Part 16 (1/2)

At a loss for words, I can only point to the cottage, shaking my head vehemently. Then I point toward the largest building, a flattopped three-story thing, intermittently lit.

”Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast,” I whisper.

”Huh? Sarah, what's wrong?”

I gesture toward the larger building. ”The play's the thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.”

”King?” she starts to ask, then nods. ”You think that we'll find them in that building? Why?”

I smile bitterly. ”I remember, I remember the house where I was born, the little windows where the sun came peeping in the morn.”

The other two are stirring, restless and curious at the reason for our delay. Abalone beckons them forward and explains.

”Shouldn't we let Sarah lead?” Midline suggests. ”She may remember something else, an' the owl can scout for her.”

Abalone agrees, promising to be as close as my shadow, and now I lead the way across the park. The well-tended lawn springs beneath my soft-soled shoes and the night wind whispers through the new leaves on the trees. From the bag slung across my shoulder like a bandolier, I can hear Betwixt and Between muttering to each other, but I do not s.h.i.+ft my focus to listen.

Ahead is the building and my memory fills in details that the darkness does not reveal. It is stone, rough and red, grainy to the touch, though not crumbly like sandstone.

The lower floor will not interest us. It is mostly offices and entertainment areas: a ballroom, a conference center, a lounge. The second floor is labs and test areas, some recreational facilities, but these are for the patients, not for the guests: treadmills to measure heart and respiration, rooms with walls of one-way gla.s.s, an Olympic swimming pool.

The third floor is our goal. Rooms for the resident patients. Dylan. Me. A kitchen and dining area. A playroom. Somehow it does not occur to me to wonder if this will have changed with the pa.s.sing years. Maybe the place itself tells me. Change of that sort is not important to its purpose.

Purpose.

Something touches a buried memory, but eludes me like the moth Athena futilely snaps at as she soars just ahead of us. Then we have arrived in the building's shadow and the others are waiting for me to tell them what to do.

The building's flat roof makes an entry directly into the third floor seem possible, especially if we target one of the empty rooms. Holding a finger to my lips, I motion for the others to take cover behind some azaleas thickly covered with red flowers that smell faintly sour. Then I send Athena to look in each window, charging her to remember what was within each.

After a few moments, she returns. Her report does not take the form of anything as simple as words, but I manage to learn that most of the rooms are empty of all but dust and darkness. One or two show signs of human inhabitants, but none of these are a man with white hair and pale green eyes. More than this is beyond my limited ability to understand.

I rea.s.sure myself that both the second-and third-story windows above us are dark and the rooms untenanted before I turn to the others, who are waiting with nervous tension.

I gesture upward, motioning as if swinging a grapple.

Professor Isabella looks sharply at me. ”You think we should climb up?”

I nod and Midline purses his lips, surveying the height involved.

”We can do that,” he says, pulling gear from his belt.

”Okay,” Abalone whispers. ”Anchor a line to the roof and I'll go first. I want to check if the upper windows are wired. The lower ones are.”

Midline steps just outside of the azaleas' shelter and I fight the impulse to huddle small. If anyone sees him, we are all in equal danger. But the night remains quiet and the stretch of park is uninterrupted by guards or other hazards.

A nearly inaudible clunk announces that the grapple has found purchase and Abalone climbs upward with the primate grace of one of the Free People. She stops outside of the third-story window and wrestles out her tappety-tap.

Something troubles her. She hangs there, studying a reading. Then from a pouch at her waist she removes tiny tools, visible only as points of light in the shadows. After working for a moment, she presses up against the window frame.

I hear Professor Isabella intake her breath in apprehension, but no alarms go off and Abalone vanishes within. Midline gestures for me to go next and I scramble up, certain that I will be spotted. Yet, I dive safely into the room, rolling past Abalone, who motions for me to go and listen at the door and warn her if anyone is coming.

Obeying, I feel a soft breeze as Midline enters and hear soft grunts as Professor Isabella is helped in. There is the sound of metal on stone as Midline retrieves his grapple and then a cessation of outside noises as the window is slid shut. Abalone comes to crouch beside me, chortling nearly inaudibly when she finds a computer jack on the wall. Relieved some from guard duty, I turn to study the room.

Staring in pure disbelief, I realize that I know this room. The bra.s.s bedstead in one corner looks smaller than it did when Dylan and I played pirates on it and the ivory dresser is thick with dust, but this is my room. Unbelieving, I study the rainbow of dancing teddy bears that borders the room, remembering how when I couldn't sleep they would sing to me.

The faint sound of those chiming voices reaches me, but I push it back. More important is remembering where various rooms were in relation to this one. Adult perspective threatens to scatter my memories like sparrows before a cat-then I sink back and let memory rise.

Yes. Dylan's room is across the hall and to the right. Eleanora's is beyond his, but it has been empty...Past, present, and future threaten to rise and flood me with their contradictions. Can Dylan be here at all?

Meanwhile, Abalone and Professor Isabella have been reviewing the data that is scrolling rapidly across Abalone's screen. Midline stands out of sight of window or door, ready to take any who might have seen our entry and come looking. A sheathed knife waits below his hand, ready as its owner, but I know he will prefer empty hands to weapons.

Quietly, I rise, and inspect the room's other door. If memory matches reality, this opens into a bathroom. Tension has made me suddenly desperate to pee and without word to the others, I gently turn the doork.n.o.b, remembering the struggle the task was for my smaller self.

Midline's arm pulls me back.

”No exploring,” he growls in my ear.

I blush, realizing how stupid I nearly was, yet aware of the sotto voce sotto voce clamor of past experience luring me to act like a child rather than an adult. clamor of past experience luring me to act like a child rather than an adult.

Sitting heavily on the floor, I pull Betwixt and Between from their bag and cradle them, inhaling their strawberry fragrance in slow, deep breaths.

They, in turn, appreciate being let out.

”Gee, it's awfully dark in here,” Betwixt says.

”Dusty, too,” Between sneezes.

I start to hush them and then remember that only I can hear them. Instead, I whisper, ”Am I my brother's keeper?”

”You?” Betwixt seems confused for a moment. ”No, but I see what you're getting at. This is definitely the place.”

”I wonder if Dylan has the same room?” Between says, his voice rising with excitement. ”That would mean he's just down the hall! Do you think he'll remember us?”

”Of course, he will,” Betwixt replies, but I can hear the nervous edge to his voice. ”Weren't we his best friend?”

Their colloquy is interrupted by a whisper from Abalone. I crawl over to join her and Professor Isabella by the door. Midline inches closer, but keeps his watchful station.

”We've dumped loads of data,” Abalone says, ”too much and too fast to read now and my memory is at capacity. There were no maps or room a.s.signments in what I skimmed, so we'll have to do a quick physical search. Sarah, do you have any ideas?”

I nod. In the s.h.i.+elded beam of a light, I sketch what I remember of the corridor using the pile of the carpet for a canvas. Across from my room, just to the left, is a door to a stairwell. To the left the corridor jogs and there are several rooms. To the right, there is the large sunroom and one other: Dylan's. Finis.h.i.+ng my map, I place an X where Dylan should be.

Abalone studies my map. ”Good detail, but things may have changed since you lived here.”

Midline coughs what I realize is a laugh. ”And she may have flipped directions, like by the Jungle. What say we split? Me and the Professor go left, an' you and Sarah, right. We won't be so far apart for us not to holler for help.”

Professor Isabella raises a startled eyebrow at Midline's choice of partner, but nods agreement. ”Remember, though, Dylan and Eleanora may not wish to be 'rescued'-this place may be all they know.”