
The Talent Diary

Copyright © Chris McFarland, 2015

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Chapter 1: The Clubhouse

Her grandfather's behavior in the two weeks before her twelfth birthday did not seem strange to Samantha Branson. She noticed he was at their house more frequently, but this seemed like a positive thing because it was always fun to have her Grandpa around. If anything, his more frequent appearances made her wish that he would continue to visit so often in the future. She never suspected his new proximity originated from a deep concern for her.

Her life was simple, good, and fun. Nowhere did she have any hidden uneasiness or concerns and she felt in control of her life. The day before her birthday had been a good one and she got ready for bed that evening feeling so happy that she had no need to recognize the fact. That was fortunate, perhaps, because her grandfather was also getting ready for bed, thinking long thoughts and nervous for the following days. He had something he needed to tell Samantha and he was not looking forward to the task.

Samantha Branson's birthday started with bright sunshine coursing in through her window. Her curtains, simple and white, blocked the lower half of the window so the sun was not in her eyes. The upper half of the window was open and the sunlight fell squarely against the far wall. The wall, at least where the sunlight struck, was painted a pale sky blue. The thick paint made for an excellent reflector and the brightness of the morning pulled Samantha out of sleep before her body would have liked.

She sat up and stretched, wondering if she should feel any different than she had the day before now that she was twelve years old. It was Friday, November 22nd, and their school was on holiday. She pulled off her heavy blankets, which she couldn't sleep without even in the summer, and walked over to the window, parting the lower curtains that looked out on the front lawn and the cul-de-sac. The sky was bright and clear and she could see a light breeze fluttering the tree limbs in the walnut tree that occupied the left half of their front yard. The fall had been exceptionally warm.

Samantha, who slept in a pale green nightgown, hurried across the hall and into the bathroom. Flicking the bathroom switch bathed the room in the heavy glow from the lamps across the top of the medicine cabinet. Before entering the shower, Samantha glanced at herself in the mirror, rubbing her still sleeping eyes. As she suspected, nothing had changed between the end of her eleventh year and the start of her twelfth. Her hair was still a light brown, loose, and reaching her shoulder blades. She was still a little tall for her age and thin-framed. Her friend Marissa had told her that all young girls eventually end up looking almost exactly like their mothers, but if that was true then the day was still far in the future for Samantha.

After a quick shower and dressing in old jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt, Samantha headed back to her room to check the time. She was surprised to see it was only 8:30 A.M. and that meant Becky wouldn't be over for at least an hour and Marissa might not make it until ten. Samantha sat back down on the bed, wondering if she should go back to sleep, knowing that she was up and wouldn't be able to fall asleep if she tried. Her relaxed eyes examined her room. There was her dresser and desk, both old and supposedly antique. They had been collected by her Mom's Mom, a grandmother she had never met. Her carpet was white and full. The closet door was open, showing the jumbled clothes inside. On the night table beside her bed and spilling onto the floor were books and papers.

Her parents let her do whatever she wanted to her room and she didn't even have to clean it, unless she wanted to, which she usually did because otherwise she could never find what she was looking for. If she paid for the paint herself, Samantha could make her room any color and any design she wanted. Last summer she and Marissa had spent almost a full week painting her room, always changing their minds. Finally, they painted a blue sky with puffy white clouds and near the bottom of the walls were forests and mountains. When Becky got back from vacation with her parents she was upset they had painted without her. Samantha asked her to paint something else. Becky painted two beautiful eagles flying above the forest.

Walking out of her room and turning right would take her down the hallway, the hardwood floors leading to her parent's room and the extra bedroom, which her mother, Sandra, used as an office. Samantha turned left, ignoring the bathroom across from her, and walked into the dining room. The dining room was separated from the kitchen by a long counter and to her right was a sliding glass door that led onto the porch and into the backyard.

The porch was full of potted plants, a small picnic table they hardly ever used, and her mother's Jacuzzi and hammock. The hammock was spread over the hot tub so Sandra could sit in both the hammock and the Jacuzzi at the same time. Beyond the porch was their enormous backyard of three acres. Her father, Thomas, had a large garden that was growing old and brown as autumn progressed. A small stream emerged from a culvert twenty feet from her parent's bedroom window. The garden ran from the edge of the stream all the way to the fence that separated their yard from Mr. Henson's. The stream led straight into an enormous, straining mass of bamboo, filled with stalks that reached over forty feet high. Emerging in two spots from the bamboo were ancient oak trees, in one of which Samantha and her friends had built a tree house. To the left of the porch was a trail that led straight into a large grove of eucalyptus trees, all tall and spaced close together, their schizophrenic limbs intertwining at height. The trail led through the grove and emerged at the back edge of the bamboo, where the well-hidden entrances to the clubhouse were located.

Samantha went into the kitchen and got a bowl of cereal, which she took into the living room to eat. The living room was joined to the dining room by a large, open doorway. As she walked past the doorway to the living room she was startled by a large mass snoring on the couch. Then she remembered that her grandfather, Neil, had stayed the night and he always slept on the couch.

Trying to be quiet, Samantha slipped into the large, fluffy white chair that her mother had purchased during the summer. It was comfortable and ugly, a combination Samantha found she liked very much. She munched on her cereal, wondering if sound from the television would wake her grandfather. Deciding that even if the television woke him he had already slept long enough, she turned it on, put the volume on low, and started flipping through channels. She stopped every fifth channel to take another bite of cereal. She finished the bowl before she found something to watch, so she turned the television off, looked across the room, and was surprised to see that her grandfather was awake and looking directly at her.

"Grandpa! How long have you been looking at me?"

Neil didn't answer, except with a low rattling snore.

"Grandpa?"

She looked at him closely, a little nervous, and saw him breathing slowly, his face slack and relaxed. For a moment it had seemed she was in the darkened living room with a living dead man.

"Grandpa," Samantha said, perhaps more loudly than she intended.

Neil shook and fluttered on the couch, his eyes closing and then reopening. The quick shuttering of his eyelids restored consciousness to the eyes, much to Samantha's relief.

"Sam? What.....did you say something?"

"Sorry Grandpa. You scared me a little. You were asleep with your eyes open."

Neil sat up, rubbing absently at his face with both hands. Samantha heard the thick rasp of beard stubble. Her grandfather's hands were calloused.

"You've never seen anyone sleeping with their eyes open?"

"No. I didn't know you could."

"Sure. How else do you think sleepwalkers move around? Actually, I'm not surprised that I still sleep with my eyes open every once in awhile. I used to sleepwalk all the time when I was your age."

"How strange. I've never sleepwalked."

"Well, maybe not yet." Neil said.

"What do you mean," Samantha asked.

"Sleepwalking runs in our family. I started about your age and kept doing it until I was eighteen or so. It is a strange business, waking up somewhere different than you feel asleep."

"You really walked all around your house asleep? Where was the strangest place you ever woke up?"

"Hmmm. Well, probably the strangest was when I woke up in a restaurant booth with a half eaten hamburger in front of me. It was the middle of the night and I was sitting in this booth in sweats and a T-shirt. I asked the waitress how I had gotten there and she looked at me like I was drunk. She said that I just drove up and walked in like everyone else."

Samantha laughed. "You're kidding right?"

"Completely serious Sam."

"How could a person do that in their sleep? It seems like you would have to know what you were doing."

"I don't know how but it happened."

Samantha looked at him carefully, trying to decide if he was serious or not. He looked serious, smiling gently at her and with a full head of silver gray hair. Her grandfather, though fun and friendly, was not much of a joker. Samantha believed him.

"Are you ready for your party this afternoon?"

"Oh yes," Samantha said. "I can hardly wait. Marissa and Becky are coming over early and we're going to play in the clubhouse. Then later everyone else is coming over."

"I think you are going to get good weather this year. Much better than last year at least. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah I do. We had the flood."

Neil nodded.

"Are you going to be in the clubhouse later on this afternoon," he asked.

"Are you crazy Grandpa? You know that no one else can go in there. Becky, Marissa, and I are the only ones who know the secret entrances."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"But mostly it will be Mom and Dad's friends anyway. I didn't want to invite too many people this year."

"More people might mean more presents," Neil said, knowing what the reaction would be.

"Grandpa! You know I don't even want to get presents. It feels weird."

"Weird," Neil said, more to himself than Samantha. Then he laughed suddenly, abruptly, like a dog bark. "Well, just wait until you see what I have for you. It isn't like anything you've ever got before, I guarantee that."

Becky and Marissa arrived together a little after 9:30 A.M. Samantha had seen them through her bedroom window and ran down the hall to open the front door right as Marissa was about to knock.

"Happy Birthday," they shouted together and they pushed their way into the house, each carrying a present.

"Thanks," Samantha said, a little embarrassed, as always, at receiving presents. "You can put those down on the fireplace if you want."

Becky walked right over and placed hers carefully on the smooth rock fireplace. She was thin, strong, and agile, with long blond hair that she tied back into a ponytail. Marissa followed, a few steps behind, and plunked her package down with a heavy, wooden sound. Marissa had a lovely, pale face framed by dark hair as straight as wet string.

As they walked back towards her, Samantha, feeling unusually emotional, gave both of them a simultaneous hug.

"So what are we doing today, birthday girl," Marissa asked, although she knew.

"We're off to the clubhouse. That's why I wanted you to come over early today. That way we can play out there before everyone else gets here so no one else finds the entrances."

"Are Mark and Cliff coming," Becky asked.

"No. Of course not," Samantha said. "This was a girls-only party."

"Besides," Marissa said, "If they came over all they would do is try and trick us into showing them how to get into the clubhouse."

Samantha nodded and started walking towards the back patio door, skirting around the edge of the dining room table. Sandra was sitting at the table.

"Girls. Heading outside?"

"Yes Mom," Samantha said.

"Ok. But don't forget that we'll have other guests coming over in a few hours."

"We won't Mrs. Branson," Marissa said.

Sandra Branson was slightly built, with sloping shoulders. She walked with her feet outward, like a ballet dancer. Samantha had the same hair color as her mother but Sandra had beautiful dark blue eyes instead of brown.

"I'm heading out to the store and your father and Neil went out to do something too so you're on your own for a couple of hours. Be good."

"We will Mom!"

"Yeah, I know," Sandra said, looking like she half believed her daughter. No one said anything for a moment while Sandra ran her eyes over the girls. Then she turned and headed towards the kitchen.

"Have fun." Sandra said.

Taking the opportunity, Samantha flung the patio door open and ran across the patio, not stopping until she reached the eucalyptus grove. Becky had caught up to her but Marissa had, characteristically, lagged.

The grove contained about a hundred trees planted close together, blocking everything from view. The trees themselves had an unusual smell, especially when it rained. The trail through the grove was difficult to follow because the trees dropped leaves, nuts, and shreds of bark continuously, forming a thick, springy layer over the dirt. The three girls followed this implied trail until they again emerged into sunlight and stopped, looking over the rest of the yard. Beyond the grove, about another two hundred feet, was the fence marking the property line. Behind the fence the stream ran through a marshy, undeveloped area away from town, called Thompson's flat. To the left of the grove was the back fence of Samantha's neighbors, the Wilson's. They had fraternal twin boys, Cliff and Mark, who looked nothing alike and were in their sixth grade class at school.

Samantha remained in the grove, listening carefully, and Marissa and Becky did the same.

"I don't hear them," Becky began.

"Shhhh," Marissa said, quietly.

They listened for the Wilson boys carefully, because they sometimes tried to spy on them when they were going into the clubhouse. No one knew how to get in but Samantha, Marissa, and Becky.

"They aren't there," Samantha said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. They can't stay quiet that long, no matter how hard they try."

Marissa and Samantha started walking and Becky followed after a moment. The trail led out of the eucalyptus grove and into the sunshine. The dry weather plants Samantha's father Thomas had planted last year spread to the back fence. There was cactus and scruffy, itchy chaparral. They had seen a rattlesnake coiled on a hot, flat rock last summer and hadn't gone back into the clubhouse without carrying a shovel for the rest of the year. To their right was the beginning of the bamboo.

The bamboo spread out over a full acre, growing forty feet tall in the center. Two large, ancient oak trees were also in the bamboo, but the bamboo had overtaken them and only the tops of the trees could be seen. The bamboo spread outward from the center like spokes on a wheel, which made the bamboo completely impenetrable unless you knew one of the secret entrances they had discovered or built over the past few years.

Looking closely into the outer layer of the bamboo the outline of an ancient wooden fence was evident. The old fence snaked around the entire bamboo patch. It was rotted and deformed from the weight of the bamboo hanging over the top. After walking about twenty steps from the eucalyptus grove, Samantha, Marissa, and Becky stopped. They all looked around, verifying no one could see them. There was no sound from next door.

"I think it's safe," Becky said.

Samantha looked at Marissa, who nodded her head. They all dropped to crawling position and scampered under the outer layer of bamboo. Beneath the bamboo stalks was a layer of dried, decayed bamboo leaves. Although the leaves scratched if their shirts pulled out from their pants as they crawled they never made a clear path because that would give away their main entrance. After crawling for fifteen feet they came to the old wooden fence, which made a corner several feet from where they stopped. The wood looked rotten but was still relatively solid. The bamboo grew over the top of the fence and sagged down to the ground because of the weight of the upper layers, making a little tunnel. Samantha went to one of the boards in the fence and pulled it free. If Cliff, Mark, or another one of the boy's friends found the loose board they still wouldn't know what to do because there was an impenetrable wall of bamboo on the other side of the fence. Marissa, however, had crawled around the corner of the fence to where a small string was buried. She uncovered the string and started to pull. The wall of bamboo was nothing more than a door they had built two years before. Beyond it was a tunnel carved through the old bamboo, floored with raked dirt.

Samantha and Becky crawled through the fence and stood up in the tunnel on the other side. Samantha held up the door.

"I've got it Marissa," she called.

Marissa buried the string again and came crawling back around the fence and through the doorway. She turned back around and pulled the loose fence board back into place. Samantha lowered the bamboo door and they walked down the tunnel.

The tunnel went straight for twenty feet, then forked to the right and left. All three of the girls went left without hesitation. Just beyond the turn three wide planks were set into the ground. They spread over the stream, which was narrow and steep walled through this section of the bamboo. Their shoes clunked over the dead wood, shaking dust and leaves off into the sluggish water.

The tunnel through the bamboo made a long, slow curve to the right. The sun was filtered and channeled by the many interlocking layers of bamboo, creating a virtual twilight. After twenty feet they came to another junction. This time they went right because going left would take them to the back door, which they would sometimes use if they heard Cliff or Mark lurking outside the main entrance. After going right for thirty feet they came to the clubhouse.

What they called the clubhouse was really a series of rooms they had carved out of the thick, live bamboo. The first room they entered was the living room, a large cleared circular area. On all sides the bamboo enclosed them but they could see the sky. They had brought an old couch all the way down the street from Becky's house and brought it in by the third secret entrance. There were a couple of chairs and scattered bits of carpet. Off the living room were two hallways. One led to the kitchen, in which they had a small refrigerator using a long extension cord plugged into the back of Thomas's shed. The other hallway led to several smaller rooms they built mostly for fun and didn't use as often. They called them bedrooms. The main tunnel also branched off of the living room, continuing towards one of the old oak trees.

Marissa walked over to the couch and lay down. Samantha sat on one of the pieces of carpet and Becky walked towards the tunnel that led to the kitchen.

"Don't bother Becky. I haven't had a chance to fill it back up yet," Samantha said.

"We haven't spent the night out here in a long time," Becky said.

"That's because it's almost winter," said Marissa. "I wish it was summer again."

"Yeah, then we could go swimming," Becky said.

"It'll be raining soon. We won't even be able to be here in the clubhouse as much," Samantha said. "The creek rises too high."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Becky, as she did so often, broke the silence with a burst of speech.

"Samantha, you'll never guess what happened this morning. Do you want to tell her Marissa?

"No, you go ahead."

Marissa was lying down with her hands behind her neck, looking up at the light clouds passing overhead. Her dark, black hair flowed over the edge of the couch. Becky turned to face Samantha.

"I walked over to Marissa's so we could walk over here together. When I turned the corner, I could see her on her driveway talking to a boy. When I got closer I could see it was Brian McManus."

"Brian? He's a seventh grader right?"

"Yeah. He was talking kind of funny. Marissa thinks he was trying to ask her to the Christmas dance."

"I thought only sixth graders could go."

"A sixth grader can bring anyone they want with them," Becky said. "He wanted Marissa to take him."

"But I gave him the hint that I didn't like him," Marissa said suddenly.

Samantha looked at her. "Why not?"

"Because he's kind of a jerk. My Mom knows his Mom so I've seen him before. We had dinner at their house once over the summer. I don't like him. He is really cocky and stuck-up."

"But cute," Becky said, and giggled.

"Yeah, he's cute. He also said that he was going to play football at the junior high."

"So you have a date to the dance already," Samantha asked.

"Well, not yet. But I don't think that will be too hard," Marissa said.

"She said that she couldn't go with him yet because she was thinking of asking someone else first. You should have seen his face Samantha. I thought he was going to cry for a second. It was really mean to do that Marissa. You should have said yes."

"Well, I still may. He'll just want to go with me more now."

"I don't know why," Becky said somberly, "you were mean to him and now he won't like you."

"Are you crazy? He'll like me even more because I told him no."

"How?"

"It's called playing hard to get dummy."

"I don't understand."

"Oh forget it," Marissa said. "You'll never understand."

"Sure I will. Come on Marissa. Tell me why he'll like you more."

"Who cares," Samantha said, getting up. "Let's do something fun."

Becky got up as well, still looking a little sourly at Marissa. Samantha had already walked out of the clubhouse through the main tunnel, towards the old oak tree. Marissa stayed on the couch for a moment and then followed through the tunnel.

Samantha stopped as the tunnel opened up to reveal a small pond flowing slowly through the bamboo. The stream was dammed further back by bamboo interlocking across the stream channel and a low concrete plug. It created a shallow, but swimmable, pond. During the summer, before the water turned mossy, they often jumped in to swim, kicking up enormous clouds of thick mud from the bottom. A small boat, which was the best way to use the third entrance, lay wedged onto the shore.

"Did you want to go out in the boat," Becky asked.

"No, not really. I'm trying to decide what to do."

"A couple days ago I thought it would be fun to build a raft out of bamboo," Marissa said. "Then we would have two boats. I saw that the people who lived in the Andes used to make them out of reeds."

"That sounds great," Samantha said. "How did they do it?"

"They got a bunch of old dead reeds and lashed them together with willow branches, or they made their own ropes out of leaves."

Becky walked over to the wall of the tunnel and plucked at some of the bamboo leaves leaking into the walkway. By pulling downward, as if she were peeling a banana, a long, thick section of bamboo skin came off. It was about two feet long.

"Would this work," she asked, a little anxiously.

"If it doesn't we'll use string," Samantha said. "Let's get started. I can't believe we never thought about doing this before."

Marissa sniffed, once, loudly. Samantha glanced at her and laughed.

"Why don't you get some dead bamboo and I'll go get the axe and some string, in case the leaves don't work. Are you sure that they made the whole raft out of bamboo," Samantha asked.

"That's what the TV said. They were thick though, like two feet. Otherwise the water would get over the top and it would sink."

"Alright. I'll be back in a minute."

Samantha jogged down the tunnel and back to the clubhouse, excited that she was going to try building something new. She quickly gathered the axe, which they used for building tunnels, and some tangled, frayed string that she found deep in the bottom of the old trash can they used as a toolbox. She ran back to Marissa and Becky, who had gathered an unimpressive pile of bamboo.

"Why don't we just take some of the bamboo that is back in the trash pit," Becky asked. "Most of the stuff here is alive."

"Yeah, yeah," Samantha said, more to herself than anyone else, "that's also a good idea."

So they walked back through the clubhouse again and up the tunnel. Across the bridge the bamboo on the left side of the tunnel thinned out and they were able to squeeze through. After weaving through the bamboo for about twenty feet, the live bamboo disappeared completely over a large area. Samantha had found the bare region not long after she first started playing in the bamboo. However, when she mentioned it to her father, he had nodded and asked her not to play in that area, because the whole property used to be ranchland and the old ranchers probably had dumped poisons into the ground.

Instead, Samantha had used it, first by herself, and then with Marissa and Becky, as the dumping ground for the bamboo they cut away while building tunnels. A large heap of the bamboo was piled in the center of the cleared area. Samantha and Becky had just started pulling a few long stalks of the dead wood off the top of the pile when there was a cracking noise. All three of the girls jumped and turned to find the source of the sound. They could see nothing, however, because the bamboo was in the way.

"What was that," Becky whispered.

There was another loud cracking sound. Marissa stood up, her head cocked to one side, looking very alert.

"Was that something in the bamboo," she asked.

Samantha shook her head. "I don't think so."

There was a third cracking sound, much louder than the first two, and they all jumped again. Then, for the first time, they could hear low laughing. They all looked at each other.

"Cliff and Mark," Marissa said.

Samantha ran through the thin bamboo and onto the trail. She followed the trail around the curve and through the clubhouse. Marissa and Becky ran to follow. The tunnel opened up after a few feet and paralleled the small, clear pond. Then the tunnel closed up again into a narrow passageway. Samantha ran with skill, dodging the odd bit of bamboo jutting into the path. After fifty feet it opened up again and she could see one of the two oak trees. Wooden steps were nailed into the wood. Samantha grabbed the lowest step exactly when another loud cracking sound echoed through the bamboo. She climbed to a small section of wood nailed between two branches. She was above most of the bamboo and looked towards the eucalyptus grove. She was just in time to see Mark heave another firecracker into the bamboo.

"Hey," she shouted.

Cliff and Mark looked up, grinning.

"Hey yourself, Samantha," Mark said.

"Don't throw those into the bamboo. It could burn down."

"Then come out and stop us," said Cliff.

Marissa pulled herself onto the plank. She looked down and saw Mark and Cliff. She looked back at Samantha and gave her a half smile and shrugged her shoulders. Becky came up a few moments later. Meanwhile, Mark had thrown the remainder of a pack into the bamboo and it went up in a rattling string.

"Hey Marissa! Come down. We've got an M-80," Cliff said.

"Yeah right. You only want to find out how to get in here."

"We already know. We watched you go in."

Becky looked at Samantha nervously but Samantha laughed.

"They're lying," Samantha said. She looked at Mark and yelled, "Then come in. We invite you."

"Why don't you come out and see the M-80 first?"

"I can see fine from here," Marissa yelled.

"Come on," Cliff said. He was holding something behind his back.

"What're you waiting for? I asked you to come in," Samantha said.

Mark and Cliff looked at each other and nodded. Mark reached behind Cliff's back and pulled out an enormous firecracker. He lit it, threw it, and it landed in the bamboo. There was no noise for a moment. Then there was an enormous explosion. Samantha saw bits of bamboo rise from where the M-80 had landed.

Mark and Cliff looked at each other, started laughing hysterically, and ran for the eucalyptus grove.

"Hey you! What the hell is going on over there?"

"Oh no," Marissa said, "It's Mr. Henson."

All three of them squatted down behind the oak limb but it was too late.

"You there! Samantha. Don't you try to hide from me girl. You were setting off firecrackers."

"It wasn't us!"

"Then who was it, huh? It sounded like you set off a damn stick of dynamite. If that bamboo caught fire it'd burn down the neighborhood. I'm calling the cops."

"But it wasn't us."

Mr. Henson was already walking towards his house, his cane digging into the ground of his backyard at every step. He hobbled up the stairs of the large redwood deck outside his back door and went inside.

"He'll do it too," Samantha said.

"We better go tell your parents what those jerks did," said Marissa.

"My parents aren't home."

"Well, let's go call them then."

"They don't have a cell phone," Becky said. "Right Samantha?"

"Yeah."

Marissa frowned.

"Well I'm heading out anyway. If the cops come I don't want to be in here."

Samantha nodded and they climbed down the tree. Marissa was first and she walked up the tunnel quickly. Samantha jogged to catch up with her.

"We have to go out through the back entrance," Samantha said. "Cliff and Mark might still be out there, trying to see how to get in."

Marissa only nodded impatiently. They walked through the clubhouse without a pause and walked to the next junction, but they went straight instead of turning left. Marissa reached an apparent dead end and stopped, looking back over her shoulder.

"Where's Becky?"

At just that moment Becky came jogging around the bend, her glasses slipping toward the end of her nose. She pushed them into place and brushed her pale, whitish hair back from her forehead. Marissa reached down and pulled. A wooden trapdoor swung open, revealing a dark tunnel. Samantha lowered herself down, followed by Marissa, and finally Becky. Becky closed the trapdoor and they were in the dark.

"Hey, where are you guys," Becky said quietly.

"Over here.....ahh!"

Becky had walked forward with her arms outstretched and they ran into Marissa's face.

"Shh," Samantha said. Her slow footsteps echoed with a metallic sound. The tunnel was large, almost six feet tall, and was a remnant of an old canal system from when the neighborhood used to be a ranch.

"Sorry Marissa," Becky whispered.

"It's alright," said Marissa and she walked forward.

After twenty feet Samantha stopped and reached out with her hands. She felt the ladder and started to climb. When she got to the top she slowly raised the trapdoor. The light in the tunnel increased gradually as the door opened wider. She put her eyes against the small crack of open door and looked out. She could see nothing but bamboo and the back fence. She opened the door fully and hurried out. Marissa and Becky followed and they shut the door, covering it with bamboo leaves. Then they crawled out from under the overhanging bamboo and stood blinking in the bright sunlight.

"Come on," Samantha said. "We have to make sure they didn't accidentally set the bamboo on fire."

They didn't see any sign of smoke so they walked through the grove to the house.

"We're going to get even with those guys," Marissa said. "If we end up getting in trouble for this we're going to get them good."

"We won't get in trouble," Samantha said. "My Dad is used to dealing with Henson. Even before I was born he didn't like us since my Dad was always planting crazy things in the backyard."

"Call your Grandpa." Becky looked nervous, as she always did when she thought they would get in trouble. Samantha walked to the counter separating the small kitchen from the dining room. Pinned to a corkboard below the phone were many scraps of paper filled with numbers. Marissa and Samantha looked them over.

"There it is," Samantha said, pulling one of them off the board. She picked up the phone and dialed. While she was doing this, Marissa pulled a number off the board without Samantha noticing. Marissa handed it back to Becky, who took it but looked surprised because the name at the top of the paper was Mr. Henson. Marissa held a finger up to her lips and mimed putting the number in her pocket.

"Grandpa, this is Samantha."

"Sam? Are you alright?"

"What? Yeah. We needed to talk to my Dad and he doesn't have a cell phone."

"You're sure nothing bad happened?"

"Yeah, I'm sure"

"Good. Your Dad is across the store from me. I'm walking over to him now."

"Thanks Grandpa."

"Sure. What happened?"

"Someone was setting off some firecrackers and Mr. Henson thought it was us."

"Ahh. Mr. Henson again. Here's your Dad. I'll talk to you later Sam."

"Bye Grandpa."

"Samantha," Thomas said, "What's going on?"

"Someone was setting off firecrackers and Mr. Henson thought it was us. He said he was going to call the police."

"Have the police arrived yet?"

"No." Samantha looked nervously towards the door.

"Well, I doubt the police will do anything but we'll come home anyway. We're just down the road at the bookstore."

"Thanks Dad."

"See you in a bit."

Samantha hung up the phone.

"They're coming."

"Oh good," Becky said.

"You didn't tell him it was Cliff and Mark," Marissa said.

"Well, no."

"Why not?"

"Because they could get in trouble, especially because of the M-80. Those are really illegal."

"They tried to get us in trouble," Marissa said.

"No they didn't. They were only playing around."

Becky was over at the living room window, peeking through the drawn shade. She jumped back from the windows in fright.

"A police car just drove up." She went very pale. Samantha went to the window and looked out carefully between the curtains. Two police officers had stepped out of their car and stretched. They looked at the house next door, where Cliff and Mark lived, and laughed. Then they walked over to Mr. Henson's residence.

Marissa had wedged herself next to Samantha to watch the police. Samantha noticed she was gripping the curtain tightly in her left hand.

"What're they doing," Becky asked.

"They're talking to that awful neighbor," Marissa said.

"Do you think they're coming over here?"

"I don't know....yes, I think they are," Marissa said.

The police had emerged from behind the tall hedge dividing Samantha's property from Mr. Henson's. Mr. Henson hobbled behind the police. His cane, with a tip of metal, struck sparks off the cement sidewalk with each step.

"Mr. Henson is coming with them and he looks really upset," Samantha told Becky.

"Oh no oh no oh no," Becky sobbed.

"Hey, if they come to the door you should go hide in the back. Otherwise we'll look guilty," Marissa said.

Mr. Henson was pointing at Samantha's house and the cops stopped. They weren't looking at the house but at him. They said something and Mr. Henson got upset again. He slammed his cane down to make a point and didn't hit the sidewalk. He hit the lawn and his cane went deeply into the soft grass and dirt and he had to stop talking to try and pull it out. Marissa and Samantha snorted with laughter.

"What? What happened," Becky asked, pacing around the living room behind them.

"The old jerk got his cane stuck in Samantha's front lawn," Marissa said.

The cops were pointing back at Mr. Henson's house and he frowned. Then he turned and limped back towards his front lawn. The two cops started walking up to Samantha's door. As they reached the front path Samantha saw her father's car driving down the street. He slowed while passing the police car and guided the car into the driveway.

"Come on," Samantha said.

She and Marissa headed towards the door.

"What's going on," Becky asked.

"My Dad's here," Samantha said. Becky hurried over to follow them when she heard that Thomas and Neil were home.

By the time they got into the front yard Thomas was speaking to the police. Neil stood slightly behind Thomas with his arms crossed, as he often did when he was upset. Thomas spoke to the girls.

"It wasn't you, was it?"

"No Dad."

"Do you know who it was?"

"No, Mr. Branson," Marissa said. Samantha almost answered at the same time but stopped herself. Thomas looked at them carefully. Becky seemed nervous and was twisting her shirt in her hands.

"Good. Tell your story to the police."

They walked over to the policemen and Samantha was surprised to see they were laughing with her grandfather.

"This is Officer Martinez, and this is Officer Robinson," Neil said.

"Hello girls," Officer Robinson said. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled it back out. He showed them his palm and pulled a paper flower out of thin air. He gave the flower to Marissa.

"We received a report about firecrackers being set off on this property. Did you hear or see anything," Officer Martinez asked.

"We heard them. I think they were out in the back," Marissa said.

"What do you mean, out in the back?"

"Out in the stream, past our back fence," Samantha said. "There's always a bunch of older kids hanging out back there."

"Ah yes, that spot. We know the area well," Officer Martinez said.

"But you didn't see who it was." Officer Robinson asked.

"No," the three girls said together.

"Did you see Mr. Henson around the time you heard the firecrackers?"

"Well, we saw him right after the last one. He yelled at us. I think he thought we were setting them off," Marissa said.

"Where were you when he saw you," Officer Robinson asked Becky, looking directly at her.

"Um, we were all up in the lookout. That's why Mr. Henson could see us," Becky said.

"The lookout?"

"Yeah, it's a big tree we climb," Marissa said.

"Mr. Henson said you were yelling at someone before the last firecracker went off."

Becky coughed loudly. Office Martinez looked at her and she turned bright red, as she often did when she was embarrassed.

Marissa said, "We were playing a game. I didn't really notice the firecrackers until the big one went off. That's why we were yelling. We were pretending there was a pirate ship on the pond."

Both Samantha and Becky were looking at her.

"I see," Officer Martinez said. He paused. "Well, we'll go tell Mr. Henson that the culprits were back in Thompson's flat. He'll be glad to know you weren't doing anything."

"I'm glad you're telling him," Marissa said, "He's always a jerk to us."

Samantha and Becky stared at Marissa with shock, their eyes large in their sockets. Even Thomas and Neil turned to look at her. The policemen smiled.

"Well," Officer Robinson said, "he may be a little impatient with youngsters like you but you should always respect your elders. You know why he limps right?"

"No," Samantha said.

"Ask him sometime," Officer Robinson said, "you might be surprised. Have a good day folks."

They walked slowly to the sidewalk leading to Mr. Henson's house. Thomas watched them go and turned to the girls.

"Let's go in and get ready for the party."

"Right now," Marissa asked.

"Yes. No need to stay in Mr. Henson's sight longer than we have to," Thomas said.

As they walked back into the house Marissa started laughing again.

"What is it," Thomas asked.

"Old Henson is pounding his cane into the ground again. He's going to slam his own foot soon if he isn't careful."

Marissa and Becky avoided going home when they were supposed to by staying in Samantha's room and out of sight of Samantha's parents. The three girls tried on the new clothes Samantha received for her birthday. Then they snuck down the hallway to Sandra's room. The adults were in the living room, talking and laughing, so Samantha took some of her mother's outfits from the master closet and brought them back to her room. They tried on the clothes and put on makeup Marissa had hidden in her purse, trying to make each other look as old as possible.

Sandra knocked on the door, realizing it was thirty minutes after Marissa and Becky were supposed to be home. Samantha, Marissa, and Becky never even heard the knock because the music was loud and they were laughing at themselves in the mirror.

"What are you doing in here," Sandra asked, waving her hand in front of her face as if the room were full of smoke.

Becky looked up at Sandra, her large eyes accentuated by the thick dark ring of mascara surrounding them. Marissa and Samantha were facing each other, applying rouge to each other's cheeks. When the door opened they had turned to look, red cheeks glowing like a furnace, right hands frozen in the process of makeup application.

"Dressing up Mom," Samantha said.

Sandra surveyed the room, noting with distaste the pile of clothes lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then she laughed, almost grudgingly.

"I need to take Marissa and Becky home but I can't take you out of the house like this. Can you get cleaned up in ten minutes?"

"Sure," Marissa said.

"Good. I'll be back."

Sandra closed the door, leaving the three girls to look at each other. They burst into laughter.

Twenty minutes later, most but not all of the makeup scoured from their faces, Samantha gave Marissa and Becky a hug at the front door.

"Thanks for coming over," she said. "I wish you could spend the night."

"I know," Marissa said. "I hate going to the doctor on Saturday. But we'll come over later."

"We're done with church after lunch," Becky said. "I can come over then."

"Great. And thanks so much for your presents."

Sandra led them out the front door and Samantha waved, feeling happy and fulfilled. She never liked knowing her birthday was approaching and never liked the idea of a party, but she always had one and she always had fun.

Her grandfather, who had stayed with the adults throughout the evening, came in the front door and sat on a chair in the living room. Samantha waved again as the car backed out of the driveway.

"Looks like you had an excellent birthday Samantha."

"Yeah," she said, flopping down, suddenly tired. She stretched and yawned.

"Tired?"

"I didn't feel tired until right now," she said.

"I don't blame you. At my age parties tire me out very quickly," Neil said. "Have you had a chance to look at the diary yet?"

"Oh that! No, not yet. But that was a great gift Grandpa. I can hardly wait to read it tonight."

"I meant your diary Sam, not mine."

"Maybe I'll try to write in it tonight but I don't know what I'd say. It seems like too much happened today to write it all down."

"You don't have to write everything down," Neil said. "Only what you think is important. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it."

"I think reading yours will be neat."

Samantha yawned again and stood up. "I'm going to sleep," she said.

"Goodnight Sam. I'll see you in the morning."

