No Passengers Beyond This Point (12 page)

“You know what they use the extra bucks for? Birds. Why they want more birds, I don’t know. Cats I could understand. Birds, I’m at a loss. Bird strikes is my best guess. Just jealousy. That’s what that’s all about.”

“Jealousy?”

“People want what they can’t have. They make decisions they can’t live with. I’ve been sending in Form fifteen-thirty about them all year, but nobody’s done anything about it yet.”

“Um, excuse me.” I pick up the ticket pieces. “This isn’t stolen. I paid for this. See what it says here.
Will admit one to your dream home
.”

“Yeah, I see.” He nods, flipping the ticket piece over. “And look here, did you read the fine print?
Void where prohibited.”

“So?” I shrug. “It always says that.” But wait . . .
fine print
. I don’t like the sound of this phrase. Isn’t that what Mom said got her in trouble with our house?

He crosses his muscular arms. “And where do you think it’s prohibited, miss? Take a wild guess.”

“I dunno,” I mutter, though my stomach doesn’t feel so great.

“Here.” He taps his metal-toed boot on the grass and shakes his head sympathetically. “Sleazebags.”

Wait. This can’t be true. I couldn’t have wasted our last fifty dollars. What will I tell Finn and Mouse?

“I can get my money back, though, right?” I croak.

“Don’t bother,” he advises. “Isn’t worth messing with scum.”

“Oh yes it is!” I shake my finger at him. “I’m getting every dime back. You watch.”

“Nobody messes with India Tompkins.” He winks at me. “All right then. Hop in and I’ll take you where you want to go, Miss India.”

I angle my head toward the house. “Can’t I go inside first?”

He sucks air into his mouth, seals his lips, and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”

I give him a flirty smile. “You sure?”

He cocks his head and smiles back. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.”

Dean is nice. If I didn’t need to get my money back, I’d totally keep talking to him, maybe ask him more about this place, but I have to get down to business here. “We should go then.”

He smiles warmly, as if I’ve completely won him over. “You’re a feisty one, missy.”

I follow him to his golf cart and climb in on the passenger side. He puts the cart in gear and maneuvers it skillfully down the wide street. It feels good to sit down. I lean back on the cushion and enjoy being driven. I didn’t realize how tired I was.

The cart is way fun, but the ride is too short. We’re already back at the familiar alley crowded with shops. Dean pulls the cart to a graceful halt and waits for me to get out.

He salutes as if he’s in the military. “Give ’em heck, India,” he says as he backs his vehicle around.

I smile and wave as he takes off, and then suddenly it hits me. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just leave me here!

“Wait! Wait!” I shout, my legs spinning under me, I’m running so fast. I’m gaining on the cart too, but it’s impossible to keep up this pace. Dean doesn’t turn around. He can’t hear me. “Wait! Stop! Dean? Dean person?”

My chest aches. I have to slow down and when I do, the cart zips out of sight.

Something inside me begins to crumble. And then suddenly birds are everywhere. A mass of feathers, beady eyes, and sharp claws.

Beaks clip my ear, my shoulder, the back of my head. Birds peck my arms. Birds dive for my eyes. Big black birds, sharp-eyed blue jays, and vicious brown hawks surround me.

“Bird strike!” somebody yells.

T
he birds are gone. I think it was that white cat that scared them away. I take my hands from my face, wondering where the cat is now. I don’t see her.

The look on the hawks’ eyes as they dove for me was mean. I have pecks on my arms, little torn pieces of skin, and one hawk ripped a hunk of my hair. My wrist is bleeding. I mean seriously, those birds wanted to kill me.

What did
I
do wrong? This is so completely unfair. I need to find Mouse and Finn. We need to get out of here. Weren’t they supposed to meet me? It’s just like Mouse to wander off. She probably saw some sign she wanted to read.

All I see is a pile of feathers and popcorn on the narrow alley. There aren’t a lot of people, unless you count the shop owners. A man wearing the midnight blue uniform is maneuvering a trash can on wheels over to the feathers and popcorn. He sweeps it all into neat piles.

The popcorn reminds me of Maddy. She loves popcorn. She probably insisted Ariana have it at her party. Ariana’s party must be over now. They had it without me.

I wave to the guy. “Hello, um, sir!”

“Bonjour,”
he says.

Oh great, he’s French. How do I say I need help in French? I’m supposed to know this.
“J’ai assist,”
I say.

He hands me a broom.

Terrific . . . I just asked him if I could help him.

Then I spot Mickey walking toward me. “India.” His face is full of concern. “What happened?”

He’s a scummy guy. He probably caused the bird strike. That’s what Dean said. I trust Dean, right?

“India,” Mickey calls again in his singsong voice with his black greasy hair, his yellow teeth, his motorcycle black eyes, and his pointy beard. I glance over at him—his eyes are mesmerizing. I can’t look away.

“I have something to tell you,” Mickey reports, beckoning in slow mo. “It’s urgent.”

I get right in his face and shout. “I want my money back! And call your stupid birds off.”

“What are you talking about? What birds?”

“The birds that attacked me.”

“Our birds aren’t vicious. Who told you that?” he asks.

“Somebody I trust,” I say. “I want my money back.”

“Oh no!” His mouth freezes in a perfect O. “You didn’t let them mislead you. You still have your ticket?”

