“I know.”
“So how are we going to get up there?”
“Oh,” Spoon said, “Mickey drives.”
“Not legally,” Ema said.
“And I can’t just drive up to Connecticut,” I said. “It’s wrong to do it locally, but it would be way too risky to go that far without a license. Plus my uncle has confiscated all the car keys.”
“You could take the bus,” Spoon said. He was typing on the laptop. “Let’s see. Grab the four-four-one on Northfield Avenue and change in Newark.” He listed some morning departure times. “You could take a taxi from there.”
“So when do we go?” I asked.
“No school tomorrow,” Ema said. “Teacher conference. It’ll be our best chance.”
I would need to be back by 4:00 P.M. for basketball practice, but I didn’t feel the need to tell her that right now. A phone buzzed. It was Rachel’s. She took a look at her screen and frowned. I couldn’t help it. I wondered whether it was Troy.
“It’s my dad,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Ever since my mom died . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence. We all understood.
“He wants to know where I am,” she said. “I better go.”
Rachel pocketed her phone and hoisted up her backpack. “It’ll be tough for me to get away tomorrow. Dad wants to take me out to breakfast and then maybe to visit my grandmother.”
“You don’t have to explain,” I said.
“We can handle this,” Ema added.
“Might need someone back here anyway,” I said. “Just in case.”
I had no idea what I meant by that, but it sounded good, like we were giving her something to do. But Ema was right. We didn’t need three of us going up there anyway.
We said our good-byes and Rachel walked out the door. When she was gone, Spoon looked up at me and said, “We can work on two things at the same time, Mickey.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Bat Lady talked to you about Luther.”
I said nothing.
“Luther is the guy in that photograph you gave me, right?”
“Right.”
“Your Butcher?” Ema asked.
I nodded.
“So your dad was like us,” Spoon said. “He rescued kids for Abeona.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you know?”
“No,” I said. “Or maybe I suspected, I don’t know.”
“I don’t get it,” Ema said. “If your father rescued Luther, why would he now be trying to hurt you?”
“Simple,” Spoon said.
“How’s that?”
“Luther must not have wanted to be rescued.”
I looked at Ema. She looked at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I yet,” Spoon said. “But Bat Lady said sometimes things go wrong. I started to think about it. I remember reading about Stockholm syndrome. You know what that is?”
I had a vague idea, but I let him tell us.
“You start liking your captives. You don’t know it’s wrong anymore. Or I was reading about kids with really bad parents—parents who hurt them—but they still want to stay with them. So maybe this Luther was like that. Maybe Luther didn’t want to be rescued.”
I glanced at Ema. “He’s making sense,” she said.
Spoon spread his arms. “I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”
“So how does that help us find him?”
“That’s what I plan on finding out,” Spoon said. “I got that picture you gave me. I got a first name. It isn’t a lot, but maybe I’ll find something.”
Chapter 20
Ema was quiet in the elevator.
“Let’s take the first bus up to Connecticut tomorrow,” I said. “We could be up at Jared’s school by ten.”
“Okay,” Ema said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I frowned at her.
“I know how much you want to be part of that team,” she said.
“And I know that scares you,” I said.
“What?”
“You think I’ll start hanging out with them instead of you?”
Ema shook her head. “You’re so thick sometimes.”
“That’s not it?”
“No, that’s not it.”
We were outside now. The night air was cool, and I welcomed it. Hospital air is always stilted and heavy. It is hard to breathe in a hospital. I stopped a moment and sucked in a deep breath.
“Then what?” I asked.
“Never mind.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. What?”
“With some people, you tell them the oven is hot, they don’t touch it,” Ema said. “But other people have to touch the oven. They have to feel the pain.”
I frowned again. “That’s deep, Ema. And isn’t it supposed to be a frying pan?”
She stopped and put her hands on my arms. I saw her eyes in the moonlight look up at me. We just stood there a second and a weird thought hit me:
I wanted to kiss her.
I don’t think I ever consciously thought about that before. We had always been squarely in the “friend zone.” But looking down on her in this wonderful light, I wanted to cup her face in my hands and kiss her.
“You’re going to touch the oven,” she said. “I want to protect you from that pain. But I can’t. I can only tell you that when it hurts, I’ll be there for you.”
“And I’ll be there for you,” I said. “Always.”
“Always,” Ema repeated.
We stared into each other’s eyes. I don’t know how long. I was about to move my hands to her face when someone driving by us honked and yelled, “Get a room!”
That broke the spell.
Ema’s hands slid off my arms. She took a step back. We both turned and started for home. We walked in silence for a while. Neither of us would raise this. We would both just pretend the moment never happened. With each step it seemed farther away, as though we were leaving the near kiss in the hospital parking lot. The tension eased.
We were becoming just friends again.
When we reached the intersection, Ema surprised me by starting down the road toward Bat Lady’s now-burned-down house. I stayed right by her side.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“There are tunnels under the house. That’s what you told me.”
