The Merchant of Death

Journal #1 (continued)

Denduron

There wasn’t much I could ask Uncle Press from the back of a speeding motorcycle. Between the whine of the engine, the blast of wind rushing by and the fact that both of us were wearing these high-tech helmets, conversation was impossible. So I was left with my own imagination to try and figure out where we were going and why.

One thing was clear though. We were leaving town. I lived in a quiet, peaceful, okaydull suburb of New York City. I’d been into the city a few times with my parents, mostly to go to events like the holiday spectacular at Radio City or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Then there was that one time you and I, Mark, hopped the commuter train to catch that James Bond flick. Remember? Other than that, the city was pretty much a mystery to me.

On the other hand, it didn’t take a New York cabbie to realize Uncle Press was steering us into a section of the city that by anybody’s standards would be defined as…bad. This was not the New York I’d ever seen, except maybe on a TV news report about some nasty crime that had just gone down. Once we shot off the Cross Bronx Expressway we were smack in the middle of the badlands. Burned-out buildings were everywhere. Nobody walked on the streets. It all looked empty and desolate, yet I had the eerie feeling that many sets of eyes were locked on us from the dark windows of the derelict buildings as we cruised by. And of course, it was nighttime dark.

Was I scared? Well, judging by the fact that I wanted to puke and I held on to Uncle Press so hard I expected to hear one of his ribs crack, I’d say yeah, I was scared. Uncle Press guided the motorcycle toward one of those old-fashioned kiosks that marked the stairs leading down to the subway. We bounced up onto the curb and he killed the engine. As we glided to a stop, suddenly everything became quiet. Granted, I’d been riding on the back of a motorcycle for the past half hour and after thatanything would seem quiet. But this wasreally quiet, like a ghost town. Or a ghost city.

“This is it,” he announced and jumped off the bike. I jumped off too and gratefully removed my helmet. Finally, I could hear again. Uncle Press left his helmet on the bike and headed for the subway entrance.

“Whoa, hold on, we’re going to leave the bike and the helmets?” I asked with surprise. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even take the keys out of the ignition. I’m no expert on crime, but I could pretty much predict that if we left this gear here, it would be gone before we blinked.

“We don’t need it anymore,” he said quickly and started down the subway stairs.

“Why are we taking the subway?” I asked. “Why don’t we just stay on the bike?”

“Because we can’t take the bike where we’re going,” he answered with a matter-of-fact tone. He turned and headed down a few more steps.

I didn’t move. I wanted answers, and I wasn’t taking another step until I got some. Uncle Press sensed that I wasn’t following him, so he stopped and looked back at me.

“What?” he asked, with a little bit of frustration.

“I just blew off the most important game of my life, my team is going to crucify me tomorrow, and you want me to follow you into the subway in the worst part of New York City? I think I deserve to know what’s going on!” This had gone far enough and if I didn’t get some answers, I was walking. Of course I wasn’t exactly sure of where I would go if Uncle Press left me there and went on alone. I figured it was a safe risk, though. After all, he was my uncle.

Uncle Press softened. For a moment I saw the face of the guy I’d known all my life. “You’re right, Bobby. I’ve asked you to do a lot on faith. But if we stop for me to explain everything, we may be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“There’s a group of people who are in trouble. They’re relying on me to help them, and I’m relying on you to help me.”

I was flattered and freaked at the same time. “Really? What kind of trouble?”

“That’s what would take me forever to explain. I’d rather show you.”

I didn’t know what to do. Even if I wanted to run away, I had no clue of how to get out of there. And here was this guy, my uncle, staring me straight in the eye and saying he needed me. There weren’t a whole lot of options. I finally decided to divulge the single overriding thought in my head.

“I’m scared.” There, I said it.

“I know. But please believe me, Bobby, as long as it’s in my power, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He said this with such sincerity, it actually made me feel better…for about a second.

“What happens when it’snot in your power?” I asked.

