Chapter Four
A Place in Nowhere

Rob sighed as he came out of the mess hall food line in the center, carrying a tray laden with a plastic bowl of chili, a cheese sandwich, and an apple. He ignored a smirking face as he walked past the nearest table, as well as the foot stuck out on the floor, obviously meant to try to trip him.

Rob went around both to an empty seat near his sort of usual spot in the back of the room. The usual stoic guards stood against several different walls, frowning as they gazed around the room for trouble makers. Other foster kids chattered quite loudly all around him, some practically yelling at each other as if they were fully across the room. His roommate was most likely in there somewhere, but undoubtedly silent amongst the clamor. He had never looked for him specifically, though.

As usual, he attempted to ignore the noise. It was still quite strange to be in a sort of cafeteria for every meal, though he supposed that it could have been worse. The food itself was not too bad (usually) but was definitely not like he had had at "home". He was also not allowed to help make any of it.

The chili was sort of good, but was "probably" not homemade, and there was no cheese or crackers to sprinkle on top; the apple was noticeably shriveled in several spots; and the sandwich only had a small, single piece of thin orange cheese in the middle, instead of other items such as mayonnaise and ham. Also, from its thoroughly toasted sides, it had obviously been haphazardly baked with many others in an oven as opposed to being made on sort of grill.

Evidence of the latter was that the last time he had had the same sort of meal, he had seen a person at the dishwasher busily scrubbing several metal oven pans filled with crumbs and the occasional bits of burnt cheese after he went to put his food tray in the window. He supposed that it made sense that the food was cooked this way since it was for so many, but it did not lessen even a slight wishing for better tasting meals.

Rob then frowned, berating himself slightly while looking at his mostly empty bowl of chili. He should not be wishing for things as they were at "home." There simply was no home anymore. There was only the center, and that was where he was going to stay . . . no matter how much he wished for things to be as they were in the past. Of all stupid things to miss about "home", it should not be the food, of all dumb things. At least nothing had occurred in school recently, other than the annoying kid from the first day still attempting to befriend him most days in their two classes together.

Angrily, he ate the rest of his meal and stacked the tray on top of the haphazard pile on the window, not even bothering to attempt to rearrange them as he had tried on his first day at the center.

Rob left the cafeteria and went toward then the small "library" room as he often did. By now, he had gotten through several books on the shelves, including a couple of nonfiction ones that had been surprisingly interesting. Even though he was not allowed to bring the books out the room, he still liked to read them in there with the surprising quiet- most of the time. Hopefully there were not too many of the books from that room that were scattered in unknown places in the center where someone had brought some from there anyway.

He then frowned as he neared the doorway. There were several loud shouts, and then some cheering. Suddenly irritated, Rob opened the door to see several people playing some game with a bizarre-looking contraption, including something that looked like a bell-shaped cage hanging from a horizontal pole. Much as he wanted to read a book in the room currently, he definitely did not want to chance another demerit so early in his stay in the center by some random fighting that might pop up.

As if to agree with the thought, one of the boys angrily turned in his direction. "Oy, just get out of here, you crazy head," he threatened, "or I'm gonna bust your head on that door!"

Rob flinched and quickly closed the door, faintly hearing the guard in the room reprimanding the speaker. Sighing, he trudged upstairs toward his dorm room. Dustin was there again, either doing some homework or writing something else. Actually, he had no idea of what his sullen roommate like to do for fun, other than play with his water games. Hopefully he had not actually stolen them. He had not even seen him anywhere else in the center, besides what seemed to be by chance in the small "library" one time, and that even had seemed to be for school work as he had what looked like a school binder with him.

Rob went toward his bed, and took out one of his own books that he had most of again. A short while later, he was finished. He was stashing it in his home backpack, when he then saw his new notebook of poems. Rob brought the notebook and a pencil to his bed. Eyeing his roommate for a bit, he stared at the pages, almost not wanting to write the saddened feelings that penetrated him, but eventually firmly pressed his pencil to a page.

Shadows that gather
Coming and circling me
At a furious, whipping pace
I cannot fight them
But they only come faster
And then I ran
Far
The shadows could not catch me,
Only because they had not known
That I would flee.

