Missing Abby (17 page)

‘I don't know,’ said Ski. ‘Why would they come down here unless they needed to check the pipes? As long as the pipes are OK, I bet they don't even bother.’

‘Well … well, even if your torch went out, we could find our way back. We'd just have to feel our way along the walls.’ Brave words! Icicles jabbed my stomach at the thought of it.

Ski let out a breath. ‘Let's talk about something else, OK?’

Don't panic. Think calming thoughts. ‘Yeah, OK. What?’

‘Um … I don't know.’ After a pause, he said, ‘Why don't you tell me what happened between you and Abby?’

I could only make out the barest outline of his face. ‘Me and Abby?’

‘Yeah. I mean, I only have Sheila's version … I'd like to hear yours.’

So I told him. About going to Balden in Year Seven, and Abby's pretend games. How I had been so embarrassed by her, and started avoiding her – but hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings, so had pretended everything was all right.

‘And … there was this group of girls led by Karen Stipp, and I really – really admired them, I guess.
And in October, a Saturday dance club started up at the Arts Centre, and Karen and the others were joining – so I decided to join too, to try to be friends with them, and then Abby heard about it, and
she
joined.' I went silent, remembering the utter torture of it.

‘Let me guess,’ said Ski. ‘Disaster.’

‘Yeah, in one … She had just started getting into Goth, and she'd wear these weird outfits to the Arts Centre. And that was it. Karen and the others started in on her at school, calling her Goth Girl, only Abby didn't even care. And when they saw they couldn't get to her, they started in on
me.’

I kicked at a fragment of loose concrete, sending it skittering across the dark tunnel. ‘So, um – they started really picking on me. I mean, non-stop, for the rest of the year. They used to call me Freak, and – all gang up on me with it. They had half the year hating me in a few months.’

Ski's hand tightened. ‘That's awful.’

‘It was nothing compared to – to this one time. That was the worst, the absolute worst.’ My throat clutched up.

Ski was silent, waiting. I was so thankful for the darkness. I could never have told him, or
anyone
, about this in the light.

‘See – see, Karen and I had PE together, and – there was this one time when I had just got out of the shower, and – she had taken my clothes. And my towel. And – and no one would give them to me.’

My throat felt too small. I stopped, waiting to
see if Ski would laugh. He didn't. ‘And meanwhile, Karen had got hold of my notebook, and was reading this story I had written out loud.’

‘And then – wait for it, kiddies – the evilll Esmerellllda turrrrned and growled, “I'll have you both thrown in the dungeon for this!” Ooh, stop it, mummy, I'm scared!’

Karen had cooed and gurgled her way through my story, capering around the changing-room, waving my clothes in the air with one hand and clutching my notebook in the other. Everyone was in hysterics. I mean, complete hysterics – weak-kneed, hanging onto each other and howling with laughter.

I huddled against the lockers, wet and naked as my own words attacked me. Trying to cover myself, wanting to die.

‘Emma, the famous writer!’ shrieked one girl.

‘Freaky L. Freak – ohmigod, look at her!’

Finally, Karen had thrown my clothes back at me. ‘Here you go, Freak – cover yourself up before we're all sick. But I'll keep this last page, it's just so-o good. Hey, will you sign it for me?’ She ripped it out of the notebook. ‘No? God, what are you crying for? Never mind, I'll get rid of it—’

She ripped it up and flushed it down the loo, laughing about how it was just like loo roll.

Our footsteps echoed down the dark corridor, and I realised that for the first time, I could think about that day without crying. ‘You know what?’ I said softly.
‘I think I hated Karen the most for making me hate my story.’

‘I'd feel the same way. She sounds completely evil.’

‘But
you
wouldn't have let her get to you!’

He glanced at me in the dim light. ‘Wanna bet?’

‘But – Ski, come on! I mean, you have a pierced eyebrow, and go to Wilkinson!’

Surprised laughter burst out of him. ‘Emma, I only have a pierced eyebrow because I knew it would irritate my mother, OK? And Wilkinson's not that different from other schools … you still have people who think they're better than anyone else.’

We came to another T-junction and looked at each other. Finally we went right again.

I let out a breath. ‘Anyway, it had been terrible all year, but that was – that was the worst. So that afternoon I went home and asked Dad if I could change schools in Year Eight.’

