A SECRET CHORD

Chapter Thirty Five

Arizona, 1985

Charles Ross looked equally startled to see Thomas. "I know you," he said slowly. "Didn't we…?"

"Meet this morning – yes." What was it about that cold stare that turned him into a babbling idiot? "I mean… I was outside my house and you were looking for your boy… Did you find him? Ross," he added, jerkily. "Charles, right? And your boy's name is…"

"Adam."

"Adam. That's a nice name." Filled with a panic that he could not show, Thomas kept on improvising, even as his brain was screaming at him to stop talking – screaming with Adam's voice. "Chestnut hair," he said, nodding wisely.

Charles looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. "Like I told you." He turned his head to scan the crowd around them and, for the first time, Thomas noticed that he wasn't pushing a trolley of his own, or even carrying a basket.

"You're still searching," he blurted out.

Stop talking. Stop now!

Thomas felt an unexpected pang of sympathy as Charles gave a weary shrug. "That boy is stubborn – like his father."

"All boys are, to some degree." Thomas tried out a smile but, even from the inside, it felt weak and unconvincing.

"What are you saying?"

Good question, Thomas thought, although he did not like the tone that Charles had used. Maybe it was his imagination but it felt as though the people passing by were giving them curious glances. Would this man start an argument – or worse, a fight – in the middle of a public place?

Thomas thought about the marks on Adam's back. He thought about shame, and the secrecy of adults.

You're a coward, he decided – and, all at once, his fear subsided. Holding up his hands, he tried another smile and this one was perfect.

"I'm just agreeing," he said. "So, you think he'll come home when he's ready, then?"

"He will." Thomas could almost hear the silent phrase that followed: 'if he knows what's good for him'.

"But you're still looking anyway."

"I'm his father. You have kids?"

"No," Thomas said. "No, I don't." Just your son, hiding back at my house…

Stop talking! Walk away!

"Then you don't know. When family goes missing, it's like you've lost an arm or a leg. It tears at you, and you can't settle till you're whole again."

Thomas couldn't help himself. "I gather you speak from experience."

Charles Ross glared at him. "You don't know me. And you don't know my son. Think you're better than me? I doubt it."

"I don't think that," Thomas lied.

The withering glance moved down to the contents of his trolley. Thomas himself had played that judgemental game many times in the long queue for the checkout. People's choices said so much about their lives, and he always felt like a modern day Sherlock Holmes as he tried to unravel the mystery. As he made assumptions.

Just as Charles Ross was probably doing right now.

Oh God, Thomas thought. I'm a fool.

The fear came flooding back and all at once, he was ice cold; the slippery kind of chill that comes with shock.

Oh yes; there it was, for all the world to see, if only they could read the clues. Clues? Try flashing neon signs, Thomas scolded himself with increasing bitterness.

Jelly beans. Chocolate cake. Ice cream. Comic books, for heaven's sake. And stashed at the opposite end of the trolley, two bags, stuffed full of children's clothing, with the store name cheerfully emblazoned on their brightly coloured sides.

Thomas didn't know how brave he was until he forced himself to meet the eyes of his unwitting foe. Charles Ross was frowning slightly; the crease above his nose returning, like an angry scar. A sure sign that the cogs were spinning…

Run away, squealed the voice in his head.

"Well," Thomas said; so calm and polite that he almost didn't recognise his own words. "I must be off. Nice to meet you again. I hope your boy comes home soon."

And just like that, he left. Walking away with his trolley was agony. Thomas clenched the handle so tightly that he almost broke his fingers. No need to look back. He knew beyond all doubt that there was a pair of ice-blue eyes boring twin holes in his skull.

-x0x-

New York City, 2005

"Gretchen," Agent Darrow cautioned her softly. "That's no way to greet our guest."

Am I a guest, Adam wondered, or am I a prisoner? Darrow's actions were nothing short of suspicious, his manner was downright creepy and yet, somehow, Adam could not bring himself to think of the agent as a villain. It all came down to the same problem. I may be gullible, he thought. I know my faults. But Mac had welcomed Darrow too – and Mac didn't seem to be a foolish man. It was a riddle that left the tipsy lab tech in a state of confusion, swaying back and forth between fear and deep curiosity.

One thing he did know for certain; good manners cost nothing. "Hi. I'm Adam Ross," he offered, trying not to show how well and truly out of his depth he felt himself to be. He rubbed his watering eyes and focussed carefully.

The young girl – for young she clearly was – stuck her hands on her hips and ignored his timid overture. "I saw you coming and I want to know. What's he doing here?" she demanded of Darrow. "Why d'you bring him?" She wrinkled her nose like a cat who has found an offensive smell. "Wait – is he drunk?"

"I'm afraid that's my fault." Darrow gave a weary smile.

