Abigail Lincoln awoke the next morning with a tremendous headache and a vague sense of nothingness. Distantly, as if looking through a dirty glass window, she remembered a dream, a faint dream that someone remarkably like her had been in her room. Another girl, perhaps? But that was over now, and the dream quickly faded into nothingness. Turning over in her bed, she looked at her alarm clock.
"...wha? It's nine o'clock already?"
Stirring from her bed, she started processing one by one, the images that came to her. Her room - no, her slanted ceiling first, covered in pictures of Yippers and Rainbow Monkeys, and a little sketch of a boy in the corner, drawn by - who?
Off to her right, the sunlight was streaming in onto her carpet, catching the dust particles here and there. Her desk, facing the window, had a half-full scrapbook on it. Abby groggily walked over to her desk.
More sketches. Some sort of weapon, or other - what was she thinking? It looked like a bubblegum gun. A six-shooter for chewed up gum! It couldn't possibly be real. And yet she never thought she was capable of imagination like that. She was always thirteen, or so she believed. It wasn't too hard to imagine that that had always been so.
She needed her tunes. Perhaps that will cool things down a bit. Fumbling around on her desk for the music player she was certain existed half a second ago. Looking for the one thing a teenager did not do without. Pushing whatever remained of her childhood on her desk to one side.
She finally found it underneath a pile of official-looking papers. Looked through the songs she did not remember downloading, and choosing one. Plugging herself in, she left the room. But even walking downstairs seemed hard, awkward, unnatural. Her limbs felt like jelly sticks, barely connected to her body, badly coordinated. It must be the 'growing pains' her dad had told her about, with the teenagers and the growing and the...what?
Again, she couldn't recall.
She peered into the kitchen, where her sister was already up, pouring herself a bowl of plain cereal. Today being Saturday, there was nothing much to do - yet. "Hey Cree?"
"Oh, hey. Happy birthday, sis. Welcome to adolescence."
Abby waved her hands dismissively, walking towards the wooden table. Was it her or was there something emotionally off about her big sister? "Thanks. Do you mind - WAIT."
"I don't mind waiting, but what is it, Abby?"
"My CAP! Where is it, Cree?"
Cree Lincoln looked genuinely bemused, though it was hard to see from beneath her runaway hair. "Dunno, Abby. You don't need it anymore, do ya?"
"You bet your last Rainbow Monkey I do! Now where is it?"
Cree stopped eating. Smiled a mysterious smile. Was that acknowledgement, or deception? "Well, it looks like you were right after all, sis. You really did know what you were talking about last night."
Abby braced herself against the table, aware of a rising tide of nausea. Around her, the world started spinning, a mix of colours and sights and sounds that just didn't add up. "Last night? I didn't see you-I don't know-What's going on?"
In that instant she didn't look remotely like a teenager. She looked like a lost child. Cree just stared at her like she was bonkers, playing with her spoon reflectively, almost regretfully.
"Last time I saw you, you were scarcely a kid, and look at you now, all grown up!"
"Come on, don't give me that David Copperfield stuff, sis! What do you know about last night, and where is my cap?"
Cree simply shrugged. "You told me yesterday you'd eventually find it, now didn't ya? Last I heard, you left it at your friends' place or something. Now run along, go find it."
Abby snarled. "I'll pummel you once I get back."
Peeling herself off the table, Abby burst out of the kitchen door, ready to go hunting for her cap, when she realised something else.
"Friends?"
Memories!
Abby was possessed by an intense desire to know - something, anything. Maybe a photo will help me understand what the heck is going on! She didn't see anything that could be tied to her childhood, though. It was as if a big part of her life had been completely wiped out, and that was physically disorienting for her. She supposed it had something to do with being an adult, but without a background story, really, anything could be the cause. And where was her cap?
As far as she knew, she'd always had her cap close to her. No one could've taken it. Then again, she couldn't remember much, so as it stood, even her cap - the one thing that stayed the same from fragmented memory to memory - was suspect.
Walking into the front yard, she recognised houses, trees. That garden round the corner. A blue car in that driveway. But who lived in it? For that matter, who were her neighbors - the kids next door?
A feeling beyond all reason overtook Abby completely. Now she was curious. She needed to know what all these disorienting, disjointed ideas meant. She needed to explain the emptiness in her life.
Maybe if I ask around the neighborhood...I'll be able to recognise something. Anything!
She looked around a little bit more. Funnily enough, her memory seemed to take on a mind of her own. Kenny lived in that white house, but in the one next to it there lived...Mr. Wheatle? Skittle? A father and his boy, at any rate. She knew the boy had once been her friend. But what exactly did he look like? Everything was fuzzy and nothing made sense.
