Installment 10

            Double digits. What do you know about that? I made it.

            I know it’s probably really annoying by now how I’m always so surprised that I’m still alive. It probably seems like I’m trying to act like my situation is more dangerous than it really is, or maybe I just want attention.

            Go ahead and believe that. Actually, that’s a great idea. Believe that.

            Even if it isn’t true.

            Anyway…I’m off track. Back to the story.

            Clara had things planned out well, and she was right about the police. By the time it neared ten o’clock, the police had cleared out, apparently deciding that we would not surface here. While we sat in our little back room, waiting for ten, I told Clara about my little escapade. Naturally, she was annoyed -- but also curious as to what I had found out.

            I told her about what Travis said, about me being a tool. And as I said it, a few puzzle pieces came together in my head.

Obviously, Travis Thatcher had me framed. He as good as admitted it. But the question was, why? Why me? What was this program “Back Door?” Why was this complicated system guarding it?

Well, one question was answered: Travis wasn’t working for himself. We knew that for certain. Both he and Larson were working for someone higher up.

“But why would he frame me?” I asked in frustration.

Clara laced her fingers together in her lap. “Well, let’s see what we do know. We know that Travis Thatcher framed you for hacking into his computer system.”

“Which is guarding some program called Back Door,” I added.

“He’s only using you as…what did he say again?”

I tried to remember his exact words. “He said that I was a way to attach a name to an image so that nobody found out about the real image. Or something like that.”

“That sounds like he’s trying to cover up the real hacker,” Clara said slowly.

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s his system. If someone hacked into it…”

I trailed off. Both of us were suddenly hit with how few facts we had. We barely had any information about the alleged hacker, the alleged system, or the alleged program.

Wait…

“We do know one thing,” I said suddenly. “We know that it’s supposed to be a matter of national security.”

Clara frowned. “I don’t know…they seemed pretty loose about you. If it were national security…”

I shrugged. “Clara, listen. If it were national security, real national security, then there would be a huge fuss. But they wanted to frame me, remember? Travis wasn’t even all that secretive about it. And he also said that I would be just as good a fugitive as jailed.”

“But Larson was also freaking out about you escaping,” Clara pointed out.

“He might be just scared of getting into trouble. That’s what it sounded like.”

We both fell silent, pondering the questions and what few answers we had.

I had not told Clara about Travis saying my name after Larson left. It didn’t seem like valuable information, and somehow, it seemed private. Like a connection I had with Travis.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want a connection with the man who framed me. But on the other hand, he had said that I wasn’t any good on my own. I was just a tool, a kid to pin the crime on. So it gave me some amount of pleasure to think that my name meant something to him, that I wasn’t just “the kid.” Then again, he had also said he didn’t like it.

But was he talking about the name?

If I were back in that position right now, I would tell Clara about it. If I could go back and tell her, I would. But I didn’t, because back then, I didn’t fully trust Clara Stone.

I would learn to trust her with my life in the next few weeks.

At ten o’clock, we left the back room and made our way to the now crowded station. Outside, I didn’t notice any police cars. Clara had done it. We bought the tickets using money Clara provided -- when I asked her where she got it, she gave me a look that clearly said not to ask -- and we just barely made it onto the bus before it departed.

This particular bus station was a pretty big bus station. I may have lived in a small town, but obviously the mayor took pride in our bus transportation system. At the time, I was glad. This way, it would be harder for anyone to tell exactly where we were going, in case anyone tried to follow us.

Just before we left, I glanced out of the bus window and, to my horror, recognized a figure standing on the platform, watching us.

“Clara!” I whispered fiercely. Clara glanced over.

“What? What is it?” she asked, confused.

But I didn’t answer. The bus had already begun to move, and the damage was done. There was nothing I could do.

But to my surprise, the lonely figure of Travis Thatcher didn’t run to inform anyone of our imminent departure. He didn’t even look distressed.

Instead, Travis smiled his crooked half smile as Clara and I escaped.

And waved.

-Nathan T. Dalton

Installment 9

            Where was I?

            Honestly, it feels like ages since I last wrote anything. Maybe that’s because it has been ages since I last wrote anything.