Uncle Press smiled, and said, “That won’t be for a while. Are you with me?”

They say that just before you’re about to meet your doom, your life flashes before your eyes. Surprisingly, that didn’t happen. I didn’t think of the game. I didn’t think of my family. I didn’t even think of Courtney Chetwynde. I just thought about me and Uncle Press. Here and now. I took that as a good sign. So I mustered all the bravura I could and said, “Hey, ho, let’s go.”

Uncle Press let out a laugh like I hadn’t heard from him in a long time, then turned and rushed down the stairs. As I watched him disappear into the dark hole of the subway, I did my best to pretend I wasn’t being an idiot by going along with him. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Uncle Press standing in front of a wall of graffiti-covered plywood that blocked the entrance. The station was closed and by the looks of the old wood, it had been closed for a long time.

“Well, that’s a problem,” I said glibly. “No go, right?”

Uncle Press turned to me and with the sincerity of a sage teacher imparting golden words of wisdom, he said, “There are no problems, only challenges.”

“Well, if the challenge is to catch a subway at a station that’s closed,” I countered, “then I’d say that’s a problem.”

But not for Uncle Press. He casually reached toward the wall with one hand, grabbed one of the boards and gave it a yank. It didn’t seem as if he pulled all that hard, but instantly four huge boards pulled loose in one piece, opening up an avenue into the darkened station.

“Who said anything about catching a subway?” he said with a sly smile.

He effortlessly dropped the large section of boards on the stairs and stepped inside. I had no idea Uncle Press was that strong. I also had no idea why we were stepping into a closed subway station, at night, in the worst section of the city.

Uncle Press then poked his head back out. “Coming?”

I was half a breath away from turning, running up the stairs, and giving myself a crash course in motorcycle driving. But I didn’t. Chances are the bike was already stolen anyway. I had no choice, so I followed him.

The station had been closed for a long time. The only light came from street lamps that filtered down through grates in the sidewalk. The soft glow cast a crisscross pattern against the walls that threw the rest of the station into darkness. It took a while for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw a forgotten piece of history. At one time this was probably a busy station. I could make out ornate mosaic tile work on the walls that must have been beautiful when new, but was now a mess of grimy cracks that looked like a giant, dirty spiderweb. Garbage was everywhere, benches were overturned, and the glass around the token booth was shattered. In a word, it was sad.

As I stood on top of the cement stairs, the derelict station began to show signs of life. It started as a faint rumble, that slowly grew louder. The station may have been closed, but the subway trains still ran. I saw the headlight first as it beamed into the opening, lighting up the track and the walls. Then the train came-fast. There was no reason to stop at this station anymore so it rumbled through like a shot, on its way to someplace else. For a brief moment I could imagine the station as it had looked in better days. But just as quickly, the image was gone, along with the train. In an instant, the place was deathly quiet again. The only sign that the train had been through was the swirling pieces of crusty paper caught in its slipstream.

I looked to Uncle Press to see if he were appreciating this forlorn piece of old New York history the same as I was. He wasn’t. His eyes were sharp and focused. He quickly scanned the empty station looking for…something. I didn’t know what. But I definitely sensed that he had just notched up into DefCon 2. He was on full alert, and it didn’t do much to put me at ease.

“What?” was all I could think of asking.

He started quickly down the stairs. I was right after him. “Listen, Bobby,” he said quickly, as if he didn’t have much time. “If anything happens, I want you to know what to do.”

“Happens? What do you mean happens?” This didn’t sound good.

“Everything will be fine if you know what to do. We’re not here to catch a train, we’re here because this is where the gate is.”

“Gate? What gate?”

“At the end of the platform are stairs that lead down to the tracks. About thirty yards down the track, along the wall, there’s a door. It’s got a drawing on it, like a star.”

Things were going a little fast for me now. Uncle Press kept walking quickly, headed for the far end of the platform. I had to dodge around pillars and overturned garbage cans to keep up with him.

“You with me?” he asked sharply.

