Hollow World (13 page)

Charlie needed this key, but he didn’t know what it opened. Why provide a key with no indication as to what it unlocks? He searched his memory, but couldn’t think of any doors that stood out. He was sure that this key opened a door he hadn’t seen before; therefore, Holloway must have already given him the clue he needed to locate it. Where? All he had was this digital picture frame and a gift basket full of nonsense back in his room. The gift basket could yield no location—it was a direct reference to Pirates of the Caribbean and Charlie doubted that the door in question was in this building. This frame, however, could possibly still show him the way.

He had only been given the numbers of four images. There were far too many pictures in the frame’s memory to analyze them one by one and he’d already seen doors in the background of several images. Surely there were other doors in other images but he couldn’t be sure which would be the right one. He lacked the time necessary to locate and test them all. Holloway knew this and therefore must have already given Charlie the location.

For some reason, Charlie couldn’t get the numbers from the text message out of his head. Something nagged at his mind; some connection between those numbers—possibly a pattern, but what kind? He looked at the numbers once more, hoping this visual stimulus would trigger something in his brain and gain him some insight into their connection.

41, 58, 76, 95.

Suddenly, the pattern emerged. It was so simple that he scoffed at himself for not noticing it earlier. Forty-one was seventeen places from fifty-eight. Fifty-eight was eighteen places from seventy-six. Seventy-six was nineteen places from ninety-five. It was a simple logic puzzle where the interval between numbers increased by one each time. If his theory was correct, image one hundred fifteen would show him the location of the door.

Carefully, so as not to dislodge the key, Charlie turned over the frame and found the image that he was looking for. It was a stock photo of a small child standing proudly in line for Space Mountain. The image was dark, but Charlie knew the spot well; it was in the queue’s long tunnel, right where it flattens out and begins to ascend. Behind the little girl stood a door with a bright red exit sign above it. This was the door.

For some unknown reason, Holloway intended for him to enter the bowels of Space Mountain. Nothing good could possibly await him there.

Satisfied that his next destination was clear, Charlie turned the device over and pried the key from the circuit board. Sure enough, the key was a part of the circuit and the device was rendered useless once the key was removed. Holloway was clever. He’d tested Charlie to make sure that he was worthy. Had Charlie not figured out the second part of the test and simply removed the key without recognizing the numbers as a puzzle, the location of the door would have been lost forever and Charlie would have failed.

He had passed this test with flying colors.

Dropping the digital frame in the garbage can on his way, Charlie headed outside and began his hike toward the other end of the park and the mysterious door inside Space Mountain.

15

Spencer Holloway sat alone in his villa, enjoying the luxurious air conditioning and tracking the progress of the determined young detective. Charlie Walker had so far failed to disappoint, and Holloway was thoroughly entertained. He’d thought that installing the key to act as a
functional
part of the digital frame’s circuit was an extremely elegant touch on his part—if just a tad cruel. Still, Holloway knew that any amateur detective worth his salt would never have removed that key before being absolutely positive that the device yielded no further information.

Watching the detective
steal
the picture frame was a reward in and of itself. It was a priceless moment, watching Walker lurk in the back of the shop, battling his own personal values and trying painfully hard to overcome them. Reducing a renowned hero and upholder of the law to a common shoplifter was supremely entertaining, and the plan had worked like a charm. Holloway had laughed aloud when Walker had secreted the device away and casually made his way out of the store. The detective was a talented thief—perhaps
too
talented. It had always been a pet theory of Holloway’s that all the hours detectives spent studying criminals would make them the most efficient and effective criminal agents of all.

Walker had reached Tomorrowland and made his way past Stitch’s Great Escape. He had no doubt found the image of the door, but he did not know that Space Mountain was not intended to be his next destination—the door was part of an event planned for much later. Holloway had many other plans for the young detective before the grand finale in the darkened roller coaster. He called up the application on one of his computers that would allow him to send text messages to the detective’s Blackberry. He began to type.

Heading to Space Mountain so soon, detective?

Onscreen, he watched the feed from a distant security camera as the young detective stopped in his tracks and withdrew the phone from his pocket. Holloway watched as Walker typed out a reply. Within seconds, the words appeared on the computer monitor.

I found the key. I know where the door is.

Holloway chuckled; this was
his
game and the detective would do what he was told, when
he was told.

Tsk, Tsk, detective. I made no mention that Space Mountain was your next destination. It is but one of many.

