Legacy (2 page)

“Wait, what?” Amy said, looking up from the book. “No! What should I say to Grace?”

“Tell her I’m busy with something important.”

Slam
.

Suddenly, Amy was alone in the apartment. Alone with Tchaikovsky.

Fine. If Dan wanted to act like a brat, that wasn’t her problem. She lifted the book to her face and stared at it intently.

All of ten seconds passed before she hauled herself up with a sigh of resignation, grabbed her coat from the hanger by the door, and followed her brother out.

“Dan, wait!”

Amy huffed as she ran carefully along the slick Boston sidewalks.

“Stupid . . . dweeb . . . ,” she said to no one in particular.

Dan had broken into a run as soon as he noticed his sister was following him, and the twerp was smaller and way faster than her. What did he think he was accomplishing by shooting off like this, anyway?

He’s going to give himself an asthma attack
, Amy thought.

It was especially embarrassing when they passed the odd jogger or dog walker who was out that day. Dan had pulled the ninja mask back up over his face, and Amy wasn’t so far behind that she couldn’t see the looks of confusion — and then amusement — that came over strangers’ faces as they watched a pint-sized ninja run by. Or the looks of pity that followed as she came panting after.

“Everything okay?” one woman asked as she passed.

Amy was sure her face was Christmas-ornament red from the exertion already, but if it wasn’t, she would have blushed furiously.

“Mm . . . hm!” she wheezed, lowering her head and sprinting forward.

Eventually, Dan curved left, hitting Hyde Park Avenue.

Oh, dweeb, where are you going?
Amy pleaded internally.

He surprised her when he curved again, this time onto a road Amy didn’t recognize. The scenery changed drastically as she followed. The apartment-filled street gave way to large, decrepit warehouses. The area was a gray and white mix of cement, stone, and the occasional bare, skeleton-thin tree.

Between the holiday and the weather, Amy expected that such a sparse industrial street would be completely empty, but was surprised to see three figures in dark motorcycle outfits standing near the entrance of a warehouse. All three wore jet-black helmets with the visors down. One of the three, the tallest and broadest by far, had a bright red stripe that cut across his jacket like a bloody wound. Amy tried not to look, but could see from the corner of her eye three helmets turning as she passed. She found herself holding her breath. Something about their faceless visors creeped her out.

She picked up her speed.

About a block down, she spotted Dan. He’d pulled the ninja mask up from his mouth and was leaning against the side of a brick building. Amy could tell that his breathing was a little ragged.

Not that she was in great shape herself, but Dan had asthma, and almost never remembered to bring his inhaler anywhere with him.

Amy came to a stop a few feet from Dan, and nearly doubled over.

“You . . . are such . . . a child,” she panted.

Dan didn’t respond. He just leaned against the wall, trying to suck in air.

Amy fumbled through her coat pocket. She’d taken to keeping a spare inhaler on her whenever she went anywhere with her brother. She pulled it out now and handed it to him.

Dan pressed it to his lips and pushed down on the canister, breathing in the aerosol. His gasping breaths evened out. Then, slowly, they returned to normal.

“Thanks,” he said meekly.

Amy sighed. “It’s okay, dweeb.”

“I’m sorry.” Dan’s voice cracked a bit, and it wasn’t from being out of breath. Underneath the ninja mask, Amy could see that his eyes were red and moist. She realized now why he’d kept it on.

“I know,” she said more softly. “It’s okay.”

Dan looked away, embarrassed.

Amy decided to give him a bit of room and turned around to survey the area. It was snowing heavily now. She and Dan had never been to this part of Hyde Park before, and the neighborhood looked especially unfamiliar covered in white. It was also eerily quiet.

“Let’s get out of here, okay? I don’t like this place.”

“It’s not so bad,” Dan said, sniffing and standing up straight. “I don’t see a single library.”

“I’m serious, Dan,” Amy said.

Amy heard the sound of snow crunching underfoot behind her. Turning around, she could just make out three figures approaching through the snowfall. She realized they were the same three men from before.

Amy took a step back. “I think we should go.”

The biggest of the figures, the one with the bright red stripe on his jacket, reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown glass bottle. He uncapped it and held a white cloth to the lip.

It took a moment before Amy recognized what she was seeing. The action was familiar, but she couldn’t place from where.

“What’s he doing?” Dan said, his voice now serious.

Then it hit her. She’d read a spy novel earlier in the year, where some terrorists tried to bring down an agent by kidnapping his family. So they’d followed his daughter from school one day and . . .

“That’s chloroform!” Amy gasped.

“Why would —”

Suddenly, the men sprinted forward, heading straight for Amy and Dan.

“Run!” Amy screamed, grabbing Dan’s arm and turning in the other direction. She scrambled forward with her brother in tow. The snow was making visibility difficult, not to mention running.

Dan pulled on his sister’s arm, slowing her pace. “In there!” he said, pointing to a fenced-in side lot. The fence enclosing the lot was locked with a thick chain and padlock, but there was a gap between the chain and the gate that might just be wide enough for the two of them to squeeze through.

Amy curved toward the fence and moved to the side, pushing Dan in through the gap first. He was smaller, and slid through easily.

Dan turned once he was on the other side and grabbed Amy’s arm. Amy glanced over her shoulder. Though obscured by snow, the three men couldn’t have been more then twenty feet away. Amy tried slipping in through the bars while Dan pulled.