Adam's throbbing headache served to shield him from the agent's charm. "That's what you said before," he protested, trying not to slur his words. So much for first impressions. "But I don't get it, okay? Why would you be so mean? And why did you bring me here? You know, wherever here is… 'cause I'm not really sure…"

Gretchen turned the full force of her teenage glare upon him. I liked it better when she blanked me, Adam decided, wriggling with discomfort. He still hadn't worked out how much danger he was in but those sharp green eyes were an effective weapon, reducing his ego to a fraction of its former self. How on earth did kids do that, anyway?

"I'll stop talking now, shall I?" he muttered, feeling grumpy and ill-used.

Brushing past him, Darrow led the girl further down the corridor. The powerful Maglite torch went with them, leaving Adam in the shadows by the locked door.

He watched their whispered conversation, which was urgent and involved a lot of gesturing on Gretchen's behalf. The more Adam's gaze lingered on her face, the more something troubled him.

"Where have I seen you before?" he whispered.

And then, as the conversation ended and both Gretchen and Darrow turned their heads to study him, a light went on inside his muddled brain, illuminating everything. The truth was so blindingly clear that it staggered him.

"This is the end of the game," he said. "Isn't it?"

Darrow nodded silently. Was that relief in his eyes?

"You're the Piper; I mean, really. And you." Adam pointed to Gretchen. "You're on Mac's wall. His glass wall – you're one of the children."

Folding her arms, the young girl doubled the intensity of her glare. "I'm fifteen years old, thank you very much. How old are you?"

"Gretchen…" Darrow said, trying to soothe her rancour with his solemn tone.

"I'm so dumb," Adam moaned. "I don't believe it. You tricked us all – even Mac! All that time, you were right there beside me…" His eyes narrowed as he wrestled with the concept. "How did you…? Why did you…? I trusted you."

"Does he always go on like this?" Gretchen said.

Adam's anger increased, and so did the pounding in his head. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry – am I being unreasonable? Please forgive me."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you," Darrow suggested mildly.

"Treachery doesn't suit you," Adam countered, "but I guess that didn't stop you, did it?" His voice was shaking. He took a deep breath and controlled it. "Joseph. What am I doing here?"

"I want to show you something," Darrow said. He waved his hand and the dazzling beam swung away from them, pointing down the corridor like a long, white finger. "Won't you come and see? Please, Adam?"

You make it sound like I still have a choice. The door was locked behind him and the only way that he could go was forwards. Forwards with the madman and his… victim? Sidekick?

Adam bowed his head. The act of submission was painful, and not just because of his headache. But I'll play along, he decided. I'll be good.

Good as gold – until he found the perfect opportunity to sneak the cell phone from his inside pocket and call for help. All he needed was a minute to himself… They could track his signal… Mac would be amazed…

"Lead the way, then," he said, wishing with all his heart that he had a save point beside him right now. A means of resetting the game when he screwed it up. If this was the dungeon – bad word, that – then he really didn't like the feel of it. Too many shadows… and what was that smell? The damp of ages, mixed with some kind of dust that made his nose itch. Adam sneezed. "Ouch," he mumbled, as the sudden jolt made his head ring.

Darrow slipped his hand through the crook in Adam's arm and held him steady. "It gets better," he promised.

"Okay…" Couldn't get much worse. Adam tried to stay alert and memorise their route but it was difficult – and not just because of his tipsy state. The corridor twisted around on itself like a ball of string thrown down and left to roll away. There were only so many times that a person could whisper 'left' and 'right' to himself before the words lost all meaning. Giving up at last, he turned his attention to the girl who strode ahead of them. Gretchen's ankles flashed in the torchlight, hypnotising him with their brisk, repetitive motion. He was so absorbed that when they disappeared, he froze completely.

Where had she gone?

"Oh. Stupid…" he muttered, when he looked up and saw the open doorway right in front of them.

"We're here," Darrow said, unnecessarily.

He guided Adam forwards and, together, they stepped out into a space so vast that the outer walls were lost in darkness. In his dreamlike state, Adam could almost believe that the room went on forever. Much to his relief, the air was cleaner here, and warmer too. Little islands of light shone all around them, like campfires in the desert. The effect was strangely beautiful. Turning off his torch, Darrow let Adam's eyes grow accustomed to this new level of illumination. Attracted by their presence, a number of shadowy figures began to peel away from the circles of light and move towards them, muttering quietly.

Adam knew exactly who they were. He was so glad to see them - and yet, somehow, he was terrified as well. All the questions he longed to ask Darrow were trapped in his throat, held captive there by an old, irrational fear, and he knew it would take a great effort to set them free – but he meant to try.

Gretchen had slipped away in the darkness, but now another child came forwards. The young boy approached them and held out his hand, palm upwards, in a hopeful gesture.

"Did you remember?" he said to Darrow.

"I did." The agent reached inside his jacket. Dark eyes watched him eagerly. Adam watched as well. With a flourish, Darrow pulled out a book and passed it to the boy, who clutched it with both hands and hugged it to his chest.

"Thank you, Joseph."

