The Lost City of Faar (44 page)

“Yeah, it's familiar,” said Mark, trying not to appear angry.

“It sure is,” added Courtney, sounding a little bit more upset than Mark would have liked. He was afraid Courtney would go ballistic when she saw the journals, but thankfully, she didn't.

Captain Hirsch put the page back in the folder.

“Andy Mitchell brought this in about an hour ago,” he said. “He's still here. I'd like to have him join us.”

“He's here?” said Mark with surprise. “Now?”

“Yeah. Is it okay?” Hirsch asked.

“Sure,” said Courtney. “Bring the slime in.”

Captain Hirsch nodded to the mirror, which meant they were being watched. That was a totally creepy feeling. A few seconds later the door opened and Andy Mitchell strode in looking like a guy who had just won the lottery. He walked all cocky and had a smug smile on his face. When he saw Mark and Courtney, the smile fell off. But he got his act back together quickly.

“Man, that was fast,” he said with a sneer. He then said to Mark and Courtney, “You guys feeling the heat yet?” He snorted and gave an obnoxious laugh.

“Sit down please, Andy,” said Hirsch.

Mitchell threw one leg over a chair and sat on the far end of the table. Mark half expected him to spit on the floor.

“Why's this taking so long?” Mitchell asked. “You guys gonna buy me lunch or what?”

Hirsch didn't respond. He turned to Mark and Courtney,
saying, “Andy brought these pages to our attention. He tells us they're proof of what happened to Bobby Pendragon. If it's true, he's going to get a large reward.”

“You got that right!” snorted Mitchell. “Twenty-five big ones.”

Mark saw Courtney's hand clench. He knew she was fighting the urge to jump over the table and pummel this weasel. Or maybe she wanted to pummel Mark. He wasn't sure which.

“Andy,” Hirsch said with a friendly smile. “Could you tell me how you gained possession of these papers?”

“I told you,” Mitchell answered, pointing to Mark. “He had 'em! The two of 'em were keeping them secret so nobody would know what was really going on. I figured it was my civic duty to bring 'em in.”

Mark closed his eyes. This was horrible.
Civic duty, yeah right
.

“That's not what I asked you, Mr. Mitchell,” said Hirsch politely. “I asked how you gained possession of these pages.”

“You mean . . . how did I get 'em?” Mitchell asked. Clearly he wasn't sure of the meaning of the word “gained.”
What a tool
.

“Yes,” answered Hirsch patiently.

Mitchell began to squirm. He started to answer a few times, but stopped himself as if he wasn't sure he was saying the right thing. Finally, he just blurted out:

“I took 'em, okay? I just took 'em. But so what, man? You would have done the same thing! This kinda stuff shouldn't be secret! People gotta know!”

Hirsch continued calmly, “So you're telling me you stole them from Mark Dimond?”

It was clear that Mitchell didn't like where this was going. “Yeah, I stole 'em. But that's not the point!”

Hirsch nodded. He then reached for the second file folder on the table. Mark and Courtney watched without saying a word or
showing any emotion. Hirsch opened the second folder to reveal a thick stack of white paper with lines of typing on it. The lines were single spaced and traveled neatly from margin to margin.

“I'm going to read something to you, Mr. Mitchell,” said Hirsch. “I want you to tell me if it sounds familiar.”

“Knock yourself out,” responded Mitchell.

The police officer looked down at the top page, and began to read aloud.

“
‘I hope you're reading this, Mark
.

“‘Heck, I hope
anybody's
reading this because the only thing that's keeping me from going totally off my nut right now is getting this all down on paper so that—'”

“That's from the journal,” said Mitchell, a little confused. “The first one. That's how it starts. What are you reading that from?”

Hirsch held the thick stack of clean printed pages up for Mitchell to see. “Mark and Courtney brought me this story last week,” he said.

“What?” gasped Mitchell, stunned. “I don't get it.”

Hirsch put the pages down and chuckled. “Yeah, that's pretty obvious.”

“What's goin' on?” demanded Mitchell in confusion.