Samantha paused on her way across the living room.

"I forgot you were staying the night again. I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you wake up early enough maybe you can go for a walk with me."

"Sure. Good night Grandpa."

"Good night Sam."

Samantha walked down the hallway to her room, closing the door behind her. 
Chapter 2: Discovery

The next morning Samantha woke to the wonderful smell of breakfast. She rolled over, judging whether or not she wanted to go back to sleep, and looked at the clock. She remembered her Grandpa was staying with them and that he always got up early. If she hurried she might catch him before he left for his walk. Samantha got out of bed, put on jeans and a T-shirt, pushed her brown hair back out of her eyes, and walked down the short hallway to the kitchen.

Neil was standing at the gas range, frying bacon and scrambling eggs. Samantha sat down at the table. He heard her and turned around, smiling.

"Good morning Sam. Did you sleep well?"

"Of course Grandpa."

"This stuff is almost done. Do you want any of it?"

"No thanks. I always have cereal but I'm not hungry this early anyway."

Neil scooped the eggs and bacon onto a plate and sat down at the table. He started eating.

"Thanks again for your present. I started writing in my diary last night," Samantha said.

Neil looked up at her and smiled.

"I'm pleased to hear that. Your father never took to writing a diary, although I asked him if he'd like too several times. It just wasn't in his nature."

"I wrote a paragraph before I fell asleep."

"Excellent. You know what's amazing? If that paragraph was half a page and you write that same amount every single day until you're fifty, you'll have written almost 7000 pages."

"Wow!"

"And as you get older more and more things will happen you'll want to write down. So, you write more and more pages every night. I'm sixty-one now. Guess how many pages I've written?"

"How about ten thousand?"

"Actually I have no idea," Neil said, "but I know it's a lot." He laughed.

"What did you write about last night? I wrote about my birthday and the presents I got."

"That's what I wrote about too. But you know something interesting? I bet that our diaries are completely different even though we're writing about the same thing."

Samantha nodded at him, understanding.

"Because we're different people, right?"

"That's right. We'll see it different ways."

Neil stood up with his empty plate and rinsed it in the sink. Then he put his hands on his lower back and stretched, causing his back to pop several times. The sound was like a small string of firecrackers and Samantha laughed.

"You sound like you need oil Grandpa."

He bent over to touch his toes. Then he looked at her with a sly expression on his face.

"But if I'm so old I need to be oiled would I be able to do this?"

He suddenly leaned over so far, without bending his knees, that he could nearly place the tips of his elbows against the ground. His head was upside down and he looked up at her from between his legs and laughed.

"Grandpa!"

He straightened back up and brushed his remaining hair into place. He took a small, battered notebook and pencil from his back pocket and made a little note in the book. Then he put them back in his pocket again.

"Like that, did ya?"

"How could you do that? I've never seen anybody do that before."

Samantha got up from the table and tried it herself. She could touch her toes and get her palms flat on the floor for a moment, but then her legs started to hurt and she gave up.

"That's impossible."

"Not if you go for a walk every morning. Want to go with me?"

"Sure."

"Great! And can you run back to your room real quick and get the diary I gave you yesterday?"

"To take on a walk," Samantha asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"A surprise."

He winked at her and walked to the front door to put on his shoes. Samantha looked at him for a moment. Then she ran to get her own shoes and the diary from beside her bed. Her shoes were her old pair and she could slide them onto her feet without even untying the laces. Neil opened the door and they walked out.

They walked a block without saying anything. The day was bright blue and warm for late autumn.

"Did you still want this," Samantha asked.

She held the book up to him and he took it. He opened it and thumbed through a couple of pages.

"Have you read any of it yet? You probably didn't have time."

"I read the first page because I wasn't sure how to get started on mine."

"Read the first part of this page," he said.

He gave her the diary and held it open to a location a few pages from the front. Samantha looked at the date, December 7th, 1941. Day 8."It happened to me for the first time! The Japanese bombed us today. We heard about it on the radio, my Mom started crying, and my Dad started walking around the room, saying that no Japanese would be alive by the end of next year. He was very angry. And I was mad too. It just happened. I got mad and wanted to hit the kitchen table and so I did. And the table got smashed into splinters. I had no idea it was so easy to do."

Samantha looked up at Neil with a small smile at the corner of her lips. She closed the book and handed it back to him.

"You made stuff up in your diary? Isn't that against the rules?"

"Well, there aren't any rules when it comes to your own diary," Neil said, "but I didn't make this story up."

"You said you broke a table by hitting it with your hand. That can't really happen."

Neil stopped. There was a small park at the corner of the block with a swing set and a couple of picnic tables.

"Let's sit over at the tables for a minute."

"Sure."

Samantha walked over to one of the tables and sat down. Neil followed along, a little more slowly. He sat down across from Samantha, who laughed because he sat on a pinecone. Neil picked it up and threw it towards a tall pine tree next to the swings.

"Why do you think I made that story up Sam?"

"Because you can't hit a table and break it. You'd need a bomb to do that."

"What if you were really, really mad. Do you think you could break a table?"

"No."

"There is something I need to tell you Samantha. Your father doesn't know because he didn't inherit it from me. I've been told it sometimes skips generations and when it does all sorts of things can go wrong. Since your father doesn't know about me that means he can't know about you, at least not yet. I've also heard that when it skips generations it's usually stronger."

"What're you talking about Grandpa," Samantha asked. "What doesn't my Dad know about you?"

"He doesn't know I've got a special talent," he said.

Samantha stared at Neil as if she hadn't heard what he was saying. A light gust of wind blew a piece of paper across the park. Both of them turned to watch it flutter over the grass and into a thick patch of ice plant.

"A special talent? What does that mean?"

"Like a power that a superhero might have on TV."

"Those don't exist Grandpa," Samantha said.

"I know it's hard to believe," Neil replied. "Like I said, since it skipped a generation you haven't been prepared for this since you were little. But the talent does exist. I'm not teasing you. And the only way you'll believe me is if you see what I'm talking about. I can prove it to you."

Neil reached into the back pocket of his blue pants and took out an old book. A rubber band was fastened around the middle of the book to keep it from fluttering apart. He gently removed the rubber band and put the book on the park table. Samantha's eyes got very large.

"How old is that?"

"This was one of my Father's diaries. He started when he was twelve, just like I did. He wrote this one when he was sixty-one. You never met your great-grandfather but he was a good man. He died fifteen years ago."

"And you carry his diary around with you?"

"I have to but it's hard to explain. You'll see why in a minute."

Neil paged through the book for a couple of moments until he found the page he was looking for. He read it carefully, closed the book, and put the rubber band back around the cover.

"Right," Neil said. "I knew it was safe but you always have to check. And my memory isn't as good as it used to be."

"Check what," Samantha asked.

Neil stood up, raised his hands over his head, and closed his eyes. He started breathing very deeply and slowly.

"What're you doing Grandpa?"

Neil opened his eyes and looked at Samantha. Then he walked over to a thick metal trashcan by the pine tree, picked it up, and carried it over to the table. Samantha got up from the table and took a step back.

"Don't be scared Sam. I know this seems strange but you have to know what you are. Let me ask you a question? Do you think I can crush this trash can?"

"Of course not."

Neil smiled at her, picked the trashcan back up, and suddenly squeezed it together with one easy motion. The trashcan made a horrible, loud squealing noise. He put it back down on the table, where it rattled around like a dropped quarter. Samantha was staring at him.

"Why are you trying to trick me?"

"It isn't a trick Sam. Pick it up."

Samantha took a step forward and picked it up. She dropped it immediately.

"It's heavy."

"Of course it is," Neil said, smiling. "It's an entire trash can smashed together. And watch this."

He picked it up again and held it against his side. Then he took a step forward and threw it like a Frisbee across the park. It sailed into the street, where it hit the asphalt and clattered noisily into the far gutter.

"Grandpa! How did you do that?"

Neil sat back down on the green bench.

"I better stop or I'll kill my poor Dad."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked back up at Samantha.

"Like I said Sam, I have power and so do you. But you don't know the talents yet. And when it happens for the first time it'll be a surprise. As time goes on you'll be able to control it but that takes practice."

"I don't have any powers. I don't even get picked for baseball at recess."

"They never show up until sometime after your twelfth birthday. But you can try it. It probably won't work though. My Dad tried and tried to get me to do something the first week after I turned twelve but I never could. He had started thinking that I didn't have a power at all. Until I broke the table that night I thought that myself."

Samantha was looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers into fists.

"Do you believe me Sam?"

"I don't know."

"Let's try it then."

Neil stood up and walked over to the pine tree. Looking up he could see a limb about fifteen feet off the ground, with an old kite wrapped around it. He smiled at Samantha and suddenly jumped and caught the tree limb. He swung around it a couple of times. He jumped back down and landed on his feet. Samantha looked shocked.

"Want to try?"

Samantha walked over to the tree and looked up.

"I can't jump that high. Nobody can."

"I just did though," Neil said. "You saw me."

Samantha looked down at her legs, which she always felt were skinny and ugly. She bent and jumped but only rose about three inches off the ground.

"See. I don't get picked for basketball either."

But Neil was nodding his head.

"Don't worry. Like I said, you probably won't be able to do anything today. It takes time. Try to imagine yourself floating up there."

Samantha looked back at her legs. For a moment she thought there was a little tingling in her calves but the feeling went away. She closed her eyes and jumped. A split second later she hit the ground again.

"Maybe four inches that time," Neil said.

Getting frustrated, Samantha looked at the tree branch again. It was so high and she felt so small that she almost gave up. She readied her legs anyway. In her mind she imagined jumping to the tree branch over and over. A tingling started in her legs again and it was much stronger than before. She jumped.

Samantha heard a startled shout from her Grandpa and tried to look up to see what was happening. Her head hit the tree branch and she fell. The tingling in her legs disappeared and she panicked, flailing her arms around as she plummeted back towards the ground. She closed her eyes but instead of hitting the ground she landed softly in Neil's arms.

Neil walked back over to the table and sat Samantha on one of the benches, looking shaken.

"Wow! You did it Sam! On your first try."

Samantha put one hand cautiously to the top of her head, where a bump was already starting to grow.

"Ouch."

"Did you hurt yourself," Neil asked.

"I bumped my head on the limb."

"Yeah I saw. I can't believe how high you got on your first try. That was really amazing."

Samantha looked up again, as if she only now realized what had happened.

"I did it," she said.

"Yes. And you did it so quickly. I guess the ability really does get stronger if it skips generations."

"I don't like this. Why don't Mom and Dad know?"

"Your Dad doesn't know because he doesn't have any special talent. We need to keep this a secret."

"Why?"

"We just do. They might not understand and we would have a difficult time explaining everything to them. Adults usually don't react to well to big changes like this."

"But now I'm different. And I have to tell somebody. What will Becky and Marissa say when they realize I've got the talent. They'll think I'm a freak."

"You're not a freak," Neil, said, a touch testily. "This is part of your genes. It has always been there, like your brown hair and dark eyes. And almost all of your family has had this ability."

"So then we're all freaks."

"No."

"Yes," Samantha said again, her voice starting to break up. "And I can't even say anything about it? This isn't fair."

Samantha looked down at her hands. Suddenly she started crying. Neil looked startled. Samantha leaned against him and cried softly for almost two minutes before it dwindled into sniffles.

"Are you alright," Neil asked.

"I don't want this. I want everything to be like it was yesterday."

"But it isn't Samantha. This power has been in you since you were born and you would have had it whether I told you about it or not. It is better to know than to be surprised about it later on. Don't you think?"

He paused. Then he looked back at Samantha and caught her eyes.

"Let's go home. We've been gone for quite awhile. And you've learned a lot in the last few minutes."

Samantha nodded but didn't say anything. They walked back to the house.
Chapter 3: The Diary Story

Samantha hung up the phone and tried to forget everything her grandfather had told her. When they first returned to the house both of Samantha's parents were in the kitchen and she had to fight hard to control her initial instinct, which had been to tell them everything. Her grandfather started talking before she could, however, telling her parents he had gone for a walk and Samantha was kind enough to go with him.

So she had waited in her room, trying to ignore everything that had happened. At the same time she wanted to try to do other things with her talent. After an hour of sitting on the edge of her bed, fidgeting, she got up and called Becky and Marissa. To her relief both of them were home and said they would be over as soon as they could. Samantha asked them to meet her in the clubhouse.

After a quick breakfast Samantha walked into the backyard, across the porch, and under her mother's hammock. She followed the main path towards the eucalyptus grove when her mother called to her from the house.

"Hey Samantha. We're all going to the mall. Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Are Becky and Marissa coming over?"

"Yeah. They'll be here in a few minutes."

Samantha retreated into the grove until she was almost to the end of the trail. She looked around, listening, and assumed she was alone. Samantha picked out a tree branch and closed her eyes.

I know I didn't really do anything this morning, she thought. I was still asleep and dreaming everything.

Her legs started to tingle so she opened her eyes and tried to jump. Nothing happened. Satisfied, she walked towards the bamboo.

You really didn't try too hard, she thought to herself. Almost like you didn't want to test anything. If you really want to prove you don't have the talent you should try as hard as you can.

Samantha walked back into the grove and again stood beneath the tree limb. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine making the jump, as if she were dandelion seed floating on a breeze. Her legs tingled strongly and she jumped as hard as she could. It almost felt like she was going to make it, but she didn't go more than a couple of inches off the ground and landed on the soft eucalyptus leaves again. Feeling a little disappointed, Samantha decided to try one last time. She readied herself, felt her legs tingling, and was just starting her jump when she heard Becky and Marissa's voices. They sounded no further than the edge of the eucalyptus grove. She felt a wave of panic go through her, which must have energized her body because she leapt fifteen feet and was holding onto the tree branch.

Samantha looked around wildly, not really believing what had happened. She gave a hard pull with her arms and got onto the tree branch. Fifteen feet had never seemed so high. It was too late to get down because Becky and Marissa were almost underneath her and Samantha could hear every word they were saying.

"So I told Brian again that I wouldn't go with him to the dance," Marissa said.

"What did he say," Becky asked.

Samantha stood on the tree limb, pressing against the trunk. She was staying as quiet as possible. She grimaced as Becky and Marissa passed by on the trail. Becky sneezed and the sudden noise startled birds out of a tree across the trail from Samantha. They flew into the grove, passing by her closely. Marissa watched them and saw Samantha in the tree.

"Samantha! What are you doing up there?"

Samantha had many thoughts race through her head and she was tempted to tell them what she had done. She knew she shouldn't but what kind of excuse could she make?

Nervous, she said. "Hi guys. I was, um, trying to see if we could build a tree house up here too."

Becky walked over to the base of the tree and put her hand on the flaky bark of the trunk.

"How did you get up there," she asked.

"I climbed."

"But how?"

Becky tried wrapping her arms around the tree but the trunk was much too thick. Marissa was looking up at Samantha closely, like she often did if she felt there was something going on she couldn't understand. Marissa's eyes were so clear it was difficult to maintain eye contact. Samantha felt sweat trickle down her neck and under her t-shirt collar. For a moment she thought she was going to have to tell them what she had done because there was no other explanation. Then she noticed a smaller eucalyptus tree growing on the other side of the trunk from her. It had much lower branches.

"I climbed that one," Samantha said finally, "and then climbed over here."

"Oh," Becky said.

Becky walked over to the smaller tree, jumped up, and caught a branch about six feet off the ground. She then rocked back and forth and somersaulted around the branch like it was a gymnastics bar. Within seconds she was standing on the branch and bouncing up and down on it, lightly.

"Cool huh," Becky said.

"Yes, yes. We all know you're gymnastics champion," Marissa said.

Marissa hadn't moved from her spot on the trail. Samantha got the hint and swung herself around the tree trunk, trying not to look down. She leaned out from the tree with her left hand flailing into the air and thought she would be unable to reach the smaller tree without jumping. She stretched a little further and got a grasp on a small branch. She then swung over to the branch Becky was bouncing on, landing on it squarely with both feet.

"This is fun," Becky said, "Maybe we should have a tree house up here too."

"No way," Marissa said. "It'd take a lot of wood and Cliff and Mark would be able to see it."

Samantha bent over, grabbed the branch in both hands, and swung to the ground. Becky followed her and they walked over to Marissa.

"Did you see those guys at all when you were walking in," Samantha asked.

"No. And I think their car was gone too," Marissa replied. "We should be safe." She paused for a moment and laughed sarcastically. "Did you see them from up in the tree?"

"No," Samantha said.

"Are you sure? I bet you could see into their backyard from up there. I bet you could even see into their bedroom."

"I couldn't see anything," Samantha said.

"Sure, I believe you," Marissa said and laughed again.

Becky was looking up at the tree.

"I'll go up and look," she said.

"No, let's get into the clubhouse before Cliff and Mark get home," Samantha said.

The following day Thomas and Sandra went out for dinner with a couple of old friends, leaving Neil and Samantha at home. Samantha had been trying her abilities every chance she got. She practiced in the eucalyptus grove after Marissa and Becky had gone home the day before. She was improving and could now jump almost every time she tried. After a few successful jumps she remembered her Grandpa had shattered a table with his talent. To see if she could, Samantha got a piece of wood and set it between two of the eucalyptus trees. She stood in front of it for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, she just closed her eyes and tried to imagine breaking the wood. She felt her arm get tingly, opened her eyes, and struck the wood. The palm of her hand thumped into the board but nothing happened except for a shooting pain through her wrist and hand. She cried out, ran back into the house, and put her arm under cold water from the faucet.

After her parents left for dinner Samantha walked into the living room, where her Grandpa was sipping iced tea and watching television. She sat on the couch and looked at him. He didn't seem to notice her walk in.

"Grandpa?"

"Oh. Hi Sam."

"Were you sleeping with your eyes open again?"

Neil laughed. "Not this time."

He took a sip from his iced tea and looked at Samantha carefully.

"How is your wrist?"

"Huh, how did you know about that?"

"I saw you flexing it at dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Did you try to break something?

Samantha nodded, almost embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," Neil said, "It took me another month to break something after the first time. I turned myself all sorts of colors trying though. For some reason breaking an object is a difficult skill to master. It takes more time and practice than anything else. How's the jumping?"

"Good. Watch."

Samantha got up from the couch, poised her legs, closed her eyes, and jumped up to the ceiling. Neil started clapping.

"Wow! I say Sam, you're better at this faster than anyone I've ever seen."

"What do you mean," Samantha asked, excited, "you know other people like us? I thought we're the only ones."

"I've met a couple of others," Neil said slowly.

"Like who?"

"Let's wait a little bit before we go into that Samantha. How do you feel about it?"

"What do you mean? I feel great."

"I mean what you said at the park. You said that you're different now and you were frustrated that you can't tell anyone about it. Don't you still think it is hard to take?"

"Well, yeah. It's hard I guess. I really wanted to tell Becky and Marissa yesterday. They almost caught me too. I had jumped up into a tree without realizing I could do it and they saw me up there. I had to make up a lie about how I got there."

"Lots of lies the past couple of days," Neil said, winking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. I'm just glad to see that you feel so good about it. I knew this would be hard for you."

"I kind of felt bad about everything yesterday," Samantha said, "but after all the practicing I did in the afternoon I actually started to like it. But I keep having questions."

"Like what," Neil asked.

"Why are we this way?"

"I don't think anyone knows Sam," Neil said. "In time I'll have you meet someone I know. We are rare and it's hard to tell who is who because everyone tries to keep it a secret. But after enough time you might meet other people with the talent."

"So your whole family has it," Samantha asked, thinking of her Great Uncle Michael and Great Aunt Margaret. But Neil shook his head.

"Usually only one person in a generation gets the talent. It's extremely rare for siblings to get it and when they do it's usually so watered down that it has no effect. I got it in my generation, from my Dad. And he got it from his mother. She got it from her mother. Before that it apparently skipped a generation from my great-great-great-great grandfather. The rest gets lost in time, which is fine because it's the previous generation that really matters."

"What do you mean Grandpa?"

"It has to do with why we all keep detailed diaries in the first place. What I tell you may be hard to believe Sam but you'll have to listen very carefully to everything. If you find yourself thinking that what I am telling you is impossible, just remember what you would have said to someone who told you that you could jump amazingly high or crush trash cans with your bare hands."

"Ok"

"There is still a lot for you to learn," Neil said, "and we can discuss all your talents later. But I'm completely serious when I ask you to listen carefully."

Samantha started to look a little fearful again.

"Why do you think we keep diaries? Do you have any idea?"

"Um, no."

"Take a guess," Neil said.

"Because you want the next person in line to see what you had to go through?"

"That's an excellent guess Sam! We record our lives so that the next person to inherit the talent knows the difficulties we faced. But it's not only for education, it's for safety."

"How could writing a diary make us safer?"

"I know you won't know the answer but think about this. Where would this power come from? How can ordinary muscles suddenly do a hundred times their normal capacity?"

Samantha didn't answer and looked down at her hands, deep in thought. Then she shook her head.

"It can't come from an internal source," Neil continued, "or else everybody could learn to do it. What we can do that makes us different, it seems, is to tap into energy from other people."

Samantha still didn't say anything but her eyes were wide and startled.

"And it isn't just any person that we get this energy from. We get it from the person in our own family who had the talent before."

Samantha frowned. "So that means I get it from you?"

"Precisely."

"But don't you feel it," Samantha asked. "Does it hurt? Can you stop it?"

"Well, this is hard to explain Samantha. I do feel it when you use your talent but I don't feel it now. When you take energy from me to do something, I feel it back when I was the same age as you."

"I don't understand."

"Remember I told you about the time I broke the table?"

"Yeah, you were mad because of the attack on Pearl Harbor."

"See, I knew the talent was in me even before I smashed the table. Two weeks before that day I was struck by horrible dizziness and fatigue. I couldn't even walk to school. My Dad was concerned because it lasted so long. Usually it only lasts a few minutes. Do you know what it was, Sam?"

"No. Were you sick?"

"It was you. The day after I turned twelve I was hit with the symptoms, in the morning. Right about the time you jumped up to the tree for the first time."

"You mean that was when I tapped your energy, or however you say it?"

"Yes."

"How long did it last?"

"Two days."

"So the stuff I did made you sick for two days?"

Samantha started to look both sad and guilty.

"It's fine Sam. How could you know? And remember, I was the one who tried to get you to jump in the first place. I had a feeling that you would succeed."

"But I feel bad I did that to you."

"It's the way it is. And remember that you will most likely feel it too, when one of your children succeeds for the first time."

"So I could start feeling bad at any time? I don't like that!"

"I'm sorry Sam. But there really is no way around it."

"What if I don't have kids? Then I would never be sick. Nobody would inherit anything from me, right?"

"That is true. Time will tell."

Samantha shook her head, as if too clear it, and walked into the kitchen. She grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard and poured some water from the filter tap. She drank it slowly, looking out the window. Then she came back and sat on the sofa. She looked unhappy but more determined than she did before.

This is a brave kid, Neil thought to himself.

"You said you write the diary for safety. I still don't understand why you do that. I guess you could write down what happened to you and...." Samantha stopped and looked up at him. "That's why you do it! You write down what has happened and what you are planning to do. That way I can read about it and not do anything special. That way you don't get sick, right?"

"Very good Sam. I don't think I could have said it better myself."

"So I only need to read your diary every day."

"One question for you though," Neil said. "Why would it matter if I got sick back then? What if I didn't write about the days I felt bad?"

"I don't want you to feel bad. That's why it matters."

"That's all in the past and I survived it. Why would you feel bad about it now?"

"I just would," Samantha said. "That's why."

"But I never wrote down any of the days that I felt sick. I never said a single thing about it. Why would I leave that out of my diary?"

"I don't know. It seems like you should've, because then I would know when I had....Wait. You left it out so I wouldn't know when I used my talent, right?"

"Exactly."

"But why wouldn't you," Samantha said. "Then I could know when I was going to do something."

"I said exactly the same thing to my Dad when I was your age. And he said this to me. We can't let you know what you might do because that would affect how you would decide to do things. It is your choice how to act, you know, not mine."

"That is weird. This whole thing is weird."

"Do you understand everything so far?"

"I think so," Samantha said, "but I don't like it."

"What about this then? Say, for example, that I climbed a mountain when I was younger. I climbed for about a day and made it to the top and was very happy with myself. I went home and celebrated with all my friends. Does that sound good?"

"Everything except for climbing a mountain," Samantha said.

Neil laughed. "Oh, that's right. I forgot you were scared of heights."

"Only big heights. I can climb a tree."

"I know. I saw you yesterday morning. But back to the mountain. Let's say I climbed the mountain on my twentieth birthday. One day in the future you turn twenty and need to use your talent. You draw the energy from me at the same moment I'm clinging to a cliff. My strength gives out and I fall."

Samantha looked horrified. "You would die."

For a moment Neil looked sad as well. Then he said softly, "Yes, I would."

"But how?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are here now," Samantha said. "You are sixty one years old, right? That means you didn't die when you were twenty. So it doesn't matter what I do because you are here right now."

"I wish that were true, honey. But it isn't. This is why we keep the diary. In it I record all the big events of my life. Anytime I was knowingly near danger I explained what happened in great detail. And that is why you need to read my diary every day. For example, you will see that the day before I broke the table, the day before Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, I wrote that I climbed to the top of the tree behind Mrs. Douglas's house with my best friend Adam. We were quite proud of ourselves and we had a great view. But when I told my Dad about it the first thing he did was make me go and write it down. Because that day you could use your talent, whether you wanted to or not, right as I was climbing that tree."

"That can't be right Grandpa," Samantha said. "You are here now. You didn't fall because you remember doing it."

"Sam, I know it seems like the past can't be affected but why should the past be any different than the future? The only difference between them is that you can remember the past. If you couldn't remember the past, would it seem any different than the future? I don't know. Why do you think that we affect the future with the decisions we make? We don't know what will happen so we can't know whether things we decide to do will have any effect on our future at all. It may seem like the past is dead but it isn't. What I'm telling you now is that things you do can change the past, which means they could change the future. If I died that day in the tree that means your father would never be born."

"What!"

"Because I would be dead long before I met your Grandma. You can change the present any time you use your ability. I know it doesn't seem possible but it is. I know."

"How do you know, Grandpa? Have you done that?"

"Yes."

"When? What happened?"

Neil looked at the window. The black night outside turned the window into a mirror. Neil could see his own face, wrinkled a little by age, staring back. After a moment he shook his head.

"We can talk about all that some other time, Sam. What's important tonight is to make sure you understand everything. It's very important that you do because I don't live here. I always had my Dad to turn too and you will have me, but I'm not in the same house."

"I think I understand Grandpa. But I'm scared. What if I mess up? What then?"

"You won't Samantha. It hardly ever happens, I figure. How else could we have survived this long, unless everyone else before you did well? Just make sure you read my diary each day and write in yours each night."

"Oh no!"

"What?"

"I forgot to write in my diary last night. What if something happens?"

"Did you do anything dangerous yesterday?"

Samantha thought back to the day before. She remembered jumping into the tree and climbing down. She could have slipped and fallen, breaking her neck. She remembered running through the bamboo tunnels and climbing the oak tree when she heard the firecrackers on her birthday. She could have fallen then too. She thought about the firecrackers and if they had ignited the bamboo. She thought of eating dinner and what would happen if she were swallowing when weakness hit her. Would she choke? There must be a million times a day she could be in danger. How would she ever remember it all?

Neil perhaps saw this on her face, because he smiled and held her hand.

"Don't worry too much Sam. Your life will be great, I know it. Read my diary. You won't have to put in everything. Once you get the hang of it won't take you much time at all. You may even find that you love to write, as I have. I look forward to it every day. All you need to remember is to write the important things and never write about a feeling of weakness, if you get it. And I'm only going to be a phone call away. I want you to call any time you are worried. Any time at all."

"Alright Grandpa."

He let go of her hand. She grabbed him and gave him a hug. She let go after a moment and stood up.

"I'm going to bed. And I need to write in my diary."

"Right. Goodnight Sam."
Chapter 4: Test Day

December 1st, 1991 Day Nine. Hello diary. Nothing interesting in Grandpa's diary today. He played with some friends and had chicken for dinner. Not that I would dare do anything now anyway. I'm still too scared to try it. What if I did something and he died? What would happen to me? Would I just disappear or would I feel it? I got so scared thinking about it last night that I called Grandpa at midnight. He wasn't mad at all. He said he was glad I called. He told me not to worry and to get back to sleep.

I didn't do much of anything again today. I studied because we have a test tomorrow. Becky is nervous because she thinks she has a bad grade already. I haven't seen them except at school for almost a week. I miss playing, but I'm scared I might get hurt.

"You alright today," Thomas asked. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," Samantha said.

It wasn't true but at least was something to say. She hadn't slept much the night before, thinking about what her Grandpa would be doing back in 1941.

"Well, good luck on your test today. I'll see you at three."

"Bye Dad."

Samantha got out of the car and walked up the school hallway. Kids swarmed everywhere because the front of the school housed grades one through three. She walked through the crowds and passed the library. To her right was the cafeteria, a light brown color with glass double doors propped open. She walked through the open doors and down the aisle in the middle of the long cafeteria tables, where a few early morning kids were finishing breakfast. At the back of the cafeteria were the two sixth grade classrooms. Marissa, Becky, and Samantha were all in room 19, which was taught by Mr. Stillson. He had won state teacher of the year three years before. Cliff and Mark were also in room 19. Mrs. Proctor, a tall, thin woman with corneas of a disconcerting pale yellow, taught room 21. Samantha had no friends in room 21, although Marissa sometimes played with Mindy, a skinny girl who had the first pierced ears in the sixth grade.

Samantha entered her classroom and the first thing she saw was Brandon Simon, whom everyone called Mink, casting a fishing rod across the classroom at Kelvin Zan, the smartest kid in the class. The fishing line was tied to a large rubber spider, which plopped directly onto Kelvin's desk. Kelvin pretended it wasn't there. Mink jerked the spider a couple of times, messing up Kelvin's papers. Kelvin continued to ignore the spider so Mink gave up, sighed dramatically, and started reeling the spider back in. The spider bounced up and over people's desks, causing a lot of laughing and yelling. Samantha laughed too, for what felt like the first time in days. She walked to her desk, located in the back row next to Mink.

Brandon was called Mink by everyone because that year for Halloween he dressed in a full-length mink fur coat, pearls, and makeup. It was fun to be his neighbor in the back row because he rarely teased you and you got to watch him tease other people. He was very good friends with Cliff and Mark, who, unfortunately for them, sat directly in front of Samantha, which meant they were hit with spitballs all day long.

Everyone was laughing and becoming so loud that even Kelvin looked up to see what was happening. Samantha figured he was doing his math homework. He was taking algebra at the junior high school across the street.

Then Mr. Stillson walked in and went immediately to his desk and sat down. He leaned back in his chair and watched all his students talking and laughing. He waited and they slowly settled down. After a couple of minutes the classroom was quiet. He bounced to his feet and retrieved a large bunch of papers from his neon pink backpack.

While he was focusing on the stack of papers, Marissa, who sat immediately to the left of Cliff, turned around and passed Samantha a note. Mr. Stillson let them send notes in class, unless there was a test, because he said it taught them how to write better than he ever could. Samantha was always glad she wasn't in Mrs. Proctor's class, because if Mrs. Proctor caught someone passing notes she would photocopy it and paste it to the wall of the room for everyone to read.

Samantha unfolded Marissa's note and read: 'Hey. I have a great idea on how to get back at Cliff and Mark. Can I come over after school?'

Samantha grinned and wrote back one word, 'Yes'. She passed the note back to Marissa, who unfolded it, making sure her arm shielded the note from Cliff's curious peeking. Samantha was reaching into her bag for a pencil when Mink pulled out his fishing rod and lowered the rubber spider over Marissa's shoulder. She squeaked in fright and jerked back. Mink started laughing because the note had stuck to the bottom of the spider and he pulled it back to his desk hurriedly.

"Hey, give that back," Marissa said.

Mink pulled the note off the spider and put it on his desk.

"I'll just read it later," he said.

Most of the kids in class were looking at them. Mr. Stillson had finally got the stack of papers organized and he turned around, smiling.

"Mr. Simon? Could you and Marissa please assist me in handing out the tests," Mr. Stillson said.

"We already took that test, Mr. Stillson," Mink said, "We had it last week."

"We did?"

Mr. Stillson looked confused. He squinted up his eyes and appeared to be thinking deeply.

"Yeah. We took it last Thursday," Mink said.

"Well, I must have graded it but I don't remember doing that. How many questions did you get right, Mr. Mink?"

The class laughed. "I got 95 right," Mink said.

"Oh, that's too bad, because there are 200 questions on the test! I guess you'll have to take it again, along with everyone else."

Samantha laughed again, wondering why Mr. Stillson always pretended to be really dumb. Marissa had walked up to Mr. Stillson. He handed her about three tests to hand out. Mink also left his desk and had recovered his good humor. He looked playfully interested in Kelvin's homework and the class laughed again. Everyone seemed like they were in a good mood, especially considering they were having an English test. Mink finally made it to the front of the class and Mr. Stillson gave him all the rest of the tests.

Samantha leaned over and pulled the note off Mink's desk right as Mark was turning around to do so. He looked at her and smiled.

"Hope you didn't get in trouble for the other day," he whispered.

"Nope."

"Thanks for not saying it was us."

"I wouldn't do that," Samantha said.

"Did you study?"

"Not enough. Did you?"

Mark laughed. "Hardly at all. I forgot. Becky said she was studying all night."

Samantha received her test but left it face down on her desk. Mink sat down at his desk with the last copy. Mr. Stillson wrote a large number 45 on the board and looked at his watch.

"OK people. You know the drill. Forty five minutes and you can start now."

Everyone turned over their tests and started working. Mr. Stillson sat down in the beanbag chair at the side of the classroom and looked like he fell asleep. Samantha wondered why no one ever cheated when he fell asleep. All she knew is that she would never cheat in Mr. Stillson's class and she supposed everyone else felt the same.

Fortunately the first few questions were easy and Samantha answered them right away. However, in the middle of reading the sixth question her vision got blurry. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. A headache started. Her arms fell away from her eyes and landed on the desk with an audible thump. The thump was loud enough to make Mink look at her curiously. Samantha tried to lift her arms and could only do so with the greatest of effort. Her head was very painful now. It felt like the worst ice cream headache she could imagine. She managed to get her arm up but Mr. Stillson was still asleep. She tried to say something but no sound came out. Samantha started to get scared. Mink was looking at her openly now and with concern.

"Samantha," he whispered, "Are you alright?"

She tried to nod for some reason. But she couldn't do even that. So she just looked at him. Her arm fell back to her desk. Mink started to look scared himself.

"Mr. Stillson," he called into the quiet room. Most of the students jumped at the sudden noise. Mr. Stillson was on his feet in moments. Samantha tried to turn her head to see him but it was like watching a slow motion movie. He was at her side, squatting down and peering at her closely.

"Samantha?"

She was vaguely aware that everyone in the class was staring at her. Some were curious and some looked scared. She tried to nod again, but couldn't.

"Don't feel good," she finally was able to say.

"OK. I'll help you up. We'll take you to the nurse's office right away. Mink? Please put help me pull her up."

Mink stood up, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He put his hand under Samantha's armpit and helped pull her out of the chair. Mr. Stillson then picked her up as if she weighed nothing and started walking to the door.