"It was my pleasure." Darrow bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I read that one many times when I was your age – and older, I must confess. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. 'Tom Sawyer'," he added, for Adam's benefit. "A classic story."

Adam nodded. Sure, why not? He didn't think that anything else would surprise him – not even if Tom himself should escape from the pages of his own tale to appear in their midst, as he did at his very own funeral.

The boy rejoined the crowd, which surrounded them now.

Hating the voice that betrayed him whenever he needed it most, Adam forced out a question for Darrow's ears only. "The children. Right?"

Darrow understood his query. "Yes," he said. "They're all here, safe and sound… well, nearly all of them…" His deep voice tailed away regretfully. Others filled the silence with their own questions.

"Where have you been, Joseph?"

"Who's that with you?"

"Are they coming?" A dark-haired boy with a scowling face took a bold step forwards, squaring up to Darrow. "You told 'em, didn't you?"

"Only this one," Darrow said.

"Then he's a cop." The boy spat out the word as though it was an insult. "Cops are useless. Bad idea."

Darrow raised his hands in an attempt to quell the muttering that followed. "He's not a cop; not like them. He's one of us. He's Boo."

"You're Boo?" This new girl was older than Gretchen or the dark-haired boy and her smile was genuine. She walked right up to Adam and took his hand in both of hers. He blushed at the unexpected contact. "I'm so pleased to meet you. Joseph is right; you belong here."

"Says you." The dark-haired boy was sceptical. "I bet you fancy him, Georgie."

"That's gross…"

"He's too old…"

"Georgie loves Boo…"

Giggles and jokes chased around the ring of children like an absurd game of Chinese Whispers. Adam was still flustered. "I'm sorry; what do you know about Boo?" he croaked.

Georgie opened her mouth to explain but Darrow stopped her with a gentle shake of his head. "Not now," he said. "There's plenty of time for that later."

Later. Adam didn't like the sound of that. "Um…" he began, but Darrow stopped him too.

"I promise," he told the young man quietly. "The answers to all your questions. Until then…" He seemed to have an endless number of pockets. From yet another, he produced a bag of sweets and handed them over to Georgie for distribution. "You must be hungry."

"Not really for sweets, if it's okay with you." Adam pulled a face, making Darrow laugh out loud. That sound and the sweets combined to lighten the mood, although the sullen dark-haired boy continued to glower resentfully.

"This way," the agent said. Some of the children trailed after them, while others disappeared into the darkness. Adam scurried to keep up with Darrow's long stride. He soon realised that they were heading towards one of the larger circles of light. As they drew closer, he was able to see that the light came from an arrangement of lamps, and the lamps were set in a cosy alcove. Here, then, was a wall of sorts, made up of cupboards and a big refrigerator that hummed away to itself. There was also a long table, lined with benches, and a stove, with a hood that rose high out of sight.

"What's your pleasure?" Darrow asked him. Adam was amused to note that he had taken on the subtle air of a gracious host at a dinner party.

You're proud of this place, he thought. And you've had nobody to share it with…

Was that the reason Darrow had brought him here?

The agent continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. Behind him were several more expectant faces, ghostly echoes of the pictures on Mac's wall. Adam noticed that the dark-haired boy was following them too. He shivered, and turned away from the hostile gaze. "Um… a sandwich, I guess?" he ventured. His stomach rumbled in agreement.

Smiling, Darrow gestured to the table. Adam sat down obediently and slid along the bench until he was in the middle. Much to his surprise, two children stationed themselves on either side of him; the boy with the book and a girl whose face was so familiar to him by now that he could hardly catch his breath when he noticed her for the first time.

Ruth Eggar.

Right here in person, the girl who had haunted him for days without ceasing.

There was a strange kind of one-sided bond between them – could she feel it too? Ridiculous, Adam told himself. She knew nothing about him; to her, he was a perfect stranger. Swallowing, he wondered whether he should address her by name, or feign ignorance of her identity. Darrow watched Adam closely.

"Ham or cheese?" was all he said, however.

Adam was about to reply when a new sound made them all jump – a harsh, insistent buzzing like an angry bee, trapped in a pocket. Darrow's pocket; and, of course, it wasn't a bee but a cell phone vibrating in silent mode.

A strange, compelling certainty took hold of Adam. Mac, he thought. It's Mac. He couldn't explain his instinct but the hope that lifted him was almost overwhelming.

At first, Darrow seemed indecisive, as though he was going to ignore the call – but then he moved away and pulled the phone from his pocket. The buzzing had stopped by now. Darrow waited for a message. When it came, he read it to himself, hunching over the screen to protect his privacy…

…until, all of a sudden, his whole body jerked in a spasm. The phone dropped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. As the screen went dark, Darrow turned back to face them. Guilt and triumph fought to gain control of his shocked expression.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Something's happened… I never meant… I only…" He swallowed, trying to finish at least one sentence. "Adam, I have to go; right away. But you'll be safe here, I promise..."