a plan.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. Mrs. Benato is unconscious and infected with the virus. She's growing sicker by the hour.”

That seemed to reach Asyla. “Describe the statue to me,” she said. Was she going to cooperate? “If you do, I'll tell you what
I can. No more cat-and-mouse games. I think we've established who the mice are in the room, anyway.”

I looked at Judge, who shrugged. What did we have to lose?

I described the scene the statue portrayed: Mary Todd Lincoln stretching out a hand toward Lincoln's killer, John Wilkes Booth,
her fingers just barely missing him. “It's called “ESCAPE BY A HAIR.”

Asyla's eyes gleamed at the name. “ SCAPE BY A HAIR” she repeated slowly. And there was something about the way she stretched
out the last word…

Then her eyes went cold again. She shook her head. “I've never heard of it.”

You didn't have to be a detective to know she was lying.

Judge suddenly said, “It's the title, isn't it? That's what made you sit up straighter.”

No answer for a moment, and then Asyla laughed. “Of course not. I don't even know what that silly name means.”

But it seemed Judge was on to something.

“ESCAPE By A HAIR,” I said, thinking out loud, stretching out the last word the way Asyla had. I remembered the list of materials
used to make the statue: tin, marble—and human hair.

Yes! That must be it!

“This all has something to do with the hair inside the statue, doesn't it?” I asked Asyla.

She turned her gaze on me, and it was like looking into the eye of a hurricane. Cool, barely controlled rage stared back at
me. Besides sending a shiver down my spine, it told me we were on the right track.

Then Asyla blinked, and the rage disappeared, hidden behind a mask of calm innocence. She opened her mouth, and I thought
she might speak. Instead, she yawned and stretched. “Oh my, I'm sleepy,” she said.

Asyla walked to the couch and curled up on it, letting her long black hair drape over the end like a dark curtain. “I'm afraid
we'll have to talk about this another time,” she purred. “Unless you're going to force me to stay awake. But that would be
inhumane.”

Before we could protest, she closed her eyes. Judge took a step toward her as if she wanted to shake her awake, but stopped
herself.

We shared a look, and I shrugged helplessly. judge and I left the room and stood in the hallway next to the elevator.

“What did you think of that?” Judge asked me.

I shook my head. “She definitely knows something, but I don't know what.”

“Or she could be playing a game with us, making us believe she has knowledge we want,” Judge offered. “She might be as in
the dark as we are.”

“The way she reacted to the title of the statue,” I said. “It must have something to do with the hair.”

“Okay,” Judge agreed. “But what?”

I thought for a second. “The hair… the hair…”

I couldn't finish the sentence. What could be so important about hair in the statue?

I DREAMED MY MATH TEACHER WAS SHOUTING AT ME.

Day 6 of 6
  
  
1:50
PM

Last night I dreamed of my math
teacher. The dreams were more like nightmares, really. She kept flashing my grade on my desk video screen. F. F. F.

“You didn't do the work!” she shouted over and over. “You have the answer, but you didn't do the work!”

When I woke with a start, my body was drenched in sweat.

Of course, the dream was my subconscious telling me that I was letting everyone down. And I mean everyone: The kids on the
Elevator, my parents… the entire planet!

Outside my window, space was just as dark, but Earth was now much bigger. We're almost out of time! I thought. Any moment
now, the virus will become airborne. We'll breathe it in, and then we'll be just like the adults. And when we reach Earth's
surface at the end of the day…

When I went to check on my parents, I found Crockett just leaving their room. If it were possible, he looked even more tired
than before. The bags under his wide eyes looked like permanent black tattoos.

“Any chance?” I asked him.

He nodded grimly. “Yes, but not a good one. Your parents and the other adults are getting worse, Otis. I don't know what I
can do.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

I went into my parents' room and sat with them for a while.

Teddy clicked and clacked and did a small, subdued leap when he saw me. He crawled into his favorite spot in my jacket pocket,
where he curled up contentedly. But I didn't feel relaxed. Something was nagging at me. Something about math…

After tucking their blankets securely around my mom and dad, I returned to my own room. For the second time during this horrible
journey, I took: out the Condition Reports that I had created for the works of art.

I ran my eyes carefully over the reports for a few minutes. I was just thinking that maybe I was on the wrong track after
all—when I spotted it! Of course! The answer to all the mysteries was waiting for us on Level 5.

Not only was the missing statue there, but also the bad guy!

I would need help to go up there.

Judge had to keep an eye on Asyla. Crockett couldn't go. He needed to be close to the patients. Lysa was an option, but I
could think of someone even better.

I rushed out of my room and down the hall to Charlotte's door. I knocked.

“What?” her muffled voice asked.

“It's me,” I called.

“Me who?”

“Charlotte, please open the door.”

She called back, “Aren't you worried about my being an evil clone? Aren't you scared that I'll attack you?”

“I need your help. The bad guy is on Level 5, and we need to go up there now.”