Chapter 35
Waking came by degrees. First, an awareness of his body—loose, ropey, soft.
And then a scuffing noise he recognized as a footstep.
A whisper. The creak of pleather from one of the recliners.
Jem’s head felt like it was two inches thicker than it should have been.
Someone was there. Close. Instead of the tightrope sense of danger, though, he started drifting again.
When he came back the second time, he opened his eyes.
Someone was shining a flashlight in his face.
He made a sound that wasn’t a word and held up a hand; his body felt heavier than it should have been.
Laughter.
A child’s laughter.
And then a girl saying, “Put it down, Milo.”
The angle of the light changed. Spots hung in Jem’s vision, floating as he blinked his eyes. The theater was still dark, but the darkness was broken now by twin bands of lights that moved restlessly back and forth. Jem’s vision adjusted. And then he could see them.
Milo hung over the back of the recliner in front of Jem. The light gleamed off his blond hair, and he was grinning like he’d played a trick on Jem. He also had one hand raised, and he was stretching over the back of the seat toward Jem.
The realization was sludgy, but it finally landed. Jem made the effort to raise his hand again, and he slapped Milo five.
“Are you sick?” Maeve asked. “Brigitte always gets sick after she invites Sundae and Rexleigh over.”
“We’re not supposed to wake up Mom when she’s sick,” Milo told Jem. His voice was too loud, and Jem flinched. “That’s why we didn’t wake you up.”
Jem wasn’t sure what climbing around on seats, whispering, and shining a flashlight in someone’s face constituted if not waking someone up, but his brain was moving at about a quarter of its normal speed, so he didn’t think about it too hard.
“If you are sick,” Maeve said, “you should take medicine. That’s what Brigitte does.”
Jem closed his eyes. He tried to talk, and his jaw cracked. Then he tried again. “Do you have any medicine?”
That stumped them for a while.
“Sometimes you feel better after you throw up,” Milo informed him.
“There’s a first aid kit by all the candy,” Maeve said.
It was nice with his eyes shut. Nice and dark. And his body still had that stretched-out feeling, like he might slide right out of the recliner if he weren’t careful.
“I’m hungry,” Milo said. Loudly.
Somehow, Jem got his eyes open again. He considered the blond boy, who was staring at Jem as though this announcement ought to trigger some kind of reaction.
And, Jem supposed, it probably should. Maeve had her arms folded across her stomach.
For the first time, Jem noticed that the clothes the children were wearing were different from the ones he’d seen them in the day before, which meant that at some point after disappearing from the chalet, they’d changed.
That made sense in a way, since their luggage had disappeared with them.
From a long way off, he remembered their complaint from the day before that they wanted to see a movie.
His mouth tasted like the inside of a plastic bag, and he had to try to work some moisture in there before he said, “You’re hungry.”
Milo nodded.
“Okay,” Jem said. He levered himself upright in the recliner and glanced around the theater. The flashlights that Maeve and Milo held only illuminated the space around them, and the rest of the room was still lost in shadows. “Who else is here?”
“I don’t know,” Milo said.
“Nobody,” Maeve said. “That’s why it’s the perfect hideout. Did you ever read The Mysterious Benedict Society?”
“I don’t think so,” Jem said. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about these kids,” Maeve said. “And they’re orphans. And they’re the only ones who can stop Dr. Curtain.”
“Uh huh,” Jem said. He slid to the edge of the recliner. He rested his elbows on his knees. The lightheadedness made him feel like he was lagging, like every movement left his mind scrambling to keep up with his body.
“It’s like Night at the Museum,” Milo said.
“The Mysterious Benedict Society?”
“No,” Milo said. “The movie theater.”
“Milo got scared,” Maeve said.
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did! You thought the mummy was coming through that door! And you cried!”
“I didn’t cry!” His head whipped around so he was facing Jem. “I didn’t cry!”
“Oh my God,” Jem whispered and put fingers to his head.
In a slightly stronger voice, he said, “No more yelling, okay? Milo, it’s okay to get scared and cry.
I get scared and cry all the time. Just ask Tean.
Maeve—” He was less clear on this part of the conversation, so he settled for “—be nice to your brother.”
Milo waited a fraction of a beat before saying, “I’m really hungry.”
“Got it. We’re going to do something about that right now.”
“Maybe later we can play fetch like Rexy.”
“That sounds good,” Jem said. He got to his feet, caught the back of the recliner to stay upright, and let the world whoosh around him for a few seconds. Then he said, “Here we go.”