“Yeah,” I said. “Stairs, door, star. Why are we-”

“The door is the gate. If for some reason I’m not with you, open the door, go inside and say, ‘Denduron.’”

“Denda-what?”

“Den-du-ron. Say it!”

“Denduron. I got it. What is it, some kind of password?”

“It’ll get us where we’re going.”

Okay, could this have been anymore mysterious? Why didn’t we just say “abracadabra” or something equally stupid? I was beginning to think this was all some kind of big old joke.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked nervously. “We’re going together, right?”

“That’s the plan, but if anything-”

“Stop right there!”

Uh-oh. We weren’t alone. We both stopped short and whipped around to see…a cop. Busted. For what I’m not sure. Trespassing, I guess.

“You boys want to tell me what you’re doing down here?” The cop looked confident-no, cocky. He was a clean-cut guy, with a perfect khaki-colored uniform, a big badge, and an even bigger gun. At least it was still in its holster. Even though we were busted, I was actually kind of relieved to see him. To be honest, Uncle Press was starting to freak me out. I didn’t think he’d gone off the deep end or anything, but this adventure was getting stranger by the second. Maybe now that a cop was here, he’d have to explain things a little better. I looked up to Uncle Press, expecting him to answer the cop. I didn’t like what I saw. Uncle Press was staring the cop down. I could sense the wheels turning in his head, calculating. But what? An escape? I hoped not. The gun on the cop’s hip looked nasty. There was a long moment of silence, like a standoff, and then somebodyelse joined the party.

“Can’t you leave me in peace?”

We all shot a look over to a dark corner where a pile of garbage sat. At least it looked like a pile of garbage, until it moved and I saw that it was a homeless dude. Correction, he had a home and we were standing in it. He was a big guy, and I had no idea how old he was because all I saw was a tangle of hair and rags. He didn’t smell so good either. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled toward us. When he spoke, it was with a kind of slurred, crazy-speak.

“Peace! That’s all I want! Little peace, little quiet!” he jabbered.

Uncle Press squared off and stood firm, glancing quickly back and forth between the cop and the homeless guy. He was thinking fast, calculating.

“I think you two better come with me,” the cop said to us calmly. He wasn’t rattled by the new arrival.

I looked to Uncle Press. He didn’t move. The homeless guy got closer.

“Castle! This ismy castle! I want you all to-”

“What?” asked Uncle Press. “What do you want us to do?” I couldn’t believe he was trying to talk to this crazy guy. Then the platform started to rumble. Another subway train was on its way.

“I want you all to go away! Leave me alone!”

For some reason this made Uncle Press smile. Now I was totally confused. Whatever he was trying to calculate, he had his answer. He turned away from the homeless guy and faced the cop.

“You don’t know this territory, do you?” he said to the cop.

Huh? What was that supposed to mean? Behind us, the light from the subway train started to leak into the station. It would be here in a few seconds.

The homeless guy started waving his arms for emphasis. “You! I’m talkin’ to you! I want you out of my castle!” he yelled at the cop.

I was afraid the cop would pull his gun on the guy for his own protection. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at Uncle Press. They looked like two gunslingers, each waiting for the other to blink. Then he gave a little smile and said, “What was your first clue?”

“The uniform. City cops in this territory wear blue, not khaki,” answered Uncle Press.

This guy wasn’t a cop? Then who was he? The train horn blared and the screeching of metal wheels on track grew closer.

“I’m flattered though,” said Uncle Press calmly. “You came yourself.”

Uncle Press knew who this guy was! The homeless guy kept getting closer to the cop, or whoever he was.

“That’s it! That’s it! If you don’t git now I’m gonna-”

Suddenly the cop snapped a look to the homeless guy. It was a cold look that made me catch my breath. It stopped the homeless guy in his tracks. The cop stared at him with an intensity I’d never seen. The guy froze, and then began to shake like he had a fever.

The subway horn blared. The train was almost in the station.