They wait,
The thorns growing thicker
Wisps of memories slash at me
Even though I do not see the enemy
I thought I was free
The truth rings
Like a small, unbroken bell
Sometimes when I close my eyes
And even when they are open
The shadows are back
Waiting to crush me
Again

They stay still, waiting to find me,
And if they do
They will again shrink
And hide their thorns
Concealing their true nature
Until others pass by
Being much more wary
And create a bristling snare
So I cannot run
A second time.

Rob sighed and set down his pencil on his bed next to his notebook. Surely it would be true. If his parents actually found out where he was, then they would somehow find a way to keep him there- or suspect that he did not have enough money to actually run away, at least as far as he had this time.

He sighed, looking at the blinds covering the small window. By now, he knew the view outside- a small green lawn in front with a driveway leading up to the side of the building, steps from the center and a small sidewalk, then the larger sidewalk, but definitely not as large as many he had seen in Brooklyn. Then there was a medium-sized road, and a similar of view across the street, except no foster center. He could not even read the signs on the few stores there.

Rob went to the window and pulled back the blind anyway, as besides the basketball court and playground, he would not be able to even just walk outside.

The scene was just the same basic thing as before, with just a few people walking and other cars on the road. There had something new what looked like a moving truck ambling behind a small green car one time he had looked, but nothing like that this time. Slightly disappointed, Rob went back to his new written poem.

In the past week, he had somewhat managed to squash some feelings of being forcefully returned to his home, but they were definitely still there . . .

He was surprised, when a few minutes later, words suddenly flew from across the room to spell a message in front of him. He frowned as he saw that it was in Gaby's handwriting.

Rob, can you talk now? The team's all here. (And don't you dare say that you can't if you can.)

He scowled slightly, though of course the message was not the ghost's fault. It was strange, though, that the team was suddenly writing to him again just then. It just seemed to be more proof of what they did not know. At least Ghostwriter had assured him several times before that he would not look at his poems and other writings without permission, though.

He wondered at the last sentence that Gaby had written, though, still hanging in the air. Had the team actually found out something that could at least lead to him going back to Brooklyn, and that was why the Latina girl had really wanted him to respond? Maybe she was just still exasperated with running away in the first place, though.

Cringing slightly- and making sure that Dustin was still engrossed in whatever he was doing- he quickly scrawled a response to Gaby's question. A reply quickly came. Rob could easily see Gaby frowning as she wrote a response on a casebook, with the other team members looking on. (How weird it would be to have one for him, though it definitely would make sense . . .)

Good. We want to talk to you again.

Rob then frowned, nearly wanting to throw the pen across the room. Actually, he might have done so if Dustin was not still there (he still was, writing something again), so he just settled for inwardly fuming and resisting the sudden urge to forcefully break the pen in half.

Surprisingly, it was Lenni's writing next that he saw. Okay, Rob, so we still haven't figured out your name that you're going by (she was actually telling him that?), but we wanted to say some other weird things we found out.

Gaby then wrote next. Or really, what we didn't find out.

By now, Rob was just confused. He waited as Ghostwriter brought another response from Lenni.

It's crazy. Okay, we know a few things- you're in Connecticut; you're in that foster home and go to a middle school called Hempton Smith. We even know which city you're in. But the really weird thing is that we couldn't find the foster center, school, or even the town on any Connecticut map.

Gaby, maybe even impatiently, added something else. It wasn't even on a list that was supposed to have all of the cities in Connecticut, and that list is only three months old. We also tried to call the number for the foster home and some for different places in the school, like the office and the library, but we just get an recorded answer that no one has that number.

Alex then continued where Gaby had left off. We even told Lieutenant McQuade about the numbers and town, and he wondered where we got the wrong phone numbers. According to him, those numbers don't even exist. Plus, after Gaby convinced him to check about the town, he said he didn't know about that one either, even when he tried to look it up.

He said to stop bothering him about nothing, Gaby sullenly wrote.

Except that you're not nothing, Tina assured him (or Rob assumed that she was attempting to, anyway.) You're our friend. We want you to come back to Brooklyn.

Rob was wondering at his probably sheer luck- did the center and the school actually have incorrect or even just outdated information?- when Ghostwriter brought something from Alex again.

