The Vanishing Game (12 page)

Just then the stale air in the room felt too warm. “The Peace Tower! That's where we went on our big field trip, right? Anybody in Mr. Montclaude's French class got to go.”

I remembered our excitement at having a day off from
school and riding the bus across the Canadian border. Ottawa was just north of Watertown. We spent the day touring Canadian Parliament, where French was often spoken. It also included a trip to the top of the Peace Tower.

Noah said, “But that's at least a couple of hours' drive.”

“So? It's where we're supposed to go.”

“And do what, exactly? Find Jack? Think he's been sitting on a bench all this time? Just hanging around, waiting for you to decipher this clue and show up?”

I was determined not to let him burst my yellow balloon. “Do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, but what about you? They won't let you across the border without one.”

I stood up, digging in my jeans pocket and pulling out two cards. “I always keep ID on me, just in case. I learned that the hard way the last time Melody took off. See? My driver's license and a passport card.”

I held the second one out for him to examine. “This will let me cross any U.S. border. My foster parents got it for me a couple of months ago so we could visit Niagara Falls.”

Noah blew out a long, exasperated sigh. “You're determined to go to Ottawa?”

“Yes. And you, of course, are going to drive me there. You're just as interested to see where this leads as I am. Think of it as a fun road trip.”

Flipping the star over, I missed whatever rude comment Noah made because on the back were more words.

“Look at this!”

“What's the Hall of Olbil?” he asked. “I've never heard of that.”

“I don't know, but if it's important we'll figure it out when we get there.” I picked up the star and put it in the envelope with the puzzle pieces. Then I smiled at Noah. “Thank you for figuring it out. I don't know if I could have.”

He returned my smile though his eyes were still somber. “You're welcome.”

This was progress, as was his willingness to drive me into Canada.

Once we were in his Jeep, we rode in silence, the strong east wind making tree branches and flower baskets sway. Some of the areas of Watertown we passed through were familiar to me, others seemed unknown, yet everywhere we went there were whispers of memory.

“Why did you stay here?” I asked.

“It's where I grew up.”

“Exactly. So why not leave?”

“I didn't want to.”

I just stared at him. “Come on, Noah. We talked about getting out of here all the time. Remember how we picked our favorite places to go? Jack's changed every other week.
Sometimes he wanted China, other times Scotland or Greece. But your dream was California. You said you wanted to live on a warm beach and never shovel snow again.”

“So? You always wanted that place on the Canadian shore. You've never been there, have you? Where was it you were going to live?”

“Charlottetown, on Prince Edward Island.”

“Oh right, because of all those books you were reading. It didn't happen, though. Instead, you ended up living in New York the same as me. Life never turns out the way you think it will when you're a little kid.”

“That's sort of fatalistic, don't you think? We still get to make choices. When I turn eighteen in a couple of months, I'm going to do a lot of things I've always wanted to. And I'm definitely not going to stay stuck in one place my whole life.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “You're sure Miss Chatty today, aren't you?”

I didn't like the nickname given me by Angry Beth any better now than I had all those years ago. However, the retort on my lips was replaced by a startled yelp when a large rock, thrown from a passing vehicle, slammed into the windshield.

The three cockroach kids looked out of place in the light-blue Ford Focus they were driving. Not that they should've been driving at all—they were probably underage. I didn't have much time to think about that because another rock crashed into the windshield, leaving a quarter-size chip. Noah braked. I caught a glimpse of two black-haired boys hanging out the side windows, the rubber tubes of their slingshots flapping in the air. They grinned like demons and flipped us off as their car sped away.

Noah pulled the Jeep onto the side of the road. We both stared at the cracked windshield. He grabbed his cell phone and entered the car model and license. Then he called the police and made a complaint. He was on the phone for a bit and I waited while he gave all the information. Ending the call he turned to look at me. “Is there something you want to explain?”

The way Noah skewered me with his glare made me feel like a worm on a hook. “What do you mean?”

“At Seale House this morning, I figured that girl showing up was just a fluke. But now another attack? Why do I get the feeling there's more to those kids trying to take you out than just coincidence?”

“I ran into them last night when I was looking around, okay? They're the ones who built a fire in the front room. I think they might've started the first fire too, but I'm not sure.”

Peering down the road, I kept an anxious watch for the blue Ford in case it came back. “Do you remember Georgie? He was with them. Of course, he wasn't a cute little boy anymore. And he wasn't exactly happy to see me, either.”

“No kidding.”

“He tried to stab me.”

When this confession caused no reaction from Noah, I decided to get it over with. Plunging in, I gave him a quick recap of what happened. Retelling it forced me to think about the unknown shooter as well as Georgie's fate. Even though Georgie had tried to stab me, the memory of his death tightened my stomach in a queasy knot.

“And you waited until now to tell me this?”

“At first you didn't seem to believe me about the Jason December envelope. I was afraid to tell you this other stuff.”

He put the Jeep in gear, pulled back onto the road, and accelerated. “There wasn't anything in the news about a
kid being shot. In Watertown, that kind of thing would be big.”