The homeless guy looked as if he wanted to get away, but the cop’s laserlike gaze had him locked in place. Then, something happened that I won’t forget as long as I live, though I wish I could. The homeless guy opened his mouth and let out a horrifying, anguished cry. Then he ran. But he didn’t run away, he ran for the tracks! The train entered the station in a blur, and this guy was running toward it.

“No! Stop!” I shouted. But it didn’t matter. The homeless guy kept running…and jumped in front of the train!

I turned away at the last second, but that didn’t stop me from hearing it. It was a sickening thud, and his scream was suddenly cut off. The train didn’t even stop. I’ll bet no one onboard knew what had happened. But I did and I wanted to puke. I looked to Uncle Press, who had a pained look. He wiped it away in the next instant and looked back to the cop, who stood there with a smug little smile.

“That was beneath you, Saint Dane,” said Uncle Press through clenched teeth.

Saint Dane.That was the first time I heard the name. I had the grim feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

The cop, Saint Dane, gave an innocent little shrug and said, “Just wanted to give the boy a taste of what is in store for him.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

And then Saint Dane began to transform. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but it was real. His face, his clothes, everything about him changed. I watched in absolute, stupefied awe as he became a different person. His hair grew long and straight till it was over his shoulders. His body grew until he was nearly seven feet tall. His skin became ghostly pale white. His clothes changed from the khaki brown cop uniform, to an all-black suit that vaguely reminded me of the Far East. But none of that mattered as much as his eyes. His eyes grew icy blue and flashed with an evil intensity that made me understand the sheer force of will he possessed that could make someone jump to their death in front of a speeding train.

There was only one thing that didn’t change. He still had a gun. And I was surprised to discover, so did Uncle Press. With an expertise that made me feel as if he had done this sort of thing many times before, Uncle Press reached into his long coat and pulled out an automatic. Saint Dane went for his gun as well. I stood frozen. Ever hear the term “deer in the headlights”? That was me. I couldn’t move. The next thing I knew I was on my butt on the floor. Uncle Press had shoved me down behind a wooden bench. We were protected from Saint Dane, but for how long?

Uncle Press looked at me, and in a voice that was way more calm than the situation warranted, said one simple word, “Run.”

“But what about-”

“Run!” He then dove out from behind the protection of the bench and started shooting. I stayed there long enough to see Saint Dane dive behind a pillar for protection. Uncle Press was a pretty good shot because the tiles on the pillar splintered and shattered as they were slammed with his bullets. It was clear what he was doing. He was keeping Saint Dane occupied to give me time to run. But run where?

“Bobby, the door!”

Right! The door with the star and the abracadabra. Got it. I started to crawl away, when Uncle Press called to me, “Watch out for the quigs!”

Huh? What’s a quig? Bang! A tile shattered right near my head. Saint Dane was now shooting back, and I was the target! That’s all the encouragement I needed. I ran. Behind me the sound of the blasts from the gun battle rang through the empty station. It was deafening. I ran past a pillar andbang! A bullet pulverized another tile. Pieces of flying tile stung the back of my neck. That’s how close it was. I got to the far end of the platform and saw the stairs leading down to the tracks, just as Uncle Press described. I stopped for a second, thinking I’d have to be crazy to crawl down onto subway tracks. But the alternative was worse. It would be easier facing a subway train than that Saint Dane guy. So I took a quick breath and climbed down the stairs.

Once I was down on the tracks, the gun battle seemed far away. I still heard the occasional crack of a gun, but I was now more concerned about what was in front of me than behind. For a moment I thought I should go back and help Uncle Press, but jumping into the middle of a blazing gun battle didn’t seem like such a hot idea. I could only hope that he could handle the situation. The only thing I could do was follow his instructions.

