There
was a silence. It stretched out for a few seconds, then a couple of seconds
more.
I had
nothing to say to Travis.
A memory
popped into my head -- a memory of Larson mentioning mind games. I realized
that maybe this was what he was talking about. Travis Thatcher had given me an
impossible situation, a situation that forced me into doing what he wanted. I
had only a couple of choices -- either leave like Travis had told me to, or
stick around. If Clara and I did stay in town, it was more than likely that we
would get captured. If we left, we were doing what Travis Thatcher wanted, and
I didn’t trust him.
I
understood now why Larson seemed to dislike Travis so much.
“So,
kid,” he finally said. “What do you say?”
I didn’t
answer. An idea had just presented itself to me -- an idea that was not fully
formed.
“You
said to look at this newspaper?” I asked suddenly, grabbing the paper that he
had suggested. Travis rested his chin on his hands.
“Yup,”
he said, unconcerned.
I
glanced over and through it. As I looked through, I commented, “Okay. We’ll
leave in an hour.”
Travis
raised his eyebrows. “Just like that? Really? I won’t have to deal with you?”
“Nope,”
I said lightly, turning the page.
Travis
cocked his head to one side, then shrugged. “All right, then.” He stood up.
“Be
seeing you, kid. Or not.”
I
nodded. “Sure.”
Travis
stood up. I glanced up -- and there was something in the way he was watching me
that unnerved me a bit. It was the same way I had felt when he had first talked
to me…as if he had seen me before. As if he knew me.
As if
somehow I was supposed to know him.
I
quickly stared back at the newspaper.
“See
you, kid.”
When I
glanced back up, he was gone. Just like that -- one moment there, gone the
next.
Clara
returned in about three minutes, with a huge stack of papers tucked under her
arm.
“I
cross-referenced Back Door and Travis Thatcher, and you wouldn’t believe --
hey!”
I had
taken her arm and steered her away from our table. “Come on,” I muttered, “and
keep your voice low.”
“What?
What are you talking about?” she whispered fiercely. “Where are we going?”
“I just
talked to Travis.”
“Thatcher? What…how…?”
“He
wants us to split town, but we’re not going.”
“We’ll
get caught! We’ll…”
“…thwart
them. All of them. We’re going to
follow them.”
“What?”
We
ducked inside the Q aisle. I reached for her purple backpack.
“Have
you tried 497 as a tracking number?” I asked.
Clara
gasped, and scrambled for the sunglasses. “No!”
“I’ll
bet you,” I said in a low voice, “that it’ll be right here.”
She
slipped on the glasses. “Why?”
“I’ve
got a feeling. I think 497 has to do with me. I don’t think the headquarters is
over in my town -- just near it.”
After a
pause, Clara exclaimed, “You’re right! Nathan, it’s here!”
“Here in
the town?”
“No!
Here in the library!”
“What?”
I
snatched the sunglasses away from her. It did appear to be right here, though
-- the dot that was 497 was the library. It occurred to me that it might be
Travis -- but Travis was a different tracking number. Besides, this dot wasn’t
moving anywhere.
“I have
to find out why they framed me,” I said, pulling off the glasses. “This is my
best bet.”
“You
mean we,” Clara insisted. “We’re both here. We’re both in this mess.”
I
paused, then nodded. She was right. Clara Stone had helped me escape from the
police station, placing herself under the same fugitive status as me.
“You
doing anything for the next few months, Clara?” I asked.
A slow
smile spread across her face. “Hey, I’ve got to keep moving to stay away from
my uncle -- and the police. That’s about it.”
“Same
here,” I replied. “What do you say we find out about Back Door?”
“And my
parents,” she added.
“And…”
I
trailed off. There were so many more questions I had, questions I could not put
into words. But then again, someone else already had, several years ago.
Someone had already asked me questions that I still had to answer, but they
were questions that I could not repeat to anyone.
Even
Clara Stone.
“All
right,” I said finally, standing up and placing the sunglasses over my eyes. “Let’s
go.”
-Nathan T. Dalton