Letting out a soft sigh, Abby headed for home. She had a lot of figuring out to do, and not enough time to do it all in - the phenomenon every adult otherwise knew as 'growing up'.
Before she could give up, a voice called to her from the bush, just on the shoulder of the street.
"Psst - over here!"
Now she was certain she had taken her morning crazy pills. There was plainly no-one hidden there. Had she really heard something?
This 'questioning oneself' business was harder than she thought.
"Psst - OVER HERE."
Abby walked over to the bush, but before she could completely close the distance, a sandy-haired boy, no more than ten, popped out of nowhere.
She screamed, but the boy vaulted over and jumped on her mouth before the sound escaped. "Quiet, you. Relax, and you'll be off soon enough."
Shrugging the boy off, Abby's teenage form bore down on him. "What's the big idea, tryin' to jump me like that? This ain't a stick-up, you know! And besides, do I know you or something?"
The kid's face fell. As he spoke, he didn't look once at her with his blue eyes.
"Once, yes. Seems a long time ago now. Abby, you need to know, you need to think about this sentence - Do not go gentle into the good night."
"What in the name of candy is going on here, boy?" But as she moved closer to the kid, she suddenly became aware that there were more people around. More kids, in fact. What do they know that I don't? How does he know my name?
"I see you brought your friends, so show's over, whoever's hiding in the bush!"
The kids did not move. The sandy-haired boy clutched at Abby's arm in desperation.
"You don't remember - anything?"
Something inside Abby broke. She lowered herself, until she was the stature of the boy, something she had probably done a million times in the distant past. Looking squarely, desperately, into his eyes, she said: "What else can you tell me about myself?"
Silence.
And then, for the briefest moment, it looked as if the kid was going to say something - but then he winked at Abby, and scampered back into the bush with his friends, melting away into the suburbia like an illusion, as if they had never been there.
And Abby was alone. One clue she had no clue what to do with, and not even sure if what she just heard was real or not. She looked around, staring at her empty neighborhood, asking to the silent, cool morning air:
"What now?"
The heck does a line from Dylan Thomas have to do with my missing childhood?
As she walked back, Abby counted the squares in the pavement. Staying sane. Thinking about what that boy had said. One two three four...
A-a book he wrote, maybe? Or something else in that poem? How did the rest of it go? Dad always encouraged her to read, of course, but she couldn't remember something like that so quickly.
Something along the lines of 'Rage, rage against the dying of the light' popped into her head. Well, it was morning, and there was no dying sun to rage against, and so the clue still puzzled her. I need to see the whole poem!
Walking into her house, she made for the shelf of books in the living room, plucking the right one off the shelf. But before she could turn to the correct page, a note fell out.
Abby's heart jumped.
Seizing the scrap of paper, she opened the note in her trembling hands, and read aloud the message, written in her own shaky handwriting:
The Kids Next Door is real - an organisation dedicated to protecting kids against adults. Find the others. Complete the challenges. Wherever there are holes in your memory, therein lies the secrets. I've got faith in you - Numbuh Five.
Huh? she thought.
Too late, she realised someone had walked in. On instinct, she made for the exit, but then she was hit in the face with all the force of a runaway train.
Slammed into the floor, note in hand and stars in eyes, Abby could just make out a shadowy figure in the hallway. Walk over to her. Tower over her prone body with all the authority of her elder sister Cree.
"I'm sorry, Abby. I can't let you do this."
"Cree? What's going on here?" Abigail desperately scrambled to replace the book, but it was hopeless. Surely Cree knew exactly what was happening already.
Cree smirked. "You don't remember yesterday, trying ter' get all comfy with me? What's happened is that you're thirteen now, and so you've got to be decommissioned from this organisation known as the Kids Next Door. Sent down so your memory can be wiped. Captured so they can clean your head of all that combat conditioning. Turns out they didn't wipe it COMPLETELY!"
Cree swung. In a flash, Abby ducked, and the punch missed her and went into the wall. She shouted out, "Cree, what are you doing?"
"Saving you from yourself. What a shame you haven't kept any of your training!"
Abby ducked as Cree swung again, but this time she was too slow, and the punch caught her square in the face. Standing woozily, Cree swept her feet from under her, and Abby collapsed in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs. Tiny pinpricks of light jumped at the edge of her vision.
But the sheer force of the punch had awoken something in her. Quietly, she snarled:
"You're right, sis. They didn't wipe it all!"