It was dark. I had to feel my way along the greasy wall to make sure I didn’t accidentally step on the tracks. I’d heard about the infamous electric “third rail” that powered the trains. If you stepped on that thing, you were bacon. So I stayed as close to the wall as I could. Uncle Press said this door was about thirty yards down from the platform. I tried to picture a football field to visualize how far thirty yards was. It didn’t help. I figured I’d just keep moving until my hand hit this mysterious door. My biggest fear was that I’d miss it and then…

Grrrrrrr.

A grumble came from behind me. What was that? Was it a train? Was it power surging through the third rail? It was neither, because I heard it again and it came from a different direction.

Grrrrrrr.

It sounded like growling. But I didn’t think rats growled, so it couldn’t be rats. Good thing. I hated rats. I looked around slowly and in the dim light, I saw something that nearly made my heart stop. Across the tracks, looking straight at me, were a pair of eyes. They were low to the ground and caught the light in such a way that it made them flash yellow. It was some kind of animal. Could this be the “quig” Uncle Press had told me to watch out for? Or maybe it was a wild dog. Whatever it was, it was big, and it had friends, because more eyes appeared. It was a pack of animals gathering, and their growling told me they weren’t friendly. Gulp. My plan was to do everything I could not to threaten them. I decided to move very slowly, very deliberately and make my way toward the door and…

GRRRRRRR!

Too late! The entire pack of dogs, or quigs, or whatever they were leaped from the shadows and charged me! Suddenly the third rail didn’t seem all that dangerous. I turned and ran. There must have been a dozen of them. I could hear their teeth gnashing and their claws scratching on the metal rails as they bounded over one another to get to me and…and I didn’t want to think of what would happen if they did. I remember having a fleeting thought that maybe they’d hit the third rail and vaporize, but that didn’t happen. My only hope was finding that door. It was so dark I kept tripping over stones and garbage and railroad ties and everything else down there, but I kept going. I had no choice. If I fell, I was kibble.

Then, like a lifeline to a drowning man, I saw it. The only light came from dirty, old bulbs strung above the tracks, but it was enough for me to see. Recessed into the cement wall was a small door with a faint star shape carved into the wood. This was it! I ran up to the door, only to discover there was no door handle. I couldn’t open it!

I looked back and saw the pack of animals nearly on me. I only had a few more seconds. I leaned my weight against the door and it opened! The door opened in, not out! I fell inside and quickly scrambled back to close the door just as-slam slam slam! — the animals hit the door. I leaned back on the door, desperate to keep them out, but they were strong. I could hear their claws feverishly scratching at the wooden door. I couldn’t keep them out for long.

Now, I’m going to stop my story here, Mark, because what happened next was far more important than those animals who were trying to get me. I know, hard to believe, but it was. Obviously the wild dogs, or the quigs or whatever they’re called, didn’t get me. If they had, I wouldn’t be writing this.

Duh. I think what happened next was the single most important event of this whole nightmare. As scary and as strange as everything was that had happened up till then, there was no way I could have been prepared for what was waiting for me beyond that door.

While I was trying to keep the animals out, I looked at the space I’d just entered. What I saw was a long, dark tunnel. It wasn’t big, maybe about six feet high. The walls were made of craggy, slate gray rock. It didn’t look as if it were drilled out by a machine, either. It was crude, like somebody dug the tunnel with hand tools. I couldn’t see how far the tunnel went back, because it dropped off into blackness. It could have gone on forever.

I didn’t know what to do. If I tried to run down the tunnel, the instant I left the door the animals would burst in and be on me. Not a good move. I was stuck. But then I remembered what Uncle Press had told me. There was a word. He’d said to go inside and say this word. He’d said it would get us to where we were going. What was that word? Dennison? Dandelion? Dandruff? I couldn’t really see how saying a hocus-pocus word could get me out of this predicament, but it was the only choice I had.

Then I remembered it. Denduron. It meant nothing to me, but if it was going to get me out of this, it would be my favorite word in the world. So I put my back to the door, planted my feet, looked into the dark tunnel, and shouted out:

“Denduron!”