The detective looked toward the sky in frustration, as if the gods had somehow forsaken him. Eventually relaxing, he casually sat in the shade on a nearby bench and began typing.

Fine. You’ve got me, Holloway. You’re a genius. Where next?
snapped the frustrated detective.

Sarcasm does not become a man of your talents, Walker. You should try being serious.

Holloway saw the detective laugh and then politely wave as a family of four sharply glared at him for his impulsive outburst.

Maybe when I get my family back, you and I can sit down and have a serious chat,
Charlie offered.

Confidence, on the other hand, suits you. You’ve done well thus far. Have some lunch. Ride a few rides. Now is not the time to worry about the door in Space Mountain. You’ll be contacted with further details on your next destination this afternoon.

The detective showed no emotion onscreen, but Holloway was certain he was disappointed and frustrated. Exactly as he should be.

This afternoon? Why the hell are you wasting time?

Ah, yes. The frustration came through quite clearly in his reply.

Like I said, enjoy the morning. You haven’t slept or eaten. Eat. Rest. Then find a Cast Member named Eduardo. He is working the locker rentals. He has recently been given a key, reported lost, for a locker rented under your name. That is all.

Holloway severed the connection with the detective and sat back. Walker would, indeed, be contacted, but it would be much sooner than the afternoon. The old man leaned back in his chair, relaxing as he waited for the detective to claim his reward.

Holloway was savoring this game. In the past, during each man or woman’s first trial, he’d always set the game up to be lethal upon failure and he’d watched most competent challengers perish as a result of their own ignorance. In this case, Walker simply would have had no way to find his family and Holloway would have disposed of the girls in a timely fashion and never contacted Walker again.

Sometimes death wasn’t the worst consequence. Walker was a man who cared little for his own wellbeing; the fear of death would not motivate him. Walker was selfless, unlike all of the others that Holloway had challenged. If the detective lost his
family
, he would be utterly destroyed; Holloway knew it would be a fate much worse than death for that particular man.

Holloway felt a sense of relief rising within himself. He had not wanted the game to end this early. How droll it would have been to have Jeremy execute the detective’s family so soon. The old man also felt another emotion—one alien to someone such as himself: hope. Holloway truly wanted the detective to claim victory. He wanted to see someone exceed his own vast intellect during his lifetime. Never had he been bested in the many years he’d lived on this planet, but he’d always held out hope—glorious, unreasonable hope.

He knew that his time on Earth wasn’t infinite, and that he was in the twilight of his life—though he wasn’t ill and had many healthy years left in him. Still, he’d searched the planet for generations for the one mind that could surpass his own, and had been repeatedly disappointed. Something was different about Charlie Walker: a determination and a presence of mind that Holloway had not seen in any of his previous challengers. There was a spark in that young man which might finally ignite the flames of victory.

If his instincts were to prove true and the detective finally bested him, Holloway’s time on this Earth would finally expire. The old man’s death was the price that was to be paid for the detective’s victory.

For as many years as Holloway had longed to find the person that could finally challenge him and prove themselves superior, he had also known that the two great minds could never coexist. Holloway knew that, should a challenger ever claim victory, he could no longer survive—his own brilliant mind, the mind that had
longed
to be defeated, would turn on him and torture him to the point of insanity. It was for this reason, vain as it may seem, that Holloway planned to take his own life should a challenger emerge victorious. The old man could not live with this defeat, even though he’d spent his entire life searching for it. Besides, he’d never planned to die in a hospital bed, sick, miserable and vegetative.

After a few more moments of reflection, Holloway’s mood darkened rapidly with the striking realization that he may only have hours left to live. From a cabinet in his villa’s kitchen, he removed a bottle of Scotch and an ornate glass. This was not just any bottle of Scotch, it was a 1926 Macallan that had been bottled in the mid-1980s, making this particular whisky nearly ninety years old. Holloway had been saving this fine spirit for the special occasion when a challenger finally claimed victory. His recent thoughts had driven him to realize that he wouldn’t be in much of a mood for this elegant whisky when he was finally bested.

Removing the stopper from the old bottle, Holloway poured himself two ounces of the dark amber liquid. In a single gulp, the old man swallowed three-thousand-dollars’ worth of Scottish pride.

Watching the monitors, Holloway poured himself another round as an entirely new emotion began to creep up in the back of his mind, something much more alien than hope.

Fear.

