The Vanishing Game (8 page)

Rising and peering through the fence, I saw Georgie lying still. There was no longer any hatred in his eyes. Blood seeped from his head and made dark swirls on the pavement. For one tiny moment he was again the little boy who'd slept with an ugly toy dinosaur and been afraid of earwigs.

“Georgie,” I whispered, his name catching in my throat.

I turned away and fled past Dumpsters and a parked delivery van. I tripped once, my knee smashing against the asphalt, but I jumped up, afraid to stop. I ran blindly.

The edges of reality began to evaporate and it seemed as if I were drifting on a tiny dissolving iceberg in a boiling sea. In time I found myself crouched once more in that darkened shop doorway with its umbrella awning. I was shaking.

An approaching siren screamed as a cop car zoomed past with flashing lights. By the time my mental cogs finally started grinding again, I knew that I needed to get moving.

Once I was sure no one was watching me, I slipped through the shadows and began running again. I couldn't keep it up long, though. Fatigue overwhelmed me and it was all I could do to simply walk. I moved aimlessly, not knowing where I was heading. Although no one seemed to be following me, several times I jumped at harmless shapes in the dark. Buildings and shops became a blur. The rainless storm was gone and gray clouds were thinning against the black sky. The still air grew cold. I had on a long-sleeved shirt but no jacket. I rubbed my arms, wincing at my aches.

In time I found myself in a busier area of town; there was more traffic, and pedestrians traveled between shops or headed to bistros. Some of the stores began to look familiar, and then I noticed I was on Factory Street. As if on autopilot, I headed for Soluri's Pizza, happy to see it was still in business. The hearty scent of pizza hit me when I entered.

I made my way to the ladies' room. The girl in the mirror looked back at me with frightened eyes and a scratched, dirty face. It was clear that sliding down the roof had done more damage than I'd realized, since there was an ugly abrasion on my cheek and jaw. I ran water until it was warm, gently washing my scrapes. It stung and I grimaced, patting my skin dry with a paper towel. At least most of the dirt was gone by the time I was done, though the scratches looked worse.

Someone tried the locked door, startling me. I quickly worked at straightening my tangled hair with my fingers, but without much success. Leaving the bathroom, I passed a mother waiting with her little girl. At the back of the pizza place I scooted into the corner of a dimly lit booth. Couples and a few families were scattered throughout the place, eating or talking. I envied their associations and their pizza. I also wished I had more money left than two dollars, since I'd spent Noah's cash on the cab and Internet access. A waitress with short black hair came over, and I ordered cinnamon hot chocolate, the house specialty and all I could afford.

How many times had Jack, Noah, and I come here after leaving the library or running errands for Hazel? We loved this place. Pizza was always a favorite for my brother and me, but Melody seldom bought any. She was obsessed with watching what she ate so she could fit into her tight jeans. Whenever Jack and I had a chance to buy pizza, we did.

I recalled sitting in this same booth and playfully
blowing the paper wrapper off a straw. It had hit Noah in the forehead and we all laughed. On that day, the three of us were really excited. A local business had donated two computers to Seale House. There were no games installed on them, only operating systems and some basic word-processing programs. And, of course, Hazel would never think of buying any software or paying for Internet access, so there wasn't much we could do with them. Most of the other kids quickly lost interest, but we had decided to learn programming. That day we did some research on the library's Internet and checked out a couple of books. Jack and Noah were serious about it; I was just happy to be with them.

My thoughts were interrupted by laughter from a group entering the restaurant. As they came closer and made their way past occupied tables, my glance became an uncomfortable stare. There were three guys and two girls. And one of the guys was Noah. I didn't recognize the others but decided they must be some of the high school friends he'd told Jack about.

There was a stocky kid wearing a black T-shirt with RIT printed in orange on the front. A girl with long hair was hanging on the arm of a boy in a baseball cap. The other girl had short auburn hair, pretty skin, and prettier makeup. She was talking to Noah and smiling. He nodded at something she said, then glanced up, his eyes locking on mine.