Instantly the animals stopped beating against the door. It didn’t sound like they ran away; they were just suddenly not there. I took a chance and stepped away from the door and…nothing happened. At least, nothing happened with the door. The tunnel was another thing altogether.

It started as a hum. It was low at first, but the frequency started to grow. I looked into the tunnel and watched in wonder as the walls started to twist and move. I was looking down the barrel of a huge, flexible, living pipeline. Then the walls started to change. They went from solid gray to clear! These craggy walls suddenly looked as if they were made of crystal, or diamonds. Light was everywhere, as if it were coming right from the walls themselves.

It was truly an amazing sight. So amazing that I didn’t stop to wonder what it all meant. That’s when I heard the music. It wasn’t a recognizable tune or anything; it was just a bunch of soft, sweet notes that were all jumbled up. It was almost hypnotic. The mixed-up notes got louder and louder as if they were coming closer.

The thing that brought me back to myself was a strange sensation. I stood at the mouth of the tunnel and felt a tingling throughout my body. It wasn’t horrible, just strange. The tingling grew stronger, and I felt an odd but unmistakable tug. I didn’t realize it at first, but it soon dawned on me that I was being pulled into the tunnel! Some giant, invisible hand had gotten hold of me and was pulling me in! I tried to back away, but the force grew stronger. Now I started to panic. I turned and tried to find something, anything to grab on to. I fell down and dug my nails into the ground, but nothing worked. I was being sucked into this horrible tunnel, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

This is the point. This is where my life changed. What happened next turned everything I had ever known, everything I had ever believed in, everything I had ever thought to be real, totally inside out.

I got sucked into the rabbit hole, Mark. And I was headed for Wonderland.

Second Earth

Mark had to get out of this bathroom.The little stall was closing in on him. He tried to jump up off the seat, but a loop on his pack was caught on the flusher handle and all he managed to do was fall back and flush the stupid toilet. He pulled his pack free, jammed the parchment papers into it, then fumbled for the lock to spring himself from the stall. He was so flustered he couldn’t even work the simple latch. Finally, mercifully, he slammed it back and threw the door open to see…

Standing there was Andy Mitchell. He was leaning casually against the wall, smoking a cigarette. “Jeez, you been in there a long time, Dimond. Everything come out all right?” Mitchell gave a stupid grin like this was a truly clever line.

Mark froze for a second, feeling as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

“I’m f-f-fine.” When Mark got nervous, he had a little stutter. It wasn’t a horrible thing, just something that came out under stress.

Mitchell expertly flipped his cigarette across the room and it landed in one of the urinals. Bull’s-eye. Ordinarily Mark would have been grossed out by that, but his mind was on other things right now.

“It’s cool,” said Mitchell. “What you do in the privacy of the can is your business. What’s in the pack?”

Mark clutched the pack to his chest as if it contained precious papers. Which in fact, it did. His mind raced. What was the one thing he could say that Mitchell would accept and not ask more questions? The answer was clear.

“P-Playboys.”

Mitchell gave a lascivious grin. “You dog. Lemme see.” He reached for the pack but Mark yanked it away and backed toward the door.

“S-Sorry. I’m late.” Before Mitchell could say another word, Mark turned and ran from the room. He didn’t know where he was going, but he ran anyway. The words from the pages kept running through his head. Could this story be true? This was the kind of stuff you saw in the movies or read in graphic novels. People made this stuff up for entertainment. It wasn’t real.

He probably would have dismissed the whole thing as a work of fiction, except for the strange visitor he had the night before and the ring on his finger that made these pages appear on the bathroom floor. They were both real as can be. There was no logical explanation for what happened, so therefore all the normal rules of reality had to be tossed out the window. He needed to talk to Bobby. But if this story were true, Bobby was indisposed at the moment and not available for questioning.

It was nine thirty in the morning. Mark and Bobby should have been in geometry class. Of course, Mark wasn’t there because he was too busy running frantically through the empty halls of Stony Brook Junior High like a nutburger. Somehow geometry didn’t seem all that important right now. But he swung by the classroom anyway, praying that he’d find Bobby sitting at his desk.