It was harder than it should have been. Partly because Maeve wanted to be an usher like she’d seen in, quote, an old movie, which meant—in theory—shining the flashlight on the floor so Jem could see where he was going.
In practice, though, it meant she kept whipping the beam of the flashlight back and forth, in the process managing to shine it in Jem’s eyes a few times and, when she wasn’t blasting him in the face with it, creating a strobing effect that made him dizzy.
Milo wanted to walk across the recliners like a mountain goat and, at the same time, hold Jem’s hand, which meant nearly falling every few steps and yanking Jem with him every time he stumbled.
After the third time, Jem wasn’t even sure if a mountain goat was a real animal. He decided he’d have to ask Tean.
They all made it to the lobby without breaking their necks, which Jem took as a win.
He got as far as the concession stand before he had to lean against the glass case.
The world was doing some serious whooshing again, and he was wondering if his legs had learned how to bend sideways, because he seemed to be in serious danger of them sliding out from under him at any moment.
“You can’t eat candy for dinner,” Maeve said, and the echoes of Brigitte were uncanny. “It’ll make your teeth rot.”
“Plus we’ve been eating candy all day,” Milo said. “My stomach hurts.”
“How about this?” Jem said. “How about we call your mom and let her know you’re okay? And then we’ll go to the restaurant and get something to eat.”
“We can’t call her,” Maeve said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why not?”
“Because we ran away.”
Jem tried to think about that, but his brain was still trying to get going. Finally he said, “You ran away?”
“We’re going to be like The Mysterious Benedict Society. We’re going to solve mysteries. Only we’re going to live on our own because we never met anyone like Mr. Benedict. I already know how to make dinner. Brigitte lets me make macaroni and cheese in the microwave.”
“Well, that’s something,” Jem said.
“And we can’t go to the restaurant because all those people are looking for us, and they’ll make us go back and live with Brigitte.”
Jem rubbed his eyes. “Okay. How about this? You two go wash your hands. We’re going to have hot dogs for—wait, did you say dinner?”
“Yes,” Maeve said; she sounded like her patience was running out. “It’s dark outside. That means it’s dinner time.”
“Got it. Go wash up.”
Maeve let out a whoop and galloped down the hall, the beam of the flashlight swinging wildly back and forth.
Milo, however, hung back. He was still holding on to Jem’s hand. In a small voice, he said, “Jem, I don’t think I want to run away.”
“That’s okay,” Jem said. “We’re going to figure everything out. Go wash your hands.”
Jem considered the concession stand. Working in partial darkness, with only the emergency lights to break up the gloom, he found the roller grill and turned it on.
A refrigerated case held hot dogs. The pretzel warmer was next, and he turned that on and hung some of the pretzels.
When he got to the nacho cheese machine, he scored his first win: it was already on—probably because the cheese turned to glue if you let it get cold—and so he found a couple of paper boats, filled them with chips, and dispensed cheese all over them.
He was pretty sure the jalapenos counted as a vegetable.
Once everything was going, he set out the nachos, helped himself to a chip coated with delicious yellow goop, and dug out his phone.
Four missed calls from Tean.
One missed call from an unknown number.
One voicemail.
He played the voicemail.
“Hello, this is River Jordan—”
He needed to deal with that. Eventually. But for the moment, Jem ended the message and called Tean.
“Jem?” Tean said.
“Hey.” For a moment, embarrassment surged up inside Jem, and he didn’t know what to say. Then he said, “Is it really dinner time?”
Tean’s laugh came a second later, mixing relief and hurt. “I don’t know. I’ve been so out of it. The clock says seven, so I guess it’s dinner time.”
“Huh.”
The roller grill made a rhythmic clinking.
“I’m sorry—” Tean began.
“I found Maeve and Milo. Shit, sorry. Go ahead.”
“I was just saying I’m sorry about how I acted earlier. You found Maeve and Milo?”
“More like they found me.” Jem knuckled at some sleep crusties. “I’m sorry too.”
“Jem, you don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, I did. I acted like a little bitch. I love you, and I hate when we fight.”
“I love you too. I never want to fight with you. I’m sorry I was so—so awful today.”
“You weren’t awful. You’re stressed, and I wasn’t listening, and you were right.”
Tean’s voice was dry when he said, “I don’t feel like I was right.”
“Do you want a roller dog?”
One second of silence. Two. “Is that a sex thing?”
“Guess you’ll have to come over here and find out.”