Shadows

18

Steve Conners pulled up in front of the Academy. Josh was waiting for him on the porch, his face anxious. Ten minutes ago, when the boy had called him, Conners had been about to sit down to yet another of the TV dinners with which his freezer was filled. The fear in Josh’s voice had made him abandon the little plastic tray to the trash before he’d eaten even a single bite.

“Take it easy, Josh,” he’d said, breaking through the babble coming from the other end of the line. “Just tell me what happened, or at least what you think happened.”

“It’s Amy!” Josh had repeated. “She’s gone, and there’s a note on her computer, just like the one Adam left.”

“Did you tell Hildie Kramer about it?”

“Uh-huh. But she said I shouldn’t worry, that she’d take care of everything. But Amy’s my friend! And she was really scared this afternoon!” The fear in the boy’s own voice had been enough to bring Conners back to the school. Now, as he took the steps up to the wide loggia two at a time, Josh held out a piece of paper.

Conners studied the message Josh had copied from Amy’s computer screen. It wasn’t precisely a suicide note, and yet … “All right,” he said, keeping his voice carefully under control. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

Just as Josh had started to tell him the story of the afternoon, he was interrupted by Hildie Kramer’s appearance at the front door. “Steve? What brought you back this evening?” Then, her eyes falling on Josh, she smiled in understanding. “I see. Amy Carlson?”

Conners nodded. “Josh was worried, so he called me. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to come out and see what’s going on.”

“Well, come on in, and you might as well come, too, Josh.” She ushered them into her office and closed the door. “I think maybe Josh has overreacted a bit. Amy had a little problem this afternoon, and it appears she’s gone off by herself for a while.”

Josh stared at the housemother. A little problem? She’d been there. She’d seen Amy! “It wasn’t that way, Steve,” he objected. “Dr. Engersol was using her in an experiment, and she was really scared. She was crying, and everything!”

Conners’s eyes shifted inquiringly to Hildie Kramer, who nodded in assent. “She was scared,” the woman agreed. “And she was crying. I followed her away from the pool and found her in her room. She was pretty upset for a while, but I got her calmed down.”

“Then where is she now?” Conners asked pointedly. Hildie’s eyes took note of the piece of paper in his hand.

“I wish I knew. In fact, I’ve just been organizing people to go out and look for her. I assume that’s a copy of the note she left on her computer.” Conners nodded, almost curtly. “Well, that’s Amy,” Hildie sighed. “She tends to be a bit dramatic, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Dramatic enough to leave a note like this? It sounds like the least she’s done is run away from school, and at the worst …” His voice trailed off, but his eyes darted meaningfully toward Josh, who was listening intently to every word.

Hildie understood at once. “I don’t think we need to worry about Amy doing something—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “… something irreversible. She’s never had those kinds of problems, and I think if she were going to try that kind of thing, it would have been during her first few days here, when she was a great deal unhappier than she was today. My feeling is that she’s out walking somewhere, feeling sorry for herself, and hoping to throw a very bad scare into us.”

“What if she’s not?” Conners countered, his voice harsh now. “What are we doing to find her?”

“Pretty much everything we legally can,” Hildie snapped, making no attempt to conceal her annoyance at the implication that she might not be doing her job properly. “I’ve alerted the campus security force, and three of the off-duty officers have been called in to look for her. For the moment, there isn’t much more I can do.”

“What about the police in town?” Conners demanded. “Have you talked to them?”

Hildie’s lips curved into a thin smile. “If I thought it would do any good, believe me, I would. But as far as the police are concerned, there’s no point in calling them until tomorrow. Amy simply hasn’t been missing long enough, assuming she really is missing and isn’t just hiding from us. But you can believe that if she doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll be on the phone to the police first thing in the morning.”

“But she’s gone!” Josh protested. “And after what Dr. Engersol did to her—”

Hildie fixed Josh with the severest look in her arsenal. “Josh, that’s enough. Dr. Engersol didn’t hurt her at all, as you well know. She’s upset, yes, but she did agree to take part in the experiment.”