Mark approached the door warily. He took a breath and looked in to see that Bobby’s desk was empty. Not good. Mark didn’t know where to turn. He had to talk to somebody, but who? He wanted to share what was going on, but more important, he needed confirmation that he wasn’t totally out of his mind. That’s when the answer came to him. There was one person who could verify part of the story. Courtney Chetwynde.

The gym classes at Stony Brook were normally segregated, boys from girls. The only time the classes were coed was for gymnastics when they had to share the apparatus. The rest of the time there was a huge, collapsible wall drawn between the boys’ gym and the girls’ gym. However, there was one other exception to the rule.

That was Courtney Chetwynde. When it came to team sports, Courtney didn’t play with the girls. She was tall and strong, and the advantage she had over most girls was unfair. So even though it went against every rule of the school system and the county and the state, Courtney was allowed to play with the guys. No one complained, either. The girls were just as happy not to have to deal with her whupping up on them all the time. And after she proved herself to the guys, which took all of thirty seconds, they welcomed her. And they didn’t cut her any slack either. In fact, most of the guys feared her. When Courtney played, it was full speed all the way around.

And her game was volleyball.

Wham!Courtney leaped high over the net and spiked the ball off the head of her poor opponent. The guy was stunned silly and Courtney landed gracefully before the ball hit the ground.

“Point break,” she said with a smile. Courtney never showed mercy. It was her serve now and the ball was bounced to her.

“C’mon, C. C.”

“Let’s go!”

“Game point!”

Courtney had a killer serve and everyone expected this to be the final nail in the coffin. But as she walked to the service line, something caught her eye. It was Mark Dimond. The little guy was waving at her frantically from outside the gym door. As soon as he got her attention, he started motioning for her to come over. Courtney raised a finger as if to say, “Wait one second,” but that made Mark wave even harder. He would not be denied.

Courtney frowned and tossed the ball to one of her teammates. “You serve,” she said and headed toward Mark.

“What?” the teammate yelled in shock. “It’s game point!”

“I know. Don’t blow it.”

The guys watched her in wonder for a moment, then turned back to the game with a shrug. Though none of them would admit it, the guys from the other team breathed a little sigh of relief.

Courtney headed straight for the door and threw it open to find Mark waiting in the empty hallway.

“This better be good,” she said impatiently.

Mark waffled back and forth nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Courtney watched him for a second and then said, “You have to pee?”

“N-No. I…I…it’s about Bobby.”

Courtney’s gray eyes focused. “Where is he? Why didn’t he play last night?”

Mark hesitated as if not wanting to ask the next question. But he did. “D-Did you guys make out at his house last night?”

Courtney stared at him, not exactly sure she heard what she thought she just heard. Then she blew a gasket. “That’s what you got me over here for? He missed the biggest game of the year and…wait a minute…did Bobby tell you about us? I’ll kill him!”

“C–Courtney…wait…it’s not like that.” Mark tried to stop her angry tirade, but Courtney was on a roll.

“I don’t care who he is. He can’t go around telling private stuff that-”

“Stop!” shouted Mark.

Courtney did, mostly because she was so surprised Mark had made such a bold move. That wasn’t like him. They both looked at each other, not sure of where to go next.

Mark now had her attention and it was up to him to make the next move. When he spoke, it was slow and thoughtful. He didn’t want to stutter and he didn’t want to make a mistake. So he pushed his glasses back up on his nose and said, “I think something strange happened to Bobby. What went on between you two last night was a part of it. I…I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I’ve got to know. Did you two make out at his house last night?”

Courtney tried to read Mark. He was a shy guy and the fact that he’d ask a personal question like this was hugely out of character. Clearly there was more going on here than guys bragging to each other about getting to first base with a girl. She could see it in his eyes. Mark was scared.