"Cliff! You are in charge until I get back. I'll send Mr. Steele as soon as I can."

Then he was out the door with Samantha and the class sat in silence, looking stunned.

"You'll be fine Samantha. We'll be at the nurse's office in a moment."

Samantha was marveling at how unreal everything seemed, how the familiar walls of the school seemed to run like melted taffy into strange curves. The sounds of Mr. Stillson's feet clattering on the sidewalk were much too loud, and too singular. Each step echoed eternally, eventually dying with great reluctance. And yet at the same time they seemed to be moving much too quickly for an ordinary human. Within seconds, it seemed, they were at the nurse's office.

Samantha was laid onto a soft bed and surrounded by concerned adults. She heard Mr. Stillson asking people to do things and she was amazed again at how people seemed to listen to him without question.

"Ms. Tyler? Could you please call Samantha's parents? You'll find them at home today, I believe. Mr. Steele? I've left my class in the good hands of Cliff Wilson but could you kindly take my place? Thank you, sir."

The nurse, Mrs. Rotterdam, leaned over Samantha.

"Samantha? Samantha? Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong? What hurts?"

"I got dizzy. And I have a really bad headache."

"What about your arms? Can you lift them for me please?"

Samantha looked down at her arms. Her headache felt a bit better and she wasn't having as much trouble focusing on the people around her. She tried to lift her right arm and it responded normally. She kept it there, steady, for a moment.

"Excellent. What about you head? You said it hurts."

"Yes, but I think it's feeling a little better now. I can see better too."

"You couldn't see for awhile?"

"It was hard to see. The walls looked like taffy."

Samantha could see Mr. Stillson behind the nurse, looking at her with concern.

"Thanks Mr. Stillson, for carrying me here," Samantha said.

Mr. Stillson coughed into his hand and smiled at her.

"You're very welcome Samantha."

The nurse stood up after looking into Samantha's eyes and down her throat. She turned her back to the bed and conferred in whispers with Mr. Stillson and the secretary, Ms. Tyler. Samantha made no effort to hear what was being said. Now that her fear had passed she felt almost peaceful. Had she experienced the first draining from her future son or daughter? She very much thought she had.

The nurse walked back to Samantha, who had her eyes closed, and crouched beside the bed.

"Samantha? Your father will be here in a couple of minutes. They are going to take you to the doctor's. How are you feeling?"

"I keep feeling better," Samantha said calmly, "it hardly hurts at all anymore."

"That's good," the nurse said, but she looked over shoulder quickly at Mr. Stillson, a worried expression on her face.

Thomas arrived minutes later and hurried into the office. He picked Samantha off the bed and carried her out to the car, guided by Mr. Stillson. Mr. Stillson also reclined the front passenger seat as far as it would go and they placed Samantha inside. Just before they shut the door, Samantha had a thought.

"Mr. Stillson?"

"Yes?"

"I won't be able to take the test today. Sorry."

He started laughing and winked at her. "Somehow I think that is fine. Feel better soon Samantha."

He shook Thomas's hand and walked back to the school. Thomas didn't talk much as they headed to the doctor's office because Samantha kept closing her eyes and falling asleep. It took ten minutes to get across town but it only seemed like seconds to Samantha. She woke up to the feel of her father lifting her out of the car. The feel of the sun, despite the chilly December air, was wonderful and she smiled.

"Hi Samantha," Dr. Ginger said.

Samantha was sitting on the edge of a paper-covered table, her feet dangling lightly against the metal base. Dr. Ginger was a thin woman, with glasses and electrified hair. She was constantly washing her hands and shuffling her feet.

"Hi Doctor," Samantha said.

Thomas, who had been sitting in the room's only chair, rose to his feet.

"She had some type of fainting spell at school today," Thomas said.

"Yes. Your wife called and let us know what to expect. And how do you feel now Samantha?"

"Better. Almost good."

"Yes? Well I'm not surprised. At your age migraines can come and go very quickly. Your mother and the school nurse said that you had a headache and that your vision was impaired?"

"My head hurt really bad for a few minutes. And when Mr. Stillson carried me to the nurse it was hard to see."

"And your arms wouldn't move," Dr. Ginger asked.

"No. I was trying but it was like they were paralyzed."

Dr. Ginger shuffled her feet and looked at Thomas. Thomas had his hands in his pockets and seemed anxious.

"I know that Sandra has had migraines in the past," Dr. Ginger said to Thomas, "but what about you? Have you or anybody in your family ever been diagnosed with migraines?"

"I've never had any but my Dad has had them his whole life. Do you think that is what Samantha had?"

"It's hard to tell with only one instance but that's my guess. There's a family history and her symptoms fit the migraine profile very well."

A nurse walked into the office. She was young and pretty, with dark hair tied back in a bun. She nodded to the doctor and started looking in Samantha's eyes and ears. She examined her throat and finished by shining a light into Samantha's eyes a second time.

"Her pupil dilation is normal, doctor."

"Samantha," Dr. Ginger said, "how's your head now. Does it still hurt?"

"No. Sometimes it almost does but I think I'm just remembering it."

"We're going to check your reflexes last, Samantha," the young nurse said.

The nurse retrieved a small rubber hammer and felt the underside of Samantha's kneecap gently with her fingers. Samantha was watching her closely and the nurse smiled, but something about the way she looked made Samantha nervous. You're being silly, she told herself, you are only nervous from your first draining. It didn't feel that way, however, when she watched the nurse tap her leg right below the knee. Nothing happened. The nurse hit again, a little harder. There was still no response.

"Please relax and this will go faster," the nurse said.

Samantha looked at her father. He was standing with his arms crossed, watching the nurse intently. The nurse hit below the kneecap again, even harder this time. Nothing happened. Samantha winced. The nurse gave an exasperated sigh.

"Help me here Samantha. Please relax your leg so we can test."

The nurse looked up at her with a sour expression. Samantha wanted her away so she closed her eyes and concentrated on relaxing her leg as much as possible. The nurse hit her leg again. Right as she did, Samantha felt a moment of panic because her leg had become tingly. When the reflex hammer struck her Samantha's leg lashed out violently. Her foot, still in a shoe, collided with the nurse's arm just above the wrist. The nurse was driven into the air and she fell, sliding across the tile floor of the office. Dr. Ginger jerked back, startled, as did Samantha's father. The rubber hammer flew out of the nurse's hand and somersaulted upwards, embedding itself into the ceiling tiles. The nurse started yelling and she sat up, holding her arm. Samantha saw that her right arm was broken and very crooked, twisting almost 45 degrees. Samantha looked at her Dad and tried to tell him that she didn't mean it, that it was an accident, but nothing came out.

Dr. Ginger went to the nurse's side and started looking at her arm. Thomas was looking at the nurse as well. An immense dizziness appeared in Samantha's head, along with a high, piercing buzz and thick nausea. Her hands clamped up to her forehead and she started crying out because the sound was so loud. The dizziness and noise were suddenly her whole life and all her other thoughts were driven out. Then the buzzing stopped, the dizziness got worse, and a deep black emptiness so complete that she did not even exist inside of it blanked out her thoughts. Samantha fell back against the hard, paper covered table, unconscious.
Chapter 5: Marissa's Revenge

Samantha woke up on her own bed, coming out of sleep gradually and into complete darkness. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, looking across the room to the faint green glow of her clock. It was 2:13 in the morning. She rolled back and looked at the ceiling, trying to figure out why her head felt dizzy and odd. The memory came back.

She sat upright, turned on the light, and jumped out of bed. She fumbled on her dresser for Neil's diary. Samantha sat on the edge of her bed and flipped the pages until she found the entry for December 1st. She read it quickly, looking for anything suspicious. There was nothing strange she could see. Her grandfather had gone to school but said nothing of particular interest about the day. He played football with his friends at the park and went home to dinner afterwards.

Samantha frowned. She opened her own diary, which contained only two entries so far. She picked up a pen but didn't start writing immediately. It felt the way Grandpa said it would, Samantha thought. He said I would get really dizzy when something changed in the past. When I kicked out in the doctor's office I must have done something to Grandpa that changed his future. But there is nothing in his diary that looks any different.

She read her grandfather's diary a second time. Then she tried to remember the morning before. She was getting ready for school, rushing because she was late, and worrying about her test. She had picked up the diary, given it a quick glance, and headed to school. Had the entry been longer the day before?

She couldn't remember for sure. It makes sense though, Samantha thought. If I changed something in Grandpa's life because he got tired when I used my talent then what he would write in the diary would be different because of what happened. I might have stopped him from doing something, which is why this is shorter than I remember it.

Her first instinct was to call Neil but she decided to wait until morning. She was in her own house and nothing seemed to be any different. Besides, calling him might wake her parents up and she didn't want to explain why she was on the phone in the middle of the night. Feeling a little better, Samantha picked up her own diary and started writing, trying hard to avoid any mention of the draining she felt the previous afternoon.

December 2nd, 1991. Today I had a test that got cancelled, which was good, because now I get more time to study. Not much else happened. Marissa said she might try to come over but she wasn't able to make it. Maybe I'll see her tomorrow at school.

Samantha felt that perhaps she hadn't written enough but writing made her feel drowsy again. She went back to sleep and had no dreams.

She woke up at her usual time the next morning. She read the entry in her Grandpa's diary closely but he once again had very little to say. Samantha left her room and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, startling her mother, who was eating a piece of toast.

"Samantha. Are you feeling any better? You shouldn't be up."

"I feel fine Mom."

It was true. She felt normal, except she was having difficulty remembering what happened the day before. She knew she had kicked the nurse while they were testing her reflexes but it was hard to remember the details. Samantha remembered reading her Grandpa's diary, but she could remember two different versions of his entry. One seemed real, and the other was faint, ghostly, as if she had dreamed of its existence.

Sandra got up, adjusting her bathrobe as she did so, and walked over to Samantha. Samantha tried to move around her but she wasn't fast enough. Sandra put her hand to Samantha's forehead.

"You don't have a fever. What about that headache? Do you still have it?"

"No. That was gone yesterday in the doctor's office."

"But you fainted yesterday. Do you have any dizziness?"

"I'm fine Mom," Samantha said, annoyed. "I feel just like I do every day."

"The doctor told us to watch you very closely for any signs of migraines. She's worried you might get another one soon after your first."

"If I start feeling dizzy I'll tell you."

Samantha pushed around Sandra and got an apple out of the fruit dish. She sat down at the table to eat it, opening the newspaper to the comic section. Sandra watched her do all this and then sat back down in her chair.

"We're worried about you Samantha. It's no reason to be upset."

"I'm not upset," Samantha said angrily, "I'm just tired of everyone pestering me about how I feel. Dad doesn't do that when you get sick."

"That's true. But you fainted after you kicked that poor nurse yesterday. The doctor said she'd never seen a reflex kick as strong as yours and she thought you might've had too much adrenaline because of your migraine. Or something like that. She was talking really fast on the phone and it was hard to understand her. And when you woke up yesterday you didn't seem yourself. You were very distant. The doctor told your Dad to put you in bed and to watch you today to see if you have any more symptoms. If you do we're supposed to bring you right back in."

Samantha felt a nasty shock when her Mom said she had woken up yesterday afternoon. She couldn't remember anything after the horrible dizziness coursed through her. She didn't want to tell her Mom this, however, because her Mom would want to call the doctor again. Instead, Samantha focused on the last thing her Mom had said, because it irritated her the most.

"You mean I'm staying home today," Samantha demanded.

"Of course you're staying home today. No one, not your doctor, the school, or your father and I would let you go. In fact, you shouldn't even be out of bed today according to Dr. Ginger."

"But I feel fine. I don't want to be in bed all day!"

"You certainly seem to have energy," Sandra said wryly, "but you simply aren't going to school. Even Mr. Stillson called last night. When he heard what happened he wanted to make sure you had a couple days to rest."

"Mr. Stillson called here," Samantha asked. She felt embarrassed.

"Yes. He was concerned and wanted to check up on you."

Samantha stopped eating her apple and looked at her hands, still feeling embarrassed and a little ashamed.

"Fine. So I'll stay home. But I feel good Mom. I'm not kidding."

"Well, I'm glad you do. If it stays warm this afternoon and you seem healthy, maybe you can go out into the back for a while. I know it's boring being cooped up inside."

"Where's Dad today?"

"He's helping his friend Tony put in a lawn. He said he'd be home around eleven to see how you're doing."

Samantha stayed in her room until lunchtime and then couldn't take it anymore. She was bursting with energy and started to roam the house. What she really wanted was to play outside with her friends but they were all in school. She was even jealous of that fact, since Mr. Stillson's class was so much fun and she could be doing stuff instead of re-reading the newspaper for the third time. Usually she was never bored, even we she had to be inside because of bad weather, but there was something about being forced to stay inside that she couldn't stand. Nothing seemed fun.

Thomas came home at lunch and asked her the same questions her Mom had asked that morning. Annoyed, Samantha gave uncharacteristically curt answers until her Dad got the hint and left her alone. Her Dad left the house again because he and his friend hadn't finished installing the new lawn. Samantha resumed roaming the house until Sandra gave up and sent her outside.

Relieved, Samantha pulled a light jacket over her T-shirt and jeans, left the house, and walked towards the eucalyptus grove. She realized the day was too warm for a jacket, reminding her more of April than early December. She took her jacket off and tossed it to the ground as she entered the grove. She walked quickly, having no urge to test her leaping ability on the trees.

Knowing Mark and Cliff were at school, she approached the main entrance to the clubhouse without caution. She crawled under the bamboo, pried off the loose fence board, and pulled the door up. Since no one was around to hold the door open she wrapped the string around a nail two times. She crawled through the opening, replaced the fence post, and yanked down on the door. The loose string unwrapped itself and the door closed.

Samantha walked through the bamboo tunnels until she reached the clubhouse, where she collapsed on the couch. She lay back, looking up at the bright blue sky. Should I have called Grandpa, she wondered. I know he would want to know about fainting yesterday. Maybe something like that had happened to him when he was younger. He said he had felt it happen a few times but he didn't want to talk about it.

She had closed her eyes without realizing it and was asleep within moments.

"Hey snoozer," Marissa said.

Samantha's eyes opened. Marissa was standing over her. Samantha looked up at the sky but the sun had gone down behind the bamboo. She realized she was cold.

"Your Mom made me bring you your jacket," Marissa said, seeing Samantha shiver. She held it out to her and Samantha put it on gratefully.

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"About four. We have to hurry."

"Hurry. Where?"

"You'll see. It'll be worth hurrying, I promise you that."

"What do you mean," Samantha asked.

"I'll have to show you. Revenge is at hand."

Marissa started walking towards the back entrance. Samantha got off the couch and caught up to her. They opened the trapdoor and hurried through the old culvert. Moments later they crawled out from under the bamboo and jogged towards the eucalyptus grove.

Both of them were breathing heavily by the time they got back inside the house. Samantha's Mom wasn't in the living room or kitchen.

"Oh yeah," Marissa said, "I almost forgot. Your Mom said she was running out to the store and that your Dad would be back by five. Come on."

Marissa walked to the front window and looked outside. It was three minutes after four.

"What's going on," Samantha asked again, thinking she would strangle Marissa if she didn't tell her.

Perhaps Marissa sensed this because she turned to Samantha with a big, but slightly mean, smile on her face. Samantha had seen her this way before and, although Marissa was one of her best friends, she never really liked seeing that expression.

"I'm going to get Cliff and Mark in trouble. I made a great plan."

"What is it?"

"You know how my Dad works with computers and stuff right?"

"Yeah."

"He brought home this cool thing about a month ago. It's called an auto dialer and you can hook it up to a phone. You can set it to dial as many times as you want and you can tell it when to start."

Samantha nodded, wondering what Marissa was talking about.

"I went by Mark and Cliff's house. Mark wasn't at school today either so I pretended I was there to see how he was feeling. He was the one who answered the door."

Marissa put one hand over her mouth and started laughing.

"What," Samantha asked.

"He turned red when he answered the door because he had his shirt off and his hair was all messed up. I don't think he was sick though because he looked fine. Cliff told me at school that he was faking being sick today. He looked really funny."

"I bet he did," Samantha said, giggling.

"Yep. So he ran back inside and put on a shirt. I asked him if I could see that new game they got. That's why he wanted to stay home today."

"What game was it?"

"I don't know. Some flying game. Anyway, we were looking at it. And he went out to get some cokes for us and I put the dialer on his phone."

"What!"

"I put the auto dialer on his phone and I don't think he'll notice because his room is so messy. I set it to start at four. That was six minutes ago. I hope it's working."

"What number did you set it for," Samantha asked nervously.

Marissa laughed but didn't say anything. Samantha elbowed her in the side. Marissa pointed out the window and started laughing hard.

Mr. Henson was walking rapidly along the sidewalk in front of their house, looking towards the Wilson's.

"You set it to keep calling Mr. Henson?"

"Yeah, isn't that great?"

Marissa kept laughing but Samantha was worried.

"But how would he know it was them?"

"Don't you remember when they tried to crank call him last year. He caught them because he has that new number tracing thing on his phone. Oh, I bet he's mad."

Samantha watched him go over to the Wilson's and knock on the door.

"Where's his cane," Samantha asked suddenly.

"What," Marissa asked, still laughing.

"His cane. I've never seen him without it."

"What are you talking about Samantha? Who?"

"Mr. Henson. He always is limping along with his cane."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen him with a cane. Look! Someone answered the door. I think it's Mark again because his parents won't be back from work yet."

Samantha watched Marissa but she didn't feel like laughing. Not only did she find the joke kind of mean and not very funny, she couldn't understand why Marissa couldn't remember Mr. Henson's cane. Then that feeling of doubling memories, one real and the other fraudulent, came over her. The image of Mr. Henson with a cane started to feel false, like a dream. Frightened, Samantha tried to grab it back again and she couldn't understand why Marissa didn't feel the same way.

"Don't you remember," Samantha said, "when he got his cane stuck in the ground the other day when he was talking to those policemen?"

"I think Mark is denying that he is doing anything. Look."

"But his cane...."

"Dang it Samantha! I've never seen him with a cane before! What's wrong with you? This is the best we've ever gotten back at Mark and Cliff!"

"You've never seen him with a cane, ever?"

Marissa looked back at her, really annoyed.

"That's what I just said. And I know you haven't seen him limping either. Jeez Samantha, he goes jogging every day. We were laughing at him a couple of weeks ago. Maybe you're still sick or something."

Samantha was looking at Marissa with complete disbelief. Had she changed the past after all? But why would kicking the nurse get rid of Mr. Henson's limp? Marissa had already dismissed her and was watching happily as Mr. Henson stalked to his house. The second he was inside with the door closed Marissa ran to the front door.

"I need to go tell Mark how to turn it off. I'll be right back."

Then she closed the door and ran to the Wilson's. Samantha watched Marissa run across the lawn and felt a moment of intense jealousy. Marissa didn't have to worry about a strange talent, so it was easy for her to play silly games with Cliff and Mark. Samantha walked to the kitchen counter and picked up the phone. Her Grandpa's number was still on the corkboard and Samantha had a sense of déjà vu, remembering when she called him because Mark and Cliff threw firecrackers into the bamboo a few days before. She dialed the numbers and waited. Neil picked up on the first ring.

"Hello," he said.

"Grandpa, it's me."

"Hi Sam! How has everything been going?"

"Terrible," Samantha said, and she started crying.

"That's alright Sam."

Slowly Samantha controlled herself and her crying slowed to sniffles. Neil waited patiently on the line and Samantha started feeling better, comforted even by his silence.

"Sorry Grandpa."

"It's fine Sam. I knew this was going to be hard on you. It's hard on everybody for the first couple of months but you get used to it. I'm sure it's hard for you to believe that but I swear it's true."

"I think I changed something in the past already," Samantha said, sniffling.

"Really?"

His voice sounded casual, but Samantha thought she heard a note of real concern in his voice. Concern he tried to hide but could not cover entirely. She got nervous all over again.

"What happened Samantha? Did it have to do with your doctor visit yesterday?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't," Neil said. "I knew you had some trouble at the doctor yesterday because your Dad called and told me. It was just a guess."

"I kicked a nurse when she was testing my reflexes. I was mad at her because she was so rude and my leg kicked out hard. I think it broke her arm. It's hard to remember what actually happened for some reason. The nurse flew across the room. A few seconds later I got really dizzy and I passed out."

There was silence on her Grandpa's side of the line and Samantha became sure she had done something terribly wrong. Her Grandpa was probably trying to figure out how to say it kindly.

"I....I think you're probably right Sam. I think you did change the past. But it isn't your fault and don't be thinking that it is. You haven't had enough time to practice controlling your talent and you can't be expected to do everything perfectly right away. What did you see that made you think you changed something?"

Samantha was surprised and a little frightened, because her Grandpa did not seem to know what she had changed.

"Why don't you know Grandpa? Didn't you feel it too?"

"Um, no. When you do something that changes the past you're the only one who feels the change and you are the only one who remembers the way it was before. And you only remember for a little while. Are you having double memories?"

"I think so."

"That's normal," Neil said.

"So you don't know what I changed? But your whole life could be different now and you wouldn't know it."

"Don't worry Sam. I recognized what you were talking about right away, so my history didn't change much at all. In fact, there was probably no effect whatsoever."

"I know there was at least one."

"What was it Sam? I'm surprised you noticed anything."

"Our next door neighbor, Mr. Henson, doesn't limp anymore. And it's weird, because I know, I remember, that he runs and doesn't limp. But I also remember that he did and that he had an ugly old cane that he took with him everywhere. But that feels fake."

There was a long silence on the line again and Samantha stood there, biting her lip. Finally she couldn't take the silence any longer.

"I looked in your diary and there was nothing strange for that day, but then I realized that it probably changed too. I could almost remember that there was a line missing. So I started thinking that maybe nothing had happened but then I saw Mr. Henson walking normally and Marissa didn't even remember that he used to have a cane and...."

"Calm down Sam. I'm just trying to figure out what happened. You see, I knew Mr. Henson when we were both young. He lived in our neighborhood."

"He did?"

"Yeah, but my friends and I never liked him much. Sometimes he would play football with us and we let him. His family moved across town when we all got to high school and we never really saw him much after that, until we moved into the house you're in now. Turned out it was right next door to him. We never got along well as neighbors either."

Neil laughed. Samantha felt relief coursing through her.

"Grandpa? Your diary said you were playing football that same day but it didn't say anything else. If a line got deleted it was probably because you felt me draining you, right? Because you weren't supposed to write about times you felt that."

"Probably Sam. I agree."

"Maybe Mr. Henson got hurt that day playing football with you guys. Maybe you were the one that hurt him and I stopped it from happening because you had to stop playing because you got sick."

"I think you might be right. In fact, I can almost remember a day when I did stop playing because I felt sick."

"So it actually turned out better," Samantha exclaimed.

Samantha heard the front door open and close.

"Samantha," Marissa called.

"Hey Grandpa, Marissa is here. I probably should go."

"Do you want me to come over tonight? Do you want to talk about it anymore?"

"If you want to. I feel a lot better now, though."

"Great! I may come by tonight. If I don't I'll definitely come by tomorrow after school."

"OK. Bye Grandpa."

She hung up and went to find Marissa, who was sitting in the living room looking downcast. Samantha sat down on the fireplace.

"Mark can't take a joke very well," Marissa said.

"What happened?"

"I showed him the auto dialer but he got really mad. He said that Mr. Henson yelled at him and was going to come back later to tell his parents. He said he'd probably be grounded and they wouldn't let him go to the Christmas dance."

"But that's a couple weeks away," Samantha groaned.

"Well, I guess your Dad told Mark's dad that they were throwing firecrackers at us in the bamboo and Mark and Cliff kind of got in trouble because of that. Why did you tell your Dad?"

"I didn't!"

"Well, someone must have."

"Maybe he figured it out. I know he didn't believe that kids were throwing firecrackers out behind the fence."

"Well, Mark said they didn't get grounded because his Dad said there was no proof, but that they would get in trouble when the next thing happened. I can't believe how mad he was at me. He was yelling."

Marissa ran her hands through her hair and then rested her chins in her hands and her elbows on her knees, looking at the floor.

"Are you going to tell their Dad that you did it," Samantha asked.

"I don't know. I should but then I'd get in trouble."

"I think you should."

"You'd rather I get in trouble than Mark? Why, were you going to ask him to the Christmas dance?"

Samantha felt her face grow hot. Marissa was looking at her with a bitter expression on her face.

"We covered up for them once, I guess," Samantha said. "Maybe he will do the same for you."

"I doubt it. He doesn't like me much anyway," Marissa said.

"I don't want you to get in trouble either. What will your parents do?"

"Oh, probably nothing but yell at me. Dad will be mad that I took the auto dialer without asking him if I could. But they won't do more than that. You know how they are."

Samantha nodded, remembering the time they were caught with a pack of cigarettes Becky had found. They were in Marissa's backyard, lighting them with matches from the kitchen even though none of them had been brave enough to try one. Marissa's mother had walked into the backyard to ask if they wanted pizza for dinner, seen the cigarettes, and took them without a single word. Marissa said her Mom had never said anything about them to her. Samantha could only imagine what her parents would have done if they had found out.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to tell their parents that I did it, what do you think," Marissa said harshly.

She flopped down on the couch in a display of exasperation and put her arm over her eyes. Samantha got up from her seat on the fireplace and looked out the window. It was getting dark but there was no sign that the Wilson's had returned.

"So you're going to the dance, right," Marissa asked.

Samantha kept facing the window so Marissa couldn't see the blush that refused to leave her features. She knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about but she couldn't help feeling that way whenever Marissa talked about it.

"Yes."

"I don't know who I should go with yet. I could still go with Brian. I told him I didn't like him but that just makes guys like you more."

Samantha sat back down on the fireplace.

"Maybe for you," Samantha said.

"No. It works for everybody. My Mom told me all about it. You play hard to get and guys will like you even more. My Mom says that they always want what they think they can't have."

"If you don't go with Brian who else would you go with?"

"It depends who asks me but Mink is kind of cute," Marissa said.

Samantha started giggling.

"He is but you never know what he'll do. He might dress up in another mink coat."

Marissa started laughing too.

"If not Mink I might ask Cliff if he doesn't ask me. Cliff and Mark are the two coolest guys in our class."

"Yeah," Samantha said.

"So are you going with Mark?"

"I don't know," Samantha said shyly.

"I know you like him Samantha. You can ask him if you want. My Mom said there's nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe."

Car lights came through the drapes and illuminated the darkened living room. Both Samantha and Marissa looked up, startled.

"Is that your parents?"

"No," Samantha said. "I think that is Mr. Wilson."

"Oh. Well, I guess I need to go turn myself in. Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

"I need to head home anyway. Are you going to school tomorrow?"

"I think so, unless my Mom tells me I have to stay home again. I don't think I could stand to be cooped up in the house again all day."

"OK," Marissa said. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."
Chapter 6: Nurse and Teacher

December 3rd, 1991. Day Eleven. Marissa played a trick on Cliff and Mark today. She set up Mark's phone to call Mr. Henson over and over again. She told Mr. Henson and Mr. Wilson what she did. I don't know if she got in trouble or not, but Mr. Henson walked away like he was still mad. I was at home today. I was going crazy from boredom and slept out in the clubhouse all afternoon.

I don't know who is reading this in the future but I couldn't tell Marissa because I thought she would get mad. Mark asked me to go to the dance last month. I said yes. I haven't told Becky either, because she would probably feel bad because she doesn't have a date yet. I wonder if that is why Mark stayed home from school today, so he could come over and say hi, but he couldn't because my Mom was home all day?

Dr. Ginger walked into the room, followed by the nurse Samantha had kicked. The nurse had her arm in a thick cast held up by a sling over her shoulder. The moment she stepped in the room she glared at Samantha. Samantha looked surprised she was there and she could tell by the look on her Dad's face that he was surprised as well.

"Hello Samantha," Dr. Ginger said, "How do you feel today?"

"I feel fine. I felt good yesterday too."

"Yes? That's wonderful news. I asked your father to bring you in this morning as a precaution. If you're feeling good then I imagine this will be quick."

"How is your arm, Nurse Wishon," Thomas asked.

"It feels better after I take some pills," Nurse Wishon said, frowning.

"We're both very sorry about the accident the other day," Thomas said, "Samantha felt really bad about it."

"Did you Samantha," Nurse Wishon asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry I hurt your arm," Samantha said.

Nurse Wishon glared at her again, looking hard at Samantha's eyes. Dr. Ginger had turned to face a small desk to review a pile of papers. Without turning to look at Samantha she asked, "So you've had no more headaches?"

"No Doctor."

"Not even a little one?"

"No."

"What about nausea, particularly when you lie or sit down quickly?"

"Nope."

"And dizziness, again when you lie or sit down?"

"No."

"What about fatigue? Have you been sleeping more?"

"Well, I guess I feel asleep yesterday afternoon but I think it was because I was bored."

Dr. Ginger smiled, continuing to write on Samantha's chart. The nurse walked towards Samantha, positioning a stethoscope with her one free hand.

"Nurse Wishon, could you please....oh yes. Thank you."

Nurse Wishon moved the stethoscope inside Samantha's shirt and listened carefully. The stethoscope was very cold and Samantha jerked back from its touch.

"Please stay still," Nurse Wishon whispered harshly.

Samantha froze as Nurse Wishon gave her a mean little smile. Thomas had walked over to Dr. Ginger and was looking at the charts on her desk. The nurse finished with the stethoscope and called out, "80 a minute." She picked up a blood pressure meter and turned back to Samantha.

"Roll up your sleeve."

Samantha rolled her left shirtsleeve above her bicep. She looked at her Dad, who was having a whispered conversation with Dr. Ginger. The nurse pumped the blood pressure meter until it hurt. Samantha winced and looked at the nurse, who appeared intent only on Samantha's arm. The nurse pumped the meter a few more times and Samantha had to bite down to keep from crying out. Her right hand flexed involuntarily. Finally Nurse Wishon looked up at Samantha and flashed an ugly smile. She squeezed the bulb two more times. Samantha's hand was numb. Tingles ran up and down her arm as she became desperate to stop the pressure. The nurse noticed the stiffening of Samantha's posture and backed away. She started releasing the pressure in the bulb and listened through the stethoscope beneath the meter.

Samantha's heartbeat resonated throughout the length of her arm, spreading pins and needles across her skin. Then it was over and Nurse Wishon removed the meter from Samantha's bicep. The bicep skin was an ugly purple and each line of fabric from the strap was clearly visible. Samantha rolled her sleeve down. What should she do, she wondered. The nurse walked to Dr. Ginger and Thomas, who were still talking in whispers. Thomas was rubbing his hand over his lower back as he talked.

"120 over 80, Dr. Ginger," Nurse Wishon said.

"That's wonderful."

Thomas stopped talking and looked at Samantha, who felt more confused than upset by what had happened. She didn't know if she should say anything. Would anyone believe her if she did?

"Well, Samantha," Dr. Ginger said. "I think you're ready to head back to school. You can even go this afternoon if you'd like."

Samantha, in her excitement at not having to sit around the house again, forgot about the pain in her bicep. She got off the table and walked to the door. Thomas said goodbye to Dr. Ginger and the nurse. The nurse smiled at Thomas but the smile disappeared as soon as he turned away. Her smile changed to a look of pure dislike.

Samantha and Thomas walked out of the office and she started to massage her left bicep with her right hand. Thomas looked at her and smiled.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, sweetie. Hopefully we don't have to be back there for awhile."

Samantha looked at her Dad closely. If she was going to tell him about what the nurse did, now was the time. She decided not to because her Dad was right. These visits were her first trips to the doctor's office in over a year and there was no reason to think she would be back anytime soon. Hopefully she would never see Nurse Wishon again.

Thomas dropped her off at the front of the school and said he would pick her up at the usual time. It was strange, being at school with everything so quiet. She realized she had rarely been on campus, outside of a classroom, when the halls weren't filled with students.

Samantha walked slowly to the cafeteria and went inside. All she could hear were the school cooks laughing in the back of the kitchen. There were three of them; large, strong looking women. Samantha had never seen any of them without a hair net. She got to her classroom door, took a deep breath, and went inside. The first thing she saw upon opening the door was Mr. Stillson, standing on the back counter with his head near the ceiling. The students were turned around in their seats, looking at him. Mr. Stillson looked up when he heard the door and saw her. He beckoned with his arms, causing several of the students to turn in their seats to see who was there. Samantha saw Mark turn around and smile.

"Ms. Branson! Come in. I've been showing the class what adverbs are!"

Samantha laughed and walked to her seat in the back of the classroom. She noticed her chair was away from her desk and near the counter. Mr. Stillson noticed too and jumped off the counter to get it for her.

"Sorry," he said, grinning, "I needed it to get up on the counter."

Samantha took her seat and opened her desk to get pencil and paper. As she did she noticed that Mink, who had pushed back from his desk to watch Mr. Stillson, was wearing much nicer clothes than usual. Mr. Stillson had moved closer to the front of the class.

"OK. We've done climb slowly. And we've done jump gently. We've done fall downwardly. There is only one left. I need to jump all the way to the top of the counter with no help. Do you think I can do it?"

"No," said the class.

"Sure he can," Mink said, "It isn't that high."

"Not high," Mr. Stillson said loudly "The counter is forty seven inches tall next to the sink. That was the section I was talking about. Do you think I can jump onto it there Mink?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, what adverb should we use in this situation?"

"Um, how about fall hilariously," Mink said.

The class laughed. Mr. Stillson looked at him.

"I'm confused. You said I could make it," Mr. Stillson said. "And now you have me falling? Who else has one better than Mink?"

"Jump vertically," Marsha Swanson suggested.

"Good."

"Jump violently," Kelvin said.

"Leap upwardly," said Mark.

"How about fly soaringly," Becky said, and more people laughed.

"Leap jumpingly," Mink said.

"What about you Samantha," Mr. Stillson asked. "What do you have for us?"

Samantha felt her face growing red as everyone turned to look at her. She couldn't think of anything and Mink started kicking at the legs of her chair to make her more nervous. She looked at the counter and she saw how high it looked and how easily she could jump to it herself. Without thinking she said, "Leap simply." The class laughed and Mr. Stillson smiled.

"Leap simply? That sounds like a self help book." Nobody in the class laughed except for Kelvin, who started giggling.

"Still, I like the sound of that one. Now watch class. Here's an adverb in action. I will leap simply to the high counter by the faucet."

He backed up to the classroom door and started running. Becky covered her eyes with her hands and Mink started chanting, "Fall! Fall! Fall! Fall!" Mr. Stillson started his jump about ten feet from the counter, tucking his legs upward so his knees were nearly to his chest. The soles of his feet hit the counter edge and the momentum of his body brought him to a standing position on top of the counter. The class started clapping, except for Mink, who looked disappointed.

Since she had not arrived at school until almost noon the day seemed too quick to Samantha. The last bell rang, catching her by surprise, and school was over. All the students gathered their belongings, talking excitedly about their plans for the weekend. Kelvin was the first student to approach the door but Mr. Stillson was standing in front of it, blocking his escape.

"Listen up everyone," he said over the noise. The class slowly quieted and he nodded.

"I almost forgot. Your homework this weekend is a two-page story discussing your parent's jobs. Write anything you want. Fiction. History. Whatever. But your parent's jobs are the main topic. The paper is due Monday morning. All right?"