For so long, Holloway had wanted to find that one mind that was his equal—his superior, even—and now that this mind had potentially presented itself, he began to fear the end. The whisky had a calming and clarifying effect, allowing Holloway’s mind to wade through the thick fog of irrational fear and emerge upon the precipice of a harsh truth: Holloway was not yet ready to die and he was certainly not prepared to lose. All these years, he had expected to be beaten, yet he had never once thought that he would be ill-prepared to meet his end. He’d always thought that when the day finally came, he would be at peace—fulfilled and prepared to leave this unjust world.

Even though it was too early in the game to be backed up by factual evidence, Holloway could nevertheless not shake the inexplicable feeling of foreboding and dread; the unreasonable conviction that Walker was going to succeed. He could not rationalize this feeling—could not explain it—but he knew that he was finally going to be beaten at his own game. Never had he even
entertained
the notion that a challenger could succeed until just this very moment.

This simply should not come to pass, for Spencer Holloway was the master of this game.
He
made the rules and
he
decided the outcome.
He
could not
lose.

The time had come to stack the deck against the detective.

16

Violet Walker stood barefoot in front of the massive window, staring out at the wondrous Magic Kingdom bathed in the glory of the late morning sun. She sighed wistfully, longing to be
in
that beautiful place instead of looking
at
it.

Her family’s horrible situation aside, this villa that the strange man had left them in was incredible. She wished that she could
live
in it. There were high ceilings and giant windows. There were multiple bedrooms, countless beds, couches and chairs. There were more bathrooms than one villa could possibly ever need—even if someone threw a
huge
birthday party. The kitchen was big, sleek, futuristic and fully stocked; although she wasn’t sure that this place was supposed to come fully stocked. More perplexing was the fridge, containing near-identical contents to their fridge at home. Thinking of the fridge made Violet decide to head over to the stainless steel appliance and investigate its contents more closely.

If this refrigerator was
really
stocked with all of the same contents that they had at home, then they absolutely
must
have her super-special delicacy. Rifling through the fridge, she shoved aside the more mundane items in search of her quarry. Finally, after moving aside a massive jug of apple juice, Violet finally found what she was searching for. Carrying her spoils over to the wooden chair that sat near the colossal window, she pulled on the bulky piece of furniture until she had turned it around completely to face the window. After tossing the back-pillow to the floor, she threw herself down onto the comfortable leather cushion, sliding all the way back until she was leaning against the curved wooden slats. She placed her feet on the cool glass of the window and popped the tab of a shiny, dark red can.

Dr Pepper was just
too
good not
to have on hand any time of the day. Checking her trusty Hello Kitty watch, Violet noticed that it was eleven in the morning. She smiled mischievously—it was never too early for the Doctor. Sipping the delicious beverage, she looked out over the park like a goddess watching over her people.

Exhausted as the three Walker ladies had become, Violet was wide awake—she never really required much sleep. Meghan and Katie were still asleep in the downstairs bedroom. Violet wasn’t surprised; she always arose before her Mom and sister. She tended to enjoy the hours of solitude that being the earliest riser afforded. Even in a situation as terrible as this, she found herself relaxed and enjoying herself—maybe even more than she would at home, since she had such a breathtaking view to keep her company.

Rubbing the spot on her neck where, just the night before, a needle had punctured her skin, Violet thought about the events that had taken place. She didn’t remember much—not even if the needle had hurt—but she very vividly remembered waking up in this room the previous night. She remembered Leroy—or Jeremy, whoever—and she’d watched him very closely. Her mother had thought she was still under the effects of the anesthetic, but Violet Walker wasn’t just the earliest riser
sometimes
—she was the earliest riser
all
the time. She had lain awake undetected, feigning unconsciousness, and she’d seen how violently Jeremy had reacted when the older man, Holloway, had suddenly appeared in the room.

Violet had known precisely the moment when the older man had entered. She had heard the gentle noise of the door swinging open preceding the slight click of the lock. Violet didn’t have particularly keen hearing, yet she’d easily heard Holloway enter so she figured Jeremy’s ears must not work so well. She remembered her Dad telling her that sometimes people went sort-of deaf from shooting so many guns without wearing ear protection—and she had spied a gun beneath Jeremy’s jacket when he came close—so she assumed that he was very violent, and that he had used a gun many times.