“So how are we going to get up there?”
“Oh,” Spoon said, “Mickey drives.”
“Not legally,” Ema said.
“And I can’t just drive up to Connecticut,” I said. “It’s wrong to do it locally, but it would be way too risky to go that far without a license. Plus my uncle has confiscated all the car keys.”
“You could take the bus,” Spoon said. He was typing on the laptop. “Let’s see. Grab the four-four-one on Northfield Avenue and change in Newark.” He listed some morning departure times. “You could take a taxi from there.”
“So when do we go?” I asked.
“No school tomorrow,” Ema said. “Teacher conference. It’ll be our best chance.”
I would need to be back by 4:00 P.M. for basketball practice, but I didn’t feel the need to tell her that right now. A phone buzzed. It was Rachel’s. She took a look at her screen and frowned. I couldn’t help it. I wondered whether it was Troy.
“It’s my dad,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Ever since my mom died . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence. We all understood.
“He wants to know where I am,” she said. “I better go.”
Rachel pocketed her phone and hoisted up her backpack. “It’ll be tough for me to get away tomorrow. Dad wants to take me out to breakfast and then maybe to visit my grandmother.”
“You don’t have to explain,” I said.
“We can handle this,” Ema added.
“Might need someone back here anyway,” I said. “Just in case.”
I had no idea what I meant by that, but it sounded good, like we were giving her something to do. But Ema was right. We didn’t need three of us going up there anyway.
We said our good-byes and Rachel walked out the door. When she was gone, Spoon looked up at me and said, “We can work on two things at the same time, Mickey.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Bat Lady talked to you about Luther.”
I said nothing.
“Luther is the guy in that photograph you gave me, right?”
“Right.”
“Your Butcher?” Ema asked.
I nodded.
“So your dad was like us,” Spoon said. “He rescued kids for Abeona.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you know?”
“No,” I said. “Or maybe I suspected, I don’t know.”
“I don’t get it,” Ema said. “If your father rescued Luther, why would he now be trying to hurt you?”
“Simple,” Spoon said.
“How’s that?”
“Luther must not have wanted to be rescued.”
I looked at Ema. She looked at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I yet,” Spoon said. “But Bat Lady said sometimes things go wrong. I started to think about it. I remember reading about Stockholm syndrome. You know what that is?”
I had a vague idea, but I let him tell us.
“You start liking your captives. You don’t know it’s wrong anymore. Or I was reading about kids with really bad parents—parents who hurt them—but they still want to stay with them. So maybe this Luther was like that. Maybe Luther didn’t want to be rescued.”
I glanced at Ema. “He’s making sense,” she said.
Spoon spread his arms. “I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”
“So how does that help us find him?”
“That’s what I plan on finding out,” Spoon said. “I got that picture you gave me. I got a first name. It isn’t a lot, but maybe I’ll find something.”
Chapter 20
Ema was quiet in the elevator.
“Let’s take the first bus up to Connecticut tomorrow,” I said. “We could be up at Jared’s school by ten.”
“Okay,” Ema said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I frowned at her.
“I know how much you want to be part of that team,” she said.
“And I know that scares you,” I said.
“What?”
“You think I’ll start hanging out with them instead of you?”
Ema shook her head. “You’re so thick sometimes.”
“That’s not it?”
“No, that’s not it.”
We were outside now. The night air was cool, and I welcomed it. Hospital air is always stilted and heavy. It is hard to breathe in a hospital. I stopped a moment and sucked in a deep breath.
“Then what?” I asked.
“Never mind.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. What?”
“With some people, you tell them the oven is hot, they don’t touch it,” Ema said. “But other people have to touch the oven. They have to feel the pain.”
I frowned again. “That’s deep, Ema. And isn’t it supposed to be a frying pan?”
She stopped and put her hands on my arms. I saw her eyes in the moonlight look up at me. We just stood there a second and a weird thought hit me:
I wanted to kiss her.
I don’t think I ever consciously thought about that before. We had always been squarely in the “friend zone.” But looking down on her in this wonderful light, I wanted to cup her face in my hands and kiss her.
“You’re going to touch the oven,” she said. “I want to protect you from that pain. But I can’t. I can only tell you that when it hurts, I’ll be there for you.”
“And I’ll be there for you,” I said. “Always.”
“Always,” Ema repeated.
We stared into each other’s eyes. I don’t know how long. I was about to move my hands to her face when someone driving by us honked and yelled, “Get a room!”
That broke the spell.
Ema’s hands slid off my arms. She took a step back. We both turned and started for home. We walked in silence for a while. Neither of us would raise this. We would both just pretend the moment never happened. With each step it seemed farther away, as though we were leaving the near kiss in the hospital parking lot. The tension eased.
We were becoming just friends again.
When we reached the intersection, Ema surprised me by starting down the road toward Bat Lady’s now-burned-down house. I stayed right by her side.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“There are tunnels under the house. That’s what you told me.”