I know I owe you an explanation. But I can’t give it to you. I told you why a few posts back -- because until I can be absolutely certain that the benefits of letting you know outweigh the risks of letting the enemy know, I can’t tell you anything about what’s going on right now.

Let me go read what I wrote before. To get my bearings.

            Okay, that’s it. All right. Here we go.

            Travis shook his head, exasperated. “Listen,” he said in a slow voice as if talking to an individual who was not quite capable of understanding English. “The kid’s a name, a symbol. That’s all I ever needed him for. He’s a means of attaching an image to a name so that the real image doesn’t get found out. I don’t really care if he escapes or not. As long as he’s the ‘disturbed and dangerous fugitive’ that everyone talks about and the police chase after but never catch, he’s not a problem. Nobody will believe him, anyway. He has no real evidence about any of this, he can’t bring it to the authorities. Come on, you are the authorities -- at least as far as anyone knows.” Travis cocked his head. “The kid is just fine right where he is.”

            “If he hadn’t beaten you at your own game, you wouldn’t be so quick to let him escape,” Larson muttered under his breath.

            Travis tensed, and for a moment, I thought he might make a move toward Larson. But he relaxed after a second, closing his eyes.

            “Whatever you like,” he said, his voice more jovial than ever. “But the kid stays missing.”

            Larson shook his head. “No. They won’t stand for it. They don’t get it, Thatcher. You might be right, you might be wrong, but they can’t take chances. Especially when the Stone girl went missing recently.”

            This took a moment to process. “Stone…” Travis glanced up. “Stone? As in…Frederick Stone?”

            “One and the same.”

            “He’s dead.”

            “He had a daughter.”

            Travis waved his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. But she went missing? How come I didn’t hear about this?”

            Larson looked Travis straight in the eye. “Because no one trusts you. You know that.”

            “Why, I’m hurt!” Travis said in mock shock. “No one trusts me? After all I’ve done for them?” After a second, he dropped his pretense. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Like what Clara Stone has to do with Nathan T. Dalton.”

            “They say she came out here. I think she might have helped him escape.”

            Travis was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. I could tell that Larson shared my same desire to know what he was thinking.

            “The Stones were a problem,” Travis finally said, slowly and thoughtfully. “A big problem.”

            “That’s not really the problem right now,” Larson said impatiently. “The problem is if she helped him escape.”

            Travis shook his head. “No. She could cause problems.”

            “She’s a girl!”

            “Kids are powerful,” Travis insisted, examining his fingertips. “More powerful than we think. Too much of the time, we underestimate them. Clara Stone is a problem by herself. But joined with Nathan T. Dalton…we might have problems that are too big for us to handle.”

            “Still thinking about leaving Nathan as a fugitive?”

            It was a long moment before Travis spoke again. “Maybe…” he murmured. “I’ve got an idea or two.”

            “What ideas?”

            Travis half smiled again. “Mind games, if you like. Creating uneven ground, if you don’t.”

            From the expression on Larson’s face, he didn’t understand it any better than I did.

            “The point,” he said stubbornly, “is that I am going to be in trouble if you mess this up.”

            “The point,” Travis returned coolly, “is that I won’t. Trust me. I’ll handle it.”

            Larson glared at Travis, then turned on his heel and left the hallway.

            Now alone, Travis Thatcher straightened and stared where Larson had left. There was a strange expression on his face. It was only a light discomfort, but it was there, all the same.

            “Dalton,” he whispered to himself. “Dalton.” He spoke my name as if he had said it a thousand times before, but he had only just realized what it meant. Then he shook his head. “Dalton…I don’t like it, anyway.”

            I couldn’t tell whether he was referring to the situation or the name or both. Whatever it was, Travis shook it off and headed after Larson.

            After a few minutes of hardly daring to breathe, I stepped out of the closet. I made my way back to our little back room, glancing fearfully over my shoulder every few seconds.

            And as I went back to find Clara, I promised myself that I would watch out for Travis Thatcher.

            We were talking earlier about things I owed you, among them probably being a longer post -- but I don’t have the time right now. I’ll get back soon.

            No, really.

-Nathan T. Dalton