There were groans from the class but nobody asked any questions. Mr. Stillson stepped away from the door and kids streamed into the cafeteria. Samantha tried to catch up to Marissa but Marissa was hurrying after Cliff, so Samantha slowed down. Becky walked toward her, smiling.

"I got a hundred on my test the other day!"

"Good job Becky."

"Have you taken yours yet?"

"No, Mr. Stillson didn't say anything. He probably didn't expect me to be here today."

"So you're alright again right? What happened that day?"

"I don't know. The doctor thinks it was a migraine."

"Oh yeah," Becky said. "My Mom gets those. When she does she has to go lie in her room with all the lights out and none of us are allowed to talk to her. So, do you want to do anything this weekend?"

"Sure. I want to maybe start on a new tunnel out in the bamboo, unless it is raining."

"Wow! We haven't worked on a new tunnel in a long time. When do you want to do it? Should we spend the night?"

"I don't know about staying the night. My Mom is still worried that I'll get sick again or something. I don't think she'd let me go anywhere or let you guys come over."

"That's too bad. We got a new VCR and TV today. I'm going to go get a bunch of movies tonight and stay up late watching them."

"That sounds fun," Samantha said. "I wish I could come over and do that too."

Samantha walked towards the door, knowing her Dad would be waiting for her. Becky started to follow.

"Ms. Branson," Mr. Stillson called. "Could you please stay behind for a moment?"

Samantha groaned.

"I bet it's about your test," Becky whispered and Samantha nodded.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe you can come over around eleven?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Bye Samantha."

Samantha walked to Mr. Stillson's desk and sat down on a desk across from him. He finished writing a few notes on the top page of a bunch of sheets stapled together, stuffed the papers into his backpack, and looked up at Samantha.

"I'm glad you're back at school today Samantha."

"I wanted to be," she said. "It's boring at home when you can't go outside or anything."

"I agree. And I heard you had trouble at the doctor's office that afternoon when you got sick. What happened? Your Mom didn't tell me too much."

"I accidentally kicked the nurse when she was testing my reflexes. She got hurt."

"Did she? Did she make you mad," Mr. Stillson asked.

"Um, yeah. She did. How did you know?"

"Just a guess," he said, laughing.

Samantha looked at him carefully, wondering why he wasn't asking about the test. He was flipping the pen around in his left hand and looking at her closely. She started to feel nervous but didn't know why. She really liked Mr. Stillson. Had she done something wrong?

"Did you want to talk to me about the test," Samantha asked, finally.

"Test? Oh, that thing. Don't worry about it. I won't count this one for anybody in the class. They took it right after you... you started feeling bad and nobody could concentrate. Except for your friend Becky, that is."

"Oh."

Mr. Stillson stopped talking and again looked at her directly. Samantha became even more nervous, wondering if she should get up and leave. Was he done talking to her? Samantha shifted uncomfortably on the desk and Mr. Stillson seemed to stir.

"Yes. Well, I don't want to keep you. I imagine your father is waiting to pick you up. I'm glad you're feeling well again Samantha and I hope this weekend is great."

Samantha got off the desk, grabbed her backpack, and hurried to the door. She reached the doorway and he said. "Oh yes, one last thing Samantha. When I was going to 'Leap Simply', did you think I was going to make the jump?"

Completely surprised by the question, Samantha stopped. Without thinking she said, "I don't know. It seemed like you knew you would."

He laughed. "I guess I did. And I guess you knew that I knew. Have a good weekend Samantha."

Samantha nodded and ran out of the classroom, out of the cafeteria. She glanced backwards to verify Mr. Stillson wasn't following, wanting to ask her another strange question. She saw her Dad standing at the school office doorway. She ran to him.

"Dad! I'm here."

He turned and saw her, smiling.

"What took you so long?"

"Mr. Stillson wanted to talk to me after class."

They walked to the car.

"Did he want you to catch up on any homework," Thomas asked.

"No. He was kind of weird. He was asking if I was feeling alright."

"He's quite a teacher, that man. I was really happy he won teacher of the year a few years ago."

Samantha would have agreed when the week started, but the way he looked at her after class was unnerving and she wasn't sure if she liked him as much as she did before. They got in the car and headed home.

They were almost to their house when Samantha spotted a light green car in their driveway.

"Is Grandpa over for dinner," Samantha asked.

"Oh yeah," Thomas replied. "I forgot to tell you he was coming over."

They pulled into the driveway and the car scrapped against the cement with a muted crunch, as it always did. As soon as the car stopped Samantha opened the door and ran up to the house, leaving her backpack behind. Thomas laughed, walked around to the other side of the car, and picked her backpack off the floorboard. The zipper was not shut completely and a piece of paper floated out as he closed the car door. He picked the paper up and glanced at Samantha's hurried writing. Write two pages about parent's job. What am I supposed to write about?

Thomas frowned and stuffed the paper into her backpack, zipped it closed, and walked to the house himself. 
Chapter 7: A Lost Secret

They had just finished eating dinner when Neil remembered something he had left in his car. He refused to say what it was.

"I'll be right back," he told Samantha, "but no peeking."

Samantha sat on the living room couch, waiting for her Grandpa to come back inside. Thomas and Sandra were both on the love seat, Thomas drinking iced tea and Sandra eating a cookie. The front door opened and Neil staggered inside, holding a large chunk of rock. He walked over to the fireplace and put it down.

"Neil," Sandra exclaimed, "Where in the world did you get that? You're going to hurt yourself!"

"I was up in the mountains yesterday and spotted it. Sam has always loved rocks so I brought it back as a present."

"You shouldn't take things out of the national parks like that, Dad," Thomas said.

"I know," Neil said, a little shyly, "but I also carried out about five pounds of trash I collected on my hike so I figured it came out even. Hope you like it Sam."

"It's great!"

The rock was granite, huge and cold to the touch. She ran her finger over the rough surface and knew she would have to take it out to the clubhouse the next morning. She tried to lift it and the rock wouldn't even budge. Thomas laughed.

"I wouldn't try Samantha. It looks like that would have to weigh over a hundred pounds. You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself carrying it, old man."

Samantha felt a brief stirring of anger but her Grandpa only laughed and said, "I suppose you're right Thomas. I'll leave all the heavy lifting to you from now on." Then he half turned his head to Samantha and gave her a little wink. Instead of being upset, Samantha suddenly had to fake a cough to hide her laugh.

"Where did you hike Neil," Sandra asked. Sandra loved hiking. Samantha would never go with her anymore because Sandra always wanted to know what was around the next corner and wouldn't stop until it was almost dark. The hikes usually ended with a jog back to the car, trying to beat total darkness.

"I went up to Meadows and hiked around there for a couple of hours," Neil said.

"Oh! I love that place. Especially those waterfalls when you get a little higher up. Was there any snow yet?"

"Not yet. This winter has been too dry I guess."

"I should really get up there soon," Sandra said. "Maybe we could even go tomorrow?" Sandra looked at Thomas, who tried to appear deeply immersed in a magazine. Sandra elbowed him in the side.

"You heard me," she said. "Let's go hiking tomorrow."

"I don't think Samantha should hike so soon after being sick."

"Well, she doesn't have to go, does she? She was already planning to have Becky and Marissa over tomorrow anyway, right dear?"

"Right," Samantha said quickly, hopeful that her Mom would convince her Dad so she could have the house to herself the next day.

Thomas sighed and said, "But I was going to work in the backyard tomorrow."

"The backyard will still be there on Sunday."

"So will the mountains. They've been there forty million years. We can go anytime."

"Not if it starts raining soon. This could be our last chance of the winter," Sandra said.

Thomas sighed again and rested his head against the top of the love seat. "Alright. Sure. You think you can keep this place in order tomorrow kiddo?"

"Sure Dad," Samantha said.

"Well," Neil said, getting up and stretching his back, "I'm going for a quick walk. Anyone want to join me?"

"It's my turn at dishes tonight Dad, sorry."

"I'm going to watch the special on sharks," Sandra said.

Neil turned to Samantha, who had already gotten up.

"Looks like you want to take a walk. Let's get our jackets on and get going, so we can get back before eight."

Samantha nodded and ran into her room for her jacket.

They walked almost to the park before they said anything. Samantha didn't know how to begin, so she waited for her Grandpa to say something. However, she had the feeling he felt the same way, so she took in a breath to break the silence.

"Hey Grandpa, did you hear I had the same nurse this morning? The one I kicked?"

Neil turned to her, looking grateful. "No, I hadn't heard that. How was she?"

"Her arm was in a cast and she didn't like me very much. She was really weird."

"It convinced your parents that you are healthy again at least. Fortunately the effects of the draining become a little weaker through time. Also, you learn to deal with them so you should be able to hide it better. The first one is definitely the worst."

"When she was taking my blood pressure she made it so tight that it hurt. It made a bruise on my arm."

"She really must not like you," Neil said, smiling.

"No, I'm serious. Look."

Samantha rolled up her shirtsleeve and the top of her left arm was a mottled blue-gray. Neil leaned in for a closer look in the feeble light of the streetlight. He held her arm gently and turned it from side to side for a moment. His eyes were squinted into little slits and his jaw was clenched tight. However, when he released her arm his voice was calm and measured, as it always was.

"Did she say anything to you?"

"No," Samantha said. "She looked at me like she hated me. And she must, because I broke her arm. It was her fault though. She kept hitting me harder and harder with that hammer and my leg shot out on its own."

"Why didn't you say something while she was doing it? Didn't the doctor notice?"

"Dr. Ginger and my Dad were talking while the nurse was checking me. She thought she could get away with it so she did."

"Did she do anything that made you start to tingle again, like you might lose control?"

Samantha stopped walking and looked up at her Grandpa. He was looking down at her, but the streetlight was behind him in silhouette and it was difficult to see the expression on his face.

"My arm started to tingle when she was hurting it. But nothing happened. I think I'm getting a little better at keeping control."

"Good." Neil looked around. The night was warm but a breeze had started, rippling the few leaves that remained on the trees of the park. "Let's head back Sam."

They walked back to the house without saying anything more.

A couple mornings later, Samantha woke up stiff, as if she had been sleeping with her muscles tense. Her clock said eight in the morning but it seemed too dark. She looked outside and saw clouds had moved in overnight. She sighed and sat up, massaging her neck absently with her left hand.

She glanced at her diary and saw that it was the 7th. Fifty years ago her grandfather used her talent for the first time. She tried to picture what fifty years must feel like and gave up quickly.

She dressed and walked to the kitchen. A cereal bowl in the sink was a clear sign that her father had awoken early. Then she remembered her Mom wanted to go hiking. Sure enough, she saw a note from her mother pinned to the corkboard, explaining that they started early to beat the storm. The note also reminded her not to go outside if it got too cold or if it started raining, but Samantha wasn't going to worry about the weather. She wanted to bring her new rock out to the clubhouse and she needed to put an awning over the couch so it wouldn't get too wet if it rained. Although it was early she went to the phone and dialed Marissa's number. Marissa had her own phone in her room.

"Hello," a sleepy voice answered.

"Hey Marissa. This is Samantha. Did I wake you up?"

"Not really."

"Hey, Becky and I were talking about playing in the clubhouse today. There's a ton of stuff to do, especially since it's supposed to rain later today...."

"I can't. I'm not feeling well."

"Oh, you're sick?"

"I guess. I just don't feel good. Maybe tomorrow. I'm going back to sleep."

"Oh," Samantha said, disappointed. "I'll call you tomorrow. I hope you feel better."

"Bye."

Marissa hung up the phone. Samantha paused before calling Becky because Marissa had made her uneasy. Sometimes Marissa got in bad moods and didn't want to do anything, but she usually talked about what was bothering her in detail. Samantha decided to call her back later in the afternoon. She picked up the phone again and dialed Becky's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mr. Jacobsen. Is Becky in?

"Hi Samantha. Actually, the question isn't whether she's in but if she's up. Hold on for a minute and I'll go check."

"Thanks."

Samantha leaned against the counter with the phone to her ear, looking out at the backyard. It was the first time she had seen the backyard under a cloudy sky in a long time and it looked different than she remembered. After a moment she heard Mr. Jacobsen yelling something in the background but she couldn't make out what he was saying. Then Becky came on the line.

"Hi Samantha."

"I didn't wake you up too, did I?"

"No, I was awake. I was painting. Do you want me to come over?"

"Yeah. It's supposed to rain this afternoon and we have some stuff to get done in the clubhouse."

"OK, great. I'll be over in a few minutes?"

"Sure. See you soon."

Samantha hung up the phone and realized she was extremely hungry. She poured a bowl of cereal so she could eat before Becky arrived.

Even with the two of them lifting together they could only move the rock from the fireplace to the floor. Samantha felt like she had broken her back and Becky, despite being in very good shape from gymnastics, was groaning.

"You should have made your Grandpa carry this thing out there for you," Becky complained.

Samantha nodded her head. Inside, however, she was debating whether or not she should use a little of her talent to move the rock. She knew Neil's diary was clear today but she had never used her talent for anything other than jumping and accidentally kicking the nurse. Samantha was afraid if she tried to lift something heavy her talent might spin out of control. Also, Becky was present and she couldn't think of a good way to get her to leave without making her feel bad.

Instead, Samantha went to get her father's dolly from the shed. She verified the wheels were clean before bringing it inside because the living room was floored with white carpet. She and Becky rolled the rock onto the dolly and Samantha tried to lean the dolly back, but the rock was too heavy for her.

"Try pushing against it as hard as you can. Can you put your feet against the fireplace and push," Samantha asked.

Becky nodded and started to push again. Samantha pulled back on the dolly and it slowly reclined so that all the weight of the rock was against the metal. Samantha braced the top of the dolly against her chest and transferred the weight to her arms. It was extremely heavy but she could move it through the house.

Samantha guided the dolly to the cement path leading to Thomas's garden. The land sloped gently as it approached the culvert, stream, and pond. Samantha, with Becky's help, lowered the dolly from the cement path to the pond edge.

"Can you go around to the back entrance and come back out in the boat," Samantha asked. "I think that's the only way we'll get this thing back there."

"Sure," Becky said. "I'll be back in a minute."

She ran around the edge of the garden and disappeared between the bamboo and Mr. Henson's fence. Samantha verified no one was watching her from either Mr. Henson's fence or the Wilson's. She closed her eyes and concentrated entirely on lifting the rock, picturing it in her mind. Her arms started to tingle and for the first time Samantha perceived a connection between her tingling arms and her spine. In her spine was a sort of warmth, flowing towards her head. The feeling was pleasant and gave her confidence. She bent over and tried to pick the rock up with a single jerk. The rock came up like a balloon, escaping her grasp and soaring above her. It then reversed direction and came plummeting back to Earth. It splattered in the mud beside the pond, spraying mud all over the edge of the bamboo. The rock itself was buried a foot deep in the muck. Samantha stifled a laugh and made sure Becky had not yet arrived with the boat. She bent over and grabbed the rock, more gently this time, and found the tingling in her arms remained. The rock was so easy to lift that Samantha couldn't reconcile her memory of trying to lift it before with the way it currently felt in her arms. She put it back on the dolly and waited. Becky paddled from under the bamboo and guided the boat the edge of the pond. Then she scampered out and helped Samantha do a quick lug of the rock into the boat. Samantha's arms were still tingling a little and lifting the rock was much easier than it had been in the living room. Becky noticed.

"Wow, did this thing just get lighter?"

"I don't know," Samantha said. "Maybe you got warmed up from running back to the entrance."

"Maybe. Why is it all covered in mud?"

"It rolled off the dolly while you were gone."

"Oh."

Becky pushed off from shore and Samantha paddled back under the bamboo. She followed a long slow curve that encircled the thick trunk of the tree house oak. Beyond the tree, the bamboo, which had been crowding close to the water's edge, opened into a tunnel. Samantha paddled faster, trying to gain speed so the boat would wedge itself onto the shore. They landed and pulled the boat further up the bank, then struggled again to lift the rock. They finally got it out, only to realize they had left the dolly behind. Samantha felt a moment of frustration that made her want to simply pick the rock up with the talent and carry it in, but she restrained herself.

"I'll go back and get the dolly," Becky said.

"Nah. Don't worry about it. We'll get it later. I want to get started on fixing the clubhouse because it's going to rain."

"OK. What do you want to do first?"

Samantha walked to the clubhouse. She looked up through the opening and saw the clouds were still thick and that wind was rustling the top levels of the bamboo.

"Let's cover the couch first."

They lifted a large sheet of plywood wedged between the couch and the bamboo wall. Becky laid the plywood on the floor of the clubhouse, looking for splinters, worms, and old nails, while Samantha rummaged behind the couch again and pulled out three long two by fours. Becky had finished inspecting the plywood so she walked to the refrigerator. On top of the refrigerator sat a large cardboard box. From the box Becky retrieved a rusty hammer and, after a few seconds of searching, several nails.

They worked quickly, with Samantha holding the two by four at an angle so Becky could hammer the nails through the plywood. With two beams and a crossbar nailed in place, they stood the structure above the couch and leaned it against the bamboo. Both girls then collapsed on the couch and looked up at the new roof.

"I like it better without it," Becky said.

"Better than sitting in the rain though."

"Yeah."

An interesting thought occurred to Samantha, so quickly that she wouldn't admit it had been there at all. She realized everything had gone quickly because Marissa wasn't there. Unless they were building tunnels, Marissa tended to tell people what to do and not do much herself.

The silence after the hammering seemed large and empty and Samantha found herself wanting to do some more work. She stood up, stretched, and started pacing around the clubhouse with Becky watching her.

"How about we start working on the new tunnel," Samantha said, after a few moments pacing.

Becky got up without a word and Samantha retrieved the axe from the old, dented trash can next to the refrigerator. They walked out of the clubhouse. Samantha noticed two things as they walked through the main tunnel. One, the wind was knocking bamboo leaves onto the path, which would require a thorough raking. Two, Becky was chewing on her lip, which meant she had something she wanted to talk about but she wasn't sure how to start. They started the long, gentle turn to the left that took them towards the main entrance. However, instead of turning right at the next fork, they continued straight. The tunnel continued for fifteen feet and stopped at a dead end.

"Where was this one supposed to take us," Becky asked.

"I want to get to the other oak tree. It is straight ahead from here, by the eucalyptus grove."

Becky nodded and reached for a handful of bamboo. Samantha stood sideways and swung the axe at the bottom of the bamboo stalks on her side of the trail, breaking them. She pulled the stalks back and forth, trying to snap them away cleanly. Becky stopped pulling halfheartedly at the bamboo and looked at Samantha.

"I think Marissa is going to be mad at me."

Samantha stopped as she broke off the first batch of bamboo and stood up straight, looking at Becky carefully.

"Why do you say that?"

"She saw me talking to Cliff the other day after school."

"So what? We talk to those guys all the time."

"I know. But Cliff was kind of talking strange. He was asking if I was going to go to the dance and I said I didn't know yet. I didn't want to tell him that nobody has asked me and I've been too scared to ask anybody myself. And Marissa overheard him and butted in and started talking about all kinds of stuff. Cliff ignored me after that and only talked to her."

Samantha nodded.

"Well," Becky asked. "What do you think?"

"I think that Marissa was going to ask Cliff to the dance."

"I thought so too. I bet she's mad at me. That's why she didn't want to come over today to help."

"Did you want to go with Cliff," Samantha asked.

Becky blushed and stopped looking directly at Samantha, her hands linking unconsciously together at her waist.

"I don't know. I think he's nice. Are you going with anyone yet?"

Samantha paused again, not sure if she should tell Becky that Mark had already asked her. As far as she knew she was the first girl in their entire class to have a date. What if Becky ended up not going at all? She would feel really bad about herself if she knew Samantha was going all along.

"No, not yet," Samantha said finally. She started pulling at the bamboo again and the rest of the cracked stalks broke off. Samantha pulled them out slowly, careful not to get any painful splinters, and laid them along the trail. Each stalk was over thirty feet long.

"Maybe we shouldn't go at all," Becky said abruptly. "We're all too young for dances anyway, that's what my Mom said. Maybe she's right."

"It sounds like fun though, don't you think?"

"Yeah, sort of. I haven't really danced with a lot of other people around though. That might be kind of weird."

Samantha thought she was right, although she hadn't thought of it until Becky's comment. There was another silence while they both thought about the unknown and potentially embarrassing parts of the dance. Then there was a loud crack to their right. There was a pause, another crack, and then the low sound of nervous laughter.

"What was that," Becky whispered.

"Someone's outside the bamboo."

"Who?"

"Shh!"

Both of them stood quietly, listening hard. Samantha thought she heard low whispering but the wind was making too much noise as it blew through the bamboo to know for sure.

"Come on," Samantha whispered.

She walked back to the fork and turned towards the main entrance. They both started tiptoeing towards the door. They could hear movement on the other side. Becky looked at Samantha, frightened.

"It's here. I know it," said a low voice.

"We've looked here before."

Samantha suddenly clamped a hand to her mouth to stop a laugh that would give away where they were, because she recognized Cliff's voice.

"I told you, this is where she went in. I saw her do it yesterday."

The fence behind the bamboo suddenly rattled as one of the boys thumped it with their fist, causing Becky to jump. Samantha heard the loose board fall off.

"Hey, look at this," Mark said.

"So this is where they get in. And look at the bamboo. It's too thick. They made a door!"

"Pretty smart," Samantha heard Mark say.

The bamboo door rattled and Becky groaned lightly, not able to help herself. After another shake, the door was lifted and Mark's face appeared underneath it. Feeling both mad that the secret door had finally been discovered and at the same time happy because Mark and Cliff were fun to play with, Samantha jumped at him and yelled, "Aaargghhh!"

Frightened, Mark jumped back but the bamboo door fell, pinning him underneath it. Samantha started laughing and Becky joined in. Mark recognized who it was and started laughing himself.

"We found it. We finally found it!"

Samantha walked forward and lifted the bamboo door so Mark could come inside. Cliff was right behind him, a large grin on his face.

"You scared the hell out of me," he said.

"That was a good secret entrance," Mark said. "I can't believe we didn't find it before now though. We just never tried down far enough. And we always ran into your booby traps."

"Like the strings," Samantha said.

"Yeah, or the holes covered with bamboo sticks. I fell into two of those."

"Why'd you always try to hide this from us," Cliff asked. "You know we wanted to play in here all summer."

"Because it's ours," Becky said. "We built it. And it's still ours whether you found out how to get in or not."

"Yeah, well. I knew we'd get in sooner or later," Cliff said.

Mark was standing up, looking at the door, watching as Samantha lowered it back down. He noticed the string attached to the pulley above it and laughed.

"What," Samantha asked.

"You've got it on a pulley. That's great," said Mark.

"Samantha, you forgot to pull the fence board back in place," Becky said quickly.

Samantha shrugged. "It was to keep these guys from finding it but now that they know there really is no point in hiding it anymore."

Mark started walking down the tunnel and Cliff followed. Becky looked at Samantha indecisively.

"Watch out for the booby traps," Samantha said.

Both boys stopped as if they were frozen. Samantha laughed, looked over at Becky, and walked past them.

"Just kidding! Come on, I'll show you around. I'm actually kind of glad you guys finally found out how to get in here. It'll be fun having all of us playing here together. Plus, you can help us build even more tunnels."

"Cool," Mark said. "Show it to us."

Samantha walked to the first fork and turned right. They followed her and Samantha showed them the tunnel they were working on and where they wanted it to go. Mark and Cliff started nodding and went to the bamboo and started pulling at it, but Samantha told them to follow her so she could show them the rest of the area.

They walked to the back entrance and Samantha opened the trapdoor.

"Neat," Cliff said. "How far down does that go?"

"Only a couple of feet, but the pipe is like twenty feet long. You come out on the other side of the fence and crawl out under the bamboo."

"I knew you guys had a back entrance," Mark said, "but I had no idea where it was. Every time we started spying you never seemed to come out!"

"Then how did you find it today," Becky asked.

'Well..." Mark said. He trailed off and looked embarrassed. Nobody said anything for a moment and Samantha knew he had spied on her the day before, when he had stayed home, supposedly sick. They looked at each other and smiled, while Becky coughed nervously.

"I'll take you through that entrance later on," Samantha said, finally. "But I want to show you the clubhouse first."

They walked down the tunnel and into the clubhouse. Mark and Cliff were very impressed, especially at the fridge.

"If you had a bathroom you could live out here," Cliff said seriously, and they all started laughing.

Becky seemed to be feeling less nervous and showed the boys the pond.

"The boat is the third entrance," Becky said. "You can paddle up the pond and come out by the garden."

"Wow. This place is great," Mark said. "You're lucky you have this in your backyard Samantha."

"I know," she said.

They all walked past the pond and down the last tunnel, which stopped at the oak tree. Mark and Cliff scampered up and started laughing about the firecrackers they threw on Samantha's birthday. Becky followed but Samantha stayed on the trail, wanting to return to work on the new tunnel. Once she started on a tunnel she hated to stop because she never knew exactly where it would end up. Samantha leaned against the tree and saw that Cliff was holding onto one of the tree branches and leaning out over the pond, holding on with one hand. Mark was climbing one of the limbs that went beyond the boards they had nailed across the tree as a floor. Becky was standing on the floorboards, watching Cliff nervously.

"Hey," Samantha said. All of them looked down at her. "I'm going back to work on the tunnel."

She walked through the clubhouse, pausing to grab an old rake from the tool box. She dragged the rake behind her as she walked, scrapping up loose bamboo leaves that fluttered off the stalks. The wind was freshening and Samantha could even feel it on the path. The feel of the wind was wet and smelled of rain. When she got to the new tunnel she placed the rake on the ground next to the long bamboo stalks she had already pulled out.

She swung the axe low and hard so it cut the bamboo stalks close to the dirt. Then she pulled them down carefully. She had just finished pulling her fourth batch when Mark arrived, his eyes excited.

"I can't believe how great it is in here. I don't think I'm ever going to leave," he said.

"Where are Becky and Cliff?"

"They're still up the tree, talking about something." He coughed. "Actually, I think Cliff is going to ask Becky to the dance and he's trying to get his courage up."

Samantha nearly dropped the axe on her own toe.

"Cliff is going to ask Becky to the dance!"

"Yeah, at least he was talking about doing it last night. He said that he's kind of liked her for a long time."

Samantha thought about this, trying to guess Marissa's reaction to the news. Then she decided not to worry about it.

"Here," Samantha said, handing the axe to Mark. "You can help me with this."

"Sure, what do you want me to do? Whack at those things and cut them down?"

"That's all it takes. Once they are cut off you can drag them out by the end and put them on the path. I'm going to take the ones I've already pulled out and go dump them."

"This looks like fun. Stand back."

Samantha backed up a few steps and Mark unleashed a ferocious swing at the bamboo that sliced off about ten bamboo stalks at their base.

"Cliff and I sometimes help my Uncle cut his firewood," he said proudly. "We have another axe at home too. Maybe that would make things go faster?"

"Maybe later," Samantha said.

She collected several of the long bamboo stalks lying on the tunnel floor and walked up the trail with them. Reaching the trash area, Samantha started pushing the cut bamboo through the gaps. Then she squeezed through the individual live bamboo stalks herself and came out, after about fifteen feet, into the trash area where she discarded all the old bamboo.

She made three trips back and forth but Mark was cutting faster than she could haul the bamboo, so when she went back for the fourth time she asked if he could stop chopping and help her carry.

"Sure," he said, placing the axe on the ground next to the stubs of chopped bamboo sticking out of the dirt. Samantha looked over the advancing tunnel carefully.

"Good job," she said, nodding toward the dead end. "We'll have to start curving it towards the left soon though."

"Where's it supposed to end up?"

"I want this one to go to the other oak tree. It's across the pond from the one where Becky and Cliff are."

"Cool."

Mark collected a large number of bamboo stalks and Samantha grabbed the rest. They carted them off to the dumping grounds, then saw Becky and Cliff coming to find them as they re-entered the trail. Becky looked happy enough to be skipping and Cliff's face was a little red, but neither of them said anything about the dance and they both started helping with the new tunnel. Cliff ran back to their house to get their axe, and when he brought it back they started chopping at twice the rate.

"I can't believe how fast this goes with them," Becky said, as she and Samantha hauled more armfuls of cut bamboo.

Samantha nodded in agreement, some part of her not wanting to admit the boys were faster at it than she was. If I could just use my talent in front of them, Samantha thought, they wouldn't be so cocky. The thought, however impractical, helped squash her annoyance at Cliff and Mark's occasional comments about how fast they were.

The first raindrops fell at noon. They had advanced the new tunnel twenty feet. At Samantha's direction Cliff and Mark were angling the tunnel to the left each cutting.

"How do you know where you're going in all this crap," Cliff asked, trying to pull bamboo leaves out of his hair.

"Lots of practice," Samantha said.

The rain started to fall harder and water dripped onto their heads through the bamboo. Samantha was about to say they should head to her house when Becky did it for her.

"It's really starting to rain," Becky said, "Let's head to Samantha's until it stops."

"Afraid of getting wet," Mark asked sarcastically. "Why, you take a shower every day, right?"

"I'm not afraid of the water Mark. I just don't want to get in trouble. Samantha's Mom and Dad won't want us out here if it's raining."

"Why not," Mark asked Samantha, "I thought your parents were the coolest?"

"They are," Samantha said, "but they're worried that if we're ever out here when it's raining hard then the creek and pond could rise."

"So, we'll climb the bamboo or the tree."

Samantha frowned because she had said the same thing to her parents. She found herself in the unenviable position of defending something she didn't believe in.

"It's the way my parents are," she said finally. "It isn't that big a deal anyway. As soon as the rain stops we can come back out and keep working."

Mark shrugged and put his axe down, but Cliff was frustrated and took another swipe at the bamboo. He cut through the first few stalks but then his axe hit something hard and it bounced away with a loud metal clang. Cliff dropped the axe and started jumping around, holding his hands out and shouting in pain.

"Are you alright Cliff," Becky asked, her hands linked together at her waist again.

Cliff started shaking his hands out in front of him violently, trying to get rid of the sting.

"Damn that hurt! It was like having a baseball bat sting your hands on a cold day."

"But what did you hit," Samantha asked. "It sounded like metal."

"I don't know," Cliff said, sucking on the fingers of his right hand.

Mark started yanking away the bamboo Cliff had cut, passing it back to Samantha to lay on the trail. When he got it clear he said excitedly, "Look at this!"

Samantha squatted next to him and saw a thick metal plate with a large indention on the near edge where Cliff's axe had struck. Samantha pointed this out to Cliff, whose fingers seemed to have stopped hurting the moment Mark found the plate.

"You hit that hard," Samantha said.

"Yeah."

"What is this," Mark asked, more to himself than anyone else.

He cleared away the bamboo leaves littering the top of the metal. Doing this revealed a metal square about two and a half feet on a side. The surface was rough, covered with small, elongated metal bumps, with no handle. The surface was flush with ground level.

"It looks like another trap door," Samantha said, "like the one over the second entrance."

Mark and Cliff looked at each other closely, and then looked back down at the trapdoor. The sound of the rain drops hitting the bamboo was quite loud. Becky, intrigued by the door but nervous about being caught out in the rain by Samantha's parents, started idling from side to side. She said, "It's raining even harder. Don't you think that...?"

"It looks like there is rotted wood all around it in a square," Mark said, digging around the base of the metal. "Help me clear it off Cliff."

Cliff squeezed past Samantha and Mark and stepped carefully over the trapdoor. He removed the bamboo leaves, dirt, and rotted wood from the far side. Soon they had it clear, exposing slim handholds along the metal edges. The twin boys seemed to communicate without words because both stood up simultaneously to get in lifting position. They wedged their fingers under the metal and pulled.

The metal came up slowly. It was much heavier than it looked. Mark and Cliff struggled with it and Samantha started to help. They managed to get it clear and dumped it onto the small bamboo stumps sticking up from the ground. A square hole was revealed, small and dark. The rain blocked much of the light from above and the bamboo blocked the rest so it was difficult to see inside. There was no ladder.

"We've got to go in and see what it's like in there," Cliff said, abruptly.

Everyone looked at him.

"I mean, we have to," he said again. "Who knows where that thing goes. This could be the best thing you have discovered yet, Samantha. Maybe there's an old vault under there, with sacks of gold or something."

"It's probably another old irrigation pipe," Samantha said slowly, "my Dad said that they were all over this area."

"So you don't want to go in it," Cliff asked, almost angrily.

"She didn't say that," Mark snapped.

"I want to go in it too," Samantha said, "but like Becky said. It's raining and I don't want to get in trouble and we don't have a flashlight or a ladder. Let's go inside tomorrow when it isn't raining."

Becky looked relieved but Cliff started pacing up and down the path, seething with impatience.

"Your parents aren't back yet," he said. "Let's go get the stuff we need and come back out. You can leave a note for your parents that you went over to our house and they won't even know that you're out here."

"I'm not going to lie," Samantha said.

There was a pause. Mark seemed torn by the same impatience filling his brother, but he also had it under better control. He looked longingly at the hole and shrugged.

"It'll still be here tomorrow Cliff," he said.

"Aaargghhh!"

Cliff stomped off down the tunnel. Mark looked at Samantha and Becky, appearing embarrassed.

"Samantha!"

Samantha jumped and turned towards the sound, but of course she couldn't see anything through the bamboo.

"Yes Mom," she yelled back.

"Are you in the clubhouse?"

"Yes. We're just leaving."

"Good. Get up here to the house and out of the rain. Your Dad and I are back from the hike."

"OK."

Samantha looked at everyone, including Cliff, who had walked back towards them at the sound of Sandra's voice.

"Nobody say anything about the trapdoor to my parents if you still want to be playing out here. I know my Dad is nervous about these irrigation pipes."

"I thought you said you didn't want to lie," Mark said slyly.

Taken aback, Samantha said, "We just won't tell them."

Mark laughed and started walking to the exit. Becky followed immediately but Samantha remained for a moment, watching Mark until he made the turn and disappeared from view, feeling angry but not understanding why.

Mark and Cliff headed home immediately after leaving the bamboo, likely worried they would get in trouble if they went to Samantha's house with the girls. Samantha didn't get in trouble, but she and Becky had to listen to her Mom talk about their hike for twenty minutes. Samantha didn't even see her Dad and Sandra told her that he had gone back to bed.

"The hike tired him out too much," Sandra said, laughing. "All that means is that we need to get out more often."

When they finally escaped they headed into Samantha's room. Samantha collapsed on the bed and Becky sat on the edge of it, looking at the walls.

"We should repaint your room this winter."

"Why?"

"Because it was fun. I bet we could make an even better picture this time. I mean, I like the eagles I painted, but the left one is a little better than the right one and I'd like them both to be the same. I've gotten better too, because I have been practicing. I set up our basement as a studio so I can paint down there without my parents or brother bothering me."

Samantha wasn't really paying attention, still feeling grumpy, and not knowing why. She started to get annoyed with Becky's constant talking so she said, abruptly, "So did he ask you to the dance or what?"

"Huh," Becky asked, startled.

"Did Cliff ask you to the dance?"

Becky's face turned bright red, which always looked even more alarming because it was framed by her whitish-blond hair.

"Um, yeah. He did."

"What did you say?"

"I said yes, what do you think I said?"

Samantha put her arm over her eyes, wondering how she was going to smooth things over with Marissa. Becky giggled nervously. Without taking her arm from her eyes, Samantha asked what was so funny.

