The Bridge to Never Land (12 page)

Sarah looked unhappy. “I guess so,” she said.

“The hair,” he said.

“Do I really…”

He handed her his ball cap and pointed down the aisle.

A minute later, Sarah was staring into the mirror in a cramped and smelly bathroom, taking a last look at her beloved hairstyle. She sighed, then filled the tiny steel sink with water. Before she could think too much about it, she plunged her head in. The intricate edifice that had been her hairstyle collapsed. She tried to rinse out the stickiness, then emptied the sink and repeated the process. She blotted up as much of the water as she could with brown paper towels, then choked back tears as she saw herself.

“I look like a wet dog,” she moaned.

She brushed her hair—she’d forgotten how long it was—then twisted it into a bun and stuffed it beneath the ball cap. Then she wiped off her mascara and lipstick.

She hated how she looked. But Aidan was right: she would be much harder to recognize. She barely recognized herself. She headed back to their seats.

“Much better,” said Aidan.

“I hate you,” she replied.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “Okay, we’re coming to the station.”

“How’re we going to meet in Princeton?”

“First of all, you don’t use the iPad. Go to a library or an Internet café. Someplace with public computers. I’ll do the same. We’ll find each other that way.”

“But can’t they track our e-mails?”

Aidan grinned. “I have a Gmail account Dad doesn’t know about.”

Sarah laughed. “You, too?”

“Give me a pen and paper.”

They exchanged e-mails. The train began to slow. A few passengers rose from their seats.

“You’ll be careful?” she said.

“I’m touched.”

“Shut up.”

“Keep your head down,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”

The brakes cried out as the train shuddered to a stop. He put on sunglasses and headed for the end of the car.

Aidan got off right behind a family with three kids, staying close, trying to look like the older brother. His eyes swept the platform.
No cops
, he thought. Then he corrected himself:
No uniformed cops
.

Then he saw the man on the bench—a large man. Very large. The man held a newspaper, but Aidan could tell he wasn’t reading it; his eyes—eyes that looked like they missed nothing—were sweeping the platform. They swept over Aidan, stopping for just a heartbeat. In that instant Aidan was sure the man was coming after him. But then the eyes moved on.

He didn’t recognize me
, thought Aidan.

Why was the boy alone?
Lester wondered. He’d spotted Aidan easily—the sunglasses were a pathetic disguise. But where was the girl? She definitely hadn’t gotten off the train.

Lester had considered chasing the boy, but he was in no mood to test the boy’s foot speed against his own endurance. He’d put on a few pounds, lost a step since his prime. He gave a casual glance at his watch, checked the platform to the left, and, convinced the boy was alone, stood, stretched, and moved toward the train.

His plan had been to board the train, find the kids, and haul them off at whatever stop came next—Princeton at the earliest, Newark if necessary. Rent a car. Call the parents. Do the paperwork. Collect the check.

But now the boy was off the train. And maybe the girl was still on it. Maybe they were smart enough to figure out they’d be harder to find if they split up. Maybe she got off at another station. Maybe she was still back in Pittsburgh.

Lester had a rule about kids: you bring in the girl first. The world was crueler to girls. But he had another rule: a bird in the hand. The boy was right here. It seemed stupid to board the train and let the boy go free. Maybe the boy would lead him to the girl.…

Lester stood by the gap between platform and train door, using the reflection in a train window to watch the boy following the family toward the platform stairs. At the top of the stairs, the boy looked back, then started down.

“All aboard!” called the conductor, leaning out of the next car, looking right at Lester.

Lester turned and headed for the stairs.

Sarah had thought the large man was staring at her; it was only when he turned that she realized he’d been using her window as a mirror to watch Aidan. As the man strode toward the stairs, she started to panic; the man was a cop.

She felt her phone in her pocket, but remembered her brother’s warning. She started to get out of her seat, but the train lurched forward. Too late to get off now.

“Is there something wrong?” An older woman was leaning halfway across the center aisle.

“I…ah…my boyfriend got off at that station, and he forgot something. My phone’s dead. I need to reach him somehow.”

“You can have him paged.”

“I can?”

“Yes. You may use my phone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She rummaged in her purse and produced a cell phone.

“I can pay you for calling information.”

“I think I can afford it,” the woman said, smiling.

Directory assistance not only gave her the number, but dialed it for her.

“Hello,” Sarah said, “I’d like to page a Mister Morgan Chatterley. It’s urgent.” She smiled at the nice lady, then turned away and cupped the phone.

At first Aidan did not believe his mother’s maiden name was being announced over the train-station PA system. But then he heard it again: “Mister Morgan Chatterly, please pick up the courtesy phone.”

Morgan Chatterley was his mother’s maiden name. It was a family joke: she hated the name Morgan and had insisted on being called Natalie since middle school. Aidan knew the page could not possibly be a coincidence. It had to be Sarah.

Or was it his parents? Some kind of trap?

He started toward the courtesy phone, stopped, turned away, stopped again. Finally, he went over and answered it.

He lowered his voice. “Hello?”

“Is that you?” said Sarah, whispering.

“I told you not to use your phone!”

“I’m not. I borrowed one.”

“But what—”

“Just listen. There’s a guy. Big guy. Looks a little like Hulk Hogan.”

“I saw him. He got on the train. Keep your head down, like I told you.”

“He didn’t get on. He was watching you. He’s following you.”

“Are you sure?” Aidan felt his stomach tighten.

“Yes. Get out of there now.”