“This is a story they wrote,” said Hirsch, trying to hold back a smile. “A story. It's fiction. Do you know what that means? They made it up.”

Mitchell shot a stunned look at Mark and Courtney. The two sat there looking like innocent angels.

“No. No they didn't!” shouted Mitchell. “Pendragon wrote it! It's all true!”

Courtney shook her head and spoke to Hirsch, saying, “Like we told you, it may be childish, but it was our way of dealing with Bobby's disappearance.”

“Yeah,” added Mark quickly. “I even wrote it out in long hand
on those brown pages, as if Bobby wrote it himself. It makes the whole thing seem more real that way.”

“But we also typed it on the computer, so it was easier to work on,” said Courtney. “It's just a fantasy, but it felt good to pretend that Bobby was on some big adventure instead of, well, instead of being wherever he really is. Now that we're sitting here talking about it, it's kind of . . . embarrassing.”

“Don't be embarrassed,” said Hirsch kindly. “People deal with loss in a lot of ways. You two were very creative about it.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” screamed Mitchell as he jumped up from his chair. “They are lying! Ly-ing! I . . . I saw pages appear from nowhere in a big flash of light through . . . through his ring. Look at his ring!”

Mark shrugged and held up his fingers. He had no rings.

Mitchell was in full-on panic mode. Mark could see that he had gone from thinking he had twenty-five thousand dollars in his pocket to being treated like an idiot thief who believes in fairy tales. He desperately tried to turn it around.

“Okay, okay,” he stammered. “Answer me this: Why did they bring you those printed-out pages? Huh? I'll tell you. They were trying to beat me here and get themselves off the hook, that's why.”

“No,” said Hirsch patiently. “They came here to report their handwritten pages had been stolen. They brought the typed pages to prove the story was theirs. Quite frankly, I never thought the stolen pages would turn up, but then you walked in out of the blue. How very convenient!”

“No!” shouted Mitchell in anguish. He was losing badly.

Hirsch looked at Mark and Courtney and said, “Do you want to press charges against Mr. Mitchell?”

Mark and Courtney looked at each other, then Courtney said, “No, just getting the pages back is enough.”

“Yeah, in a way we feel kind of bad for him,” said Mark sympathetically. “We never thought somebody would believe our story was good enough to be true!”

“Really!” added Courtney with a laugh.

“But it
is
true!” shouted Mitchell, on the verge of tears. “Isn't it?”

“You're free to go, Mr. Mitchell,” said Hirsch. “But I first want you to apologize to these two for what you did.”

Mitchell flashed a look of anger and hatred at Mark that rocked him back in his chair. It didn't seem to bother Courtney, though. Mitchell didn't scare her. Mitchell got all red in the face, like he was in horrible pain, then he squeezed out a weak, “I'm . . . sorry.”

“It's okay, Andy,” Courtney said sympathetically. “Let's forget this ever happened.”

“Yeah,” added Mark.

“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. Now go away,” ordered Hirsch.

Mitchell stood there for a second, desperately thinking of something he could say to turn this around. But he wasn't smart enough to do that. He looked at Courtney. Courtney gave him a tiny little smile and a wink. That was it. Mitchell couldn't take it anymore.

“Ahhhh!” he shouted, and stormed out of the conference room.

Hirsch said, “You're right. He
is
an obnoxious slug.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Courtney in her most polite voice. “I knew you would be the right person to come to for help.”

“No problem, that's my job. I do have a favor to ask though.”

“Anything,” said Courtney quickly.

“Would you let me read this story? It's really pretty good!”

Mark and Courtney exchanged glances, then Mark said, “Sure, but could you read the printed pages? We'd like to hold on to the handwritten ones.”

Hirsch quickly slid the folder with Bobby's journals over to Mark.

“Of course, here you go,” he said. “That Mitchell guy's a piece of work. Did he really think this story was true?”

All Mark and Courtney could do was shrug innocently.

A few minutes later Mark and Courtney were out of the police station and walking down the Ave. Bobby's first journals were safely tucked into Mark's backpack. They had politely turned down a ride home from Officer Wilson, saying they'd like to walk. They said the whole ordeal was pretty stressful and they needed to cool down.