With a roar, Abby jumped up, flailing arm catching Cree under the jaw. Momentarily dazed, Cree stared at Abby. "How did-"
"Because I learned my skills from you! Whatever them Kids Next Door did to my head, I still remember your tricks!" Abby screamed as she landed another hit, this time from her left fist.
Harder. Faster. Cree spun backwards as she took another hit. Her sheer astonishment had left her badly surprised, and Abby was landing hit after hit. Smack. Smack. Smack.
And then suddenly Abby stopped dead. "No."
"Wha-"
"I can't do this." she said.
"I-I don't-" Cree shuffled off, a small hint of fear flashing through her eyes.
"Cree, I can't do it. I'm not in this fighting business anymore. Not with my big sis. But I've gotta go and find out what's really going on here. So let me go. Pleaseā¦"
Leaving her sister on the floor, Abby turned her back to the fight. A big mistake.
Cree sprung to her feet in a flash. Abby barely heard the creak and the rustle of clothes before her sister was right behind her. Turning on the spot, Abby felt her sister's hair brush past her face, felt her hand scrape off her cheek. "Abby, don't go! You know I'm only fighting for you!"
Abby spat on the floor, sneering derisively at her sister. "Is that what you told Maurice after you broke up with him? That you did it out of some noble intention to save your relationship? Don't you get it? I need to know about my past!"
Cree, often so cool and cunning, suddenly lost all semblance of control.
Lunging at Abby, her eyes wide open, she screamed, "You know nothing! You don't know how a bunch of bratty kids can completely destroy your work!" Throwing her entire body into the punch, Cree rocketed at Abby, who dodged and caught the blow flush on her shoulder. "It's you that don't get it, Abby, 'cause you can't want to go back if you only knew everything! About losing your friends, about suddenly becoming the enemy, just because a birthday card said it's about time!"
Cree grabbed Abby by the scruff of her neck, and no matter how hard Abby struggled and kicked, she couldn't break loose. She was stuck. Breathing felt like sucking through a drinking straw with a hole in it.
Grabbing her head, Cree twisted it so that Abby was looking straight at her. "You don't know about how devious some of these types can be, because you've never seen the real world!"
Despite her situation, Abby stared at her sister, wide-eyed in disbelief. "What are ya' talking about?"
Cree sighed, quiet coming back to her face. She relaxed her grip a little, though there was still precious little that Abby got out of it. "It's the harsh reality, sis."
Abby exploded.
"SINCE WHEN HAVE YOU GROWN UP? You're just like one of them now! Don't you remember when the world meant something other than survival, when-when- aw, hell, Cree, when inside every box was an adventure? Y'know sis, there's nothing wrong with your age. Sixteen and a son of a gun, is that what they say? But there's no room left in your head for fun, or for really fighting for your rights, or worst of all, for any genuine change. Nah, you've never so much as changed your fashion sense. You know what, girl? It's not your age that's changed, sis, it's you."
Cree's hands hesitated. Her eyes wavered. "I-I don't - "
Abby jumped on the chance. With an almighty push, she wrenched herself off her sister. She was so mad that she didn't even look back as her sister stumbled to the floor. Still spitting fire, she whispered, "I'm going right now, right here, and you're not to do anything to stop me from finding answers. I've gotta find my destiny, and you've got to find yours."
Before she could leave, however, she remembered something.
The drawing.
Hurrying back up, she grabbed the sketchbook off her table, and the drawing of that mysterious boy. As she put them all into her school backpack, Abby took a last look around at her room. Her bed in the corner, and the ever-present Yipper comic, edition number nine at her bedside. Somehow she had a feeling that she may not be back. It's going to be a while before I see it again, if at all...
As her feet pounded back down upon the timber steps, driven by urgency, Cree called out to her.
"Abby?"
"What?" She was still mad at her big sister, and had neither the time nor the space for her.
"I'm-I'm sorry."
Nothing could have prepared Abby for that particular response. Her sister looked at Abby, quietly, shakily.
Abby stared back at her.
Then Cree repeated, "I'm sorry."
Abby shuffled her feet, not sure if this was still another trap.
Cree picked herself off the floor, and said, "Abby, I - I don't know anymore. I don't know what to do with all this stuff in my life and I'm scared you're going to get yourself in trouble and hurt again! I don't want you to be hurt. Please...I'm sorry."
Seeing the look on Abby's face, Cree plunged on, a more businesslike tone taking over her voice: "That boy you want. His name is Wallabee Beatles and he lives in the house next to Kenny's - the guy with the chimp. Numbuh Four, as his codename is otherwise known as. You've gotta know that he's a bit hard to get to, but you'll get there anyway, one way or the other. If you've got any sense left, you'll need to convince him to come with you. Don't say I didn't warn you about the KND, though - it's a losing proposition. And if you see Maurice tell him - tell him I granted his wish."