‘I don't blame you.’

‘But, Ski, the worst part is that I actually – sort of hated Abby by then. I felt like if she had just tried to fit in more, none of it would have happened. And then when I changed schools … I just ended it with her. Didn't answer her phone calls or anything. And I wish—’

I couldn't speak for a second. I swallowed hard, and swiped my hand over my eyes. ‘There's just … there's just no one else like her.’ I whispered.

Ski glanced at me. His hand gripped mine tightly, and we walked along in silence.

All at once the tunnel opened out into a large
fourway crossroads, with a sort of open room at the middle, and pipes shooting in all directions. Ski shone his torch around. A faint drumming sound came from the pipes.

He pulled out the pages again. ‘Um … would you say this is the heart of the dungeon?’

I stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because if it is, then we're back on track – Abby mentions it; there's a sort of riddle we're meant to solve here.’

‘
What?
’ I leapt beside him, peering over his shoulder.

His fingers clutched the paper, creasing it as he pointed. ‘Here—’

As the heart of the dungeon draws nigh, you must follow the blue arrow as it flies – to be led to your goal, if you still think it wise.

The torch's light moved as he turned the page. ‘Only … it doesn't give the answer.’

‘A blue arrow,’ I murmured, gazing at the darkness around us.

‘She must have drawn one somewhere!’ Turning in a frenzied circle, Ski shone his torch about the walls and floor, sweeping it in great arcs. Bare concrete, grey walls. ‘Nothing! Damn it, there's
nothing
!
’

Suddenly I remembered the dragon, and I shoved my hand in my pocket and gripped it. Just close your eyes, concentrate … what would Abby and I have done in the game? The tiny wings seemed to move as they pricked my palm, and I gasped, almost dropping it. And then Abby stood in the glade again, smiling at me.

Two novice mages.
The blue arrow as it flies …

My eyes flew open. ‘Ski, give me the torch!’ Grabbing it from him, I shone it at the ceiling. And just as if I had known it all along, I saw that the pipes had coloured arrows on them.

The one with blue arrows shot across the ceiling, heading off into a tunnel to our left. Our footsteps pounded as we followed it, the torch bobbing wildly.

‘Ski, look!’ I clutched at his arm, pulling us both to a halt.

Just ahead, a thin length of string had been stretched across the tunnel at ankle level.

‘A trap,’ whispered Ski.

I ran towards the string, clambering over a cluster of pipes to crouch down in front of it. The trap had been tied around a pipe at each side of the tunnel. I touched it gently, plucking it like a guitar string, unable to speak.

Ski knelt beside me. ‘Oh, god, she was here; she really was …’

He took the torch from me and shone it down the passageway. ‘Look, there are other traps … this is where she meant for the game to be played.’

‘It's where she meant for it to end,’ I said softly. Because I had just seen what was hanging up on the wall.

The tiger-eye necklace, dangling from a bolt on a pipe. It burst into brilliance as Ski directed the light onto it, and I heard him suck in a quick breath.

I rose slowly, gazing at the faint winking of the stone, remembering the light in Abby's eyes as she showed it to me on the bus. Tiger-eye, for courage … Swallowing
against the dry lump in my throat, I took another step forward, reaching for the necklace.

‘Emma, no!’

The light wrenched away from the stone as Ski lunged for me, tackling me around the waist. A scream ripped from me as we fell to the concrete floor together, hard, Ski's elbow jabbing me in the stomach. The torch rolled across the floor, plunging us into darkness.

I lay there gasping, trying to get my breath back. Ski scrambled up. ‘Oh, god, Emma, are you OK? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you …’

‘I'm OK,’ I gulped. ‘What—’

Ski had crawled after the torch. ‘Listen,’ he choked out as he turned to the last page. ‘
As you reach for the Eye, a noise erupts, and a chasm opens beneath you. Try for it if you will.
’

With a shaking hand, he shone the light at the base of the pipes. My stomach lurched as I saw the gaping hole in the floor that they ran into.

A half-empty bottle of Pepsi lay beside the hole. There was a dried puddle of spilled cola next to it.

Ski's voice was ragged. ‘She must have – Emma, when she put the necklace there, she must have—’

He didn't finish. On my hands and knees, I moved towards him and took the torch. Crawling back to the hole, I closed my eyes for a moment, trembling.