“Void—void where prohibited. That’s what the fine print said. You lied!” An alarm goes off inside my head telling me not to get into this with him, but I can’t help myself. People shouldn’t get away with cheating you. How dare he!

“Oh.” He shakes his head and his eyes well up with tears. “You didn’t believe him, did you? Not my beautiful India.” The beady eyes of the crow perched on his shoulder are fixated on me.

Why didn’t I see what a grease ball he is? I know why . . . it’s because of his eyes. They are large, deep, singer-songwriter eyes.

Mickey shakes his head, clucking sadly. “They always try that. They don’t want you to have a second chance.”

“Second chance,” chirps the white parrot perched on a nearby rooftop.

“But why not?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“They’ve got their policies and procedures and they don’t like when a person”—his pointer fingers move all around, like fingers gone haywire—“messes with the system, but you know the truth, India.”

I hate that this makes sense.

He leans forward hopefully. “You still have your ticket?”

I shake my head.

“No? It’s gone. Ohhhhhh . . .” He lets the sound trail off. “Okay, okay. Let me think about this. Maybe old Mickey can help.” He taps his temple then winks at me. “Old Mickey has a trick or two up his sleeve. It has worked before.”

If he helps me, I won’t have to tell Finn and Mouse I got gypped out of our fifty dollars. If they find that out, they’ll tell my mom. She’ll have more proof of how stupid I am.

“Maybe I could give you a duplicate.” He dangles a new ticket in front of me, smiling. “This is deed to ownership. For just half price.”

More
money? That’s what he wants? Isn’t that what the guy on the phone told my mom? The one who said he could make sure they didn’t foreclose on our house? Throwing good money after bad, my mom said, but she did it anyway.

I back up, slamming into a white board advertising the special deals.

His big eyes goad me. “India, my India, you shouldn’t let them win, no?”

“You’re a slime ball!” I shout.

“Ahh well.” He wags his head right and left, eyeing my bracelet—the sapphire one my mom gave me for my thirteenth birthday. “Perhaps you want to know what became of your brother and sister.”

“Tell me!” I shout.
“You tell me
.
”

His lips slide in, he nods his head as if he’s having a conversation with himself. “You give me the bracelet.” He wiggles his finger at me. “And I’ll let you know, Miss Beautiful India.”

Dean was right. Mickey is a slime bucket. But what else am I going to do? I have to find out where Mouse and Finn are. It’s just a stupid piece of jewelry, anyway. I undo the clasp and hand it to him. His fingers close slowly around the sapphire.

He smiles at me, gently, warmly—his smile is powerful. It feels like he’s stroking my hair with it. For a second I lose myself in it.

When I blink, he’s slipped inside his store. He’s locking his locks.
Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk.
“Haven’t seen them,” he calls through the glass.

I bang on the door so hard the glass trembles. I kick the wood and throw my shoulder against it.

He’s inside, laughing at me.

All of the shopkeepers are huddled in their shops. Signs advertising the mementos of your day, and the chance at another, blow in the breeze. The street is deserted except for a handful of small birds searching the ground for birdseed.

Mickey must have seen Finn and Mouse, otherwise how could he know I have a brother and sister? But then, our pictures were everywhere. Maybe he only saw them on the screens.

I look up at the movie playing. A new girl with braces and pigtails is tying her ballet slippers.
Welcome, Rachel,
it says.

I need to talk to Maddy. She totally helps me think through things. She is the best best friend I’ve ever had.

Wait . . . what did that Chuck dude say? Something about putting together . . . what was it? Oh, I know. He gave me that hunk of wood, so when I find Mouse and Finn we can assemble the puzzle and he’ll come get us.

I feel in my pocket for the wood piece. I need to have it in my hand.

But it’s not in my pocket. These aren’t my pockets. They aren’t my jeans. They’re the plum-colored pants like the ones Maddy always wears.

I
don’t know when I decide to climb back up the tunnel, but once the idea occurs to me, it seems so simple. Just go back the way I came. They can’t have security guys patrolling the tunnel. It’s too small. No one else could fit.

When I get back to my house, then I can talk to Mouse and Finn through one of those screens in that downstairs room. We missed each other, but we can arrange a meeting place. I’ve got this covered. No big deal.

Then I can get my own clothes back. And when we all meet up, I’ll have the missing piece. All I have to do is climb up that tunnel, right?

At first it was a little confusing knowing which one was mine. I remember generally where I came out, but not exactly. But then I noticed the address was stamped on the inside: 401.

The tunnel is about ten feet in diameter. At this end, it’s parallel with the ground, but soon it begins the steep climb to my house. The sides are shimmery black fabric reinforced with springy coils of wire. It’s like a giant Slinky covered in jet-black fabric.

It takes me a little time to get the hang of walking up the cylinder, but eventually I find a way of climbing by pinching the coils with my fingers and digging my toes into the fabric sides. It feels a little like scaling the playground slides, which I used to do when I was little.

The dark is disorienting, but when I’m totally confused, I feel an acorn drop, which gets me back on track. Where did it come from, I wonder. It was almost as if somebody was watching me and knew I needed help.

As I pull myself up, I imagine telling Maddy about this. Pretending to talk to her helps me forget how much my arms ache. I take little breaks. But even resting makes my arms tired, so I keep going.