They went right to Garden Poultry and bought two boxes of French fries, along with a Coke and a Mountain Dew. Mark did the Dew. They brought the food to the pocket park and sat on a bench to enjoy their feast. Neither one had said anything from the time they left the police station. They just kind of drifted toward Garden Poultry without even discussing it.

Finally, as he finished his last crispy golden fry, Mark said, “I'm sorry, Courtney.”

Courtney gulped down the rest of her Coke, then said, “Losing that page from the journal was an accident. It was as much my fault as yours. But not telling me right away that Mitchell found out about the journals . . . Mark, that was bad.”

“I know, I know,” was all Mark could say. “I thought I could handle the guy. I . . . I was embarrassed to tell you how bad I screwed up. But man, when he wanted to see all the journals and started talking about how we were going to be famous when we showed the whole world what we had—I didn't know what to do.”

“You should have come to me before it got that bad,” said Courtney. Mark could tell she was angry.

“Yeah,” said Mark guiltily. “But your plan was awesome.” He
thought back to the moment when he finally fessed up to Courtney about what had happened. It was right after Mitchell demanded to see all of the journals. Courtney didn't get angry. Instead she came up with the idea to turn the tables on Mitchell. She knew he would tell the police about the journals to claim the reward. That was a no-brainer. But they figured they could beat him to the punch by pretending they wrote the story themselves. It took Courtney three late nights of grueling typing to get Bobby's first journals into her computer. Then they printed out the pages and took them right to Captain Hirsch. That's when they told him the bogus story about their handwritten version being stolen. The key to the whole thing was showing the story to the police
before
Mitchell did. Neither of them liked to lie, but the situation was desperate. Mitchell had to be stopped from exposing Bobby's story to the world.

As it turned out, it became only half a lie when Mitchell came to Mark's house and ended up stealing the journals after all. Still, if Mitchell had just read the journals and returned them, that would have been the end. But they knew Mitchell wouldn't do that. He was too greedy. They knew he'd take the journals to the police—and walk right into their trap. The sting worked beautifully. They got Bobby's journals back and Mitchell couldn't demand to see them anymore by threatening to go to the police.

It was a beautiful thing, but Mark still felt bad for not having been totally honest with Courtney.

“You brought me into this when you showed me the first journal,” Courtney said. “If you want me to stay in, you've got to be honest with me, always.”

“I will, I promise,” Mark whined.

The two were silent for a second, then slowly, Courtney smiled a devilish smile. “But it sure was sweet seeing Mitchell squirm!”

Mark laughed too and they slapped high-fives. Mark then reached around his neck and pulled out the chain that held the key to his secret desk. Dangling next to it was Mark's ring. He took it off and put it right back on his finger, where it belonged.

There was nothing left to do now but go home. They walked together until Courtney reached her street.

“So, you'll call me?” asked Courtney.

“Soon as the next journal shows,” answered Mark, as he always did.

The two then gave each other a hug and separated.

They wouldn't get back together for another five months.

Both went back to their normal lives at home and at school. Since the only friend they had in common was Bobby, that meant neither of them saw much of each other. Occasionally they'd pass in the hallway. Courtney would look at him as if to ask: “Well?” Mark would just shake his head. Nothing yet.

Courtney played softball for the Stony Brook team. It was fast-pitch and she was the pitcher. The team went undefeated that spring, and Courtney was MVP of course.

Mark's big project was to build a battling robot for a county science fair. He had a real knack for mechanics and physics. The robot was killer. It destroyed the competition with a combination hook, buzz saw, sledgehammer package. He took first prize and started to investigate how to get on the TV with his battling robotic baby.

Courtney had a birthday on March 6. She turned fifteen. Mark sent her a card with the greeting: “Happy Birthday, Hobey-ho!”

The two did get together once, on March 11. Bobby's birthday. They went back to Garden Poultry on the Ave, got some fries, and toasted Bobby in the pocket park with Coke and Dew.
Both wondered if Bobby had any idea that he had just turned fifteen.