“But she didn’t even know what it was!” Josh cried, his voice rising. “If anybody had told her, she wouldn’t have done it!”

“Josh, please. Just calm down. Nothing’s happened to Amy—”

“You don’t know that,” Josh wailed. He was about to go on when Steve Conners reached out and took his arm.

“Hold on, Josh. Let me just find out what this experiment was all about.” His eyes fixed on Hildie, who briefly told him about the Hobson’s choice to which Amy Carlson had been subjected

“She didn’t like it,” Hildie finished. “But that was the whole point of the experiment, I think. Of course I don’t always understand what Dr. Engersol is trying to accomplish, but—”

“But you went along with letting him do that to her?” Conners asked with disbelief. “You let him play on her acrophobia, and humiliate her in front of all her friends? Jesus, Hildie — she’s only ten years old!”

Hildie flushed angrily. “Pm hardly responsible for what happened, Steve,” she told him. “If you have an objection to what Dr. Engersol is doing, I suggest you take it up with him. But don’t blame me — I’m only trying to do my job the best way I know how.”

Conners was on his feet. “I will take it up with Engersol, believe me! But first, I’m going to do what I can to help find Amy Carlson. Do you have any pictures of her?”

Hildie seemed about to object, but then apparently changed her mind, opening a file folder on her desk and handing him several blurry copies of a picture of Amy that she’d photocopied only half an hour ago for the security guards.

Conners took them, standing up. “I’m going to take these down to the village and find out if anyone’s seen her.”

“I’m going, too!” Josh announced, scrambling off the sofa.

“Josh, it’s almost time for dinner—” Hildie began, but Conners didn’t let her finish.

“We’ll get something downtown,” he said. “She’s his best friend, Hildie.”

Hildie considered it for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But I want him back within a couple of hours. He’s still got his homework to do, and I won’t have him up studying all night.”

“I promise,” Steve Conners swore. “Come on, Josh. Let’s go see if we can find Amy.”

Hope flooding into him, Josh dashed out of the office. By the time Steve reached his car, the boy was already sitting in the passenger seat. “Let’s go to the bus station first,” he said as Steve slid behind the wheel. “I bet she decided to go home. But what if she didn’t have enough money? How much does a bus ticket to Los Angeles cost, anyway?” As Steve drove away from the Academy, Josh kept talking, bubbling over with ideas.

They started at the drugstore, which doubled as the bus station. Josh was almost sure that the man behind the soda fountain, who also sold bus tickets, would recognize Amy as soon as he saw the picture. But the old man only studied the picture through his thick glasses and shook his head.

“No, can’t say as I recognize her. ’Course, the picture’s kinda blurry, ain’t it?”

“Did you see any little girls this afternoon?” Josh asked.

“Oh, yeah,” the man replied. “There was Jody Fraser, and Carleen Johnson. They come in for a soda most every day. And I think maybe the little Ashbrook girl was here, too. Judy or Janet. Something like that.”

“But she must have been here,” Josh pleaded. “She’s got red hair, and freckles, and wears glasses, and she’s just about as tall as I am.”

The old man shook his head. “Nope. Sorry.”

They moved on to the library, where they talked not only to the librarian, but to a high school boy who was working there as well. Neither of them had seen either Amy or anyone who looked like her. The librarian’s brows wrinkled with worry when she learned the little girl was a student at the Academy. “Oh, dear,” she’d clucked. “I hope it isn’t like with the other one. What was his name? Adam?”

Steve hustled Josh out of the library, and though neither of them mentioned what the librarian had said, Steve was increasingly aware of Josh’s silence as they moved on.

Unconsciously, they began walking faster, checking the bookstore and searching through the small park across from the building that housed the city hall and police department.

As the sun began to set, they went into the police station itself.

There, they heard from the desk sergeant exactly what Hildie Kramer had told them earlier: no missing persons reports unless there was some evidence of foul play, no matter how slim, or at least one night had gone by.