We're really wondering if you're in some sort of ghost town or something like that. What else could it be? No way a state could have a town that just isn't anywhere.

Rob raised an eyebrow. Surely Jamal would not believe that- right? Then again, they all did have a ghost for a friend that was the reason they were all able to have the "meeting" about him currently. Rob rolled his eyes slightly as he penned a response.

Anything else? he wrote sarcastically, not really expecting a reply except some more pointless pleas to tell them more information about why he had left home. Hopefully Ghostwriter did not think that he did not care about him except as a medium. Maybe he could talk to the ghost afterward.

If the ghost felt belittled by the inquiry, he did not seem to show it as he just brought a reply from Gaby, just as same as before. This time, her handwriting kind of messy as if she was eager to write the question. Rob winced in slight horror as he stared at the message, though maybe he should have expected it at some point.

I almost forgot to ask. Who's Jason?

Rob then scowled in sheer anger. Most "likely" his friends had asked Ghostwriter to search his house for clues. For them, it was just another way to help solve the case. For him, though, it was way more personal. Not only was it his house, but his Brooklyn friends did not even know that he had a brother, and a deaf one at that. He was wondering in a slight panic if they had actually read his letters that Jason had sent him, when Jamal sent a message.

Ghostwriter found something that looked like it might be some photo album captions, he explained. At least, that's what we think.

Lenni wrote a message. Rob narrowed his eyes slightly as he read it, but was relieved that apparently Ghostwriter had found the main family albums, not his personal one with pictures of his brother in it.

So you really were hanging upside down on a Bigwheel with soy sauce on your head? Lenni wrote.

Rob could almost see her not really holding back a grin. Most likely several others on the team were, as well. Maybe they were even laughing. Even worse, he actually remembered not only the incident itself (he had managed to knock himself over and get hooked on sideways chair at the same time that Jason had gotten the sauce for his mother, and had tripped over him) but the picture, as well. Jason had apologized for it, and had told him before that at least he and the toy bike had not crashed.

He was almost thankful when Gaby then sent another message. Maybe he's your uncle, or some other relative, she wrote.

Rob rolled his eyes. Indeed, Jason was his "invisible" brother that practically no one knew about- though he had wished many times that it was different. The team did not even know that he and Jason simply did not even have any living relatives other than just their family. Always, it had just been him, Jason (until he went to the stupid deaf school), his mother, and sometimes his father, who was always way more interested in his military duties than his own sons.

Most were not really interested in learning about Jason in the first place, though. And when they did . . .

Lots of people jeering, doing crude imitations of sign language, asking them nonsensically if he heard random noises. He and Jason had tried to ignore it many times, but it still hurt that they would treat his brother so differently just since he was deaf. His Brooklyn friends might think his deafness as just another fact (or be scared about it) and then go on to try to discover with other, farfetched clues as to why he had left.

Also, he had left Jason at his deaf school, with not much more information than he had given the team . . .

Why do you care? Rob angrily wrote back, forgetting for a few seconds that Ghostwriter of course would see the words. At least his friends had not seemed to have gotten to Jason's letters that he had kept . . . yet.

Gaby, though, was far from pacified from his answer. ARE YOU CRAZY? she replied. You leave Brooklyn without telling anyone, and you think we actually don't CARE?

Rob hoped that Ghostwriter was not feeling too bad about the conversation. At least he was not moving more slowly as he brought another message from Tina a few minutes later.

Why do you think we don't care? the Vietnamese girl asked. Did you really forget that we're your friends?

He huffed, still angry. Of course he had not forgotten about the team, much less Ghostwriter and especially Jason.

What about your parents? Lenni then asked. Don't you care about them?

She then sent another message. I know that your dad can be kind of gruff, but he really cares about you. Remember after you had gotten stuck in a subway tunnel? He was really glad that you were safe.

Remember when I saw your mom at the bodega? Gaby added. She even helped some customers find some things while Papa was busy fixing the cash register.

Tina wrote next. Your parents care about others, and they especially care about you.

Rob then suddenly wished that he could just storm out of the room. Of course that would not work with this, though. Ghostwriter could follow him anywhere, bringing his friend's pointless comments with him.