"Cliff also told me about you."

Samantha sat up in one movement, looking at Becky carefully.

"What did he say?"

Becky looked surprised by Samantha's reaction. "He told me that Mark and you were going to the dance too. I think that will be fun, don't you."

"Oh no," Samantha said.

"What?"

"Whatever you do, you can't tell Marissa that either of us is going until she has her own date and tells us about it. We have to pretend that she got her date first."

Becky looked a little hurt.

"Why do we need to do that? I'm actually glad she hasn't been asked yet. She always pretends like she knows exactly what to do around guys and stuff, trying to make me feel bad about myself. Now we even got dates before her! And she wanted to go with Cliff herself."

There was an alarming note of victory to Becky's comments and Samantha got nervous.

"You won't tell her though, will you?"

"No. Fine, I won't."

"You promise?"

"Samantha, this isn't that big a deal. I don't see why you are in such a bad mood. You've been like that since we found the trap door."

Samantha stared at Becky in surprise and felt ashamed at her own bad mood. She lay down on the bed and put her arm back over her eyes and started listening to Becky talk at length about the kind of dress she wanted to wear to the dance.
Chapter 8: Dark

December 7th, 1991 Day 15. Today we got the first rain of the winter. It rained all afternoon. We had a lot of fun today. Mark and Cliff finally found the entrance to the clubhouse after looking for it all summer. I was glad they finally found it because they are fun to be around most of the time. Cliff asked Becky to the dance! I'm happy for Becky but I think Marissa will be very upset. I'm not sure how she will take it. We also found a trap door that probably goes into another irrigation pipe. It started to rain though and we weren't able to go inside of it. If it isn't raining tomorrow then we will probably try to explore it. Grandpa's diary said he went hiking with his Dad in the mountains tomorrow. That means I better be careful because otherwise I might make Grandpa tired wherever they are hiking. It could be out in the middle of nowhere!

Samantha slept late the next morning, not waking until nearly ten o'clock. The light coming through her windows was dark and feeble, obscured by thick low hanging clouds. If anything, the rain was harder than the day before. Samantha groaned. She imagined Mark and Cliff would feel the same way. All of them wanted to explore what lay under the trap door.

Samantha got dressed and walked into the kitchen. Her mother was nowhere to be found. Thomas was sitting at the kitchen table, eating an orange, and reading the newspaper. He looked up when he heard Samantha walk in and smiled.

"Hi Hon. Good night's sleep?"

"Yeah. Too good, because I slept longer than I wanted to. The rain makes it so dark that I didn't wake up."

"I saw the news this morning," Thomas said, gesturing towards the television in the living room. "It's supposed to rain all day today too."

Samantha frowned. "That stinks."

"I agree. I wanted to work in the garden today. I still don't have all of last year's plants cleaned up. Did you see that I still have a few tomatoes growing! This is the latest in the year we've ever had them and I've been growing in the same spot for twenty years."

"That's really great Dad."

Thomas grinned at her tone.

"Not as exciting as what you must have had planned today?"

"No."

"What were you going to do before the rain ruined it all?"

"Cliff and Mark finally found the clubhouse entrance yesterday so Becky and I were going to play with them. We started working on a new tunnel yesterday but had to stop when the rain started."

"Where is the new path going to go," Thomas asked, reaching into the fruit bowl for an apple.

"To the second oak tree."

"Another lookout?"

"Sure. Maybe even a good tree house I think. That tree would be much better for a full tree house than the other one because it is wider."

Thomas nodded and bit into the apple. Samantha didn't feel like eating fruit, so she got up and went to the cupboard for a bowl and some cereal. By the time she got it ready and got back to the table, Thomas had finished his apple and he had placed the core so it was sitting on his discarded orange peels.

"So I saw that you were supposed to write an essay about what your parents do for a living," Thomas said casually.

Samantha almost dropped her spoon into her cereal and tried to look up, but she couldn't meet her Dad's eyes.

"Oh yeah. I had almost forgotten about that."

"Were you nervous about asking me?"

Samantha nodded her head.

"Samantha, we've told you all about it before and you know there is no reason to be embarrassed. We got lucky, that's all. Your Grandpa made a lot of money and he gave a large amount of it to me. He wanted us to be able to do whatever we wanted with our lives. Your Mom and I decided we wanted as much free time as possible. We both work when we feel like it and stop when we don't. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know. But it feels weird to write about it, you know? Like Mark's Dad is a doctor in the city so he can write about all the emergencies that his Dad works on. And Becky's Dad is a lawyer and she can write all about his cases and will probably write double what we are supposed to write. But what can I write about?"

"Write about how our job is to have fun."

"That's dumb Dad. I can't write that or everyone will laugh at me."

"Well, write about when I was writing and your Mom was illustrating children's books. That was a good job."

"I don't even remember that. You did that when I was five, right?"

"Sure, but it was a good job."

"I don't know. I'll write something but I don't know what yet."

"Well, don't feel bad about it Samantha. We are luckier than Mark's Dad or Becky's Dad, or Becky's Mom, for that matter, who also works as an attorney. They have to work for someone else and we don't. We can work for ourselves."

"Maybe that's what I'll write about."

"What's that?"

"I'll write about how you and Mom work for yourselves," Samantha said.

By two in the afternoon the rain was still falling and Samantha was in her room, bored out of her mind. Several times she tried to start her paper but stopped because nothing sounded good. She listened to her radio, took out the flute she hardly ever played, and even tried drawing. Nothing was fun. She watched the rainwater pooling in the street outside her window and saw Mr. Henson driving back home, probably from church. He parked his car in the driveway and ran to his front door. Watching him run brought back a rush of near-memories but she wasn't sure what they were, since she knew Mr. Henson had always been a good runner. She was about to try calling Marissa when she heard the phone ringing down the hall. She heard her father answer it and then yell, "Samantha!"

She got up and jogged out of her room, thankful for the diversion. She said hello expecting Marissa, but it turned out to be Mark.

"Hi Samantha."

"Hi Mark."

"Um, how are you today?"

"Bored. How about you?"

"Really bored," he said, his voice relaxing. "Cliff and I have been stuck in here all day because my parents were home. But they just went out to the garage and got in the car."

"So," Samantha said, disgruntled and unwilling to hide it.

"So," Mark said, suddenly excited, "Cliff and I are going to go into the trapdoor."

"Really," Samantha said, and she started walking towards her room with the cordless phone so her Dad wouldn't overhear her.

"Yeah! Can you meet us?"

"Are you crazy? It's pouring rain and I already told you that I'm not allowed in the bamboo when it's raining."

"But I bet you could come over here to play our new Nintendo games."

"Not if your parents aren't home."

"Well, we're going anyway. We want you to come but if you can't then we'll try. We're so bored I think Cliff will go insane. And I can't stop thinking about what might be in there."

"I want to go too but my Dad is here. I can't just walk over there."

"Well..." Mark began, and then stopped. He sighed with an annoyed tone and didn't seem to know what to say. Samantha didn't know what to say either and the silence started to take up the phone line. Each silent second made it harder to talk.

"So," Mark said, with an effort, "we'll be over there in a couple of minutes. Try to make it if you can."

"But..." Samantha began, and then stopped because Mark had hung up the phone.

She stalked out to the kitchen, shoved the phone into its cradle, and was about to tell her Dad what Mark and Cliff were planning so he could stop them, when she stopped herself. She forced herself to calm down. Her Dad looked up from the magazine he was reading.

"How is Mark anyway," Thomas asked.

"He's good," Samantha said and then, before she even knew what she was doing, "he has a new Nintendo game and he wanted to know if I could come over to play it."

"Is your report done," Thomas asked.

"No. I tried starting it a couple of times but couldn't get anywhere."

"Well, as long as you do it as soon as you get home. No later than six."

"Sure Dad. Thanks."

She started towards the door but Thomas asked, "Are their parents home?"

She had an internal pause, although it was certainly brief enough that her Dad would not have noticed. She didn't want to lie, but this desire was strange because she started their conversation with an even bigger lie. Samantha had no idea why telling one lie seemed fine and telling another triggered guilt, but the feeling was undeniable and she followed it.

"No. Mark said their parents left a little bit ago."

Thomas looked at her for a moment, and then smiled.

"OK then. Go ahead and have fun. But be home by six!"

Surprised but happy, Samantha said sure and headed out the door. The rain was still heavy and the sky was low, so she ran over to the Wilson's. Even though she ran she was still drenched by the time she got to safety under their porch. Mark answered her knock within moments.

"Hi Samantha. I thought you said you couldn't come over?"

"I asked my Dad and he said yes. Sometimes he surprises me with how cool he is."

"Great." He opened the door and let her inside. As she passed him she had to stop a laugh, because she noticed he was dressed all in black. He was also wearing a black hat over his dark hair. Samantha had not been to their house often and she was always amazed at how nice everything looked and how much stuff covered the walls. Vases sat on smoked glass end tables. Large, beautiful paintings adorned the walls. It was almost impossible to believe the house contained twin, rambunctious boys.

"Who was it," Cliff called from the back of the house, nervously.

"It's Samantha," Mark said.

Cliff jogged into the room, also fully decked out in black clothes and black hat. Samantha couldn't help but laugh this time, although she tried to cover up the sound with her left hand.

"What're you laughing at," Cliff asked.

"You guys. If you had a white collar you'd look like twin preachers. We're only going to my backyard."

"Yeah, but you don't know where we'll end up, do you," Cliff said. "Who knows where that trap door is going to go."

Samantha thought it would probably only lead a few feet and then stop, but she didn't say anything. Mark had two flashlights, neatly coiled rope, two canteens, and two backpacks sitting on the kitchen counter. He started to load one of the backpacks and Cliff helped load the other one. Then they hoisted them onto their backs.

"OK. Here we go."

Samantha followed them, feeling quite smug in her gray sweatshirt and jeans. The Wilson's back door opened onto a large, beautifully furnished screened patio. Cliff and Mark walked through it quickly and out the door to the lawn. The Wilson's yard could not be more different than Samantha's. Although it was big for the neighborhood, it was still much smaller and had only a few trees, mostly around the perimeter. A lush full lawn covered almost the entire yard.

Once out of the screened porch they were in the rain, but it wasn't raining as hard as earlier. Nevertheless, they ran to the loose fence board leading to Samantha's back yard and the eucalyptus grove. Samantha could see the start of the grove behind the tall redwood trees lining the perimeter of the Wilson's yard. It felt strange to approach her yard this way. She had done so before but it never struck as unusual until now.

Cliff went through into Samantha's back yard but Mark paused and held the dangling fence board for Samantha. She went through and he followed. They emerged away from the eucalyptus trail, near the back section of the grove. There was no danger of being seen from the house but Samantha wanted to be extra careful.

"Let's go around to the back entrance," she said.

"Sounds good," Cliff said. "That's the tunnel one, right?"

"Yeah."

They ran through the rest of the eucalyptus grove and out into the chaparral behind it, fully in the rain again. They curved around the bamboo until they were almost to the stream and Samantha called a halt. Cliff was looking at the stream, marveling at how high it had gotten over the past couple of days.

Samantha dropped to her knees and started crawling through the mud under the bamboo. Mark and Cliff did the same. She was over the back entrance trap door when she realized she had gotten herself covered in mud and would have a very difficult time explaining it to her Dad. She groaned.

"What," Mark asked.

"Look how dirty my pant legs are. How am I supposed to get back inside looking like this?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't know."

Cliff, meanwhile, had opened the trap door and climbed down the ladder. Mark followed, with Samantha close behind. She closed the trapdoor behind them as soon as Mark was down and they were in complete darkness. Mark and Cliff snapped on their flashlights and hurried to the other end of the tunnel. Cliff was first up the ladder and he pushed the trap door up, allowing natural light to flood back in. Within moments they were all walking quickly down the bamboo tunnel towards the main entrance and the trap door.

As usual, the rain was muted and somehow spooky from inside the bamboo. The sound of the rain hitting the stalks was loud and it seemed to come from all directions, but no direct drops made it through. Instead, streams of water flowed down in places, channeled by the tightly interlaced bamboo overhead.

They walked to the trapdoor, the cover cast aside, as they left it the morning before. They paused above the hole in the ground and Mark and Cliff shined their flashlights inside. It was easy to make out the floor, which was about four feet below. A small stream of water about two inches deep ran through, flowing the direction from which they had come.

"So, who goes in first," Mark asked.

Cliff didn't say anything but he looked very excited.

"I'll go in first," Samantha said. "I'm the lightest and you two can lower me down."

Samantha stepped over the hole and started to lower herself down. Both Mark and Cliff stepped over to either side of her. Mark grabbed one hand and Cliff grabbed the other, slowly lowering her into the hole. For a moment she was very conscious of Mark holding her left hand. Then her feet touched the floor and her shoes were flooded with cold water.

"I'm down," she said.

Cliff handed his backpack to her through the hole and lowered himself down. Samantha braced his shoe with her hand and guided him. Cliff was a couple of inches shorter than she was, something she hadn't ever noticed before, and so he had a slightly longer wait until he was standing firmly on the floor. Then they lowered Mark into the tunnel. Once down, they all looked up at the square of white light. Samantha saw that they could get out easily, but that none of them had considered the possibility that they could have been stuck. Suddenly nervous and feeling unprepared, she shivered.

Mark flashed his light both up and down the tunnel. Cliff did the same. There was nothing to see, except that the concrete tunnel was long. It was so long, in fact, that they could not see the end of it with the flashlights.

"What do you think we are in," Mark asked. "A sewer?"

"I don't know," said Cliff. "I think if it was a sewer then we would be able to smell it. This smells pretty clean."

"Maybe it's a drainage pipe," Samantha said.

"This big though? I thought drainage pipes were smaller than this," Cliff said.

Samantha shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe it used to the hold the whole stream. Why else would someone build this then?"

"Which way should we go," Mark asked.

"The water goes that way," Cliff said, gesturing with his flashlight, "So we know that it probably ends up at the stream, probably under your fence. I'd say the other way will be more interesting."

"Sounds good," Mark said, and started walking up the tunnel.

The sound of their footsteps was disconcerting, producing flat echoes with each splashing step. The walls of the tunnel were pitted because the concrete was old and there were cracks at the joints. They walked about twenty feet and there was still no visible end to the tunnel. Samantha had a bad thought.

"Hey guys," she said, and then stopped because her own voice echoed back to her and diverted her train of thought. "Hey guys, hey guys, hey guys, hey guys..."

Mark and Cliff both stopped and looked at her, flashlights pointing up against the walls.

"What if this thing floods? How would we get out?"

Mark looked extremely nervous. Cliff laughed.

"Look at the water. It's been raining for two days and it's just a trickle." His echo replied, "trickle, trickle, trickle, trickle..."

"What if they only release water into this pipe in bunches though," Samantha said.

"Then we'd end up in the stream," Cliff said.

"But how would we breathe?"

"Do you want to go back Samantha," Mark asked, almost timidly.

"I don't know."

"Ah come on," Cliff said. "I want to see where this thing goes."

They started walking again, but even slower than before. They passed clumps of bamboo leaves stuck to the sides of the pipe walls. It was hard to tell how far they had walked. Samantha looked back and could still see the light coming in through the trap door, but it was dim and far away.

"Hey," Cliff said, "I think something changes up ahead."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but I think the tunnel starts to curve."

Samantha squinted and could sort of see what he was talking about. The walls of the tunnel seemed to bend to the left. It was hard to see because the flashlights bounced as Mark and Cliff walked and the water reflected the light and splayed it across the pitted walls. They continued forward and the tunnel did start to curve. Samantha looked back again and could no longer see the trapdoor.

There were additional bits of wood and clumps of leaves scattered about the floor of the tunnel once they started the gentle curve to the left. Samantha started to lose sense of time and distance. She asked Mark how long he thought they had been walking and he had no idea. With the tunnel curving the flashlights did not penetrate as far into the darkness, removing even the limited comfort of knowing their immediate vicinity was clear. With the shortening sightlines, Samantha felt increasing claustrophobia as they walked. She had no desire to be the coward in the group. She hoped her uneasiness was also felt by Mark and Cliff. Judging by the tense posture of their bodies, she suspected they were also afraid. After a few more of indeterminate minutes, Cliff suddenly stopped, still as rock.

"What," Mark hissed, and Samantha heard the edge of fear in his voice, which made her own fear increase.

"Look at the ceiling."

He trained his flashlight on the ceiling, revealing a square of metal exactly like the one they moved to enter the tunnel. Samantha realized she had been so concerned with her footing that she hadn't looked upwards since they entered. She saw Mark look behind them, exactly as she wanted to do, and she suspected he was thinking the same thing as her.

"How many of those do you think we walked past," Mark asked.

"I don't know," Cliff said. "I only saw this one because I thought I felt something brush against my forehead. I looked up to see what it was and I saw the door."

"Should we try to open it," Mark asked.

"Yes," Samantha and Cliff said together. They looked at each other and started laughing, but the sound of it echoing off the cement walls made them stop quickly.

"I wonder where we are. I mean, we couldn't have gone that far because we were walking so slowly. We might be one neighborhood over but we can't be any further than that," Mark said.

"But there are only more houses over there. Where would this come up," Cliff asked.

"You know what," Samantha said suddenly, "I bet this thing run along the stream. It makes sense, because the stream turns to the left and runs out into the neighborhood through the church playground."

"Why would it follow the stream," Cliff asked.

"Who cares," Mark said, "Let's see where we are. Give me a boost."

Cliff stuck one of his legs out and bent his knee, so that Mark would have something to stand on. Mark climbed up and started to push on the trapdoor. It wouldn't budge. He shoved harder and Samantha imagined she saw the left corner tilt up for a moment, but nothing else happened.

"Hurry man, you're killing my leg," Cliff said.

"One more try."

Mark pushed as hard as he could, slipped backwards off Cliff's leg, and fell against the wall of the tunnel. His flashlight went flying out of his left hand and smashed against the concrete floor. It went out immediately and they could hear the glass cover scattering into the water. Mark cried out and slid down the wall. Samantha jumped back in surprise, and then ran over to Mark.

"Mark! Are you alright."? Alright, Alright, Alright Alright...

Mark had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. "Yeah," he said. "I think so. I hit my head against the wall."

Cliff had also squatted next to Mark and put his hand on the back of Mark's head.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, sorry." Cliff ran his fingers through his hair and muttered, "That bump is huge already."

"We need to get you back home Mark," Samantha said.

"I'm fine. It just hurts."

It started to get darker. Samantha looked upward instinctively, looking to see if a cloud had blocked out part of the sun. Then she remembered she was in a tunnel and not outside. She looked down and saw that Cliff, in his concern for Mark, had let go of his flashlight and it had rolled into the shallow water. The light was dimming noticeably.

"Cliff!"

Samantha sprung over Mark, grabbed the flashlight out of the water, and tried to dry it off against her sweatshirt. It was too late. The rest of the light faded and Samantha looked at Mark and Cliff, watching the stunned expressions on their faces disappear into the dark.

Samantha walked blindly across the tunnel and squatted next to Mark and Cliff. She groped for them and felt Mark's hair.

"Can you walk, Mark?"

"Yes," he said, but he sounded bad.

"What about you Cliff?"

"I think so. Damn! That was so stupid of me. Stupid!"

"Which way do we need to go? I kind of got turned around," Samantha said.

"We go towards you," said Cliff, "unless we can get that trapdoor open."

It's dark in here, Samantha thought, I could open up the door and they wouldn't see me, so it would be safe. This is certainly the kind of thing I'm supposed to use the talent for anyway.

She opened her mouth to say that she could open the door, but stopped as she remembered her Grandpa's diary. He had been hiking this day with his Dad. If she pushed the door open she could get wipe him out when they were deep on a hike and she couldn't risk doing that.

Right as she was dismissing thoughts of opening the door, an even worse thought crept into her mind, one that hadn't fully occurred to her until that moment. She could be drained herself, at any moment. What if she felt the draining while they were all stuck in the dark in the tunnel. Would she be able to walk, or even stay conscious? She had no idea, but it brought the edge of panic back into her and when she spoke to the boys her voice wavered.

"I think we need to start heading back now."

"OK," Cliff said. "Can you walk Mark?"

"I said yes," he said, sounding angry. Samantha heard them getting up and walked to them, clutching for their hands.

"Let's hold hands on the way out so we don't get separated," Samantha said.

Neither of the boys replied, but they didn't let go of her hands either and they started walking the direction Cliff said was correct. It quickly became evident he was right, because, once their eyes got used to the darkness, a very faint light could be seen and Samantha saw that the tunnel was now curving to the right. She wondered where the light was coming from, and then they passed underneath another trapdoor. It was ringed by the faintest line of light. They passed under it, hurrying on, and before long they went under another trapdoor, which had no light ring but they could still see the shape of it because, up ahead, came the welcome glow from the open trapdoor they originally entered.

For the last stretch it took all of Samantha's willpower not to break into a run. Cliff was still walking slightly behind Mark in case he should stumble and Mark was walking with his head down and his chin resting on his chest. They reached the door and looked out, realizing the rain had mostly stopped and that evening was approaching rapidly.

"Boost me up," Samantha said.

Cliff let go of Mark and stuck his leg out again so that Samantha could step on it. She did so, grasped the edges of the trapdoor, and pulled herself through. As soon as she was up, she leaned back inside and put her hand down so that Mark could have a handhold. She got one of his hands, then the other, and pulled upwards as hard as she could without using her talent. Mark got his elbows out of the trapdoor, then his knee, and then he was out, lying on his back on the cold, muddy path. Cliff's hand's appeared on the outside of the hole because he had jumped up and grabbed the edges. Samantha stepped back to help him as well, but he was able to pull himself up.

Mark stood up, holding the back of his head.

"Are you hurt," Samantha asked.

"My head really hurts. But I think I'm fine."

"That was pretty bad," Cliff said. "Mark got hurt and we lost both of our flashlights. I guess we probably shouldn't become cave explorers after all."

Samantha laughed, mostly out of relief and the fact they were back in familiar surroundings. Mark didn't seem to notice and he was shivering slightly.

"We need to get you home," Cliff said to Mark.

Mark nodded, but didn't seem to remember what to do next, so they led him back down the tunnel.

Samantha turned left instead of going straight and beckoned Mark to follow her.

"Where are you going," Cliff asked. "You're going out the front entrance?"

"Yes. I don't want Mark to have to try to climb down the ladder. And I don't even really care if my Dad does see us, do you?"

Cliff shrugged and followed Samantha down the short tunnel to the bamboo door. Quickly they were out and crawling out from under the bamboo and running quickly over to the cover of the eucalyptus grove. Samantha walked with them over to the loose fence board but didn't follow them through.

"I need to try and sneak inside without Dad noticing my jeans," Samantha said, gesturing down at her pants, which were now streaked brown.

"OK."

Samantha looked at Mark again and his eyes were still somewhat unfocused. Nobody said anything. Then Cliff opened the loose fence board and guided Mark into their own backyard. He said goodbye to Samantha and moved the board back into position. Samantha remained where she was for a moment, taking in deep breathes of the wonderful smell of wet eucalyptus. She looked at her jeans, laughed a trifle bitterly, and walked towards the house.

The sky was dark and Samantha realized they had been inside the tunnel much longer than she would have thought. It was fortunate they had not continued because they would not have been back to the trapdoor until after nightfall. Their parents probably would have noticed they weren't at either house and started searching for them. She felt bad Mark was hurt but she couldn't deny his fall had saved them from getting in trouble.

Samantha paused at the edge of the eucalyptus grove and looked at her house. It seemed the only light on was the living room light, which meant her Dad was probably still in his chair, reading. She felt sure she could sneak into the kitchen and down the hall without her Dad seeing her. But what was she going to do about her jeans? Her Mom would notice them unless Samantha washed them first. That meant that she needed to get her jeans into the garage, sneak into the house, get fresh clothes, and sneak back out of the house so she could come in the front door.

Samantha walked out of the grove, staring intently at the back windows of her house to make sure her Dad was not looking out.

"So missy. Heading back inside," said a loud, drawling voice.

Samantha jumped up, startled, and felt her legs and arms start to tingle. She closed her eyes and forced herself to not do anything with her talent. When she felt she was under control, she opened her eyes and saw Mr. Henson lurking behind the fence, staring over the top of it at her.

"I see you finally let those two boys into your little play area. Nice girls shouldn't be inside a place like that all alone with two boys."

Samantha ignored him and walked to the house. She felt his eyes on her until the corner of the house blocked his view. She snuck inside the garage and was delighted to find a large pile of her clothes waiting to be washed. Samantha pulled off her muddy jeans and her bare legs immediately were covered with goose bumps. Hurriedly she hid the muddy jeans at the bottom of the pile and grabbed a less dirty pair from the top. She started to put them on, feeling strange wearing only underwear in the garage. She pulled her shoes back on and ran lightly out of the garage and around the house to the front yard. She looked over at the Wilson's house and saw a car was back in the driveway, which meant that Mark and Cliff's parents were home.

She walked up to her own front door, opened it, and walked straight back to her bedroom. Her father was nowhere to be seen, although the light was still on in the living room. Then she heard a toilet flush from the back of the house and she knew she was safe. She walked quickly into her room and shut the door, changing into sweats and a warm sweatshirt.
Chapter 9: Injection

December 8th, 1991. Day 16. I'll never be able to write about all that happened today. I had to talk to my Dad about my essay, which was supposed to be about my parent's jobs. I just finished but I don't think it is very good. Everyone else will get to write about the cool jobs that their parents do and my parents don't really do anything.

Also, we went into the tunnel we found yesterday. It is REALLY long and we still didn't get to the end of it. Mark fell and hit his head and seemed to be hurt pretty badly, although he said it didn't. He walked out of the tunnel without our help. It was scary inside the tunnel but I don't really know why, since nothing scary was in there. It was dark. I think it was only the feeling of being lost if something bad did happen that made it so scary. We finally got out of there after our flashlights got broken and Cliff and Mark went home. I hope Mark is all right. I forgot to call him earlier and now it is too late. I'll see him tomorrow at class though.

Samantha was early to class the next morning because her Dad needed to drive into the city to meet one of his friends for breakfast. During their short drive, Thomas did not ask any questions about her essay. Mr. Stillson was not in the classroom when Samantha arrived, only Kelvin Zan and Marsha. Marsha was new to their class this year and Samantha did not know her well. She lived deep in the country and the only bus on her route arrived early in the morning.

Samantha got her papers in order and looked at the clock, disappointed to see there were still twenty minutes before class started. Bored, she got up and walked to Kelvin's desk.

"Hi Kelvin."

"Oh. Hi Samantha," Kelvin said nervously, adjusting his glasses. He put his left arm over the papers on his desk, instinctively. Samantha, who was good at math, found them interesting.

"What are you working on?"

"Some of my math homework from Algebra."

"It looks neat. Can I see it?"

"Um, sure."

He took his left arm off the papers and showed them to her. Every equation was written in neat, even handwriting and he had included a small drawing of a square yard behind a house.

"It looks like a word problem. What was it?"

"Um, I was supposed to find the area of the usable yard. See, their property is a square, but in the center of the yard they have a circle goldfish pond. I needed to find out how much room they have for grass."

"Neat. Are all the homework problems like this?"

"Yeah, most of them."

"I wish I could be in that class too. How did you get in there?"

"The school asked my parents if they wanted me to be in it."

Samantha smiled and leaned back in her chair, looking at a few more questions while Kelvin resumed work on the problems he had not yet finished. Other students wandered into the classroom. The start of class was near, so Samantha returned the papers to Kelvin. He watched her walk to her desk, flicked the end of his pencil, and bent back over his homework.

Samantha sat in her chair and Marissa slouched into the room. Her skin seemed too pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She dumped her book bag unceremoniously onto her desk and sat down.

"Hi Marissa," Samantha said.

"Hi Samantha."

"Do you feel any better?"

"Do I look like I do?"

Samantha did not respond immediately, surprised by how upset Marissa seemed. She watched Marissa stare blankly at the blackboard for a few moments and asked her another way, "Are you alright?"

Marissa turned towards her, annoyed, "I'm fine. Can't I sit here without people bothering me about how I feel?"

"Jeez, sorry."

"But it sounds like you had a good weekend," Marissa said. "Becky told me all about it last night."

Samantha's stomach felt like it dropped into her shoes. She had asked Becky not to tell Marissa anything but Becky had anyway. Samantha figured Becky called Marissa to see how she was doing and didn't mean to say anything, but couldn't stop herself once the opportunity became available.

"Yes," Samantha said, deciding it was too late to play innocent, "It was a good weekend. I wish you could've come over too."

"It doesn't sound like there'd be room for me anymore," Marissa said sourly, turning to stare at the blackboard. Samantha could no longer see her face.

"It was fun, Marissa, but it would be more fun with you. There is plenty of room for everyone."

"Sure. I bet. I don't want to talk about it."

Before Samantha could respond, Cliff walked into the classroom. His backpack was slung low so that it hung against his lower back. He noticed Samantha from the doorway and hurried to the back of the room. Mr. Stillson had not arrived and the classroom was getting rowdy.

"Mark is fine but he's staying home today. We told our parents he hit his head falling on a baseball bat while we were playing soccer in the backyard. I don't know if they believed us but they didn't care."

"I'm glad he's alright."

Samantha noticed Marissa was holding still, trying to hear what was said.

"We talked about it before we went to sleep last night and we still want to know where it leads, but I said that..." Cliff trailed off because Mr. Stillson had walked into the room, dressed in a bright orange t-shirt and jeans. Mink walked in behind him, pointing at Mr. Stillson's back and miming exaggerated, silent laughs.

"I'll talk to you later," Cliff said, and he walked around the back row and up to his seat next to Marissa. He sat next to her and said hello, smiling, but she barely nodded in return. Mink sat next to Samantha and grinned at her.

"Did you have a good weekend my dearest," he asked.

"Yep."

"I did too, even though it rained a ton. I..." Mink trailed off as he noticed Marissa and how different she looked compared to her normal appearance. The familiar mean gleam appeared in Mink's eye and before Samantha could attempt a diversion, Mink said, "So what's up with you Marissa? You look terrible. Your Mom die or something?"

Marissa turned around and looked at Mink, furious.

"Shut up," she yelled.

The class went quiet and everyone turned to see what was happening. Even Mr. Stillson stopped fiddling with something behind his desk and looked up to see what was going on. Marissa glared at Mink for a few seconds, glanced at Samantha, and turned back around. Mink looked abashed and muttered, "Wow," under his breath a couple of times. He started to get stuff out of his backpack.

"Everything alright back there," Mr. Stillson asked mildly. Nobody responded and he resumed fiddling with his desk again.

The morning passed slowly. Becky sent Samantha a couple of notes, asking why Marissa was in such a bad mood, but Samantha didn't respond to either of them. She was looking forward to lunch so she could get Marissa alone to talk. They covered an English lesson, turned in their essays about their parents, and did some independent reading. While she was supposed to be reading "The Cay", a book about a boy whose ship was torpedoed by a German submarine in world war two, Samantha found herself looking at Mark's empty seat and thinking about their trip into the tunnel the day before. She thought about what Cliff had started to say. They wanted to finish their exploration of the tunnel, probably the coming weekend. She wasn't sure she would participate again, considering how it went the first time.

Twenty minutes before the noon bell rang a student appeared in the doorway, holding a note. She gave the note to Mr. Stillson, who was sitting in the beanbag chair reading an extremely thick book on Physics. He read the note and looked up at Samantha.

"Samantha? Could you come here for a moment please?"

"Busted," Mink said quietly, as she got out of her seat.

She walked to where Mr. Stillson was sitting and took the note he offered. Uncomfortably aware of the class looking at her, she tried to focus on the note.

Please send Samantha Branson to the nurse's office. Her doctor is on campus and would like a word with her.

Samantha looked from the note to Mr. Stillson's face, puzzled.

"Why do they want me to go to the nurse's office," she asked. "I feel fine."

Mr. Stillson shrugged his shoulders, looking puzzled himself, and then did what he did so often. He said something Samantha never would have expected.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to or if you don't feel comfortable."

"But the note said..."

"I don't care what the note said," Mr. Stillson said calmly. "You are my student and you will decide for yourself. I don't understand why a doctor thinks she can tell a healthy student to leave class. She can call your parents and ask them for an appointment."

Samantha stood there, having forgotten that she had her back to the class. A paper airplane went flying by her head and hit the wall behind Mr. Stillson.

"Nice try Mink," Mr. Stillson said, still looking up at Samantha. "I know it was you because you always make your planes exactly the same."

"I think I'll go then," Samantha said, wondering why she felt she should.

"OK. Let me sign it."

He took the note, put the time, and signed his name at the bottom. He held the note back up to her and Samantha tried to take it, but he held it tightly for a moment, and then let go. Samantha looked at him curiously, again feeling uneasy with him, and walked out of the classroom.

The trip to the nurse's office took just long enough for her to imagine all the terrible news she might be receiving. Tests indicated she had cancer, or that she had one of those blocked vessels in the brain that swelled up with blood until they burst. She told herself not to be silly but it was difficult to do. She was quite nervous when she opened the office door.

Ms. Tyler, the school secretary, was putting on her coat when Samantha walked in. Ms. Tyler smiled and showed her into the nurse's room, which contained no one.

"So I'm supposed to wait here?"

"That's what the doctor told me, "Ms. Tyler said. "I'm heading out to lunch now."

Ms. Tyler walked out and Samantha heard her talking to someone. There was the sound of laughter and footsteps approached the door. It opened, and the last person Samantha was expecting, Nurse Wishon, appeared. She swiftly turned and closed the door tightly behind her.

"Hello Samantha. How're you today," she asked.

Samantha found she couldn't speak. It was as if someone had reached in, pulled out her vocal cords, and filled her stomach with a pitcher of burning acid. She gripped the edge of her chair.

"Well, I'll assume that you're fine then, shall I? I have a little job to do and it won't take long."

"Where's Dr. Ginger," Samantha asked in a burst, suddenly finding her voice.

"She's at her office of course," Nurse Wishon said, gesturing with her broken arm. "Where would you expect her to be?"

"The note said she wanted to talk to me."

"Well, I'm here instead. We need to do a simple test and to take some blood. It won't take a second, unless you start struggling again."

She reached with her free hand into a black leather bag and removed a syringe and clear plastic tubing. She set it on the table and Samantha stood up.

"What're you doing," Nurse Wishon asked sharply.

"I'm going."

Samantha started walking toward the door, but Nurse Wishon held out her hand, blocking her path. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice here."

"Yes I do. You can't make me stay."

"I sure can," Nurse Wishon said, reaching rapidly into her bag and removing a spray bottle. She sprayed the contents into Samantha's face. Samantha started to cough and gag. She tried rubbing her eyes but they were streaming water and she couldn't really see. She fell back a couple of steps and the nurse gave her a push. She stumbled and tripped into the chair.

Samantha had experienced a burst of foul odor and a deep, burning sensation had spread throughout her lungs. It faded quickly, however, along with her ability to think clearly. She barely registered the push the nurse gave her and she tripped and landed in the chair with a complete lack of surprise. Watching calmly and without concern, Samantha saw Nurse Wishon fitting the tube on the table to the syringe. The nurse flicked the end of the syringe, pushed the right sleeve of Samantha's shirt above her elbow, and inserted the needle. In a stupor, Samantha watched as bright red blood, her blood, flowed back through the needle and into the tube. It emptied into a vial and started to pool. She stared at the nurse's face, contorted with both hatred and something like revulsion, with no concern at all.