An electric shock of realisation ran through Abby. Opening the note again, she stared at the signature. Numbuh Five. So this is what-
Abby walked over to the door, and as she was opening it Cree continued weakly, "Abby?"
"Yeah?"
"Good luck." Cree forced a weak smile and gave her a thumbs up. "Even when you were the enemy, you were always my enemy. Even when you were fighting me, it was always personal. So if you ever get your memory back, it's on again - sis."
The tears were welling up inside again. A smile on her face, Abby wanted to say something more, but instead she just winked at her big sister, and swung the front door shut, backpack and memories in tow.
Walking across the street, Abby realised that she did not have any idea how to approach this boy. Sure, she had once known him, but what could they now talk about? What common ground did they now share?
She looked at the picture again. A short, bowl-cut boy, not a day over twelve. The artist had been very good, and it was as if Abby could almost understand him by looking into the drawing's eyes. Eyes that had once promised the world, eyes that were still essentially childlike and yet so, so defensively aggressive...
Numbuh Five had always had that gift. The ability to understand where someone was coming from perfectly well in a single instant. She didn't know much about this boy, but she knew enough to be able to start off a conversation.
She was so deep in thought that she did not realise her feet had, of their own accord, carried her over to the doorstep of the Beatles. She paused, and took a deep breath.
Ready, Numbuh Five?
Then, she rang the doorbell.
A tall man with a broad Australian accent peeked out. "Hello?"
"Heya..." Abagail scratched her head nervously. What was this guys's name again? Wheatles...no, Beetles! "Hey, Mr. Beetles...sir?"
"What do you want?"
"I'd just wondering if I could see your son Wally, talk to him a bit...I'm a friend of his."
For an instant, she wondered, for the hundredth time today, if she had screwed up and the dad was going to slam the door in her face, but he just turned inside and shouted up the steps: "Wally!"
A weak voice answered from atop the stairs. "Coming, Dad!"
Presently Abby stood face to face with the real life, smirking, shorter counterpart of the boy in the sketch. He motioned to his dad to leave them alone. Whistling to himself, the dad walked away. "You guys catch up now..."
"So." the boy continued, eyes narrowing further. "Who the crud are ya?"
Twenty minutes later, Wallabee Beatles and Abby were seated around a table, and the boy was asking his dad for more chips, trying to digest the story that Abby was telling him. "So you want me...to help you look for your cap?" he said.
Abby shook her head. "Not just that, silly! I want you to help me find out what happened to my childhood memories. Look, I know it sounds like crazy talk, but I can't remember a thing from when I was a kid. It's like I woke up and all of a sudden I'm thirteen. I only know your name since my sister told me, but I'm really sure your dad also knows me, 'else he'd never let me in."
Wally scrunched up his face, the way he always did when he was thinking through a problem. "That's right. I do know you - a bit."
Abby motioned at the food. "You got something a little...more sugary?"
"Chips are best for headaches, as I always like to say." Wally snagged one, then continued. "You know, I'm not thirteen yet, but I've got the weirdest feeling that I do know ya, ya know. Like, really well. I kinda know what you're getting at. This thing sounds kinda fun. Maybe it's - it's -"
He looked around suspiciously before continuing, "Don't tell anyone this, but I just feel like the best memories of my life have been taken out and I can only remember the time when I was being picked upon by those bullies. And I don't want to remember that! I want to remember a time that was awesome and fun, not cruddy and boring!"
Abby smiled reassuringly. "Alright, I'll keep your lil' secret."
"Will ya?" Wally said, his eyes big.
"Sure thing, champ," Abby replied. "I mean, it's mine too, y'know. We can be the kids with screwed-up memories and as long as we're together we won't be scared of nuthin'."
A silence fell on the conversation. Then Abby extended her hand, reaching out for a high five.
"So what do you say - Numbuh Four? Still wanna find out together?"
Wally kicked his heels. "I - yeah - but I still don't understand that bit about not being Numbuh One - are you sure that slot's been taken?
Abby laughed. "Nah, we're not sure, but Four's the only number she can vouch for as safe."
"Awright then, I'm Numbuh Four. What did you say this organisation thing was about again?"
"The Kids Next Door. Dedicated to helping kids everywhere - I think."
Wally smiled, the determined smile of a boy who knew exactly what he wanted to do. He reached out and slapped Abby's open palm.
"In that case - Kids Next Door rule!"
