Nightmare Academy (8 page)

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the cook carefully took Elijah's and Elisha's bowls, spoons, and glasses into a small office and closed the door. He set them in a neat pattern on the tabletop, took out a soft brush, and lightly dusted them with fine, black powder. Carefully holding a drinking glass up to the light, he nodded to himself. Good fingerprints.

About two in the morning, Nate and Sarah, asleep on narrow cots in the back of the van, were awakened by a loud rapping on the driver's window Nate threw off his blankets and went up to the front.

There was a police officer standing outside, shining his flashlight in the window.

This kind of trouble they didn't need.

Nate had to squint into that offensive light as he rolled the window down a few inches. “Hello, officer.”

“I'm sorry, but you can't park here. If you want to go up three blocks, there's space to park next to the on-ramp. I've seen some truckers stopping there for the night and so far there's no ordinance against it.”

“Well, sure thing, officer. Thanks.”

Sarah hated it. “We won't be able to keep an eye on the youth shelter.”

“We'll just have to make it a short night and get back here first thing in the morning.”

They drove away and found the spot the officer had told them about. Sarah double-checked the receiving equipment one last time. She and Nate could hear Elisha turn over in her bed, and they heard Elijah snoring. Satisfied the kids were safe for the night, they turned in.

The hallway was quiet, and most of the lights were out in Observation and Evaluation. One room was filled with doctors and nurses almost speechlessly treating a patient. A night nurse sat alone behind her small reception desk, working on paperwork by the light of a desk lamp, waiting for the rest of the night staff to return from their dinner break. From somewhere she could hear someone yelling. She looked up. Was that—

The elevator dinged, the door opened, and three men came stumbling, sliding, and wrestling out. The one in the middle, held tightly by the other two and struggling to get loose, was the one doing the yelling, his eyes wild, his mouth drooling. “Assassins! Assassins!”

Dressed in hospital whites, the two men trying to hold him were obviously hospital orderlies—and obviously on the wrong floor. “Which way to Safe Confinement?”

The nurse hurried into the hall, trying to be heard above the crazy man's hollering. “Fourth floor!
Fourth floor!"

While the nurse was out in the hall, a tall, shadowy figure emerged quickly from the stairway door, slipped past her unoccupied desk, and into Observation and Evaluation. Keeping one ear tuned to the commotion, he hurried silently down the narrow hallway to a padded room, locked against the occupant's escaping, but easily opened from the outside. Silently, he entered and went to the bedside of a sleeping boy. He reached into a leather case at his side, selecting his instruments. This would not take long.

“Nate!”

It took several nudges before Nate realized it was Sarah who was nudging him. He rolled over on his cot, eyes still blurry, and muttered, “What time is it?”

“I'm not getting a signal.”

“What do you mean?”

She went to the radio bench and fussed with the tuners.

“There's no signal! They've quit transmitting!”

Nate rolled off his cot and took the chair next to her. The frequency was dead, nothing but static. He rechecked the tuners, rousing a mental checklist of possible causes from his sleepy memory. “Could be a number of things: the distance from the transmitters, the building the kids are in, where we're parked, power lines nearby . . . “

“Let's get over there.”

He checked his watch. It was ten minutes after six in the morning. “Absolutely.”

Sarah got to the driver's seat first. With a rumble and roar, the van came to life, and she steered for the Light of Day Youth Shelter, 203 Miller Street. The city block looked different in the morning light, but she thought she recognized the buildings as she drove down the hill: the two newer ones, most likely office space, and then the old, stone building wedged between them, the . . .

Silently, he entered and went
to the bedside of a sleeping boy.

The Dartmoor Hotel.

She eased the big van farther down the hill and parked in a loading zone. They hopped out and ran back.

The letters painted on the window and on the front door read, Dartmoor Hotel, followed by a phone number.

“Oh, okay” Nate said. “The youth shelter's using an old hotel.

It makes sense.”

“So why isn't their sign up in the window?”

“Uh . . . don't stare too long.”

She forced herself to look away and appear detached. “What now?”

“Let's get back in the van. We might still get a signal, but if we don't we can wait for that bus to come for the kids, and then we can just make a visual contact.” Nate started back. Sarah remained, looking through the window in the front door. “What?”

“It
is
a hotel,” she said, her voice choked with foreboding.

He joined her and looked through the window as well. He could see a small lobby and a registration desk with a clerk sitting behind it. He took a step toward the door, looked more intently, and then walked toward the door with Sarah right beside him. He pushed the door open, they went inside . . .

It was a hotel lobby. A registration desk. A clerk. An old man sitting in a chair reading the paper. Potted plants. An old ceiling fan slowly spinning. There was no archway to the right that led to a dining hall; there was only a wall with a faded painting and two potted plants. There was an archway on the left, but there was no game and activity room beyond it, no pool table, no library, no television—only an empty banquet hall with yellowing wallpaper, peeling woodwork, and dirty, pedestal ashtrays.

The place was dead quiet. The clerk behind the registration desk looked bored, reading the paper. He didn't even look up to see who came in.

They approached the desk. “Excuse me?” Nate said.

The clerk looked up. He was a little man with a round head and thin, black hair. “Yes, can I help you?”

“We're looking for the Light of Day Youth Shelter.”

The clerk looked at them blankly, then apologetically. “I'm sorry?”

Nate repeated, “We're trying to find the Light of Day Youth Shelter.”

“Oh! There's a youth shelter down on Second, uh, Living Way, something like that—”

“No,” said Sarah, quite edgy. “We're looking for the
Light of
Day
Youth Shelter, the one at 203 Miller Street.”

He looked at her quizzically again. “I guess you have the wrong address. This is the Dartmoor Hotel. It's been at this address for fifty years.”

Nate was stuck for a moment, but then he chuckled, his face a little pink. “Sorry. We're in the wrong place.”

He started for the door. Sarah needed a little prodding, so he took her arm. She almost objected, but he told her, “We've got the wrong building.”

When they reached the sidewalk outside, she looked back.

“Nate, this was it. This was the building!”

He was embarrassed. “It can't be! Come on, we'd better circle the block. We've got to find our kids before that bus comes.”

He drove from the driver's seat and she “drove” from the passenger seat as they rounded the block, then tried the next block, then the next, then went up the hill to the next avenue and doubled back, circling all those blocks. They found no Light of Day Youth Shelter, nor any building that even resembled it, and of course, the address they'd copied down the night before had not changed. Wish as they might for a mistake, a misread, a different address in the morning light, it stubbornly remained 203 Miller Street.

A little after 7:00 in the morning, Nate parked the van across the street and half a block from the Dartmoor Hotel. Sarah went in the back and searched through the recording they'd made the night before until she found Elijah's voice reading the address off Margaret Jones's business card: “203 Miller Street.”

Then she and Nate sat silently in the front seat of the van, staring, wondering, as the recording kept playing and they heard the voices of Elijah and Elisha describing the game room, the kitchen, the dining hall. They could hear the voices of young people in the background, laughter, talking, dishes clinking, the distant
clack
of pool balls hitting each other, the goofy one-liners of Jay Leno opening the
Tonight Show.