The vial was soon full and Nurse Wishon removed the needle. She dabbed a small piece of paper with Samantha's blood and the paper immediately turned bright, neon blue.

"I knew it," Nurse Wishon said bitterly. "Well my little freak, it appears we've one last thing to do."

She reached into her bag again and removed a bottle full of clear liquid. Samantha watched, feeling slow and interested, as Nurse Wishon retrieved a second syringe and filled it full of the liquid. She again tapped on the needle and approached Samantha.

"You might not feel so good after this one," Nurse Wishon said, "But that's what you should've expected, am I right?"

She positioned the needle over Samantha's right arm and the door burst open, causing Nurse Wishon to jump and look around, startled. Something happened then. It happened so fast that Samantha was not sure what was going on. She was aware of a bright orange flash of movement. Then Nurse Wishon was being spun around, collapsing to the floor with her own syringe sticking in her arm. It was over before it had started and Samantha was wondering how much was real until Mr. Stillson knelt in front of her. He had taken something off the shelves and he broke it into two pieces. He held these pieces under Samantha's nose and a sharp, acerbic smell that seemed to go straight to the back of her brain filled her senses. Her ability to think, and a flood of suppressed fear, washed over her and she looked from Nurse Wishon to Mr. Stillson, and burst into tears.

"What's going on," she cried, over and over again. Mr. Stillson hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth, but he didn't say anything. Gradually Samantha got herself back under control.

Mr. Stillson stood up and took a phone out of his pocket. He seemed completely indifferent to the Nurse lying unconscious on the floor. He dialed a number and stood with his back partially to Samantha.

"Hello? This is Roger. Your suspicions were right and I've stopped an attack. Yes. Five minutes? Excellent. No no. You are more than welcome, you know that."

Mr. Stillson put the phone back into his pocket. He turned to look at Samantha and smiled. It was so natural and seemed so completely innocent that Samantha was amazed to feel herself answering it with a smile of her own.

"Your grandfather will be here in five minutes to take you home and explain a few things to you."

"Grandpa? You know him?"

"Indeed I do. I've known Neil for a long time. Almost my whole life."

"But why is Grandpa coming?"

"He needs to tell you a few things, stuff nobody wanted to tell you until you were older. But, unfortunately, you will have to know now Samantha."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'll let your Grandpa explain. Why don't you go wait for him in front of the school?"

"What? But..."

Samantha looked down at the unconscious nurse, and then back at Mr. Stillson. He looked at her, his face warm but his eyes dark and cold.

"Please Samantha. Go wait out front for your grandfather. He will be here very shortly I'm sure."

"But..."

"Go."

Samantha, feeling more confused and in less control of her own actions than she had ever felt in her short life, walked to the door and went through into the empty front office. The door was closed behind her. She stopped and looked at the closed door for a long moment. Something of immense importance was happening around her, she thought, but was she too young to understand? Then her fear came back up, threatening to overwhelm her. She ran through the office door and out into the cold December air.
Chapter 10: Others know

Neil drove rapidly into the school parking lot two minutes after Samantha ran out under the clear sky. From the front curb of the school she could hear students laughing in the cafeteria, waiting impatiently for the time recess began. Her unease seemed like a solid thing, both unreal and weighty at the same time.

Her Grandpa drove around the cement traffic island with a squeal of tires and pulled to a hasty stop by the curb directly in front of her. He was out of the car before it stopped, it seemed, and he jogged around the front bumper, his old face red and anxious.

"Are you alright Sam?"

"I think so."

"Where's Roger?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. In the car!"

There was no commiseration, not even an attempt to reassure her that everything was fine. Neil motioned towards the passenger side without another word. He led her to the door, looking around them constantly, and helped her inside. The interior was warm from being in the bright mid winter sunshine and it smelled musty. Samantha could feel the rough fabric of the seat through her jeans.

After the initial shock of her talent had passed, knowing that she was special had seemed like a good thing, even if it carried deep responsibilities. Now, watching her Grandpa behave as if a terrorist squad was nearby, she wondered if there was more to having the talent than her grandfather had told her.

He got in the front seat and drove fast, ignoring the stop sign at the edge of school. He turned towards the city limits. He ignored the stop sign at the end of the next street as well, glancing continuously between the road in front of them and the mirror view of the cars behind them. Neil stopped at the next stop sign and then turned off again, away from all the houses. He floored the accelerator and they were quickly going faster than Samantha had ever gone in a car before. She felt her whole body tense and she gripped the edges of the seat with her hands.

"Could you slow down Grandpa?"

"In a couple of minutes. I can't see anyone following us but we need to get away to make sure."

"What's happening?"

"I'll tell you all about it in a few minutes Sam. I wish to God I didn't have too, but I'm going to tell you everything I know."

Neil didn't say anything more, however, and he concentrated for a long time on the rearview mirror. Samantha noticed he was drifting off the right hand side of the road, causing her to say nervously, "Grandpa?"

He corrected the car, looked into the rearview mirror, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"No one was following us after all," Neil said. "Did she not tell them?"

He wasn't driving as fast, so Samantha relaxed and as she did so the needle wound on her right arm began to hurt. She rubbed it to make the pain go away, looking out the window at the flat countryside around them. The houses were spaced every quarter mile or so, with nothing but farmland in between. Although she couldn't remember this road specifically, Samantha knew they were heading toward the neighboring town.

A moment later, Neil turned onto a dirt road wedged between two overgrown hedges. The fields on the other side of the hedges were full of tall weeds, discarded cars, and scattered farm equipment. At the end of the dirt road was an ugly house, covered in white peeling paint, leaning noticeably to the right side. Neil pulled to a stop, wiping his forehead with a towel he pulled from under his seat. He looked at Samantha and tried to smile, but he couldn't make it work and he gave it up.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

He stared at the needle wound on Samantha's arm, still oozing slow blood.

"I think so. What's going on? Where are we?"

"This was the house I grew up in, although it looked much different back then."

"You said you grew up in town."

"We moved to town when I was eleven. But we always kept the farm and rented it out until it became unlivable. I got it from my parents but I've never bothered to fix it up."

There was a pause, during which Neil looked at the old house and Samantha tried to keep herself composed.

"What's happening to me," Samantha asked, tears in her eyes.

"What do you mean Sam?"

"What's going to happen to me now? What else haven't you told me about what I am?"

Neil sighed and leaned back in his seat, with the back of his neck resting smoothly against the headrest. Samantha's hand was resting lightly on the door handle. Her hand wanted to clench tight. She wanted to turn the knob, open the door, and run as fast as she could back towards the school. Maybe, during that run, these frightening, undesirable events would strip themselves away like an old gear and her days would be as they were. Her willpower fought against the desire and she noticed, perhaps too late, that Neil's eyes were on her right hand. His face was sad.

"You don't trust me, do you Sam?"

Samantha didn't know what to say. Her first instinct was to say that she trusted him, of course she did, but there was a pause in her thinking and she wondered if she did anymore. Doubt, exactly like the doubts she had felt about Mr. Stillson, surfaced in her mind. The strangeness of this new life and the truths her Grandpa hid from his own son, told her there might be other things, more information, he was hiding from her. And now he was sitting in his car, on the rutted driveway of a dilapidated old house in the middle of nowhere, asking if she trusted him.

"No," she said suddenly, surprising herself.

Neil nodded his head, his face stained with an expression approaching grief. "I guess I don't blame you Sam. In your situation, would I trust me? The honest answer is no. Your life has been twisted upside down in the last few days and I still haven't told you everything. I apologize for not doing that Sam."

"Tell me what?"

"I'll tell you what I know. It may be hard to hear."

Samantha nodded, her arm throbbing where the nurse drew her blood.

"But I don't really know where to start. It's so hard to remember that you know little of what I take for granted. So I tend to gloss over the little things, assuming you already know. But how could you, when I haven't told you about them? Maybe you could ask me a couple of questions Sam, you know, to get me on track."

Samantha found his whole comment strange. She decided to ask the question that had been eating away at her since they had left the school.

"Why... why did that nurse hate me so much?"

"Yes, good question. She did hate you, I think, and not just because you broke her arm. She was what I call an operator."

"Operator? What is that?"

"She is like a government agent. You know, someone who works for a part of the government that is secret. Like the CIA or NSA. You've probably heard about them in the movies. I think that she worked for one of those agencies as a low level lookout. Doctors and nurses are especially good people to notice when a person has the talent because they are involved with close physical examinations. She knew, after you broke her arm, that you were most likely a talent."

"But why would they look for me?"

"They want to find us because they want to study why we are the way we are. Our strengths would be extremely valuable to the government because the military would find uses for people who could do what we can do."

Samantha looked frightened and lifted her arms, staring as she moved them from side to side. She scratched her left arm with her right, as though she could scrape away the strength that lived inside her.

"Why didn't you tell me," she asked, her voice almost hysterical. "It's bad enough knowing what I can do, that I can screw up my whole life by doing anything, and not being able to tell anyone about it. That I'm always going to be different than everyone else and I can't do anything about it. Now you tell me there are people out there trying to find people like me and we have to hide from them too!"

Neil looked at her, eyes watering. He dabbed at them with the back of his hand. He also sniffed and shook his head slightly.

"Sam, I'm so sorry about all of this. So deeply sorry. You've found out many things the hard way because your father never had the talent. And now you find out about operators when you're still so young. This is my fault Sam and I wish that I could change it for you. I tried, believe me, I tried."

"What did you try," Samantha asked, still sounding on the verge of panic.

"When I was younger I tried to find a way to keep this from spreading."

"What!"

"I had heard that, if you did certain things, you could prevent it from spreading beyond yourself. And I tried, and I thought I succeeded because Thomas was clear. I thought maybe all the drainings I felt were nothing but my imagination. Things were fine with your mom and dad. But then you... Sam, I'm getting off track here. Always know that you'll be protected. And I'm sorry you've had to find out about the operators this way but now you'll know why we have to be so careful about revealing our strengths. You never know when the wrong person will see you, and you never know who that person will tell."

"But what do we do now Grandpa? That nurse knows about me. I can't go back to school!"

Neil sighed and sat up straight again, a few wispy iron hairs brushing across the top of the ceiling.

"It's been taken care of Samantha. You have no reason to fear going back to school."

"What do you mean? She knows all about me. I saw her take some of my blood and put it on a piece of paper. It turned blue. When that happened she said 'I knew it'."

"It's been taken care of and there's nothing to worry about. Nurse Wishon won't be informing any of her supervisors that she has found a talent."

"But how..."

Samantha suddenly realized a truth that was obvious in hindsight. She thought of Mr. Stillson rushing into the office so quickly that she couldn't follow his movements. She thought of him closing the door once she left the office.

"Mr. Stillson is a talent too."

Neil smiled a small natural smile for the first time since they left the school.

"Yes. He's been watching you carefully, although I only told him you had the gift a couple days ago. He called and asked me."

"How do you know him?"

"Like I said Sam, sometimes you hear things and sometimes you see things. I knew his father."

Samantha's fear had retreated but she felt again as if her head was overstuffed with information. She also had the beginnings of a headache starting under her right eye. She put a hand there. The pain remained, growing more intense. Neil noticed.

"Do you have any pain?"

"Yeah. Behind my eye."

"Oh dear. I suppose we should get you home before it starts up good. That way we can pretend you're sick and you won't get your parents concerned. A draining on top of everything else," he muttered disgustedly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're about to get hit with the draining. After your first time it usually signifies itself with a little headache. You probably have about two minutes."

Neil started the car and began to back slowly, carefully, along the driveway. Samantha allowed herself to drift with the pain, not sure where it was taking her. Once again she felt as if her life was not really her own anymore. The constant pull to use the talent, the constant worry that she would do something terrible if she did, and the strange things that had been happening to her all made life's day to day reality seem paper thin and meaningless. She found herself retreating into her own mind for support and using this as her basis in reality. However, she was learning this protection came at a cost, because her mind was not as stable as the outside world. It was also an attractive place to go, but each time she went in it became harder and harder to come back out.

The weakness hit her fully as they pulled onto the road. All her muscles relaxed and her thoughts became muddy. Neil looked at her and patted her hand, which she felt a moment after she saw it happen. She couldn't speak and her head rolled on her shoulders.

Yet it did not seem as bad this time and Samantha felt that, deep at her core, there remained a strand of control. She concentrated on this strand as if it were a bright metallic wire she could seize. She tried to pull it in her mind, thinking it could help her come back to herself, and she was amazed to find that it worked. The gray fog around her vision disappeared. She could control her muscles, although they were still weak, and she could talk again.

"You look like you've fought it off pretty well Sam," Neil said, looking out the window at the passing farmland. Samantha nodded and tried her voice.

"It got bad," she said slowly, as if she was learning to talk again, "but it went away when I concentrated on it."

"Good. You're getting the hang of this much quicker than I ever did, I'll tell you that."

Samantha leaned against the seat and rested her head and eyes. She was asleep before she realized she was tired and woke up when they pulled into her driveway. Neil shook her shoulder gently and Samantha looked up at him, feeling much better.

"Hey Sam. Sorry to wake you but we're home. I need to let you know that I called your Dad and told him I was picking you up from school today because it was on my way. This is only a little later than you would normally be home, so I don't think there will be any questions about where you were. Do you understand?"

Samantha nodded her head to indicate her understanding and opened the car door. She was surprised at how much better she felt this time and she could walk on her own easily. As long as no one asked her too many questions she thought she could easily escape to her room for a while and her parents wouldn't notice a thing. She and her Grandpa walked up the sidewalk to the front door and she sensed him watching her every step to make sure she did not stumble. They were almost to the door when a high-pitched, irritating voice floated over to them.

"Feeling a little under the weather, eh girl?"

Neil turned to his right quickly, unconsciously stepping in front of Samantha. The voice belonged to Mr. Henson, who was standing on the other side of the low white fence separating the two front yards. Neil grinned.

"I have no idea why you think this one would be ill," Neil said. "You, on the other hand, look like you need a doctor. But what else is new?"

Neil gently pushed Samantha towards the door with his left hand. She got the hint, walked the rest of the way to the house, and went inside. Her Grandpa followed a moment later, muttering to himself. Not seeing her parents, Samantha took no chances and went straight to her room to rest.

"I'll stay for dinner Samantha," Neil called.

"OK," she said, already down the hall and to her room. She closed the door and lay down on the bed, glad her Grandpa was staying near, even if she no longer felt she could trust him completely. He admitted he had not told the whole truth about her talent and that revealed him to be a fallible person, just like herself. Although it felt somewhat satisfying to identify faults in an adult she knew and respected, it was also a blow to her previously uncompromised belief that Neil and her parents could solve any problem.

Before she fell asleep again, she thought of the strange scene in the nurse's office and the terror that immobilized her. She thought of the prick of the needle and the nurse's look of triumph when the blood sample turned blue. Of Mr. Stillson leaping into the room to rescue her. Of Mr. Stillson closing the door behind her as she left. What had he done with the door closed? Samantha wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer but she couldn't stop replaying the scene. 
Chapter 11: Missing

Samantha was awakened by a rapid knock on her door, unlike her mother's usual fluttery tap or her father's languid double knock. She sat up, realizing she was still in her school clothes. Her head was groggy and she had no concept of time because it was dark. Her clock stated 5:45 PM, which meant she had slept two hours.

"Come in."

To Samantha's surprise, her mother opened the door and sat down at the foot of her bed.

"Did you have a good nap," she asked.

"I didn't think I was going to sleep that long. I feel really groggy."

"That's why I can't take naps during the day. I don't feel right until the next morning."

Sandra took in a deep breath and let it out, running her eyes over the decorations of the room. She traced the lines and falls of the mountains and looked at the eagles. Worried that perhaps her parents had heard she was sick, Samantha decided to preempt her mother's questions.

"It's probably nothing," she said.

"What's probably nothing," her Mom asked, twisting her body to look at her directly.

"I mean, I was just a little tired, that's all. I feel much better now."

"Well good. I'm glad you're feeling fine, although I didn't know you were feeling bad. Actually, I have a very important question to ask you. Do you know if Mark was planning to ditch school and go anywhere today?"

It was the last thing Samantha had expected to hear and for a moment she didn't have a response. Later, Samantha realized how guilty a pause appears when answering a direct question. In the moment, however, she just sat there looking at her mother with no expression.

"You did know something, didn't you," Sandra said. "It's alright. His mother came by and asked. I said I would ask you. Let me know where he is so his parents can go get him."

"Mark wasn't at school today. Cliff said he was sick."

"Come on Samantha. Please give me a little more respect than that. Like I said, I'm not mad. I only want to know what he said he was going to do."

"I'm not lying Mom," Samantha said, yawning. "Cliff said that Mark hurt his head yesterday and was feeling kind of dizzy so he stayed home. He didn't say anything about Mark going anywhere."

Sandra looked at her with a mix of hidden anxiety and exasperation. Samantha felt uncomfortable under the weight of her mother's stare but she didn't divert her eyes. She didn't feel guilty because she was telling the truth, but something about her mother's stare always made her feel as if she had done something wrong. At last, her mother got up, smoothing the bed sheets where she had been sitting.

"So you really didn't hear him saying anything? Your Dad said that you went to play over there yesterday."

"Yeah I did. But I never heard him talk about going anywhere today."

"OK." Sandra paused, observing Samantha's sleep matted hair and wrinkled clothes. "Neil is staying for dinner and we're going to eat soon. You'll probably want to get up."

"I'm up," Samantha said, "I wanted a little nap, that's all."

Sandra gave her one last doubtful look and left the room. Samantha got up, wincing at the pain in her neck. However, she was pleased at how much of her strength had come back already. She changed into sweats, a sweatshirt, and walked into the kitchen in her bare feet. Neil was sitting on a stool at the counter, talking with her father. Then the phone rang, stopping conversation, and her father picked it up.

"Hello? Yes, just a moment."

He turned and looked at Samantha, holding out the phone. She grabbed it and made an immediate half turn, expecting it to be Becky or Marissa calling to find out why she hadn't come back to class. In her mind she was already planning the story she would tell, since she couldn't tell them the truth. Instead, it was Cliff.

"Samantha? Did your Mom come to talk to you?"

His voice did not sound normal and Samantha realized he sounded more frightened than he had inside the tunnel. Struggling to keep her voice normal and not betraying the surprise and unease she felt, Samantha said, "Yeah," and walked with the portable phone back to her bedroom.

"Five minutes only," her Dad called. Samantha gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder and closed her door.

"Mark wasn't here when we got home," Cliff said. "My parents were really mad and thought that he faked being sick so he could ditch and go do something. So, they talked to your parents to see if you knew something. What did you say?"

"I just said that you told me he hurt his head and was at home. I said I never heard him saying anything about going anywhere."

"That's what I said too but I'm starting to get worried. He isn't back yet and no one has seen him. And I found an empty battery pack on his bed when I came in after school. I think he got another flashlight and went back to the tunnel."

"What!"

"I know. I think he may have gone back there. I didn't tell my parents but he wouldn't stop talking about it last night. He wanted to see where it went and he wanted to find out what was above the trapdoors. I said I wanted to go back too, and I do, but I was going to wait until the weekend at least. I thought he really had hurt his head and that was why he stayed home. Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Maybe he hurt his head bad enough that he didn't know what he was doing," Samantha said.

There was a moment of shocked silence on the line. When he came back on Cliff's voice was thick with worry.

"Do you think that's possible?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Did he seem normal to you last night?"

"Sort of. He had a huge bump on the back of his head but he was making sense when he talked. He really wanted to go back to the tunnel though. He wouldn't shut up about it."

"Well, if he was making sense I doubt that he would've done something that he didn't want to do. But why wouldn't he tell you." Samantha asked. "Don't you guys tell each other everything?"

"I guess."

"He probably lost track of time if that's where he went. You know how it was back in the tunnel. I bet he's back soon."

"But what if he gets hurt and can't get back? What if there is something bad, like Satan worshippers or something, way back at the end of the tunnel?"

There was a knock on the door and her Dad said dinner was ready.

"He'll be fine Cliff. I've got to go to dinner but call me as soon as he gets home."

"Sure. Bye."

"Bye."

Samantha hung up the phone, wondering why she was not more worried about Mark. It didn't take her long to understand the answer. So much had happened during the day that walking in the tunnel did not seem important. Why did it matter if Mark was a little late getting home after playing hooky when she had been attacked by an operator? Samantha walked out of her room and into the kitchen to hang up the phone. She could hear her parents and Grandpa talking in the dining room, so she got a plate and made a burrito, choosing the rice, chicken, beans, and cheese. She also filled a bowl with chips and salsa, grabbed a glass of water, and went into the dining room.

"Finally decided to join us, eh Samantha," Thomas said, smiling. "How was Mark?"

Samantha almost dropped her plate in surprise. Did her parents know that Mark had asked her to the dance and she had said yes? She was keeping that a secret.

"It wasn't Mark, Dad," Samantha said, sitting down. "It was Cliff."

"Did Mark come home yet," Sandra asked.

"No. Cliff was worried about him."

She was hungry and wanted to start eating, but she waited to see if there were any more questions. Sandra frowned and leaned over to whisper something in Thomas's ear. He nodded, looked at Samantha, but said nothing.

"What?"

"Nothing dear. I suppose Cliff called to find out if Mark told you why he was ditching school today?"

"I don't know. He asked if I had seen him."

There was a long pause at the table and Samantha picked up her burrito and took a bite, but her appetite had faded. Slowly she chewed her food, wanting someone to talk or tell a funny story, wondering why the mood was so tense. No one did, and the dinner went on with only fitful conversation. Finally, Samantha finished her burrito, brought her plates into the kitchen, and escaped to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, trying to understand why her parents were so upset with her and why her Grandpa had done nothing to help the situation.

She walked into the living room thirty minutes later to watch some television. Neil was sitting in the easy chair, reading a thick novel about warlords in Asia. Thomas was lying on the couch and seemed to be taking a nap. Her mother was not around. When Neil saw Samantha walk in he put the book aside and caught her eyes. She didn't know what to do, so she looked back at him, trying to understand what he was communicating. She was unable to read him though, so she walked to the television, turned it on, and hunted for the remote.

Neil resumed reading and Samantha flipped through some channels without finding anything good to watch. She turned the television back off and sat fidgeting on the chair. She picked up a magazine and paged through it, finally finding an article on black holes that sparked her interest. She was halfway through the article when there was a knock on the front door.

Thomas opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing absently at his forehead. Neil also looked up, apprehensively. She wondered who would be at the door after eight and figured that it wasn't going to be good news, whoever it was. Thomas finally got up to answer the door. Both Neil and Samantha got up to follow him. The knock came again.

Thomas opened the door to reveal two police officers Samantha recognized, Officers Robinson and Martinez. They each carried an aloof expression on their faces, as if they had seen everything twice before. However, Samantha thought they looked tenser than the last time she had seen them, after Mr. Henson called the police because of fireworks being set off in the backyard.

"Can we help you gentlemen," Thomas asked.

"Well, we certainly hope so. We'd like you to come to the Wilson's house with us. Their son Mark is missing."

"He isn't back yet," Samantha asked, before she could think.

There was a long pause. The officers looked at her, their expression not changing, but both sets of eyes were intense and she felt them prying at her, trying to make her say more. Her father had also made a slow turn to face her directly, a disappointed expression on his face.

"Let us grab our coats," Thomas said. "We'll be right there."

"Thank you sir," Office Robinson said, looking at Samantha.

Samantha felt her face going red and there was a simmering heat in her stomach. She thought she wouldn't keep her burrito down and, as her father brushed by her to get their coats, she had to clench her teeth together to keep from throwing up. Then Neil was whispering in her ear.

"I don't know what you're doing," Neil said, "but my suggestion is that you tell the truth and get it over with."

Samantha looked up at her grandfather, who was looking back kindly but firmly. The officers were walking down the sidewalk and they disappeared around the corner of the garage before Thomas got back with their coats.

"Here," he said shortly. Samantha pulled her coat around her and followed her father outside. The night was clear and cold. Her breath puffed out around her. She could see the police car in front of the Wilson's house, its lights on and engine still running. Every lamp in the Wilson's house appeared to be on and spare light from unblocked windows illuminated their front lawn. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were on the porch, standing very close to each other. Cliff was standing behind them, his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets. Seeing Cliff brought questions to Samantha's mind. Why did they need to speak with her about Mark? Cliff had told the police Mark went to the tunnel, hadn't he?

Officers Robinson and Martinez were speaking with the Wilsons. Thomas, Neil, and Samantha walked up to them and the officers turned so the Wilson's could see them clearly. Thomas nodded hello to everyone but did not speak. There was a pause.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilson have reported their son Mark is missing. He stayed home from school today after complaining of a headache, but was not here when Mrs. Wilson and Cliff arrived home after 3:00 PM. We asked you to come over to see if you could help us in any way," Officer Martinez said.

Everyone looked at Samantha. She looked back calmly enough but had no idea how to respond. Cliff, standing behind everyone, was trying to communicate something to her and Samantha understood. Cliff had not told anyone about the tunnel and wanted to go find Mark himself tonight. For a moment Samantha couldn't believe he was serious. Officer Robinson noticed Samantha looking at Cliff, so he turned to see what he was doing and Cliff stopped. She felt disgust at herself and realized why her Grandpa had told her just to tell the truth. She didn't want to hide the truth out of concern for herself, when Mark could be hurt somewhere in the tunnel, yelling for help. That decided things. If Cliff had lied to his parents then he deserved whatever he got.

"I don't know for sure," Samantha said slowly, "but I think Mark may have gone back to the tunnel."

"What tunnel," Mr. Wilson barked.

Samantha flinched, but continued. "We found a tunnel in the bamboo the yesterday. We went in and explored it. It's really long, like a concrete tube. I think Mark may have gone back into it."

"In your own backyard," Mr. Wilson said, "my wife went over to your house two hours ago, asking if you knew where he was and you said no. Why did you lie to her?"

He was so angry he was shaking and he took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. Neil moved in front of Samantha instinctively.

"Mr. Wilson. Officer Martinez is going to call for help right now," Office Robinson said, throwing a look at Martinez. Martinez walked away, pulling his walkie-talkie from his belt and speaking to the dispatcher. "We'll get every officer we can in here and look through the tunnel for Mark." He turned to Samantha. "Thank you for telling us what you know, Ms. Branson. Perhaps you could also show us how to get into this tunnel?"

"Sure," Samantha said quietly. She had been looking at her father, who did not look upset, merely sad and disappointed. "It's in the bamboo in our backyard. We'll need flashlights."

Mr. Wilson was staring at her, his nostrils flaring in and out. She turned away quickly and caught Cliff's eyes, which looked frightened. He was looking at the back of his Dad's head. Mrs. Wilson seemed to be in shock. However, her eyes became hopeful after Samantha mentioned the tunnel and that made Samantha feel as though she had done the right thing. Office Martinez finished speaking to the dispatcher and returned from the car with three flashlights.

Thomas walked to their side gate and opened it, waving his right arm slightly to indicate that it led to the back yard.

"This way, officers," he said.

Samantha led Officer Robinson and Martinez to the gate and through it. Thomas scurried into the garage and turned on the back porch light, which illuminated the porch, Jacuzzi, and garden. Officer Martinez did a double take as they came across Sandra, sitting in her hammock within the Jacuzzi.

"What's going on," she asked, frightened.

"We are going to find Mark," Thomas said, his voice quiet and sad. He looked meaningfully at Sandra and her tense posture relaxed. Samantha felt her Mom's eyes upon her. Sandra started to get out of the Jacuzzi but Samantha hurried on and led the officers to the edge of the eucalyptus grove. She noticed that the officers, as most people did when they first saw their backyard, were looking around in awe. The flashlights moved in and out of the trees, casting unusual shadows and making the grove look new even to Samantha's eyes. She had rarely been out in the trees this late at night. They came out of the grove on the left side of the bamboo, which Officer Martinez trained his light over for a moment, marveling at the height of the stalks. Samantha went straight to the entrance and paused.

"You're going to get muddy," she said.

"I think that's fine considering the circumstances, Ms. Branson," Officer Robinson said.

Samantha dropped to her knees and crawled under the bamboo. The officers and Neil followed her but Thomas stayed behind.

"I will let the other officers know where you are," Thomas said.

The three men were all much larger than Samantha and kept scratching their shoulders and backs on the rough bamboo stalks. Samantha paused at the fence, removed the fence board, went around the corner, and pulled the string for the door. Officer Robinson actually laughed when he saw the bamboo door open to reveal the tunnel beyond.

"You're a clever girl," Officer Robinson said.

Samantha crawled into the tunnel and stood up. One by one, the others came through the fence, with some difficulty. Samantha led them to the fork and turned right down the unfinished tunnel. They came to the trapdoor, with the metal slab lying off to one side exactly as Samantha remembered it.

The officers squatted around the trapdoor and shined their lights inside the concrete tunnel.

"So you and your friends found this the yesterday and went inside," Officer Martinez asked.

"Yes sir."

Samantha looked at her Grandpa and was disturbed by the expression on his face. She couldn't place the emotion. His lips were drawn in towards his teeth and the corners of his eyes were wrinkled. He didn't seem to be breathing.

"What should we do partner? I bet the kid is down there," Officer Robinson said.

"I think we go now. Backup can follow us. We need to make sure this guy isn't hurt. Hey Samantha. Does anything look different to you since you were here last?"

That was a good question and it hadn't occurred to her. She looked around and even peeked into the trapdoor and looked at the cement tube. Slowly she shook her head.

"It looks exactly as it did when we left."

"OK. Thanks." Officer Robinson turned to Neil. "We're going down now. Can you please let our backup know where we are?"

"I wonder where this thing comes out," Officer Martinez said. He started to swing his legs into the hole. Neil took a step forward.

"Officers? There are two things I should mention. One, once you get down there, yell a few times. Sound travels a long way in that tunnel and if Mark is down there and conscious, he'll hear you. Two, there are other doors to this thing, but most of them used to be sealed shut. One at the other end is still open."

The two officers looked at him, not sure what to say.

"You knew about the tunnel Grandpa," Samantha asked, amazed.

"Well, only after you mentioned it. It's been forty-five years since I was in it and I had forgotten about it until now. The other open door comes out under the big church three blocks over."

"Three blocks," Officer Robinson exclaimed.

"Yes. I have no idea if the tunnel is like it used to be, but it used to be clean all the way over there so it was easy to go fast."

"It was still clean Grandpa," Samantha said.

"Alright then. Be sure to point our backup in the right direction," Officer Robinson said.

Martinez lowered himself in the hole and dropped to the bottom of the tunnel. He moved forward so Robinson could climb down. Officer Robinson had a belly over his belt and had more difficulty getting in. Samantha could see their flashlights as they checked every direction. Then Officer Robinson bellowed, "Mark! Mark Wilson! Can you hear us?"

There was no response. Robinson tried again and waited, hearing nothing but his own echo bouncing off the end of the tunnel. Samantha scooted forward so she could look into the edge of the hole. She watched their flashlights recede in the distance, hearing their shuffling footsteps as they navigated the tunnel.

She pushed back from the edge and stood, the first real pangs of worry about Mark gnawing her insides. Hearing the flat echoes with no accompanying response from Mark made her realize there might not be a quick answer. Once Cliff told her about the empty battery pack she assumed Mark had gone to the tunnel and that they would find him. Now, she realized, there was no guarantee he went anywhere near the tunnel.

"What if he isn't down there, Grandpa? I mean, wouldn't he answer if he heard them?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "He would, unless he's unconscious."

"How could he be unconscious though? It's not like there's anything to get hurt on down there."

Neil shrugged and Samantha could tell he did not want to say what he really thought, even though she couldn't see much of his face in the dark.

"Let's go tell the other officers where they need to go. Actually, you may want to go to the house and talk to your parents. I'm sure they have some things to say to you."

Samantha looked at her feet, clad in dirty tennis shoes, and showed no signs of moving. Neil walked slowly down the trail and felt his way to the left turn. Then he slipped around the corner and disappeared towards the entrance, leaving Samantha alone in the dark bamboo. Despite all the time she had spent there, sometimes by herself and sometimes with friends, she had never experienced true unhappiness while in the bamboo. It was her place, a refuge from all the other parts of her life that were mostly good and sometimes bad. Now, however, she couldn't help wondering if this place would ever be the same.

Yet is was shameful, thinking of herself and not fully appreciating what Mark might be going through. What if he wasn't just off somewhere, she wondered. What if he had been kidnapped and she had wasted time worrying about herself, time that could have been used to prevent his disappearance? What if they never found him? What was he seeing right at that very moment?

These answerless questions wouldn't leave her alone. That they were saturating her in this private spot, the one place where she never felt bad about herself, somehow amplified the feelings until they were almost unbearable. She started running down the trail, knowing where she was without the need for sight. She ignored the turn back to the entrance and followed the wide sweeping turn to the right. She ignored the left turn to the back entrance and went to the clubhouse. She was running faster now, not sure why she was doing so but wanting to move faster still. Her feet fetched against something she wasn't expecting and she flew forward, landing on her stomach. Samantha felt the hot sting of bamboo cut her arms and upper chest, but she got up and looked back quickly to see what she tripped on. The granite rock her Grandpa had given her was there, barely visible in the dark moonlight filtering through the open roof of the clubhouse. Starting to weep, she ran out the clubhouse and down the trail again, beyond the pond and to the base of the oak tree. In seconds she was sitting on the planks in the tree, watching the various movements at the Wilson's house and behind her own. Two more cops had arrived and Samantha could see them being led to the bamboo by her Grandpa. Through the kitchen window she could see her parents talking together, glancing out the back window occasionally. Between her house and the Wilson's she could see through a window where Mrs. Wilson was sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth while Mr. Wilson paced around in circles.

The weeping became crying and she broke down completely, wrapping her arms around her knees in a helpless gesture, no self-control left in her limbs. Samantha cried so long she had no concept of time passing. All she knew was that she could not face any of the people she could see below her. All she could think of was the unknown location of her friend Mark and her own failings during the afternoon and evening.
Chapter 12: Daylight

After a time, Samantha started thinking clearly again and her breathing was only interrupted by the occasional sob, the occasional double breath. Her arms were still wrapped around her legs and she had not seen any movement below for a few minutes. Her parents were no longer by the dining room window and the Wilsons were nowhere to be seen. There was, however, movement to her right. A tremendous excitement coursed through her body. Maybe Mark had hidden until he knew he could sneak back home. Samantha looked more closely and saw the movement had come from the other side of the fence. It was Mr. Henson. He had pulled himself up so he could observe what was going on, obviously wondering why the police cars were out front and the officers were in back. Feeling disgust, Samantha watched him for a moment, wishing she had something she could throw at him. Maybe even a firecracker would do, she thought with a bitter laugh.

"Samantha?"

She jumped, startled, and noticed that Mr. Henson had looked up and spotted her, because he moved away from the fence and back towards his house. Samantha looked down the gnarled tree trunk and saw her father looking up at her.

"Are you alright," he asked gently.

Samantha wiped her eyes and said, "I'm fine."

"Should I come up there or are you going to come back down soon?"

"I'll... I'll come down now," she said.

