Gone (Parallel Trilogy, Book 1) (7 page)

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

I wondered if this was Rochelle’s grandmother or a nosy neighbor.

“Do you know when the Candee’s will be back?” I figured she wouldn’t be too suspicious of me if I knew the name of the people who lived in the house where I was helping myself to their backyard.

“Now why would I tell you that? How do I know you’re not just trying to rob the place?”

“How would I know who lives here then?”

“It’s written right there on the mailbox,” she said, hitching her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the street.

Duh. I had forgotten about that. I tried to think of a way to convince her I meant no harm. “I’m a friend of Rochelle’s. From school.”

The woman’s expression softened ever so slightly. “She’s a good girl, that one. She takes care of my cat when I’m away.”

“I really need to talk to her. Do you know when she’ll be home?”

“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time. They went on vacation and won’t be back for another three days.”

“Oh.” I must have looked pretty downcast because the woman asked if everything was okay. Tempted to tell her my troubles, I even opened my mouth to speak, but then I decided not to say anything. “I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

“You take care of yourself now,” she said, before turning away and walking toward her house next door.

I walked out of the backyard, closing the gate behind me, then went to the front porch and grabbed my backpack. Staring at the front door, wishing someone was home who could help me, I felt despair enveloping me like mist on a foggy day.

Maybe I should go to the neighbor’s house, I thought. She seemed nice enough. Maybe she has a computer I could use.

Renewed hope pierced the cloud of despair like a beam of sunlight burning through the morning fog. Tossing my backpack over one shoulder, I stepped off the porch and marched towards the house next door. Not letting myself worry about what the woman would think of my wacky story, I pressed the doorbell and heard it pealing in the entry.

A moment later the woman opened the door, obviously surprised to see me standing there. “Yes?” she asked.

“Hi,” I said lamely.

She raised her eyebrows, obviously waiting for me to continue.

“I, well, you asked if everything is okay, and well, it’s not.”

“Oh, I see.”

I could feel my face crumpling and hot tears pushing their way into my eyes. She must have realized I was about to fall apart because she said, “Why don’t you come in and tell me about it.”

I just nodded, my chin wobbly, and followed her inside. She closed the door behind me. I bit my lower lip, trying to control my emotions.

She pointed to her living room. “Come sit down, why don’t you?”

I did as she suggested, taking off my backpack before letting the soft chair embrace me. The woman sat across from me in a chair that was a twin to mine.

“Now, why don’t you start by telling me your name.”

I had gotten myself under control and managed to say, “Morgan Campbell.”

“How old are you, Morgan?”

“I’m sixteen.”

She nodded. “My name is Patrice Donaldson. You may call me Mrs. Donaldson.”

“Okay.” Then I remembered my manners. “Thank you for inviting me in.”

“You said you’re a school mate of Rochelle’s.”

“Yes.”

“Where do you live?”

How was I going to explain this? “Well, I thought I lived on Meadow Lane.”

“What do you mean, you ‘thought’ you lived?”

I squirmed uneasily in my chair, trying to figure out what to say. “Well, you see, I lived there yesterday. But today someone else is living there.”

Her forehead creased with puzzlement as she listened. “I don’t understand.”

Who would?  I certainly didn’t.

“Who do you live with?” she asked, obviously trying to piece this together.

“My family.”

“Your family,” she parroted. “And who is in your family?”

“You know. My mom and dad and my brothers and sister.”

Her eyebrows went up. “How many kids are there?”

“Four.”

“That’s a big family.”

“I guess.” It just seemed normal to me.

“And they just,” she held up her fists, then flung her fingers open. “Poof. Vanished.”

I nodded, knowing how unbelievable my story sounded.

When she spoke next, she didn’t make eye contact with me. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

She leaned forward in her chair squinted at me. “So you just woke up this morning and your family was gone and some other family was living in your house.”

“Well there’s a little more to it than that.”

She leaned back in her chair, skepticism written all over her face. “Uh huh.”

“Well, you see, last night I ran away.”