Noah raised a questioning eyebrow. The girl stopped
talking and turned to follow his gaze. She studied me, her expertly lined eyes fringed with the best fake lashes I'd ever seen. A couple of seconds later her glossy lips tightened as if she were sucking on a lemon.

Aware of my own mussed hair, scraped cheek, and complete lack of makeup, a blush crept up my face. I gazed down at my mug of hot chocolate and didn't look up again.

A few seconds later I heard him say, “If this is your idea of stalking, it's not funny.”

With the noise in the restaurant, I hadn't heard him approach. But there he was, standing by my table and studying me with a closed expression.

“I'm not stalking you!” I glanced over at his friends who were starting to sit down—all except the girl. She glared at us, her hands on curvy hips.

“Right,” he said.

A flare of anger made me slide across the seat to get out, but Noah blocked my path. He sat down on my side of the bench, forcing me back. “Chill, will you?”

Scooting away from him, I folded my arms. “Go back to your friends.”

“What happened to your face?”

I didn't answer and didn't make eye contact.

“Jocelyn?”

Reaching for the mug of hot chocolate, I wrapped my fingers around it and took a swallow.

“You're white as a ghost and that scrape looks bad. What's going on?”

“I'm not stalking you, Noah. How would I even know you'd be here tonight?”

“I always come on Wednesdays for the house pizza, and sometimes my friends do too. Jack knew that.”

“Well, he didn't bother to tell me. Like I even care what you do.”

The girl motioned to Noah to come back. She widened her eyes in an inviting way and mouthed something.

“Order without me,” he called, and she turned around in a huff and sat down.

“Who's she?”

“Sasha.”

“You two dating?”

“Not yet.”

I glanced over at her stiff back. “I don't want to mess up what you've got going. Let me out and you can eat with your friends.”

He shook his head. “They can do without me, and you should stay.”

“Why?”

He studied me with an expression that was familiar and yet oddly out of place on his more mature features. “Jack's not around to look after you now. He wouldn't like it if I let something happen to you.”

I shook my head with disbelief. “Neanderthal. Move so I can get out.”

“What's wrong now?”

I just looked at him.

“Okay, Jocey, I'm sorry if everything I say annoys you! At least stick around for pizza. You can tolerate me that long, can't you?”

“Let's get clear about something. I only came in this place because I happened to recognize it from when we were kids. I didn't know you were going to be here tonight or I would've kept going.”

“When did you get so touchy? You were a lot easier to hang with at twelve.”

The waitress came back again and he ordered a medium pizza. After she left I looked at him. His unreadable gaze made me feel even more uncertain than last night.

He pointed at my face. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I went to Seale House and it wasn't a good experience. I sort of … fell. Satisfied?”

“Why would you go there? Are you that determined to dig up old ghosts? Nobody even lives there now.”

“Not unless you count the cellar beast.”

I could tell he thought I was joking.

“Did you go inside?”

“Yes.”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “It's probably not even safe in there because of the fire.”

He was right about that. I was still shaken by how many close calls I'd had. Most of all, I was horrified by what I'd seen happen to Georgie. Thinking about the shooter made me even more worried for Jack.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” I decided to ask him something I needed to know. “I've been wondering who told you about Jack's accident. That he was … gone.”

“Oh. Well, I didn't find out right away. Jack didn't come online for a couple of days. He just wasn't there, you know? At first I thought maybe he was busy working, but then ISI sent me a report about what happened.”

The waitress dropped off a drink for Noah and he took a gulp.

I said, “I should've called, but I just couldn't.”

“That's okay.”

“At least ISI was decent enough to tell you.”

“Yeah.” He stared down at his drink. “A week ago I quit working for them.”

“You did? Why?”

“Mainly because when Jack died, it was like letting the air out of a life raft. Without him, I didn't want to stay. I mean, we found our love of computers together in the first place, right? Both of us were so excited about programming. And then about how ISI was interested in us. Now that he's gone, it's not the same.”