She sat up, wincing at her stiff joints, and lowered herself down carefully, wondering how she had ever climbed as fast as she did because it was so dark. Soon she was standing on firm ground, glancing at her father but mostly looking at her shoes. Thomas stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"Are you sure you are alright? I could hear you crying."

Samantha sobbed again and for a moment thought she was going to start all over. But she was able to catch control of her emotions before they dodged her grasp.

"I was crying because I was bad. I wasn't doing good things and I started thinking about Mark and how he must feel, and how he... he would feel if he saw how I acted."

She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes. Thomas gave her a long hug and she pushed her head against his chest as hard as she could. She looked at the dark bamboo because it was all she could see, and felt a small, light breeze blow against her, chilling her wet cheeks.

"You are a smart girl Samantha. There is nothing I need to tell you that you can't figure out on your own. But I am proud of the way you owned up just the same."

"Have they found him?"

Thomas looked at her and sighed.

"No. I guess Robinson and his partner walked all the way to the church and ended up coming out in a locked storage room in the basement. They pounded on the door and woke up the pastor. He let them out and scared him half to death at the same time. Apparently, he did not know the trapdoor was there. And now it looks like Mark never even went in the tunnel, or if he did he left a long time ago. There is no place he could hide in there I guess."

Samantha looked down at her hands in disbelief, wondering how a person could simply disappear.

"So what happens now?"

Thomas hesitated, appearing nervous and unsure what to say. He rubbed his hand against his chin.

"And now, Samantha, we do nothing. We will let the police see whatever they want in the backyard, but there is really nothing we can do but wait. But I am sure they will find him. I am sure of it."

The truth hit home for Samantha, not because of the words her father said, but because of the look on his face, the one indicating he didn't believe everything he said. His eyes were too wide, his jaw stiff, and he kept his hand at his side instead of gesturing as he spoke, the way he usually did. In that moment, observing her father with similar fears to her own, she knew that Mark was gone and they were powerless to do anything about it. He might never be found.

Samantha woke up the next morning from a sleep so deep that, lying in her heavy bed and watching the bright winter sunlight illuminating her wall, she believed the previous day was nothing but a realistic dream. The feeling persisted but the sound of voices down the hall, including her grandfather's, brought her back to the truth. Samantha got out of bed and looked out the window. There was a police car parked in front of the Wilson's house. Startled, she looked at her clock and saw it was already after ten in the morning. She was late for school. Why didn't her alarm go off? She could hear a faint sound in her room, like static, but it wasn't her clock.

Samantha quickly put on jeans, a sweater, and picked up her backpack. She was about to run down the hall when she spotted the diaries lying on her desk. She hadn't written in her diary last night and she hadn't read her Grandpa's to see what would happen to him today. Indecisive, the voices down the hall made her decision because they became louder and seemed more important than writing in her diary. She left both books alone and went out of her room, slinging her backpack over her shoulders.

Samantha stepped into the hall and closed her door, the sound of which stopped the voices. She could see Thomas and Sandra standing near Neil. The three of them looked at her and smiled simultaneously. The effect was creepy and Samantha shivered.

Thomas noted her backpack and said, "No school for you today Samantha. You had a hard night last night, so sleep was more important. We don't want your migraines to come back."

Samantha was frustrated because she wanted to go to school to see her friends.

"I want to go," she said. "Can somebody please take me now?"

"Hon. I think it's better if you stay at home today and rest," Sandra said. "If you try to do too much you might end up getting sick again."

"I won't get sick. I just want to go to school."

"You can go tomorrow, after we've all had some time to heal."

"What do you mean heal? I just want to see my friends and get back to normal," Samantha said, getting angry.

Neil's cell phone rang. He was leaning against the far kitchen counter, watching Samantha carefully. He took out his phone and said, "Hello? Yes, I'm here. Well, I'm not surprised. Listen, I don't have time to talk right now. Can we meet for lunch or something? Sure. That sounds good. See you there."

He clicked off the phone. Thomas rubbed his hand against his chin, and then put both hands on the kitchen counter. Without looking at Sandra, he said, "I think that if Samantha wants to go that badly then she should. Samantha, you should know that class will probably be a lot different today though. I spoke with Mr. Stillson this morning and he said that the school had brought in counselors to talk to students who were frightened."

"I don't care," Samantha said. "I want to get away from home. I've been here so much lately and I haven't seen my friends or done anything fun."

"I'm headed that way," Neil said. "I'll drop her off if you'd like."

Sandra paused, seeming to disapprove of Thomas's decision. Her lower lip pushed on her upper lips in a half-sneer.

"I think that sounds good Neil. Thank you," Sandra said, coldly.

"I'm ready," Samantha said, so anxious to get away from the house that she was moving from side to side.

"Do you need me to pick her up as well," Neil asked.

"I can pick her up," Thomas said.

Samantha went outside. The day was bright and warm and she was glad to be wearing a sweater and not something heavier. The police car was still parked in front of the Wilson's house, but the house itself was quiet. The front door creaked and her Grandpa came out, blinking a little in the bright sunlight. He noticed Samantha looking at the police car but didn't say anything as he walked past her to the driver's side door.

"Were you here last night Grandpa?"

He unlocked the car doors and Samantha opened the passenger side even as he was sliding behind the steering wheel. He started the ignition and Samantha wondered if he would answer her question. Just as she was about to ask again, he turned around as he reversed into the street and said, "Yeah, but I didn't get much sleep. I was out in the bamboo with the police most of the night."

"By the tunnel?"

"No. All over. I must say Sam, you've built the Taj Mahal of clubhouses out there. I couldn't believe all the little tunnels you had going on. The back entrance was nice too. The police wanted to search for Mark through all the bamboo, but it was too hard to see very far outside the trails because the bamboo is so thick."

"I wish they hadn't looked through my clubhouse. Mark wouldn't have gotten lost in there anyway."

"Well, the police wanted to check everywhere. Personally, I don't think he was anywhere near that tunnel or bamboo."

"What do you think happened to him Grandpa? Do you think he'll be alright?"

Samantha was alarmed to find she was on the verge of tears again. She wiped furiously at her eyes even though no tears had spilled onto her cheeks. She didn't like to cry.

"I don't know Sam. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Samantha looked out the window at the houses lining the streets, wondering again what Mark was seeing at that moment. Within every house lived an unknown person or family. One block over was the same thing, another row of houses with people living in them, all strangers. And combining the blocks together formed whole neighborhoods of strangers, and the neighborhoods combined to form the small city in which she lived. Out of all those houses, there may or may not be one where Mark was located. How would they ever find him? Hopelessness washed over her in a thick wave and she looked away from the windows.

"Do you feel alright," he asked her.

"I don't know. I'm just so scared for Mark and I keep wondering where he is and what he's seeing."

"I wish I knew."

"The police didn't find any sign of him last night at all?"

"Not that I know of," Neil said. "And I was working pretty close to them. I heard their radios squawking all night. It didn't sound like they had any leads at all. The best bet is this evening, when everyone in town has heard about what happened. Someone probably saw Mark during the day, so they'll call in and the police will be able to figure out what he did and when. "

They made a turn and the school was straight ahead. Samantha discovered the short drive had changed her mind and she suddenly wished that she were back home in bed, covers pulled up to her chin even though it was warm outside. As she was thinking about home, Neil guided the car around the main traffic island and pulled to a stop in front of the school. Samantha got out and was about to close the door when her Grandpa said, "Sam?"

"What?"

"Can I ask you for a favor? I feel bad even bringing it up, but it could turn out to be important."

"Sure."

"No matter what you hear, if you hear anything today, remember the police found nothing. Don't let anyone make you think the police found a clue, because no one knows what has actually happened better than you right now. And whatever happens, don't think about using your talent to help find Mark."

"What! How could I do that?"

"I don't know. But don't do anything at all, alright? I know it sound weird to say, but it might be dangerous if you do."

"But why wouldn't I, if I could help him? You said that the talents only are good to have when bad things happen."

Samantha was leaning against the edge of the open car door. Impulsively, she shut the door and started walking away. The driver's side door opened quickly and Neil got out, looking at her over the roof of the car with a distressed expression.

"Sam, promise me!"

Without looking around or breaking stride, Samantha replied angrily, "Yeah, fine. I won't do anything."

As she walked she waited for the car door to close, but the sound didn't come. She resisted the urge to turn around to see if her Grandpa was still staring at her. She passed the office and felt a chill, finding it difficult to believe it was only a day ago when she was in the office with Nurse Wishon. She again wondered what had happened after Mr. Stillson burst in, and what her Grandpa knew about it all.

Then she was standing inside the quiet cafeteria outside of her classroom door, wondering what the mood would be like. It felt like months since her life had been normal and she was a little afraid of walking into the classroom as if nothing had happened. The class would be interrupted and everyone would stare at her, wondering why she was late again and why that never got her in trouble.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. The class was quiet, watching Mr. Stillson, who was sitting on a stool and reading a book aloud. Samantha walked to the back of the class, catching first Becky's eye, and then Marissa's. Becky looked at her with open curiosity and Marissa with a strange mixture of sadness and jealousy. She put her backpack down and sat in her chair, wondering why no one was speaking. She nodded to Mink and looked to the front of the room, where Mr. Stillson sat.

"Is everything all right, Ms. Branson," he asked.

"I guess so."

"If you feel comfortable, perhaps you could tell us if there is any more news. If you don't want to that's fine. Just say so."

Samantha cleared her throat nervously. "They don't have any clues."

Mink burst out, "Nothing at all! I heard that they found a ladder in a tunnel behind your house."

"No, no," Samantha said, "There was nothing in there..."

"Well, where did he go then," Mink said angrily. "I talked to Cliff last night and it sounded like the three of you had some kind of plan but he wouldn't tell me what it was. And I heard that Mark was kidnapped inside a tunnel. I bet that wasn't part of the plan. Did you tell the cops?"

"I..."

"That is enough Mink," Mr. Stillson said calmly. "Samantha has told the police everything she knows. Unfortunately they haven't found anything."

He sighed, closed the book with a snap, and slid off the stool. He walked slowly to the back of the classroom and stood looking out the window.

"Another beautiful day, class, but it will be difficult to enjoy it. It's hard to really concentrate on anything, wouldn't you say? Here's what I want to do. Please take out two sheets of paper and your pencils. Go ahead and split yourselves into groups. I don't care how many people are in each group. On one sheet of paper, you will write down your questions about what has happened and we will talk about them after lunch. On the other paper I'd like for you to write out a note to the Wilson family, telling them how much we hope everything works out. Go ahead and get into groups."

Samantha stood up and motioned to Becky and Marissa. Becky got up and weaved between the other students, hurrying to the back. Marissa lagged, and Samantha thought she would stay and join someone else. Slowly, she made up her mind and sauntered back to join them. Becky was already seated and looking at Samantha intently.

"What happened? I wanted to call you so bad but my Mom wouldn't let me. She heard that someone attacked you guys but that Mark didn't get away. She didn't even want to let me come to school today. What..."

Marissa came up and Samantha turned her attention to her.

"Hi Marissa."

"Hi." She sat down and took out her paper.

"I asked Samantha to tell us what happened," Becky told Marissa.

"You mean you can tell us and it isn't some secret with your new club mates," Marissa asked unhappily.

"What're you talking about," Samantha asked.

Marissa shook her head. "I know who both of you are going to the dance with and I know that you didn't tell me. And then you found something in the clubhouse and you never even called to tell us about it."

"I was sick," Samantha said, before she could stop herself. "My parents wouldn't let me have anyone over."

"I bet," Marissa said.

"Samantha," Mr. Stillson called. "Can you come up here for a minute, please?"

Samantha looked up to the front of the room, surprised.

"Oh, go on," Marissa said, "You're always off doing something now anyway. Go on!"

Samantha got up and looked down at their faces, furious. Becky looked shocked and not sure how to react, while Marissa looked smug and complacent on the surface but hurt deep down. Samantha resisted the urge to start yelling at her. She walked to the front of the classroom with her fists clenched. Her arms were so tight that they started tingling and Samantha forced her arms to go limp. She succeeded, but now her arms were dangling almost comically, with her shoulders downturned. She walked to Mr. Stillson's desk and he glanced down at her arms with a knowing and almost humored expression on his face.

"Something wrong with your arms?"

"My arms started tingling," Samantha whispered, "and I didn't know what else to do."

Mr. Stillson looked at her very closely for a moment and Samantha felt the now familiar surge of distrust when she was close to him.

"I see," he said. "Since you tell me this I assume that your grandfather has told you my little secret as well?"

Samantha recoiled, realizing that Neil had never said whether Mr. Stillson knew that she knew, and she wondered if she had done a very bad thing.

Seeing this in her face, Mr. Stillson relaxed and grinned. "Don't worry Samantha. I don't mind. I know you know to keep this between the two of us and I trust you completely. It always comes as a shock to have someone know what you are. You'll know what I mean as you get older. Now, I know your grandfather told you about operators yesterday," Mr. Stillson said.

"Yes, a little."

"How do you feel now?"

How did she feel? It had seemed important and frightening at the time, but now, after Mark disappearing and the dark search through the bamboo the night before, it seemed almost meaningless.

"I don't know," she said truthfully.

"Nurse Wishon is an operator. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Grandpa told me. What happened to her?"

"She is fine," he said. "Do you have any other questions I can answer?"

Several occurred to her, but Samantha decided asking them would not be a good idea. Nothing seemed more important than finding out what happened to Mark and whether or not she and Marissa could be friends again. So, she asked only one question.

"Can I go back and start on my list now?"

Mr. Stillson laughed aloud, causing several of the students to look at him curiously. "Yes, yes. You certainly can Samantha. It appears you have other things on your mind right now. Maybe that's even for the best."

Samantha nodded, feeling better but not sure why. She walked back and joined her group. Becky and Marissa were talking and had nothing written on their paper.

"What was that about," Becky asked.

"You're always so curious," Marissa said, "Do you really think she's going to tell you?"

Becky looked down at her paper and Marissa looked at Samantha, a small grin on her face. Samantha looked back at her calmly, drilling her with her eyes in imitation of Mr. Stillson's stare. She never knew how difficult it was to focus on someone's eyes, and how hard it was to keep them there. Marissa seemed nervous and Samantha thought to herself, I know I will win, so it isn't even a contest or a fight. I know I will win so it's already over.

Sure enough, Marissa dropped her eyes and looked sullenly at the papers scattered on the desk.

"Why are you mad at me, Marissa," Samantha asked quietly.

Marissa didn't seem to know what to say. She looked for something in her backpack and stopped without taking anything out. Then she put her hands back on the table and stared at them. Samantha thought she was going to ignore her, but Marissa said.

"Because you haven't been very nice to me lately," she said at last.

"What," Samantha said, louder than she meant to. "How can you say that? You're the one who didn't want to come over to my house."

"Why didn't you tell me that Mark asked you to the dance?"

Samantha stopped. She wasn't sure how to answer because there was a sliver of doubt in her mind. Should she have told Marissa? However, Marissa's pouting, especially considering the project they were supposed to be working on, was making Samantha increasingly angry.

"I didn't tell you because I thought you'd act exactly like you're acting now," Samantha said.

Marissa's face flinched, as if she had been slapped. Her eyes widened and became wet, and her lips parted in surprise.

"You thought I'd act what way," Marissa asked.

"Like this. Acting all mad just because you didn't have a date yet and we did. I don't know why you care about it so much."

"Easy for you to say."

"Marissa," Samantha said furiously. "Mark is missing! What's wrong with you? Don't you even care that he's gone?"

Samantha was surprised to find tears coursing down her own cheeks because she hadn't felt them start. Her voice had carried and people had started looking at them, but Samantha didn't care. The last thing she said had penetrated Marissa's defenses and the hurt expression was back, but it wasn't going away. Marissa was crying too and she put her hands over her eyes, embarrassed that people were seeing her that way. She tried to control herself, but failed, so she got up and ran out of the classroom, weeping. Samantha got up and tried to run after her, but Mr. Stillson was already at the door and he blocked her path.

"I'll go talk to her," Mr. Stillson said. "Go on back to your seat Samantha."

"But I made her cry."

"She'll be fine." He turned to the class and said loudly. "I'll be back in a moment class. Please behave and work on your projects."

He opened the door, left the room, and Samantha walked back to her desk. Again, she was aware of the unnatural silence of the room, especially now that the teacher, even if it was Mr. Stillson, had left. She caught Mink's eyes and he looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed by the tears staining her face. Kelvin looked at her without his usual open, slightly curious, gaze. Instead confusion, which appeared on his face very rarely, was the predominant expression. Becky, at the back of the class, had remained in her seat and was looking from Samantha to the door with something like horror. She had never been good at confrontations and looked pale enough to be sick to her stomach.

Samantha reached her chair and still the class was silent. Many students were watching her, as if wondering what she was going to do next. Perhaps they saw her as the catalyst for recent events because she was always leaving class, always talking with Mr. Stillson, and she had been with Cliff and Mark when they went into the tunnel. She sat down.

"Why did you say those things to Marissa," Becky whispered to her.

"Because she was being mean and it was the truth."

"But it made her cry."

"Only because she finally realized she was more worried about herself than she was about Mark," Samantha said, uncomfortably remembering the way she felt the night before.

Becky shook her head in a disapproving way and looked back at the pieces of paper on the desk. A low hum of conversation had finally started and the sound made Samantha feel better. Some of the groups started writing on the sheets of paper. She and Becky looked at each other and started talking about the card they needed to make for the Wilson's.

They were almost finished with the card by the time Marissa came back with Mr. Stillson. She looked composed again, more like her normal self than Samantha had seen in days. However, Marissa still did not want to meet people's eyes as she walked to the table. Becky made one last mark on the card, which was a drawing of the eagles on Samantha's bedroom walls, and put it aside, waiting for Marissa.

None of them said anything after Marissa sat down. Then Samantha took a deep breath and said, "I'm so sorry Marissa. I should've told you when Mark had asked me. I wish I had."

Marissa looked up, her eyes flaring into their usual brightness, and said, "I'm sorry too. I felt so bad that no one had asked me. It seemed like no one liked me at all."

They looked at each other for a long time and Samantha felt great relief sweep through her.

"Sorry Becky," Marissa said, turning to her.

"It's fine Marissa. I'm so glad that you aren't mad at us anymore. It's been so hard and I've wanted to call you so many times but I wasn't sure if I should or if I shouldn't. Maybe we should all go do something together after school at my house. Does that sound good?"

"Actually," Samantha said, "that sounds great. And I really want to tell you all about what has happened the last couple of days."

"Good, "Marissa said. Then quietly, "Do you know anything about where Mark was going?"

"Cliff said that it looked like Mark was going into the tunnel. I know neither of you know much about that yet, so I'll tell you all about it later on. But if he went into the tunnel then he left quickly, because there was no sign of him."

Samantha glanced up and saw Mr. Stillson looking back at them, huddled in together and whispering. He looked down as soon as he saw Samantha's eyes, pretending he hadn't been watching, but Samantha knew he had. How long had he been watching them before she looked up?

Samantha called her Dad at lunchtime from one of the school's pay phones to let him know they were going to Becky's house after school. So, when Becky's Mom pulled up all three of the girls piled into the car. The afternoon had gone well and, except for the somber mood of the classroom, almost seemed like normal.

Becky's house had a furnished basement that Becky had taken over. The rest of the house was simple and modest, single story, white with pale green edges. The lawn and hedges always seemed overly maintained to Samantha, but she was only used to her father's style. The inside of the house was also neat, with paintings and knick-knacks from vacations adorning the walls. Becky's mother loved Ireland and was part Irish herself, so there were many photographs of rolling green hills with low clouds drifting above them.

The door to the basement was in the kitchen and they headed there immediately, not even putting their backpacks down. Becky's mother hadn't mentioned Mark but Samantha could sense her wanting to discuss his disappearance the entire drive from the school, so it was a relief to get away. Becky turned on the lights and Samantha sat on a couch, while Marissa collapsed in a beanbag. Neither of them turned on the television. Becky had gone around a corner and came back holding a pile of canvases splattered with paint.

Before Samantha or Marissa could protest, Becky held up the first painting, a picture of a bear cub by a stream. As with all of Becky's paintings, it was good and simple, leaving no doubt about the subject.

"That's great," Samantha said, forcing her enthusiasm to sound genuine. She wanted to tell them about what had happened the past few days.

"Really good," Marissa said, looking at the ceiling.

Becky went through each one, describing why she chose each particular subject, and what type of paint she used. There was a picture of a salmon swimming upstream, a dragonfly over a pond, a giraffe in tall trees, and a person smiling at a car. There were several others as well, and by the last one Samantha was having difficulty maintaining her patience.

"This is the last new one," Becky said, "I'm kind of nervous about showing it to you. I don't know if you'll like it as much as you like the others because it's kind of different."

"Just show it," Marissa said.

Slowly, Becky turned the picture around and Marissa gasped. Samantha made no noise, but she knew how Marissa felt because the picture affected her the same way. The painting was dark, with little color. It was of a tunnel, as if looking through the eyes of someone walking inside. The walls were clear at first but faded into the distance. It was all black and gray. In the center of the tunnel was a young boy, his face distorted, as if in a scream. The eyes, almost white, seemed to float off the canvas. No one said anything.

"Do you like it or is it horrible? I didn't know if I should show it to you and I'm not sure why I made it. I was up late the night we found the tunnel because I had gotten into a fight with my Mom about the dance because she didn't want me to go. So I came down here and I was tired, and I painted this. Then I found out about Mark the next day and I wanted to tear it up, because I thought people would think I knew about it somehow, or something like that."

Shakily, Samantha asked, "You painted this before Mark disappeared?"

"Yes," Becky said, her head down.

Samantha looked at Marissa, who looked back at her with the same expression of disbelief. 
Chapter 13: Decisions

They made Becky put the painting away and Becky joined Samantha on the couch. Samantha still did not know what to say and could not get the horrible image of the screaming boy out of her mind. The harder she tried to forget, the more the painting implanted itself. What is Mark seeing right now, she thought again, or does he not see anything at all?

Becky seemed ashamed for painting something that made people feel bad. She was quiet, watching the blank television screen. Marissa got impatient at the silence and blurted out a question.

"So how did you find the tunnel? Tell me about it."

"We found it while we were working on the new path I've always wanted to build," Samantha said. "You know the one towards the second tree? Anyway, we were building it and Cliff swung his axe and hit something metal. We cleared all the dirt away and found a trapdoor. It was like the one over the second entrance. We opened it and saw a tunnel underneath. We didn't go in that day because it was raining."

Samantha looked at Becky because she had been there and Becky nodded her head in agreement.

"So you lucked into finding this tunnel," Marissa asked.

"I guess my Grandpa used to know about it a long time ago, but he never told me. The next day I was stuck in the house because it was raining and neither of you were, you know, around. So, I went over to Mark and Cliff's and they were getting ready to go into the tunnel. I went with them. We went in and it was long. Way longer than any of us expected. We walked for a while and saw another trapdoor in the ceiling and Mark wanted to see where we were. So, he tried to push up on it, but it didn't go anywhere. He pushed harder and nothing happened. I was almost laughing because I knew that I..."

Samantha stopped talking, frightened at how close she had come to saying she could have opened the door easily. If only she could tell her friends about her talent. It would make things so much easier.

"You knew what," Marissa asked.

"I knew that I wouldn't be able to lift it either, because it looked like it was heavy," Samantha said quickly. "Anyway, Mark fell and hit his head on the wall of the tunnel and his flashlight broke. We ran to him to see if he was alright and he was, but groggy. Then I noticed that Cliff had dropped his flashlight to and it had rolled into the water and it went out. So it got really dark. We all started to walk back the way we came because we were worried about Mark. It was scary walking without knowing what you were stepping towards. I kept imagining some monster would come out after us."

"Oh my," Becky said, her hands cupping her face, almost like she was watching a scary movie. "I'm glad that I wasn't there."

"So we kept walking and it got a little lighter. I didn't know where the light was coming from at first, but then we saw another trapdoor and there was light around the edges."

Samantha stopped talking again, thinking hard. After they searched the tunnel for Mark, the police said all the trapdoors were welded shut. However, if the doors were all welded, why had she seen light coming in around the edges of that trapdoor? Had the police made a mistake?

"What is it," Marissa asked.

"The trapdoors had light around the edges, like they were loose in their frames. Why would we see light around the edges when the police said that they were all welded shut?"

"They said there was no other way out of the tunnel except at the end, right," Marissa asked.

"Yeah, and the end came out into a locked room in the church basement. But we did see some light. I know it because I could see the walls of the tunnel."

"What do you think it means Samantha," Becky asked.

"I don't know."

"Well, we know one thing," Marissa said. "The police would have checked all the trapdoors carefully, so we know they didn't make a mistake. They said they were welded so they must be welded."

"Then you must have been wrong," Becky said. "There couldn't have been any light from the doors."

"But there was. I know it. It was the only way we could see before the turn."

"What turn?"

"The tunnel turns to the left. That's all."

"Well, it doesn't really matter," Marissa said. "Mark wasn't in the tunnel anyway. They don't even know if he went into it at all."

"Cliff seemed to think he did," said Samantha quietly.

"Why did he think that," Becky asked.

"Because he found an empty battery pack on their bed and the house flashlight was gone. Also, Mark had been talking about going back to the tunnel all night."

"So he went into the tunnel and then went somewhere else, like maybe to the market to get some candy or something," Marissa said.

"And you think someone got him there," Becky said, her voice scared and unable to hide it.

No one said anything for a minute, each thinking their own thoughts. Samantha kept thinking of Becky's painting and the boy screaming in a tunnel. The painting was a coincidence, Samantha thought, brought on by Becky having seen the tunnel opening earlier the day she painted. But why was she certain something had happened to Mark in the tunnel? Was it because of an empty battery pack and a missing flashlight, or was it because going back to the tunnel seemed like something Mark would do? The facts indicated that nothing happened in the tunnel even if he did go in, but facts weren't silencing the small voice of doubt. Her doubt, not only of what the police believed, but also of why they believed it, was based on the same thing. When the police walked through the tunnel, they were trying to find a missing child who might be injured. They weren't approaching the tunnel as if it were a crime scene. Whatever clues there might have been, however obvious, may have been passed over without another look because the police only had a single goal. Could she do better? Samantha discovered she had made a decision.

"I'm going back to the tunnel. I'm going tonight," Samantha said bluntly.

"What!" Becky exclaimed.

"I'm going back to the tunnel to look for clues myself."

"Why?"

"Because I know there was light around the trapdoors and the cops didn't see it. Since I know there was light there, then someone must have changed the doors after we left. Otherwise the police wouldn't have said they were welded. Why would someone change the doors if they weren't trying to hide something?"

"So what do you think happened," Marissa asked, with a trace of her old smugness. "Do you really think someone waited for him and kidnapped him inside the tunnel? A tunnel no one knew about for years and years? Come on."

"Why is that so hard to believe? We don't know where any of those trapdoors come out. They could lead anywhere. Maybe Mark opened one and got in somewhere bad."

"Or maybe they lead nowhere. And it doesn't matter anyway because the police said they were all welded. Why would someone kidnap him in a tunnel? Why not kidnap him at his house. Or on his way home from school?"

"I don't know," Samantha said. "Maybe because it was hidden and no one would see?"

"And why Mark?"

"I don't know," Samantha said.

"This is crazy," Marissa said. "Mark probably either ran away from home or got kidnapped. You going back into that tunnel won't help him one bit."

"But the trapdoors weren't sealed before. Why would they be now?"

"Because they were sealed before and you only thought they weren't Samantha! Mark was hurt and you were panicked. I've heard that people can see fake lights when it is dark and they are under stress. I'm sure that is what happened to you too."

Samantha stayed quiet and just looked at Marissa, who didn't drop her eyes and seemed extremely upset by Samantha's persistence.

"Becky," Samantha said. "Will you go with me?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't seem like anything will be down there and it's a school night," Becky said. "If we get caught we'll be in really bad trouble and I don't want to be."

"What if there's a clue down there and we don't find it because we're worried about getting in trouble," Samantha asked, getting angry herself. "And not finding it makes the difference between Mark being alive or dead?"

"Don't say that!" Becky said, putting her hands over her eyes and shaking her head from side to side.

Samantha looked back at Marissa, whose frown had creased her forehead between her eyes in a vertical slash.

"What about you," Samantha asked her.

"What about me?"

"Are you going? I'm heading in at midnight, with or without you two. But I really want someone else with me."

Marissa didn't answer and looked at the ceiling. Becky was looking at Samantha with her hands still over her ears. She seemed to be locked in an internal struggle.

Finally, with great effort, she took her hands off her ears and said, "OK."

"Alright," Samantha said, excited. "And you can get out pretty easy, right?"

"Yes."

"Come on Marissa," Samantha said. "What about you?"

"I live too far away," Marissa said. "How am I supposed to get over to your house in the middle of the night?"

"You could ride your bike."

"Easy for you to say! You're only going into your backyard. What if my parents wake up and see that I'm gone, now that Mark is missing? They'd freak out and call the cops. I wouldn't just get in really bad trouble. I'd be grounded for the rest of the year. No way I'm going. And you say that if there's a clue and we don't go then that would somehow make a difference between Mark being alive or dead? That's just dumb. Even if we found a clue it would mean nothing because they already searched it and found no sign of Mark! Why don't you understand that?"

Samantha looked at her and said. "Fine. I guess it's just me and Becky then."

Marissa snorted in disgust and looked at Becky.

"You're going to go, huh? Think about what your parents would do if they found you missing. They would probably drop dead right there."

"You're right," Becky said quietly.

"You know I am. I want Mark back to but going into the tunnel makes no sense. Even if this was a weekend in daylight it still wouldn't make any sense!"

"She's right," Becky said. "I can't go. My parents would kill me."

"But you said you would," Samantha said.

"I'm sorry Samantha. But you know my Mom and Dad. They worry about every little thing. And tomorrow is a school day."

"I can't believe this! You're more worried about getting in trouble than helping Mark."

"If I thought I would actually be helping Mark then I would do it. But we'd just be wasting time for no reason. The best thing you can do to help Mark now," Marissa said, "is pray."

There was an extremely awkward silence. Samantha broke it not by speaking but by standing up and walking to the stairs. With one foot resting on the bottom step, she turned to them and said, "I'll see you tomorrow at school. If I'm not there, you better pray for me too."

She walked up the stairs in a hurry and walked right passed Becky's Mom without so much as a goodbye.

She walked home from Becky's and, although it was a long trip, she felt as if no time had passed when she rounded the corner and followed the sidewalk into her cul-de-sac. Exploring the tunnel for clues the police overlooked seemed like such a good idea to Samantha that she could not understand why her two best friends refused to help. Samantha brooded on their reluctance for the entire walk, alternating between disappointment and anger. Turning the corner, she saw two police cars parked in front of the Wilson house and a young boy sitting on the porch. For a moment her heart pounded in her chest, thinking it was Mark sitting outside. Then she saw the blondish hair and realized it was Cliff. Her hope faded back to frustration. Why would the police be back already unless they brought bad news?

Samantha walked to the Wilson's and across their front lawn. Cliff looked up at her as she approached, but his emotional state was difficult to determine.

"Hi Cliff."

"Hey."

"Is there... is there any word yet?"

"No," he said, looking at his shoes, covered in thick mud. "My Dad came home this afternoon excited because someone said they had seen Mark the day he disappeared. He was down at the mall, they said. The police questioned them but I guess the guy turned out to be a hoaxer and my Dad was really mad. That's why I came outside."

Samantha sat down by Cliff, feeling the weight of what she was planning to do that night in her stomach. She wanted to tell him, but lacked the trust to do so. Cliff leaned closer to her, causing her to flinch back, but he only wanted to talk quietly.

"I found something in the backyard today."

"What?"

"Come see."

They walked to one of the backyard gates. A cool wind was blowing and clouds thickened over the pinkish western sky. The wind made the air feel like impending rain. They walked into the backyard and Samantha could hear Cliff's Dad still shouting to the police.

"The police are only staying to make sure my Dad calms down," Cliff said to her, his voice casual but his eyes worried.

"I don't blame him. I'd be mad too. What did you want to show me?"

"It's back by the fence."

Cliff led her across the wide lawn and to the loose board that led to Samantha's eucalyptus grove. He pointed down. A small scrap of dark clothing lay crumpled on the ground by the fence. She reached over to pick it up but Cliff stopped her arm.

"You can't touch that. It's evidence."

"Evidence? So you told the police about it?"

"Um, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think this was here the other day. I think this is new but I can't say for sure. If I tell the police then my Dad will get excited again. But who knows when this was dropped. You know what it is, right?"

"I think it's that silly hat Mark was wearing when we first went into the tunnel. Did it fall off when you were coming back that day?"

"I don't think so. I remember him taking it off when he laid down on his bed. And I don't think it was out here when I came to show the police the entrance to your yard. I think we would've seen it."

"Maybe it was under a leaf or something."

"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it just showed up here in the past day or so."

"So what are you saying," Samantha asked. "Do you think that Mark is out there hiding and he dropped this?"

Samantha could see from Cliff's face that he had thought of that, and that he wanted desperately to believe it, but he didn't.

"I don't know," he said. "I guess it's possible. Or maybe we really didn't see it lying here and the wind blew the leaf off of it."

"How did you find it?"

"What do you mean," Cliff asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Were you going into my yard when you found it? Were you going back to the tunnel?"

"Of course not."

"Come on. Just tell me if you were. I'm not going to be mad, but I want to know why you were going in there."

"Because I started thinking about it all again and it seemed like something Mark would do. And because of the battery pack lying on his bed, and the missing flashlight. I know that he stayed home that day so he could go back in. I know it. But I can't prove it, so I was going to go in and look for some sign."

"But you stopped."

"Yes. I stopped when I saw his hat. I didn't know what to do. I was going to tell my Dad as soon as he got home, but then he came home all excited because someone thought they had seen Mark. And then he got so mad. I couldn't tell him. You won't tell him, will you?"

"Cliff, this could be important."

Samantha found herself wanting to say to Cliff exactly what she had said to Marissa and Becky. Why were people so worried about getting in trouble or making others feel bad when they could do things to help find Mark? Whether their attempts succeeded or not, how could they say staying out of trouble was somehow more important? However, she didn't have the energy to fight all over again. Her decision had already been made.

"Alright," she said. "I won't say anything. But I think you should. I really do."

"Maybe. Maybe once my Dad feels better."

Samantha nodded. "I need to get home. Are you going to school tomorrow?"

"I don't know," he said sadly. "Part of me really wants to but if I say that my parents will say I don't care about what happened to my brother. But I think I'd feel better if I could go and see everyone again. My parents won't even let Mink come over. It's like they've kidnapped me!"

Samantha found she had nothing to say because every thought seemed coarse and unfeeling. Finally, she said, "Well, I hope they let you," and climbed through the loose fence board and into the quiet, deserted eucalyptus grove.

.

"Hi Samantha. How was school?"

"It was fine Mom."

"Was everybody there doing alright? Was everyone there?"

"It seemed like everyone was there, except for Cliff of course. People were sad too."

"Well, I'm glad you're home. I guess they thought they spotted Mark the other day at the mall but it turned out to be a false alarm."

"I know," Samantha said, "Cliff told me. I saw him in the front yard when I came home and he said his Dad was really upset."