“But she’s only ten years old!” Steve protested.

The desk sergeant shrugged, nodding toward San Francisco. “Up in the city, they got ’em hooking at eleven and twelve. The world ain’t like it was when I was a kid.”

At last, though Josh begged him to keep up the search, Steve insisted they go into El Polio Gordo, where he ordered a Mexican dinner for each of them.

Josh said nothing, even when the food arrived. Indeed, he barely even glanced at the steaming enchilada in front of him.

“Amy’s not like Adam,” Steve Conners finally said, certain he knew what was going through Josh’s mind. “You know how Adam was — he always kept everything to himself. No one ever knew what was going on with him.” He forced a grin. “Not like Amy at all. Everyone always knows where she stands. If she’s mad, everyone knows about it for blocks!” His own chuckle died away almost before it left his lips. “Look, sport, we’re going to find her. She’s okay!”

“What if she’s not?” Josh asked.

Steve wasn’t sure how to reply. He was still trying to formulate an answer to the boy’s question when Josh spoke again.

“What if Adam’s not dead, either?”

Steve stared at Josh blankly. “Adam? What are you talking about? We were all at his funeral.”

Josh opened his mouth to speak, then realized that no matter what he said, it was going to sound crazy. Even if what Jeff had said was true, who would believe him? From the look on his teacher’s face, Josh could see that Steve Conners wouldn’t, and if Steve didn’t, then probably no one would.

Unless he could figure out some way to prove it.

And if he could, and Adam wasn’t really dead, then maybe Amy wasn’t either, no matter how her note had sounded.

Maybe they’d done something to her.

Maybe the experiment wasn’t really over with after all.

He should have been asleep an hour ago, but Josh was still wide awake, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Steve Conners had brought him back to the Academy after dinner, and Josh had done his best to concentrate on his homework, but it was one of those nights when no matter how hard he tried to keep his mind on what he was reading, he kept thinking of other things.

Amy.

And Adam.

He kept telling himself there wasn’t anything he could do, but it didn’t help, and finally he’d tossed his books aside and decided to go to bed. But even that didn’t help, and now, with the moon shining brightly in through the window, he didn’t think the glow of his computer screen would show up, even if anyone happened to look up at his window. Slipping out of bed, he pulled his bathrobe on against the chill from the open window, slid his feet into his fur-lined slippers, and sat down at his desk, switching on the monitor of his computer.

He began playing one of his favorite games, an adventure in which he took the part of a wizard, making his way through dungeons and caverns, doing battle with the monsters that appeared out of the darkness with whatever tools came to hand. But as he played the game, his imagination took over, and in his mind the image on the screen became the Academy itself; the maze of caves and dark rooms transmogrified into the corridors of the mansion.

The princess in the game became Amy, and he himself was transformed into a knight in shining armor.

The game went on, but more and more Josh found himself playing the game in his own mind.

What if it was true?

What if Amy wasn’t gone at all?

What if she was still in the house somewhere?

The idea grew in Josh’s mind, until he abandoned the computer altogether, leaving the monitor still glowing with an image of a black-clad villain guarding the gate to a castle perched on a hill.

He went to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. Empty, and silent.

He left his room, pulling the door closed behind him so gently that only a soft click was heard as the latch caught.

A click that sounded to Josh like a rifleshot in the silence of the house.

He froze, waiting for one of the other doors to open, already preparing a small white lie to explain his absence from his bed.

No doors opened. No one appeared to challenge him.

He stole silently down the hall to the stairway, and hesitated.

Up, or down?

Not up. If Amy was in the house, they wouldn’t put her on the third floor, where the other kids might hear her.

No, they would put her in the cellar. Maybe tied up.

Maybe even drugged.

His heart began to pound with anticipation as he crept down the broad flight of stairs to the main floor.

In the dimly lit foyer he paused once again. The chandelier’s soft glow barely held the darkness back. In Josh’s imagination, every shadowy corner held something watching him, something lurking, waiting to leap out at him.