“Yeah,” she said. “We did. Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” he said, downcast. “I hope he’s at his house. Will you come with me and talk to him?”

The two held eye contact for a long time. Courtney was trying to read Mark’s thoughts, and Mark was praying that Courtney would come with him so he could share some of the burden of what he knew. Maybe she could even help him figure things out.

Courtney walked past Mark and gave him a simple, quick, “Let’s go.”

Courtney was now on a mission. She wanted to talk to Bobby. If she had to go to his house to find him, so be it. Mark was relieved that he now had an ally, but he had no idea how to tell Courtney what he knew, or if she’d believe him. For now though, he was happy just to have someone to talk to.

The Pendragons lived on a quiet cul-de-sac not far from school. It was lunchtime, so Courtney and Mark figured they could reach Bobby’s house, get to the bottom of what was going on, and be back at school before anyone missed them. As they hurried up the sidewalk, Mark had to walk quickly to keep up with Courtney’s long, purposeful strides. He wanted to tell her about the visitor he had had the night before, and the ring, and the parchment with Bobby’s story, but he was afraid she’d dismiss him as a mental case. He had to choose his words carefully.

“Do you know Bobby’s Uncle Press?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah.”

“Did, uh, did you see him last night?”

“Unfortunately. He’s the guy who caught us making out.”

Mark’s heart sank. Not that it mattered if Bobby and Courtney made out, or that they were caught by Bobby’s uncle. The problem was, Courtney’s answer confirmed more of the story contained on the parchment papers. Mark feared that if some of the story were true, then maybe all of it was true. The thought made him sick.

They were nearly at Bobby’s house now. Mark hoped that Bobby would be there to settle everything. He imagined walking up to Bobby, holding out the parchment paper, and seeing Bobby bust out laughing. Bobby would say it was all a goof and that he never expected them to think it was real. It was a prank, like Orson Welles’s “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast that made everybody think the Earth was being invaded by Martians. That’s what Mark was hoping for, but what they both saw in the next instant dashed that hope entirely.

Two Linden Place. That was the address. Mark had been there a thousand times. Ever since kindergarten they’d trade off playing at each other’s house. Bobby’s house was like his second home. Mrs. Pendragon called Mark her second son. That’s why nothing could prepare him for what he was about to see. Courtney and Mark walked up the sidewalk that led to the split-rail fence that surrounded Bobby’s front yard, and stopped cold. They both looked at 2 Linden Place, stunned.

“Oh my god,” was all Courtney could whisper.

Mark couldn’t even get that much out.

Two Linden Place was gone. The two of them stood together, wide-eyed, looking at a vacant lot. There were no signs that a house hadever been there. Not a single piece of wood, brick, stone, or blade of grass existed in the space. The ground was nothing but dirt. Mark looked to the huge maple tree where years before Mr. Pendragon had hung a tire swing for the boys. The tree was there, but there was no swing. Even the branch that had been rope-scarred by years of swinging was clean. No marks. Nothing.

Courtney broke first. “It’s the wrong address.”

Mark said softly, “It’s not the wrong address.”

Courtney wouldn’t accept it. She stormed onto the empty lot. “But I was here last night! There was a sidewalk to the house right here! And the front door was here! And Bobby and I were standing…” Her voice trailed off. She looked to Mark with dread. “Mark, what happened?”

Now was as good a time as any. Even though he had no idea what had happened, seeing the empty lot confirmed his worst fears. Everything he had read on the pages from Bobby was true. He had more questions than he had answers, but he did have some answers, as strange as they were. He wanted to share them with Courtney. Knowing all this by himself was too tough. So he reached for his backpack and took out the yellow parchment papers.

“I want you to read something,” he said. “It’s from Bobby.” He held out the pages to Courtney, who looked at them, then back to Mark. Reluctantly, she took the pages from him and sat down. Right there. Right in the middle of the empty lot at Two Linden Place, not far from the spot where she and Bobby shared their first kiss.

She looked down at the pages and started to read.