And then shone the light into the hole.

The heavy pipes fell downwards, plunging at least ten feet to another layer of concrete and pipes. The light wasn't strong enough to make out much, but what I did see froze my heart.

Abby's battered grey rucksack, lying on the floor with its contents scattered.

By the time Ski and I finally made it back to the entrance, his torch had started fading, and it turned out we had been in there for over four hours. I was so shaky by then I could hardly even climb the stairs, and Ski wasn't doing much better. I think we were both in shock, or something. Plus I was so thirsty I thought I was going to faint.

We rang the police as soon as our mobiles got a signal. PC Lavine had been trying to ring me, it turned out; she had got my message after all.

Then I rang home.

Dad was there, and I started crying as soon as he answered the phone. I could hardly get the words out to tell him what we had seen. ‘Shh, it's all right, love,’ he soothed. ‘Start slowly, tell me what's wrong …’

For once – for once – he actually listened to me. And when he turned up about half an hour later, and found Ski and me sitting together at the top of the cement steps – Ski with his arm around me because I had been crying – he just sat down with us and listened to all we had to say.

It seemed like a miracle.

The police had already arrived by then, delving into the tunnels with some workers from the plant, who had turned the lights on. As we sat waiting for them to come out, I told Dad everything, gasping the words out against my tears.

‘Dad, I'm sorry – I know I shouldn't have trespassed
… I was just so afraid that – that she was down here, and no one knew, and she might be – hurt.’

His eyes had turned bright when I told him about the rucksack, and now he hugged me, pressing me against him. Neither of us said anything for a long time. Finally he pulled away, and looked me in the eyes.

‘Emma, I'm sorry; I should have listened to you more. I was just – well, it was – difficult, thinking of what might have happened to Abby, and I was worried about you …’ A muscle beside his mouth moved. ‘I hope you can forgive me.’

I couldn't speak. I nodded and threw myself against him, and we hugged tightly. (Forgetting all about poor Ski, who sat there probably melting with embarrassment.)

As though thinking the same thing, Dad pulled away from me and held out a hand to Ski, leaning across me. ‘We haven't been introduced properly,’ he said gruffly. ‘I'm Emma's dad, Tom Townsend.’

Ski's face was pale, with smudges of dirt all over it. He straightened up a bit, and shook Dad's hand. ‘I'm John Kazinski … Ski.’

Dad glanced at the tunnels, and let out a breath. ‘Well … thank you for taking care of my daughter, Ski. When I think what could have happened to the two of you in there …’

Ski shook his head. ‘She didn't need me to take care of her. She's the one who had the guts to actually … to actually look down the hole.’

None of said anything after that; we just sat pressed together on the stairs until the police emerged, about twenty minutes later.

And even though I had already known, in my heart, that Abby was dead … I guess there had still been a tiny glimmer of hope, because we all jumped up when we saw them, and my heart pounded so hard that it hurt.

But their faces said it all.

There was a huge press explosion once it came out how Abby had been found, with screaming headlines everywhere:
TEEN HEROES FIND ABBY.
It was horrible. I wasn't a hero; neither was Ski.

Thankfully, Dad had a long talk with my form head and Mrs Ottawa, so that when I went back to St Seb's, everyone pretty much left me alone. It was a massive relief. I couldn't have handled it if everyone at school had treated me like a hero, too.

Instead, when I walked in on my first day back, I saw a tall blond girl and a short dark-haired one waiting by the trophy case. And it was almost like none of it had ever happened.

I hesitated, and then walked over to them. Jo touched my arm, smiling uncertainly. ‘Ems, are you OK?’

I lowered my bag to the floor, engrossing myself with pushing it flush against the wall. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘It's so … so amazing what you did,’ said Debbie. ‘You and that boy, John.’

I saw Abby's knapsack again, lying on the cold,
hard concrete. I folded my arms over my chest. ‘He's, um … called Ski. And – look, not to be rude, but I don't want to talk about it, OK?’

A steady stream of people passed by the trophy case as they came into school, staring at us and then quickly away. Debbie tossed her dark, wavy hair. ‘Fine. Anyway, we've got a bone to pick with you.’