He almost lost his nerve, but when he remembered once again the look of stark terror on Amy’s face that afternoon, and imagined the peril she might now be in, his courage flooded back to him. He scuttled across the foyer into the great dining room, barely illuminated by the spill of the weak light from the hall chandelier.

Between it and the kitchen, he knew, were the stairs leading down to the basement.

He came to the door, reached out with a trembling hand, and tried the knob.

As it turned, part of him almost wished it had been locked.

He pushed the basement door open, cringing as its hinges creaked. He stood still in the gloom of the butler’s pantry, staring down into the blackness of the cellar below.

Alight.

There had to be a light somewhere down there.

He reached into the darkness, feeling along the wall inside the basement’s door. His hand touched something that moved, scuttling off into the darkness as Josh jerked his hand away. His skin crawled as he imagined what the creature might have been, and he almost gave up the adventure and returned to the safety of his bed.

A moment later, though, he regained control of his nerves and quickly reached once more into the blackness, sweeping his hand upward, so that his fingers would catch any switch that might be there.

It worked, and a naked light bulb flashed on at the bottom of the stairs. Josh stared at it in shocked amazement for a split second, then quickly stepped through the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. He was standing on a landing at the top of a steep flight of rickety-looking wooden steps, a rough two-by-four banister offering the only means of steadying himself.

The white light of the naked bulb seemed to be swallowed up by the blackness that spread away from the foot of the staircase. It was all Josh could do to keep himself from turning away and fleeing from the unknown cavern beneath the mansion.

Stupid! he told himself. It’s just a basement, and there’s nothing hiding in it. Amy’s probably not even down here.

But what if she was, and he went back to bed without even looking?

He crept down the stairs, freezing every time one of the steps creaked beneath his feet, listening to the silence until he was sure nothing else had heard him, then moving onward.

At last he came to the concrete floor. Shading his eyes against the glare of the bulb that now hung directly overhead, he peered into the surrounding darkness. His eyes, adjusting to the light, surveyed the old furniture that was stored in the cellar, and the long-closed cartons that were stacked against the wall behind the stairs, cartons whose very contents had probably been forgotten years before.

For a moment he was tempted to open one of them, but then he turned away, intent on exploring the rest of the basement before he lost his nerve. He moved away from the light, ducking his head to avoid the cobwebs that hung from the huge floor joists that supported the mansion above.

The basement was a maze in its own right, partitioned off into various rooms. As he moved along, he found more light switches, and slowly the cavernous space beneath the house began to glow with light, each successive wave of shadows washed away by another of those naked bulbs that made Josh feel newly exposed every time he turned one on.

He found the laundry room, and the enormous furnace that heated the building. A monstrous boiler occupied a room of its own, with pipes leading in all directions to supply hot water to the various bathrooms of the house.

Josh explored each room as he came to it, then moved on, each step taking him farther from the stairs that were the only entrance to the cellar. And with each step, and every unlocked room he came to, his hopes of finding Amy Carlson faded a little further.

Still, he kept going, kept creeping through the shadowy maze.

It was well past midnight when Hildie Kramer left her suite of rooms on the ground floor of the Academy and mounted the stairs, pausing on both the second and third floor landings to be certain that none of the children were prowling around the house. Then she went on up to the fourth floor, and the small anteroom in front of the door to George Engersol’s apartment. Knowing it was empty, she used her own key to let herself in, then relocked the door behind her.

She switched a lamp on, confident the light would cause no concern to anyone, since Engersol was notorious for the late hours he kept. She glanced around the main room of the large suite that was perched on the roof of the mansion. In one corner was Engersol’s desk, where he worked on the projects that were far too private to risk leaving in his office in the classroom wing next to the mansion. In addition to the desk, the room contained a large, worn sofa, a pair of ancient Morris chairs that Engersol steadfastly refused to have reupholstered, and a small bar, from which the two of them occasionally enjoyed a drink at the end of the day. There were several small tables scattered around the room, each of them covered with books from Engersol’s extensive library, whose shelves were built into every available wall. The curtains over the large windows that pierced the two exterior walls of the room were open, as always, and Hildie didn’t bother to close them. Despite the airiness of the apartment during the daylight hours, it was nevertheless extraordinarily private at night, for unless someone was high on the hill behind the building, there were no other points from which its interior could be viewed.