Noah could be so difficult and prickly at times, but his loyalty to my brother really touched me.

A few minutes later the waitress brought over a steaming pizza layered with sausage, ham, and glazed onions. Noah dug in, lifting a piece that trailed cheese. He glanced at me. “You want some, don't you?”

My pride battled my stomach and quickly lost. I grabbed a slice and ate. For a while we were too busy chewing to talk.

There was a burst of laughter from his friends and I glanced over at them. Sasha was talking with a lot of energy, smiling at the stocky guy who seemed uninterested in her flirting. Maybe it was apparent to him she was trying to make Noah jealous.

I reached for another slice, starting to feel better now that I'd warmed up and wasn't so hungry. In the sane setting of the restaurant, the bizarre events at Seale House and in the alley seemed almost unreal. I considered telling Noah what had happened to Georgie. Right away I tossed the idea. He hadn't seemed to really believe me about the Jason December letter, and I didn't have the energy left to try and convince him of anything else. Once I was full I just sat there, ignoring the throb of a beginning headache. Distracted, I picked at a piece of shingle grit embedded in my palm.

Noah caught hold of my hand, moving it closer to the light. “Your palms are chewed up, too? All this from just one fall?”

I pulled away and grabbed my mug, finishing off the last of my drink. He was still studying me with uncertain eyes as I set it down. “Thanks for the pizza, Noah.”

“You need to get something on those scratches, especially the one on your face. I have a tube of antibacterial gel at home.”

I didn't answer and he added, “I think you'd better spend another night at my place.”

A slow pounding in my temples grew—bad headache was on its way. I wasn't sure what to do, because the last thing I wanted was to impose on Noah again. But if I was going to go back to Seale House in the morning, I needed a safe place to stay overnight.

He looked into my eyes. “I can see you're trying to think of a way to turn me down.”

“Am not.”

He dug some ones out of his wallet for a tip and slid out of the booth. “Let's go.”

I paused for a couple of seconds, watching him stop at the other table and say a few words to his friends. The guy in the baseball cap glanced in my direction and smiled, though his girlfriend glared at me for her friend's sake. Noah left them, heading to the cashier, and I admitted to myself it would be stupid to let pride stop me from having a safe haven for the night. Scooting out of the booth, I hurried past his friends, not looking at them, and followed Noah to the parking lot.

This time I got to sit in his passenger seat, which was much more comfortable than my last ride. Driving away from the center of town, we didn't talk. He played the radio, and I watched the dark scenery stream by. My thoughts swirled in a slow eddy of disquiet. Who killed Georgie? Had that man saved me from Georgie's knife, or was he shooting at me and missed, hitting Georgie by accident? Most of all,
what about Jack? My brother had faked his death for a reason, and now I knew for sure that something serious was going on.

Tomorrow I would head back to Seale House and check out Jack's hiding spot. A slight shiver passed through me. When I did go back, I would be better prepared. I finally decided it was best not to worry about the cellar any more tonight; I'd save that for tomorrow. In the warmth of Noah's car I even tried to convince myself that the scary stuff in my old foster home must have been triggered by childhood fears.

Once we got to his place and went inside, Noah said, “You look tired. Why don't you turn in?”

“Thanks.”

“Don't forget to use some of that antibacterial gel on your face.”

I headed to the bathroom and the first thing I did was toss down three ibuprofen. Then I doctored my scraped face and hands the best I could. Going into the room where I'd slept last night, I dug one of Noah's old T-shirts out of a dresser drawer and tossed it on the bed. It was clean and didn't have the smoky smell from Seale House like my other stuff. I took my clothes off and threw them in a corner. Eager to collapse between the sheets, I reached for the shirt but paused when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There were welts and bruises in several places on my skin. In the muted lamplight I examined the growing bruise on my hip where I'd landed after my fall, as well
as the other bumps and cuts. Then I glanced down at the sore on my upper arm and sucked in a startled breath.