They did not understand at all. He scrawled an angered response, gripping the pen tightly.

JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!

He then slammed the notepad face down again on the bed. Rob stared at it before turning around to moodily face his lap, now trying to not let sudden tears in his eyes fall. His friends really did not know at all. They did not even suspect what the real problem was. They did not know, and what they had just written seemed to prove that they would never believe it even if he told them.

Unlike him, though, his friends still wanted to write. Some letters flew from the notepad to stop in mid-air in front of him. .

Gaby, ever persistent, wrote another message. Why should we leave you alone? she asked. You're part of the team, and SHOULD be with us.

Rob waited, fuming slightly, until another message from Jamal came several minutes later. Maybe they had been arguing for a while after what to write next.

Hey, Rob, we're going to try to figure this out. We're not going to leave you by yourself, so just hang on, okay?

He stared angrily at the page long after the message had disappeared. Rob then huffed a bit. Not only did the rest of the team definitely not get at all (or not want to) what had actually happened, but they thought that he might actually be in a ghost town? How dumb. Plus not only that, they actually might blame Jason, of all people, for him running away. Of course his "parents" would not care about any accusations against his brother, though.

Almost dimly, he heard a door close, and looked over to see that Dustin had gone out of the room. His roommate had even apparently put his things he had been using back in his locker, as his bed just had the covers on it.

Rob sighed. He really just wanted to go to sleep and attempt to forget about the center, his crazy changed parents, and also his alias at the center that was practically nobody except a new person to shout at (or downright ignore). Even finally accepting the crazy kid that kept on pestering him at school would not do anything except most likely get him in more trouble.

No matter what he attempted to think, Richie Branson was no one, except just a name. He was brother-less, parent-less, practically friend-less (well, his friends were not actually with him, anyway, and were not even close to the actual problem), and his brother, his only friend wherever he went, was stuck in another part of the country without knowing that he had run away in the first place.

Ghostwriter then zoomed in front of him, with a swirl of sparks. I'm here, he wrote.

Rob smiled a bit, then picked up his pen. Thanks, he wrote gratefully.

Do you want to talk? Ghostwriter then asked hopefully, the words coming together on the page.

Rob debated for a bit, then wrote an affirmative answer. He was then a bit confused as he thought of something. Ghostwriter of course already knew about Jason being his brother. Why had he just not told the team about him, when they obviously did not know who Jason was?

. . . Was there even a slight possibility that Ghostwriter did not want him to come back home currently?

He then frowned. Perhaps the ghost even thought that the subject was too personal, though, and maybe was taking the risk of the team's anger once they found that out. Hopefully they would not be too mad.

He then wrote something for the ghost. Are you deliberately keeping information from the team?

Rob watched as Ghostwriter circled his answer for about a minute. The ghost's symbol disappeared, and more words formed a reply.

I have not lied to them, Ghostwriter finally replied. But you know that at least I have not told them that Jason is your brother, not your uncle. I have not told them about any correlation with him, either.

He stared at the words, before they disappeared. Rob penned a single word.

Why?

This time, Ghostwriter did not hesitate. Maybe I am wrong to do it, but it feels that the rest of the team not having all of the information at once will be more helpful this time, he responded. I know how that the team cares about you. But there is something almost sinister that happened, and more frightening, at your house.

More words came flying upward to create another message. I think that you are safe for now, even with being worried about the foster home.

If you found another clue that leads to who Jason is, would you tell the team about it? Rob asked.

Yes, I think I would, the answer came. But I don't think that they will find ask about him right away. They will want more clues, but I really think that they will try to ask your parents more questions first.

Rob nodded in agreement. It seemed that Gaby especially would want to physically go over to his house and hound his parents about any uncles or other such relatives that he might have, including anyone that had possibly been at his house recently. They just might give out the answer that Jason was his brother, but with the way that they had been acting recently, who knew.

He then wrote again. Thanks for understanding, he scribbled.

Ghostwriter circled him once before replying. You're welcome, Ghostwriter replied. I want to find out what happened, too. But I don't want to rush things too soon. You're still very anxious, and too many questions would not be the best right now.

Rob stared at the words, a bit confused, but did not question them. At least Ghostwriter was on his side.