Jeremy’s startled reaction to Holloway’s not-so-stealthy entry said something very specific to Violet. Well beyond her years, Violet understood the intricacies of intimidation. She knew all about her Dad’s work—he had always answered her questions with the unabridged truth—as well as the kind of people he dealt with, and she could tell when someone felt threatened by another person.

She knew that her Dad was coming for them, but she was always making contingency plans—it was part of who she was and how she was raised. Her Dad had always told her that there was nothing you couldn’t accomplish with the right amount of brainpower. She had taken this advice to heart, memorizing the details of everything, everywhere, all the time—no matter how obscure—because more often than not, the smallest details were the ones that made the biggest difference. Violet thanked God that she had such a smart Dad.

After a few minutes of mindlessly relaxing and staring at the place she loved so intensely, she began to think about home. She didn’t think of it in that melancholy ‘I’ll never see home again’ type of way, but in that she missed certain things about the place. This ultimately led her to thinking about Zeus.

Oh, how she missed the great and powerful Zeus. Aside from Katie, Zeus was Violet’s best friend. She could always count on the big, beautiful German shepherd to be there for her, no matter what. Zeus, Violet and Katie were a team, and they could never be stopped as long as they were together. She wished that she had Zeus with her now. He would tear the bad guys apart in a flash and still find time for one of his beloved handshakes.

Violet figured that her situation wasn’t too different from that of her beloved Zeus. Both were held captive—though neither of them in a terrible place—and neither of them could be free without the help of their Dad. She couldn’t wait until he came for her.

A noise from the downstairs bedroom caught Violet’s attention and she realized that she’d sat for almost a half-hour, thinking about things while zoning out and staring at the Magic Kingdom. She didn’t look behind her, but she sensed a presence—light footfalls on the wooden floor and then eventually on the rug. She recognized the timing and gait as that of her other best friend and partner in crime.

“Morning, Vi,” Katie said with a yawn, settling into the other chair.

“Morning, Kay,” Violet replied, smiling at her sister.

“How long have you been up?” Katie asked.

“Not long. I’ve just been thinking about stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?” Katie asked.

Not yet ready to talk about the situation with Katie, Violet decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“There’s more Dr Pepper in the fridge,” she said, motioning to her can on the table between them.

“It’s never too early for Doctor P,” stated Katie, lightly making her way to the fridge and grabbing herself a can. Returning to the chair and opening the can, she pressed the issue again. “What sort of stuff?”

Violet gave in. “Just…everything. I’m worried about Mom. She’s really scared.”

“There’s gotta be something we can do,” Katie offered.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about. I noticed some things. Things about the guy who faked being a worker at the aquarium,” Violet stated.

“He limps, but tries to pretend he doesn’t,” Katie proclaimed, adding to Violet’s mental databank.

“And he has bad hearing,” Violet agreed. “He didn’t hear when the old guy came in.”

“I know, even
I
heard when the old guy came in,” Katie laughed a little.

“Wait—you weren’t asleep either?” Violet asked, incredulously.

“No, I was already awake for a little while. I just acted like I wasn’t ’cause Mommy was crying.”

Violet smiled, full of pride. Her sister was just as crafty as she was, and she’d never loved a person more.

“Is Mom still asleep?” she asked.

“Yeah, I snuck out of there. She looked real tired. I didn’t want to wake her up. What now?”

“Well…” Violet began, thinking deeply before finally making a decision. “For now, we just have to wait. You heard what the old guy said; if we leave, he hurts Daddy. So until we know for sure that Daddy will be okay, we can’t do anything.”

“Okay,” Katie agreed.

Never ones to sit idly, the girls immediately searched for some way to occupy their time—some new scheme for nothing but entertainment value and a little bit of personal gain. Violet and Katie were
never
above a little bit of personal gain.

“I’m hungry,” Violet proclaimed, standing up from her chair. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m
starving
,” Katie admitted.

Violet had an idea—an
excellent
idea. She quickly located a room service menu. Luckily, it had the room number printed on it so she wouldn’t have to risk going outside to find out. After heading upstairs with Katie in tow, the girls sat on a bed in one of the bedrooms and Violet picked up the phone and dialed the number that she found on the menu for the room service people.

“Hi,” she said, cheerfully. “I’d like to order some food. Charge it all to the room, please.”

Violet and Katie may not yet be able to defeat the bad guys, but that wasn’t going to stop them from
royally
pissing them off. Violet ordered almost everything on the menu.

Then, being a virtuous and benevolent soul, she added a one-hundred percent tip to the bill.