Her eyes opened wider.

“I know it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it.” Why was I telling her this? She didn’t know me and she didn’t care. “But when I got home this morning, my family was gone.”

Mrs. Donaldson stared at me, evidently wondering what to make of my story.

“Look, I won’t bother you any longer,” I said. “But do you have a computer I could use? You know, to look up my family?”

Several emotions played across her face before she spoke. “I can’t help you. I don’t have a computer.”

“Oh.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” She pushed herself out of her chair and stood.

“Okay, sure.” I barely paid attention as she left the living room, but a moment later I faintly heard the sound of someone talking. Curious, I crept out of the living room and into a hallway. The voice became slightly louder as I silently made my way forward. As I moved down the hall I glanced into a neighboring room and saw a desk with a large computer monitor on it.

The woman had lied to me, but why?

I took a few more steps but stopped when I heard Mrs. Donaldson’s voice more clearly. She was talking softly, but I was able to make out some of what she was saying.

“Skulking about . . . wild story . . . maybe escaped . . . yes, a few pounds . . .”

What?
What was she talking about? Escaped from where? Did she say something about pounds? What did
that
mean? Who was she talking to? Could it be the police?

Alarm bells rang in my head and I knew I had to get out of there. Now.

Hurrying back to the living room, I grabbed my backpack and slipped out the front door, then walked quickly down the street. Having nowhere else to go, I made my way back to the park and found a bench to sit on.

Now what was I going to do? No one would believe my “wild story”, as Mrs. Donaldson had told someone on the phone. Who could blame them? She probably thought I was going to rob her or something.

Feeling completely discouraged and hopeless, I slumped on the bench, not knowing what to do. My family had moved away, apparently not caring what happened to me, and now I was homeless and essentially an orphan. Fat tears welled up in my eyes and slid down my cheeks. I felt completely alone. I
was
completely alone.

I allowed myself to have a good cry, but after a while I was able to get my emotions under control. I wiped my face with the heels of my hands and stared into the distance, not thinking about anything in particular. I could see a few people shooting hoops on one of the basketball courts and others pushing children on swings in a play area, but no one was near me.

Worn out, I took my jacket out of my backpack and bunched it up into a make-shift pillow, then I curled up on the bench and rested my head on my jacket. I wrapped my arms around my backpack, holding it against my stomach, then closed my eyes.

A while later I woke abruptly to the feeling of someone trying to tug my backpack out of my arms. I opened my eyes and saw two boys, about twelve years old, yanking my backpack out of my arms. In my surprise, I loosened my grip and they fell backward, my backpack clutched in their arms.

“Hey,” I yelled. “That’s mine!”

“Not anymore,” one of them yelled as they scrambled to their feet and dashed away.

I leapt off the bench and chased them, but they were fast and soon outdistanced me. I’d always hated running and this was no exception. My lungs burned from my sprint and when I stopped, I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Suddenly I noticed that the sun had gone down while I’d been napping, and it was nearly dark. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem chilly—and that wasn’t just because I’d been running. I’d slept without wearing my jacket and when I’d woken I hadn’t felt cold.

That’s really odd, I thought. Last night it had snowed a good foot, but today I hadn’t seen any snow and it didn’t even feel cold.

I made my way back to the bench where I’d left my pillow-jacket, glad I still had that at least. Silently cursing the two boys who had stolen all my other possessions, I reached the bench where I’d taken my nap and found my jacket, still bunched up like a pillow. Sitting again, I thought about what was in my backpack. My wallet had been in there with all of my money. All twenty dollars, or whatever I had left after the bus trip and lunch. Now I would have no way to buy anything.

Anger at the two boys washed over me and I shook my head, feeling helpless to do anything about it. What could I do, call the police? They would want to know who I was and what I was doing sleeping in the park. Of course I wouldn’t have to say I’d been sleeping, but I knew going to the police was a non-starter. What if that was who Mrs. Donaldson had been talking to on the phone? Had she given them my name? I frowned, knowing I would have to work this out on my own.