The line went dead. Aidan hung up and quickly looked around. He’d planned to hang around the station until the next train; that wouldn’t work now. He looked across the parking lot, where there was a busy street. A few blocks to the right was a village; he could make out a Radio Shack and a Starbucks.

He walked quickly across the parking lot and turned right. After a half a block, he glanced back.

The big man was behind him.

The man was about twenty yards back and didn’t seem in any particular hurry. In fact, if Sarah hadn’t warned him, Aidan wouldn’t have been suspicious.

He walked a bit faster, then faster still. After a minute he glanced back. The man was the same distance behind him.

Aidan picked up his pace even more.
Stay calm,
he told himself.
Stay calm.
But he couldn’t. He was afraid to turn around, and afraid to feel a big hand grab his shoulder.

He broke into a run.

He covered two blocks at a dead sprint, aiming for the Starbucks, hoping he’d be safe with people around. He burst through the door and almost fainted with relief when he saw the customer standing at the counter: a police officer.

His relief disappeared a second later when it occurred to him that if the big guy was a private investigator—which he surely was—then he would simply tell the policeman that

Aidan was a runaway, and he’d be caught.

He looked out the window; the big man was getting close. He still appeared to be in no hurry.

Aidan looked back at the policeman, who was still at the counter adding sugar to his coffee. The big man was fifteen yards from the Starbucks. Aidan took a breath, then stepped outside. He stood on the sidewalk, waiting. The big man was five yards away.

“Hello, Aidan,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

“Help! Police!”
shouted Aidan.
“He’s hurting me!”

The big man stopped, held up his hand.

“Hold it,” he said.

“Help!”
shouted Aidan, crumpling to the ground.
“Please!”

The door behind him burst open. The policeman looked down at Aidan, then at the big man.

“Ow!”
screamed Aidan. “Please make him stop!”

“I didn’t do anything,” said the big man.

The policeman drew his nightstick. “Sir, please turn around and put your hands against the wall.”

“Officer, I didn’t do anything. I’m a pri—”

“I said turn around,”
bellowed the policeman, giving the big man a hard shove to the shoulder.

“This kid is a—”

“Spread your legs!”
The cop started patting the big man down. It took him three seconds to find the gun.

The big man said, “Officer, this is a mis—”

“Keep quiet and don’t move,”
said the policeman. He radioed for backup, then unclipped some handcuffs.

“You’re making a big mistake,” the big man said to the wall, through gritted teeth. “It’s that kid you should be taking into custody.”

“Oh, really?” said the officer. “Does he have a gun, too?”

“No, but he’s…” The big man glanced back. “No! He got away!”

The policeman turned around. The big man was right. Aidan was gone.

CHAPTER 16

A
IDAN, HAVING ROUNDED ONE CORNER
and then another, was running hard on a side street, glancing back, pondering his next move. His plan had been to head back to the train station and catch the next train to Princeton. But things had changed. The police wouldn’t be able to hold the big guy who’d been following him—after all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And if he was a P.I.—which Aidan was pretty sure he was—he’d tell the cop that Aidan was a runaway. Then the police would be after him, and they’d be watching the station.

He thought maybe he could take a bus to Princeton. The question was, which bus? And where to catch it? He was passing a Harley-Davidson shop. Glancing inside, he saw a wide, bearded man with many square feet of tattoos talking to a man dressed head to toe in black leather, wearing a red bandana.

Aidan went in. “Excuse me,” he said. The men turned toward him. Aidan wondered if he was making a mistake.

The wide man, his voice a growl, said, “You look a little young for a Harley.”

“I, um,” said Aidan, his voice cracking, “I was just wondering, what’s the best way to get to Princeton?”

The wide man tugged at his beard. “Well,” he said, “there’s the train.”

“Right,” said Aidan. “I was just looking for something…” —he paused, frantically trying to think of an excuse for not taking the train—“…faster.”

“Really,” said the wide man, amused. “Faster than the train.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then,” said the wide man, “if you want fast, you could maybe hitch a ride with Tommy here. He’s heading up that way right now, delivering a part. You up for a rider, Tommy?”

Tommy looked at Aidan. He had a lean, sun-baked face and a hard expression. But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft.

“Happy to take you, kid, if we can find you a helmet.”

“Seriously?” said Aidan. “On a real Harley?”

“I don’t drive the imaginary ones,” said Tommy.

In half an hour—one of the most exciting half hours of Aidan’s life—he was climbing off the Harley at the doorstep of the Princeton town library. He thanked Tommy and went inside, where, after a few minutes, he found Sarah at one of the computer stations, typing away. He walked up quietly behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She emitted a small scream—drawing disapproving stares from other library patrons—then, seeing who it was, jumped up and wrapped Aidan in the kind of warm embrace she normally reserved for dogs.

“Easy!” said Aidan, disentangling himself.

“Sorry!” she said. “I’m just…”

“Happy to see me?”

“Incredible as it seems, yes.”

“Yeah, me too, with you. No more splitting up.”

“Agreed.” She attempted another hug, but he fended her off.

“Now what?” he said. “Where’s our guy?”

“I’ve done some Google mapping,” Sarah said, nodding toward the computer. “His office is on the Princeton campus. It’s a little ways, but we can walk.”

They set out from the library, Aidan filling Sarah in on his escape from the big man and his Harley ride. They reached the Princeton campus and, following Sarah’s handwritten map, made their way along pathways, past well-manicured lawns and old brick buildings.

“I really, really hope this guy can help us,” said Aidan.