Crossing to one of the bookcases that lined the east wall, Hildie pulled out a thick volume by B. E Skinner and groped for the tiny button that was hidden in a small depression in the wood. As she pressed the button, a section of the bookcase swung open, revealing the closed doors of an elevator.

An elevator whose shaft was hidden in the wall behind the ornate brass construction whose scaffolding and cage visitors to the mansion never failed to admire, and which proved endlessly fascinating to the children of the Academy.

Neither the mansion’s visitors nor the children who lived in it were aware of this second elevator, for it was invisible to all, and while casual visitors would never have cause even to hear it, the tale of Eustace Bairington’s restless spirit accounted for whatever sounds the children might hear at night. Indeed, when George Engersol had discovered the existence of the elevator — and the hidden suite of rooms far beneath the basement to which it provided the only access — he had understood at once that there was some truth to the ancient legend about Eustace Barrington’s vanished son; understood that he had discovered the place to which the boy had “vanished.” Ever since, he had turned not only the elevator, but the rooms below and the legend itself, to his own advantage.

Hildie pressed another button that would summon the car, and waited impatiently for nearly thirty seconds before the doors slid open. Stepping into the car, she pressed the lower of the two destination buttons on its wall. Slowly, the elevator descended, inching downward to a level five stories below the cupola, deep beneath the foundation on which the mansion had been built.

To the subterranean rooms to which Eustace Barrington’s idiot savant son had been banished at the age of five.

Banished to be cared for — or to be held prisoner? Not that it made any difference now, a century after it had happened, Hildie reflected, though the mere thought of the silent child living out his darkness-shrouded days entombed in the deep subceliar never failed to prickle the skin at the back of her neck. Well, she reminded herself, all that was important now was that no one outside the innermost circle knew it existed at all.

Nor would they — until the time was right.

Josh was just coming to what he thought might have been a coal bin when he heard the sound.

It was faint, but he was certain he recognized it.

The elevator.

Someone was in the elevator.

He froze.

Had someone found out he wasn’t in his room, and come looking for him? Panic threatened to overwhelm him, but then he realized that just because someone was looking for him, didn’t mean they would find him.

The noise grew louder, and he listened, finally moving toward it, certain that it would stop in a moment as the car came to the main floor.

Before him was a blank concrete wall, perhaps eight feet across. Moving to its end, he found a second wall.

The sound of the elevator seemed to come from behind the concrete. He pressed his ear to the wall, listening.

The sound was louder. He went on, coming to another corner, and then the fourth.

The shaft! He’d found the bottom of the elevator shaft!

He pressed his ear to the wall again, just as the grinding of the machinery ceased. The car had come to a halt. A second later he was sure he heard the door open.

It sounded close, though he couldn’t judge exactly where it came from, whether above or below.

What if whoever was there saw light coming from under the basement door?

The thought galvanized him, and he darted back through the basement, switching off the lights as he went, coming at last to the foot of the stairs. Darting up the steep flight as silently as he could, he flipped the switch next to the door, then froze, waiting in pitch-blackness, straining to hear any movement on the other side of the door.

His pounding heart and gasping breath seemed to echo through the basement, and he was certain that anyone in the little chamber beyond the door could hear him clearly.

Seconds slipped by, each of them seeming endless. Slowly his panting eased and his heart slowed to its normal pace.

From the other side of the door he heard nothing.

At last, terror gripping his soul, Josh groped in the blackness, found the doorknob, and twisted it.

Easing the door open no more than a crack, he peered out into the faint light that barely suffused the darkness of the butler’s pantry.