“Maybe the police are keeping it quiet.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

Frustrated, I slammed my palm against the dashboard. “Fine! I made it all up, along with those kids throwing rocks at your windshield.”

Noah didn't say anything else for a while as we drove along, me sitting in the passenger seat with my arms folded and him watching the road. I pretended not to care.

He shoved a CD in the player and we let the music separate us. My thoughts drifted to school and Ms. Chen's English class. I'd already gotten an extension for turning in my essay on Mary Shelley. I was supposed to finish writing it during spring break and e-mail it to her before Monday, but the rough draft was still in my netbook. Which was in my car. Which had vanished.

I decided not to think about it since there wasn't anything I could do. Instead, I listened to Noah's music, realizing how similar his tastes were to Jack's.

The traffic grew heavier and slowed as we approached the border. We waited in one of the lines inching forward to the booth ahead of us. The man at the window asked to see our passports and then asked a couple of basic questions as to why we were coming into Canada. Noah told him we were planning to tour Parliament and we'd be back by nightfall. After wishing us a nice visit, he motioned us through.

I slumped against the seat. More relaxed now that we
were on our way to the Peace Tower, I closed my eyes as stress began to ebb away. Soon drowsiness took its place. I fought it for a while, but finally gave in.

Waking a while later, I sat up and rubbed my forehead.

“Where are we?”

“About half an hour from Ottawa. Let's stop and get some snacks and drinks.”

We pulled off at a small roadside market and bought a few items. Ten minutes later we were back on the road, driving past lush trees until we reached the outskirts of the large city. The April weather had warmed, and as we got closer we passed several helmeted bicyclists in spandex. Driving into Ottawa, Noah had to keep putting on the brakes because a small bus ahead of us was stopping for passengers.

Driving in the slow stop-and-go traffic, we made our way to the massive government buildings in the heart of the capital of Canada. I gazed out the window at the towering structures and carved stonework. Many of the copper roofs were green with age, the same hue as the Statue of Liberty. I thought that Parliament and its Centre Block seemed more like English castles than government offices.

“I forgot how impressive this is.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Have you been back here since our field trip?”

“A couple of times. Ottawa has a lot more sports and entertainment than our little town.”

Our goal, the Peace Tower, rose from the front of the Parliament building. It had four clocks, one on each side. It also had a carillon, an observation deck, and the Memorial Chamber honoring those who had died in Canada's wars.

The traffic worsened this close to Parliament, but Noah finally found a parking spot several blocks away. We got out and he put money in the meter. I kept the brown envelope with me, paranoid about leaving anything in his car now that mine had been stolen.

We headed down the sidewalk, passing two white cop cars with blue and red stripes. RCMP, I remembered, meant Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A minute later we went through a wide wrought-iron gate and around the Centennial Flame, where an eternal flame burned in the center of the flowing water. Nearing the tower I looked up, studying the imposing carvings. Gargoyles stared back at me.

“Where do you want to start?” Noah asked.

“Since the clue says ‘north west' I'm thinking we should try the observation deck.”

We entered through the visitors' door that was around the corner from the main entrance into the Parliament building. After waiting in line, we reached the monitored area. It was similar to airport security. We had to empty the stuff in our pockets into plastic bins, send our shoes and everything we were carrying past an x-ray scanner, and walk through a detection gate. Then we headed up two flights of stone steps. We passed by the center court, which was full of amazing carvings, stonework, and stained glass.

“It's like a medieval castle in here,” I said.

We hurried up the steps that veered sharply along the interior of the tower and paused to look down through arched windows at the center rotunda. At the top we came to a line of visitors waiting for the single elevator that went up the tower. There were several people ahead of us chatting in French with their tour guide. After a few minutes we went in with them. Noah showed me the long, narrow window at the back of the elevator, which let us see some of the bells of the carillon as we ascended.

The tower was a lot taller than any other building in the area and gave a great view of Ottawa and Parliament Hill. From the observation deck there were five vantage points, including one that looked down on the copper roofs of the Centre Block. However, only one view interested me, and that was from the windows facing northwest. We walked over and looked out.

In the distance, the wide Ottawa River was dark gray-blue with sunlight glittering on its surface like scattered diamonds. Directly across, on the far side of the water, was a small city. From this distance it appeared as a miniature model and was built right up to the brink of the river. I recognized it. “That's Gatineau, Quebec.”

“How do you know?”

“We stayed there for a few days before we came back across the border and ended up at Seale House.”

From this far away everything seemed so small and insignificant, yet one of my most painful memories came from that place. I didn't want to explain this to Noah.

“Do you think Jack wants us to go there?”

“I can't see why. It was so long ago, and we were there just a couple of days. I don't remember the address and wouldn't know where to look.”

I stared down at the buildings in Gatineau. During our field trip to the Peace Tower, Jack had recognized the Quebec town and pointed it out to me. But that conversation hadn't really been important, so what was Jack trying to tell me now? The only thing I could think of was the field trip itself, and how we had stood in this exact spot, unaware of the girls pushing in behind us.