I leaned my head back and looked through the tree branches at the stars that blinked in the sky. My number one priority was to find my family. I believed once I found them, everything would be okay. But how could I find them? If I could just get online, surely I could figure out some way to track them down. Where could I find a computer?

The image of Rochelle’s empty house filled my mind.

They must have a computer, I thought. Plus if I can get inside it would be a safe place to spend the night.

I glanced around the now-deserted park. The thought of spending the night out here, by myself, made me shudder. Last night in the hut was bad enough, but out here in the open, anyone could show up and attack me. I’d already been robbed by two pre-pubescent boys. I didn’t want to imagine who else could be lurking about in the dark.

Suddenly feeling the need to get to a safe place, I stood and put my jacket on, even though it wasn’t cold; I wanted to keep my hands free in case I had to protect myself. I knew I was probably being paranoid, but when I remembered waking up to those two boys stealing my backpack right out of my hands, and then imagined who could be hiding behind the trees in the dark right this very second, I felt thoroughly freaked out.

Looking around in the dark, trying to convince myself that the shadows were just that, shadows, I hurried toward the corner that led to Rochelle’s house, happy to be leaving the park behind. When I could see Mrs. Donaldson’s house I slowed, worried that she would see me. I just knew if she saw me she would call the police. Hadn’t she been telling them (or whoever was on the phone) that I’d been “skulking about” and telling “wild stories”. Of course she would call the police if she saw me.

Thankful now for the darkness, I crossed the street so that I could stay as far away from Mrs. Donaldson’s house as possible. Though there were street lamps, none were near Rochelle’s house so I hoped I could get to her house unseen. As I made my way down the street I stayed close to the houses I passed and away from the street. It was a risk—what if someone saw me “skulking about”? But what really worried me was the thought of Mrs. Donaldson seeing me.

“I hate my life,” I muttered as I got closer to my destination.

A moment later I was across the street from Mrs. Donaldson’s house. Glancing in that direction, I willed myself to be invisible and hoped she wasn’t the type to randomly look out her front window. Walking as fast as I could, I made it past her house and then past Rochelle’s. When I was between two houses, I tried to act casual as I walked to the sidewalk and then across the street near Rochelle’s house. Next, I backtracked until I was nearly to Rochelle’s house. Still fearing Mrs. Donaldson’s prying eyes, I cut across the lawn and hurried to Rochelle’s darkened porch.

Once there, I felt safe.  Her porch couldn’t be seen from Mrs. Donaldson’s house. Of course there were other neighbor’s, but none of them had questioned me earlier and as long as they hadn’t seen me creeping along, they wouldn’t think anything of it.

Now that I was here I needed to find a way in. First, I lifted the mat and looked underneath, hoping to find a key. Nothing. Then I lifted all the pots and felt inside them, but only found dirt. I began to wonder if this latest idea was such a good one.

Deciding to take my chances, plus not having any other ideas, I stepped off of the front porch and toward the back gate. I hoped my luck would hold and Mrs. Donaldson wouldn’t see me, but I had to find a way into Rochelle’s house. The idea of spending the night outside, completely exposed to any danger that might stumble upon me, plus the even greater need of getting to a computer, pushed me forward.

I hurried to the gate, hoping to slip back there unnoticed. I pulled the string, pushed open the gate, then closed it behind me as quietly as I could. Earlier I hadn’t ventured past the garbage cans, so I didn’t know what I would find back here. It was difficult to see much of anything in the dark, but I was able to make my way to a back patio. I could see a table with four chairs, a few planters filled with flowers, a pair of French doors that led into the house, a barbeque grill pressed against the wall, and several large rocks lining the patio.

First I checked under and in the planters but came up empty. Then I began lifting the stones. Some were real, others had built-in speakers. One was lightweight, meaning it was fake, but had no speaker. I turned it over in my hands but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I closed my eyes (I couldn’t see very well anyway, in the dim light), and let my fingers do the work. A hopeful smile spread across my mouth as I felt something loosen.