Everything seemed to be exactly as it had been a few minutes earlier, when he had stolen down the stairs from the second floor. He opened the door wider, slipped through it and pushed it silently closed behind him. His slippers making no sound on the wooden floor, he crept back through the dining room, pausing once more at the door to the foyer.

He watched, and listened.

Nothing.

At last, taking a deep breath, he darted from the shelter of the dining room door, dashed across the foyer and raced up the stairs to the second floor.

Before he’d even released his breath, he was back in his room, the door safely shut behind him. As he slowly released the air from his lungs, he went to the window and peered out into the faint moonlight.

Outside, everything looked peaceful.

But something told him it was not. Somewhere, he was certain, something was happening. Either inside the house or outside of it.

He would stay awake tonight, and watch.

Watch, and listen.

When the doors of the elevator opened, Hildie stepped out into a brightly lit hallway completely lined with glistening white tile. She turned right. Three paces down the corridor she came to a door and paused to peer in through the small window that broke its otherwise blank façade.

Inside, George Engersol was hard at work, wearing a surgical mask and gown, his hair covered by a pale green cloth cap.

Quickly, Hildie moved on to the next room, where she scrubbed her hands and arms, then donned the same kind of scrub suit that George Engersol was wearing. When she was ready, she backed through the swinging door that separated the anteroom from the operating theater.

George Engersol looked up, his sharp eyes glinting with annoyance. “I told you to be here by eleven,” he said.

“I’m here now,” Hildie replied. “Is everything ready?”

“Of course it’s ready. But Tm still not sure it’s the right time. I’d hoped to wait at least another week, maybe two.”

“You don’t have another week or two, not with Amy Carlson. She was going to leave.”

“You could have talked her out of it,” Engersol said tersely.

“If I could have, I would have,” Hildie replied, remembering the conversation she’d had when she found Amy exactly where she’d looked for her, hidden within the circle of trees that made up the Gazebo on the school’s front lawn. She’d tried her best to reason with Amy, to calm her down, but it had done no good.

“I’m going home,” Amy had insisted. “And if you don’t let me call my mother, I’ll run away. I won’t stay, even if you lock me in my room!”

So Hildie had given in. “All right, Amy,” she’d said. “Let’s go to my office and call your parents. If you don’t want to stay, we certainly don’t want to keep you here.”

Amy, apparently mollified by Hildie’s unexpected agreement to her demands, had allowed herself to be led to Hildie’s office. “Why don’t I get you a glass of water?” Hildie had offered. “Then, by the time you drink it, you’ll feel better, and be calm enough to talk to your mother. All right?”

Amy, still sniffling, had nodded. Hildie had given her a box of Kleenex with which to blow her nose, then disappeared for a moment. When she returned, she had a glass of water. Amy promptly gulped it down.

It had taken no more than thirty seconds for the drug to take effect and drowsiness to overcome the little girl. Hildie had carried her quickly to the ornate brass elevator, which brought them up to Engersol’s apartment, then down again to the laboratory beneath the Academy’s basement.

Amy had been there ever since.

Now, still unconscious, she lay on the operating table.

Hildie glanced dispassionately down at the girl’s sleeping face and the tangle of red hair that framed her freckled cheeks. Then she shifted her attention to all the equipment that was arranged around the table, equipment that would keep Amy alive through the next four hours.

A respirator was waiting, and a blood pump.

Nearby was a dialysis machine, along with an array of special equipment that George Engersol himself had invented.

“Shall we begin?” Hildie asked.

Nodding, George Engersol picked up a scalpel. A moment later he’d made a slit that began behind Amy’s left ear and went around the back of her head, ending at her right ear.

Working quickly, he began peeling her scalp away from her skull.

He didn’t worry too much about how carefully he treated Amy’s face, for George Engersol knew that at the end of the operation, Amy’s face wouldn’t matter anymore.

Indeed, when they finally found her, if they ever did, he doubted whether anything would remain of Amy’s face at all.

Or any of the rest of her, for that matter.

Certainly, there wouldn’t be enough left for anyone to figure out what he’d done to her