But she didn’t fit. She was trapped outside with the kidnappers.

“Oh, no,” she rasped. “Oh, no, no, no.”

She wiggled around, trying desperately to squeeze through the gap. Dan groaned as he pulled.

“Come on, Amy!” he said. “Come on!”

“
I can’t!
” Amy said in a panic.

Then, as if just to contradict her, Amy felt her body moving. Before she had a chance to feel relieved, she was suddenly through the fence, crashing onto Dan and sending them both spilling into the snow.

Amy was up in a flash and searching around the lot while Dan scrambled to his feet.

“Oh, no,” she said. The lot was surprisingly large, but it had no outlet besides the gate. All the doors to the warehouse were closed and bolted shut.

“Amy,” Dan said, “look.” He nodded in the direction of one of the doors. Positioned right next to the doorway was a series of five large metal dumpsters.

“No,” Amy said, shaking her head. “No way.”

“How long do you think it’ll take those guys to climb a fence?” Dan said. “We have to hide!”

Dan raced to the farthest dumpster, lifted the lid, and shimmied inside. “Get in!” he hissed, peeking his head out. “It doesn’t smell
that
bad.”

Amy whimpered slightly as she put her hands on the metal lip of the dumpster, then scrambled ungracefully in beside her brother, lowering the lid behind her. She had to crouch into an awkward perching position once inside. It smelled
exactly
that bad.

“Ugh,” Amy gagged. “This smells worse than the fort in your room.”

“Shh!”

They could just make out the sounds of three gravelly voices coming from outside.

“. . . they go?”

“Prob . . . to . . . out.”

“No . . . saw . . . here.”

There was a loud, metallic noise, followed by the sound of a chain falling away. They heard the gate swing open.

“What’s going on?” Dan whispered. His voice was shaking, and Amy could feel him shivering beside her. “Why would anyone be after us, of all people?” Amy wanted to take his hand, but was terrified she might lose her balance and make a noise.

The voices were getting louder.

“. . . sure these are Grace Cahill’s grandkids?” one of the voices said. “. . . would they be out alone?”

Amy and Dan stopped breathing. Something was very wrong.

“Who knows . . . saved us the trouble . . .”

“. . . Vesper, and get some more people out here. Search the area until you find them. . . . whatever force is necessary.”

The voices and sound of crunching snow began moving farther away. Soon the lot was quiet.

“He said Grace’s name,” Dan whispered.

“They must be trying to get a ransom out of her,” said Amy. A deep, terrible panic was setting in. It seemed to pulse through her like a heartbeat, so intense it made her light-headed.

“What was that other thing he said?” Dan said. “About a Vespa?”

“They
w-were
wearing helmets,” Amy said. Her vision was slowly adjusting to the darkness. She couldn’t see much, but she could see that Dan’s eyes were wide with fear. She had to keep it together for her brother. Amy pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. The light from the screen illuminated the contents of the dumpster around them. It was blessedly un-full, but Amy couldn’t help imagining the vermin that probably made the place their home at night. Under the blue light of the phone, Dan’s face was pale and serious. Huddled up in the corner of the dumpster, he looked as terrified as she felt.

“I’m calling the police,” Amy said. “Make sure they aren’t right outside.”

“Espionage is what ninjas do best,” Dan said, with a weak grin. He tried to sound tough, but his voice was thin and shaky. Dan rose up to risk a slow, careful look out from a small hole chewed out of the top corner by rust.

Two dark-clad figures stood near the entrance to the lot. The gate was wide open now, and Dan could just see that one of the figures had the handles of what he assumed were bolt cutters hanging out of his jacket pocket.

“Two of them are watching the exit,” he whispered. “It looks like the third one left, the big one with the red stripe on his jacket. These guys really came prepared. They cut open the chain on the fence.”

“Cut the
chain
?” Amy whispered. She swallowed, attempting desperately to shove the fear down into some manageable compartment of her brain. She needed to think. She needed to get help.

“I’m calling the p-police now,” Amy said.

Oh, no,
she thought. Her stammer was starting, as it always did when she was nervous and had to talk to people. And she was more than just nervous now. She was delirious with fear.

Amy looked down and took a deep breath. Somehow she managed to dial 911 into the phone with her shaking fingers. She placed it to her ear, and was startled when an operator answered after only a single ring.

“Nine-one-one,” the woman said coolly. “What’s your emergency?”

“H-hi,” Amy said, trying to remain calm.

Don’t stammer, don’t stammer, don’t stammer
.

“He-hello, y-yes. My b-brother and I are near H-Hyde Park and these m-men are t-t-trying to hurt us.”

“Can you tell me where you are exactly?” the operator said, her voice becoming serious.

“I’m n-not sure,” Amy said. “We got a little l-l-lost.”

Dan peeked out of the dumpster again, then immediately shot back down. “Hang up, quick!”

In a panic, Amy ended the call. Seconds later she heard the snow crunch as feet passed in front of the dumpster, then stopped.

Then the whistling began.

Amy and Dan sat in silence, not daring to breathe, barely daring to think. Just above them, one of the kidnappers casually and deliberately whistled a creepy old children’s song called “Alouette” that Amy recognized from school. The song was about plucking the feathers from a small bird.