"It's absolutely horrible. Who would make up such a thing?" Sandra paused and looked at Samantha more closely. "Are you alright? I thought that you were going over to Becky's after school?"

"I did but I came home early."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to! Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"I hardly think five questions a lot," Sandra said mildly. "Anyway, your Grandpa is coming over for dinner again so would you mind giving me a hand? Your Dad called and told me a few minutes ago."

"Grandpa is coming over again," Samantha asked. In truth, she felt a little worried he might stay the night, which would make it difficult to sneak out.

"Yes. He's been over a lot lately but it's always nice to have him. It helps your father to be closer to him, I think. They talk so much more now."

Samantha stopped gathering cooking pots and turned to look at her mother carefully. Sandra was removing two boxes of spaghetti noodles from the cupboard and didn't seem to think she had said anything unusual.

"So Grandpa and Dad didn't used to talk much," Samantha asked.

"No. In fact, they even went a couple of years without speaking to each other back when I first met your father. Things between them got much better around the time you were born."

"Really?"

"I was glad to see them start getting along. Holidays weren't much fun when your father and grandfather weren't on speaking terms. Your grandma had passed away long before I met your Dad, so Grandpa was the only one left."

"I never knew any of this. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I guess we never thought about it. Why bring up old stuff that would only hurt? Your Dad gets along great with Neil now. He's over there helping him box up some of his old diaries."

"Diaries," Samantha said, and she remembered she hadn't looked in her Grandpa's diary the day before, and that she hadn't written in her own for two days. The last two days had been nothing but a narrow escape and she hadn't even realized it. No wonder her Grandpa was coming over so much more often.

"Hey Mom. Can I do something real quick and come back and help you in like five minutes?"

"Well, I really do need help to get this dinner done."

"Five minutes! I'll be back, I swear."

"Alright, alright."

"Great, thanks."

Samantha ran down the hall to her room and grabbed her Grandpa's diary. She sat down on the edge of the bed, opened the book, and scanned the looping, carefree handwriting her grandfather had entered fifty years before. Besides a very quiet hum, probably from the thermostat in the hall, the house and her room were completely quiet.

The day before contained nothing of interest, so she read the entry for the current day and was alarmed to see the entry was over a page long. She read it, her heart sinking.

December 17th, 1941 Day 18. Today I lost control in public for the first time. My Dad was so mad at me that I have to stay inside for the first week of Christmas vacation, which starts in a couple of days. Frank and I were playing football in the lot and a few other guys from around the neighborhood joined in. We were having a good game but it was getting late. Two other guys showed up. One was Jefferson and he's fine, but his friend is that little punk Sanford. I don't know why he hates me so much, but on his first play, he tripped me and I fell in a big mud puddle. I was mad and my arm started tingling like crazy, but I did like Dad said and just kept my eyes opened and took deep breaths and looked at the sky. On the next play I felt a little better, but was still mad, so when Frank caught the ball I absolutely laid Sanford out on a block. He fell, hit his head, and our team laughed at him. Even some of the other team did because no one likes him much. Anyway, on the next play they threw a pass to me. Just as I was about to catch it, he punched me right in the face, and I fell over. I was hit so hard that I think I passed out for a few seconds. I got up, and people were standing around him, yelling and kind of pushing. A couple of his friends were pushing back, but he only looked down at me and smiled. There was blood all over my shirt from my nose, so I got up and ran through everyone to hit him as hard as I could. He didn't even move! I swung at him and had so much energy that I lifted myself a little off the ground and swung over his head. He laughed and moved back a step. I got so mad, because I could break a table but I couldn't knock him over, that I hit at him as hard as I could, but I missed when he ducked. He pushed me while I was off balance and I fell over again. Then he smiled and walked off the field. I was so mad that I picked up the football without even thinking about it, and kicked it. It went really high into the air, off the field, and over the first row of houses. Everyone saw, so I tried to make it sound like I was only mad, and everyone seemed to sort of believe me. But when I told Dad I got in a lot of trouble. Now I'm grounded and I still couldn't knock that punk over.

She put the diary aside, wondering if her midnight tunnel expedition was still a good idea. Her Grandpa had not used his talent in the middle of the night but it made Samantha nervous. It seemed possible that she could use her talent around the same time her grandfather was using his and she had no idea what would happen if they conflicted. Would there be more available, making her even more powerful, or would there be no strength at all, causing weakness? She had no idea but didn't know how to ask Neil without making him suspicious.

She promised herself that she would write in her diary later and got up to help her mother with dinner. Walking slowly to the kitchen, Samantha was torn by indecision. She wasn't planning to use her talent in the tunnel unless she opened one of the trapdoors. But opening a door could be a bad idea because she didn't know where the doors led. What if she opened one and it led into someone's house? Being discovered in that situation would be hard to explain. What if she met the kidnapper and needed to use her talent to get away? Would her talent be there, or would she get weak and be unable to do anything?

She made the spaghetti sauce, nodding to questions her mother asked without listening. Sandra noticed Samantha was distracted because after a few questions she stopped talking and focused on chopping onions. Samantha was setting the table when the front door opened.

"We're home," Thomas said from the living room, his voice cheerful. There was the rustling sound of coats being removed and placed on the coat rack by the door. There was the sound of feet on the hardwood floors leading to the kitchen, and then her father and Grandpa came around the corner, both smiling. They didn't talk for two years, Samantha thought, bewildered. Why would they have been so angry at each other?

"Hello dear," Sandra said, walking past Samantha and giving Thomas a quick kiss. "How did the packing go?"

"It went well, don't you think Dad?"

"I'd say so. It shouldn't have taken much time at all, but I had to stop and read bits and pieces from all of them. It's amazing how much you forget and how much you can remember simply because you wrote it down."

"Well, there sure were enough diaries. They were scattered around the house," Thomas said, "which is another reason it took so long. We filled ten boxes."

"Ten boxes," Samantha exclaimed.

Thomas laughed, but her Grandpa only grinned and gave her a quick wink, which let her know he knew what she was thinking. How many pages would it take to fill up ten boxes?

"Well, we've got spaghetti for you boys. I made a huge pot so I hope you're hungry."

"Ravenous," Thomas said.

He sat down at the table and started putting food on his plate, but Neil first went to the sink to wash his hands. Sandra walked past him carrying the spaghetti pot, which she placed in the center of the table. Samantha realized she looked silly because she hadn't moved from her place by the table for over a minute. She went to the counter, grabbed a basket of bread rolls, placed them on the table, and sat down herself.

"How was school today honey," Thomas asked.

Neil stopped washing his hands and quickly walked back over to the table, drying them on his gray shirt, leaving wet, trailing fingerprints. Sandra grabbed a bowl of fruit, went to the table, and sat down by Thomas.

"It was good. I was glad to be back."

"Good. How was everyone?"

"Quiet."

Thomas nodded. Then he scowled at the spaghetti sauce.

"There are mushrooms in this sauce!"

"Yes, I wanted to try something different for a change," Sandra said.

"But I hate mushroom!"

"Then you can either pick them out, not eat at all, or eat and pretend they aren't there. I think it tastes good."

Thomas frowned again at his plate but continued to eat. Samantha laughed inwardly, although she was careful not to let any sign of it show on her face. Neil was moving the spaghetti around on his plate, eating very slowly.

"We heard the false alarm about Mark today," Neil said. "Very disappointing. I hope your class wasn't too upset by it."

"We didn't hear about it until after school," Samantha said.

"What did people think happened to him," Neil asked quietly.

"They thought he went into the tunnel and got kidnapped. Mink was sure of it."

"He was, was he? Why was he so sure," Thomas asked.

"He's just the type of guy who is sure about everything, even if he doesn't know what he's talking about," Samantha said.

"Oh," said Thomas.

"Can we talk about something else please," Sandra said quickly, her voice a little distressed. "We don't need to keep rehashing about Mark. I'm sure he'll be found alive and well."

"Well," Thomas said, "what did your class do today then?"

"We, um, we drew a card to Mark's family and wrote down questions that we had. Then we went over them."

"That Mr. Stillson comes up with some good ideas, doesn't he Dad?"

"Yes, he's quite good," Neil said, again winking at Samantha.

"Tell me more about your diaries Neil," Sandra said. "I've always found it amazing that you've been able to keep them going so long and so consistently."

"I wanted them all in a single place," Neil said. "That's why I asked Thomas to give me a hand, although I doubt that he knew what he was getting into. Those things were everywhere. I even found one in the cabinet where I keep that old china. They migrated over the years. I'd pick one up and read a little of it, then carry it with me and put it down somewhere. They all look alike, so it was easy to forget which one you were reading from last. That's the other thing we did today, you know. We added a little label on the cloth binding of each that indicates the year and month"

"Tell us about something you read today," Sandra prodded.

"Hmmm. What did I read that was interesting today? I did find a good one that talked about finding that tunnel out there. We used to play in there some when I was a kid, older than Samantha is but only by a year or so. It had been so long since I was in there I had forgotten it existed. After reading my description of it in the diary it sounded like the absolute pit of hell!"

Samantha started laughing, almost choking on the piece of bread she was eating. Neil laughed with her.

"I thought you'd like that Samantha. Of course, it's been a little different the past couple of days, but we used to have a lot of fun in that thing. It was a great way to get around. There wasn't any bamboo back then. It was all farmland and it was an early irrigation pipe, I suppose."

"Why did it go all the way back to the church then, Grandpa? Did the farmland used to go over there too?"

"Sure it did. Farms stretched over this whole area. And that church is pretty new. Believe it or not, but it was a bank back when I lived here. But the bank burned down. It was a vacant lot for another few years, and then they built the church. The pipe is older than all of them. I went into it the first time on a dare. We broke the lock on it with a sledgehammer, threw the door aside, and I jumped right in. Scared out of my wits too. But we walked the whole length of it and back and nothing bad happened, so we started playing in it."

"What else was in there," Sandra asked.

"The diaries or the tunnel?"

"The diaries," Sandra said, laughing softly. "Tell us more."

Neil told them a few more stories. Samantha was interested at first, but as the stories wore on, not about anything of importance, she started to tune out and think about her plan for the night. She would walk to the kitchen without making the hardwood floors creak, and then open the door to the garage without the hinges squealing. She would grab a flashlight before she left. She would need warm clothes but she couldn't put them on too early or it would look suspicious.

She was deep into her thoughts and didn't notice her grandfather had stopped talking and tilted his head slightly to the right. The drumming sound of rain on their tile roof brought her back to the present.

"Raining hard," Neil said.

"Good," said Thomas, "We need it badly. I heard the reservoir is almost empty and if it stays this dry we'll have to go back to water rationing next summer."

Samantha listened to the rain, wondering if it was yet another omen telling her to stay inside. The thought of sneaking out to the tunnel seemed much less attractive if she was doing so in a heavy, cold rain.

They had been finished with dinner for a long time and Samantha pushed back from the table, carrying her plate to the kitchen sink. As she ran water over the plate, washing off the food particles, she looked out the kitchen window, saw the rain, and had the impression of strong wind. Frustrated, Samantha dropped her plate into the sink, walked out to the living room, and collapsed on the sofa. Her Grandpa and her parents remained at the table, talking and laughing, not noticing her bad mood. She was grateful.

She couldn't go into the tunnel tonight. The weather was bad and she didn't know what would happen if she tried to use her talent while her grandfather was using his at the same time fifty years before. She just couldn't go. There were too many risks. She didn't want to risk having no strength if she did find something or someone down there. Most importantly, she didn't want to risk changing history. What if she did something that completely changed her grandfather's life and her own family ended up poor, or unhappy, or living in some other place? She would be the only one who would remember that their lives used to be different and better. And she would only remember for a short while. What if she accidentally changed history and woke up the next morning to find that she had no friends or family? What if she changed history and she no longer existed?

Brooding on these uncomfortable thoughts, Samantha didn't even notice her Grandpa walk in and sit in the recliner, until he spoke.

"What's on your mind Sam?"

Startled, Samantha sat up, looking around. "Huh?"

"What's on your mind? I got the feeling something is really bothering you and I wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it."

Samantha was unsure how to proceed. She had already made up her mind not to go out to the tunnel that night, but she wanted to go as soon as she found out the answers to her questions. She had to find out what she needed to know without her Grandpa figuring out what she was planning.

"I was reading your diary this afternoon and there was one day that made me have a question."

"Let me guess. The day I kicked that stupid football about two hundred yards?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I remember that day better than any other day that first year. I remember breaking the table, when I first found out I had the talent..."

Samantha suddenly realized she could no longer hear her parents. She leaned back over the arm of the couch and craned her neck to see in the kitchen No one was there. Neil laughed.

"Your Mom and Dad went out to get a movie. Your Mom said she has a hard time letting a rainy night go by without watching a movie."

"Oh. Good."

"Like I was saying. I remember many days and times using the talent. I remember some later ones very clearly. But that day playing football I lost control. I thought I was going to be found out for sure and I got in so much trouble with my Dad. Of course, at that age it didn't mean a whole lot. He worked all day and my Mom didn't think punishing me for something I couldn't control was a good idea, so I was able to sneak out during the day for Christmas break. Still, I always wondered what my friends thought of me after that. With a couple of them, they seemed to stop hanging around us as much. They believed what I told them about being mad and full of adrenaline, but deeper down they must have realized there was something different about me."

"Who was Sanford? That kid that made you so mad?"

"I'm surprised you don't know. But I guess you've never heard his first name."

"Whose first name?"

"You haven't guessed? Well, never mind that for the moment. Let me tell you what happened the day after. Otherwise I'll forget and you'll read about it in the diary and I want you to hear it from me. Like I said, it was the start of Christmas vacation so I was out playing during the day. My friends and I were in the gully behind my friend's house, which is where that shopping center is now. We used to spend a ton of time in that gully. We were headed there a day after the football game and we saw Sanford by himself, walking along the edge of the water with a bb gun. He was probably hunting the birds that lived in the reeds along the water."

"He was shooting birds?"

"I think so, yes."

"That's horrible."

"Well, a lot of people like to hunt. I wasn't worried about that at the time, though. We snuck around the far side of him, which was easy to do because he was moving so slowly. We hid in the bushes and jumped out at him when he got close. I kicked the BB gun out of his hands and my friends tackled him. Before he could do anything I hit him right in the face. I broke his nose."

"Grandpa! That wasn't fair."

"I know, I know. I felt bad about it for years. Still to this day I wish I hadn't done it. It has led to many problems, I'll tell you."

"Like what? Did you get in trouble for that too? You should have."

"I'll tell you about that part of it later too. My friends kicked him a couple of times and I think I hit him in the face again. It was like I didn't know what I was doing. But I was at least aware enough to realize my arms were starting to tingle and I knew if I hit him again, I would be doing so with my talent. He was defenseless, almost unconscious. If I had hit him then I'm sure I would have killed him and my life would have turned out very different. I probably would have been sent to one of those juvenile halls. Then I would have gone to jail when I turned eighteen. I was almost mad enough to do it too, but I was also young and I was able to stop. Instead, I started to pick him up. My arms were tingling like mad by then and I could have done it myself, but my friends helped. We threw him into the gully. It was soft sand, and he hit the side, but he still must have slid down about fifteen feet to the water. Then we ran."

Samantha looked as if she might be sick. It wasn't how she felt about what her grandfather had done that made her feel ill. What was worse was that it was her grandfather. Her entire life he had been a calm, friendly man who was always there and always helpful and fun. She rarely saw him upset and he had never been openly angry towards her. Now, though, through the lens of his story, she saw him as what he must have been, an angry, rambunctious young boy who had attacked another kid with several of his friends.

"Surprises you, does it," Neil asked.

He seemed at ease with himself, not disturbed by either the story or the memory of what he had done.

"Yes."

"It's hard, I imagine, realizing that I was a kid once, just like you."

"A kid like me," Samantha said, almost angry. "I never would have done that."

"If that's true, then I'm very happy for you Samantha. It means that our family has improved through generations instead of stagnating or getting worse. Certainly your father is a better man than I am. Like I said, I'm not proud of what I did but I don't think there's ever been a time when I didn't understand why I did it. And Sanford was fine again after awhile. The interesting thing is that he never turned us in, although he must have known I was part of it. He avoided us, turned in on himself, and didn't seem to make many friends. I had no other run-ins with him for another year. That was when he moved across town, to the very house where he now lives."

A sudden suspicion ran through Samantha's mind. Looking at her grandfather, at his knowing, wrinkled, kindly face, she knew her suspicion was correct.

"Sanford Henson, you mean? Mr. Henson's first name must be Sanford."

"That's right."

"You did that to Mr. Henson? But why didn't you tell me before Grandpa?"

"I guess it never came up."

"I can't believe it was Mr. Henson, of all the people. No wonder he's always hated us so much."

"Yes. It makes more sense now, doesn't it?"

"I think so."

Neil looked at his hands, which were resting lightly on his knees. Then he said, suddenly, as if he was spitting out each individual word.

"You should stay away from him as much as you can."

"Stay away? What do you mean?"

Neil sighed. "Many years ago, before you were born and when I first was moving out, I suggested to your father that he move as well. He didn't think that was a good idea. I wasn't going to be around and I didn't know if Sanford still wanted revenge."

"Revenge? But that was fifty years ago when you attacked him. He would have tried for revenge way before now if he wanted it, wouldn't he?"

Neil didn't say anything for a minute. He seemed to be debating with himself, unsure again. He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly, like he had a washcloth and was cleaning deep dirt.

"I don't know Sam. And things happened between us much more recently than just that day."

"Like what," Samantha asked, concerned but excited.

"Well," Neil began, and then stopped. Then Samantha heard the garage door as well. Her parents were home from the video store already. Samantha could hear the drumming sound of a heavy rain on the roof. When she looked back across the living room she saw her Grandpa looking at her kindly, but with the slightly defensive posture she had never seen before she discovered her talent. She knew he would not answer any additional questions tonight and his reluctance to do so rekindled her nervousness. There always seemed to be a larger secret waiting to come out of her grandfather's mouth, but he kept it under tight rein. Each time she asked her grandfather questions she came away knowing more, but feeling each time that there was even more to know.

The door from the garage opened and her parents walked in, talking between themselves. Samantha couldn't hear what they were saying. They walked into the living room with a plastic bag containing a couple of cassettes. Not interested in watching a movie, Samantha got up and went to her bedroom.
Chapter 14: Singularity

December 11th, 1991. Day 19. I know I haven't been writing enough lately. They still haven't found Mark, and I was going to enter the tunnel tonight to look for him, but it started raining and my Grandpa came over, and those things stopped me. I'm going to try tomorrow night if the rain has stopped. Maybe even if the rain is still going. Part of me is starting to think it is too late and that Mark may be gone for good. It makes me so sad to think that. But part of me thinks that he is still alive too, and that the police just haven't tried hard enough. The trapdoors are the big thing. Someone changed those, I know it. I went to school today, then to my friend's house in the afternoon. Marissa and I seem to be friends again, although it may not be like it was. Then I was planning to go into the tunnel and canceled that, so I did nothing this evening.

The rain continued into the morning, although it wasn't quite as hard, so Samantha put on a rain slicker over her school clothes. Thomas dropped her off in front of the school like usual, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and told her to have a good day. She said she would and stepped out of the car, into the rain. It was a short distance from the car to the covered school walkway and Samantha walked instead of running. The splashes of water hitting her face were exhilarating. She took her slicker off as soon as she stepped under the covered hallway.

Samantha walked into her classroom and was surprised to see she was the first student to arrive. Mr. Stillson was lying on the high counter in the rear of the classroom, flat on his back and reading a book. He rolled over to see who was there and smiled. Samantha walked to her seat and started laughing as she approached Mr. Stillson.

"So I look that funny," Mr. Stillson asked, in a fake stern voice.

"You look like Snoopy up there."

"Snoopy must have had a bad back like me. Every time I start thinking we are fortunate to have the talent, I try to lift something heavy and hurt my lower back."

"You got hurt even though your arms were tingling?"

"Oh yes. It's rare but it happens. I may teach the whole class from back here today," Mr. Stillson said, and he laughed again.

"What were you lifting that was so heavy?"

Mr. Stillson just stared at her for a second, almost as if he didn't know how to answer.

"I was just working on a new project," he said, finally. "That's all."

Samantha put her backpack down and looked towards the door. It was closed and no other students had come in yet, so Samantha sat down and got ready to ask Mr. Stillson a question that was still on her mind from the night before.

"Mr. Stillson, can I ask you a question."

He rolled over a little so he could see her more directly.

"Of course you may."

"It's about, our, you know. I wasn't sure if I should talk about it."

"I think it's safe for the time being. What's on your mind?"

"I was reading my Grandpa's diary the other day and he had a busy time of it fifty years ago. He used his talent a lot over two days."

"I know," Mr. Stillson said.

"You... you do?"

"He wouldn't want me to tell you this Ms. Branson, but I will anyway, because sometimes I think he's too cautious for his own good. His motivations are valid and he wants to make sure nothing happens to you, but it's made him very protective. That incident with the nurse really shook him up, so he came to me with a copy of his diary. The same diary you have."

Samantha felt a flush of anger towards her Grandpa, and a sense of defilement. How dare he pry into her life like that? Mr. Stillson nodded, seeing and understanding the emotions on Samantha's face.

"I'd be upset too Samantha. Believe me, I refused the book when he first tried to give it to me. Unfortunately, your grandfather did me an enormous favor a few years ago and he mentioned that. If I were to be honorable, I had to concede and take the book. I read it Samantha, but I don't act on it. I will never interfere with what you do, if you think it's for the best. Unless you are in danger, of course, but I'd help anyone in danger. Wouldn't you?"

"But he's keeping a close eye on everything I do, right? That's why he's been over to dinner so much lately."

"Yes. He's worried about you, that's all."

"He shouldn't try to mess with my life!"

"I agree."

Samantha walked to the window, watching large puddles form on the dead winter grass of the schoolyard. They would be having lunch recess inside the cafeteria today, it seemed.

"We probably only have a few moments left before the other students arrive, Samantha. I understand you might be upset about your Grandpa, but if you want to ask me those questions now's the time."

"Since my Grandpa used his talent so much the last two days, what would happen if I need to use mine, you know, for some reason. Would it not work because he was using it, or would it be even more powerful?"

"That's a tough question. I've never experienced it so I can't say directly. My guess is the effect is random. One time you try to use your talent and it will become even more powerful than before because you are feeding off even more energy. The next time, even if it is minutes later, you could have a drain in energy. Like I said, I've never experienced it but I met someone once who had."

"Does it do the same thing to your relative?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if I used it and since Grandpa is using his talent at the same time, would he sometimes be affected and sometimes not? Would it prevent him from using his talent?"

"Yes, I think so, although it's hard to determine that one for sure, because the people you affect in the past have no way of knowing what they would have done had you not interfered. But my guess is that it would affect them, probably randomly as well, and it is safer to not use your abilities when you know your source was also using them."

The door to the classroom opened and Rebecca and Tony walked in, talking loudly and laughing, startling Samantha. Mr. Stillson was still lying on the back counter top, but now he stretched his arms above his head, causing his back to pop.

"That felt great," he said. "I think I can get up now."

He swung off the counter and landed squarely on his feet, weaving his torso from side to side to check the state of his lower back. After a couple of moments he leaned over and touched his toes.

"Perfect. I should sleep on that every night," he said, and winked at Samantha, who was trying not to laugh. He looked at her for a moment longer, but for the first time in several days Samantha did not feel intimidated by his gaze. She felt she could trust him again.

"Oh, one last thing Samantha. I won't hover like your grandfather, but I do ask you to be careful. Be suspicious, regardless of what you choose to do."

Then he walked to his desk, saying good morning to Rebecca and Tony, who were sitting together at the front of the classroom. The door opened again and Becky was there, anxiously scanning the seats. Samantha had to laugh, because the expression of relief on Becky's face when she saw Samantha at the back of the classroom was so exaggerated it was almost comic. She ran back and sat in Mink's seat.

"What happened? How did it go?"

"It didn't," Samantha said. "It was raining hard and my Grandpa was there, watching me and making sure I didn't do anything."

"What do you mean, do anything? How could he know?"

"Um, I don't know. I just said that wrong," Samantha said uneasily.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't go. I was worried about it all night last night. I kept waking up, wondering where you were."

"I'm going to do it tonight though, so I hope you sleep better. Unless you want to come along?"

"I don't know Samantha. We talked about this yesterday."

"But you said you would until Marissa started going off. If it wasn't for her you probably would have come."

"Maybe, but I don't think I would really want too. It sounds dangerous and we wouldn't find anything and if our parents found us missing it would scare them to death."

"Yeah, yeah. We talked about all of this yesterday. Well, I'm going tonight, and I'm going to see if those trapdoors really are welded shut or if they were just made to look that way for the police. It could have been the kidnapper covering his tracks you know. Think about it, if we find a trapdoor that is loose, it could open up to a house, which is probably where Mark is."

"I don't think so," Becky said.

More students were coming into the classroom now that the first bell had rung. Marissa was one of a crowd that arrived just after the bell. She saw Samantha and smiled, pretending to wipe a slow hand across her forehead like she was sweating. She walked to her seat and sat down, turning around to face Samantha.

"Well?"

"I couldn't go last night. My Grandpa was there until late. I wouldn't have been able to sneak out. But I'm going tonight. I was just asking Becky if she would reconsider going with me, but she keeps saying no."

"Good. I wouldn't go either."

"Yeah," Samantha said, upset and not able to hide it.

"Hey, look," Becky said.

Samantha and Marissa turned towards the door and saw Cliff and Mink enter, talking and laughing. Cliff gazed around the room with an expression of unmistakable relief. The class went quiet and Samantha figured most of the other kids were silent for the same reason that she was; she had no idea what to say. Mr. Stillson, who had been sitting at his desk watching the students file in, got up and walked to Cliff. Cliff watched him approach almost apprehensively. Mr. Stillson put out a hand and Cliff, surprised, shook it.

"Welcome back Cliff," Mr. Stillson said.

Cliff smiled and walked to his seat with Mink. Mink got close to his own chair and saw Becky in it, so he took out a straw and shot a slimy spit wad at her. It stuck in her bangs, causing her to jump up and start shaking her hair to get it out.

"Thank you for keeping my seat warm," Mink said, sitting down and tossing his backpack on the desk. Cliff had settled into his seat next to Marissa. He and looked back at Samantha, smiling.

"It's good to be back," he said simply.

Samantha nodded, wishing she felt as good about Cliff being back as everyone else. Had he told his parents about finding Mark's hat? Was he still scared of his father's reaction? She didn't know. What she did know was that the feeling in the room frightened her and, after a moment, she realized why. It felt like people were starting to move on, to accept that Mark was no longer there, and to not feel bad about it anymore. She noticed that even she was thinking about him less, and her mind stubbornly refused to cooperate when she wanted to prevent this from happening. Her planned trip to the tunnel, in some ways, seemed more like something she needed to do for herself than for Mark. Time seemed to wear the edge of her feelings away, and she saw the same function in the faces of her fellow classmates. Even Kelvin, usually working diligently on his math homework until the moment Mr. Stillson started teaching, was talking and laughing with his neighbor.

Mr. Stillson apparently sensed the mood, because he walked to the front of the class and said, over the sudden din, "Let's take an hour to do whatever you want. Feel free to get up from your desks, as long as you don't leave the classroom."

There was the clanking of twenty chairs being pushed back from desks as students walked over to friends and clustered into groups. Becky came over and sat by Samantha, who had not gotten out of her chair. Becky was careful to avoid Mink, who had his straw shooter out again. Marissa got up, climbed over the desks, and sat in Mink's chair. Cliff was up at the front of the classroom, talking earnestly to Mr. Stillson, no doubt bringing him up to date on the latest news on Mark. The room was full of talking and laughter and Mr. Stillson let them stay in groups for two hours instead of one.

When Samantha got home from school she went straight to her bedroom. The persistent rain had finally stopped in the afternoon. With neither of her parents at home, Samantha wanted to enter the bamboo and look around before it got dark. Once in her room with the door closed, Samantha changed into an old sweat suit that was frayed at the edges and much too tight. Her feet remained bare because she was going to wear her old sneakers, which were not allowed indoors.

From the hall closet she grabbed a flashlight and hurried into the garage. She hid the flashlight in a cabinet above the washing machine and pulled her sneakers on without untying the laces. The shoes were so old and beaten that they were more like slippers than shoes. Opening the back door brought a burst of cool wind. The sky was clearing and Samantha thought the sun might come out for a few moments before night fell. The wind had gotten stronger as the rain diminished. It was blowing from the west and ripped right through the gray material covering her legs.

Samantha jogged to the path leading into the eucalyptus, mostly to hide from the direct wind. The grove was full of branches swaying in the heavy breeze and dead leaves fell like snowflakes. She jogged through the grove and back out into the open. The front entrance to the clubhouse was behind bamboo stalks that seemed alive, swishing back and forth like octopus tentacles. She ducked under them and crawled through the mud until she reached the fence. The fence board and the door had not been replaced by the police, so Samantha was able to get to her feet and duck into the trail.

She could feel the wind even in the bamboo, but it wasn't constant. Random bursts of air split the branches and puffed against her face at odd times, leading to a sense of disorientation. She walked down the tunnel slowly, looking at the ground for any type of clue but there were none to be seen. Instead of turning towards the trapdoor, she went left. Again, she looked carefully at the ground and again she saw nothing unusual. Samantha followed the trail around the main section of the pond and into the clubhouse itself, where the wind whipped through the open roof. She was pleased to see her makeshift roof over the couch was holding up and when she sat down there was no feeling of wetness. Not really sure what she was doing, Samantha sat for a few minutes, and then got up and walked towards the oak tree. There was nothing on the ground along the tunnel and when she came back to the clubhouse she felt a wave of frustration, even though she didn't know its cause. Samantha kicked the boat off the shore as she passed it simply because it was there and it spun into the pond in lazy spirals. The pond itself was much deeper because of the rain.

She walked back through the clubhouse, finally realizing she wanted to see another bit of clothing, like the hat Cliff had found by the loose fence board. She wanted to see a definitive object that would justify her trip into the tunnel. The police had moved the trapdoor back into its frame, which Samantha supposed was a good thing. At least she wouldn't have to worry about any creatures that might have snuck into the tunnel through the open door.

Bracing her legs against the soft ground, Samantha hooked her fingers under the metal and pulled as hard as she could. Perhaps limbered by the wet weather, the metal slab moved easily. Certainly she could feel no helping tingle in her arms, which was good, considering today was the day her grandfather had attacked Mr. Henson back in 1941.

The tunnel looked as it did the first time, with no visible differences. She poked her head through the opening, looking as far as possible, which wasn't all that far without a flashlight. Suddenly her planned journey that night seemed much more real and much more dangerous. Memories of the first trip, of the last time she had seen Mark, flooded into her. She thought she was going to start crying but was able to stop the tears before they got started. She started to stand back up, and then froze.

"Helllllpppp," a small, echoing voice said.

The voice, very faint, almost inaudible, had come from the open trapdoor. Samantha felt as if her insides were ice and she could no longer hear or feel the wind that whistled through the bamboo stalks. A long minute passed, and Samantha's legs started to get stiff from her awkward position. She risked adjusting her position slightly, making a little noise, then she froze again, not wanting miss a recurrence of the voice. And then it came floating from the pipe, causing gooseflesh to run up her spine.

"Help me please."

It was faint as before but Samantha could almost recognize the voice as Mark's. She was moving forward before she realized what she was doing, grabbing onto the edges of the trap door and lowering herself into the opening. She was almost through and ready to jump to the bottom of the tunnel when another voice, much louder and stronger, floated to her ears.

"Samantha! Are you out here?"

Samantha groaned and hoisted herself back up without a pause.

"Yes Mom," she called.

"Oh good! I got home, didn't see you here, and got myself all scared. Why don't you come inside? It's probably all muddy out there."

Samantha knew from long experience her Mom was not asking her to come inside, but commanding it. There was no point putting it off and making her mother suspicious, so Samantha used all her willpower and turned away from the open trap door and the voice.

"I'm coming right now."

Samantha walked rapidly out of the tunnel but her mind was elsewhere, thinking hard about the voice. Did she really even hear it? The voice was so quiet and so diluted by echo she wondered if it was nothing but hope. However, these doubts were fleeting because she knew the voice was not imagined. Someone in the tunnel had been calling for help and if it wasn't Mark, she didn't know who it would be. But she had to wait until midnight to see.

Samantha was almost through the eucalyptus grove when she realized all she had to do was tell her Mom what she heard. Her Mom would call the police and they would go back into the tunnel and find Mark.

She started running and went straight to the porch, meaning to head into the kitchen. As she reached the porch door, it opened and her mother looked out.

"Samantha! You're a mess! Go change in the garage before you come in here."

"Mom. You've to call the police."

"What?"

Her Mom became very still, with her eyes narrow and dark blue.

"I heard someone in the tunnel Mom. It was a voice yelling for help."

"In the tunnel?" Sandra peered over Samantha's shoulder at the bamboo, which was still twisting in the strong west wind. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I heard it call for help, twice."

"Are you sure it wasn't the wind or something like that? The police checked the whole pipe and there wasn't any sign of Mark."

"Mom, I heard someone calling for help. It was really faint and faraway, but I heard it. Do you want to come out and hear?"

Sandra looked indecisive, rubbing the back of her left hand with her right. She looked down at Samantha with an expression Samantha had never seen on her parent's faces before. It was a look that Samantha sometimes felt on her own face when a new situation presented itself and she had no experience to back up her decision.

"Samantha, honey. I'll call but I want you to think hard about whether you really heard something or not. Because if we call and the police come out here, they will certainly tell the Wilsons. The Wilsons will get excited again because they will think they're about to find Mark, but what if he isn't down there? Imagine how they would feel."

Samantha was shocked, both understanding what her mother was saying and amazed at how little she understood.

"I'm sure Mom and I think you should call. How would you feel if he was hurt down there in the tunnel and we didn't find him because we're afraid of what his parents would say?"

Sandra straightened up sharply, almost as if she had been slapped. The dazed look left her eyes and she went back inside. Samantha went to the garage to change. She stripped out of her soaked and muddy sweat suit and wrapped herself in a towel that was sitting, folded, on top of the dryer. The cement floor was extremely cold on her bare feet, so she opened the door and went inside.

Her mother was talking on the phone to someone at the police station. Samantha hurried into her room and put on fresh clothes. When she came back out her Mom was drinking from a tall glass of water, which she downed before taking a breath.

"They'll be here in about ten minutes. Officers Robinson and Martinez will be back, since they know the tunnel already."

"Good."

"So it sounded like Mark? They asked me if it did and I said you couldn't tell because the voice was so faint."

"I don't know for sure. I thought it was Mark, but I couldn't really tell."

"Oh, I hope they find him this time," Sandra said, suddenly close to tears. "It must be especially hard on Cliff, because they were the same age and so close."

"It was strange in class today too."

"What do you mean by strange?"

"It was like, everyone was talking and laughing and seemed so happy. Even Cliff was a little bit, but I wasn't. I started thinking that everyone had already forgotten Mark and that just because they weren't thinking about him all the time that life was going back to normal. But how can it?"

Sandra leaned against the kitchen counter, looking not at Samantha but the old painting on the west wall, which had hung there ever since Samantha could remember. She had seen it so many times before that she never noticed it anymore.

"Do you know where this painting comes from Samantha?"

"No."

"My mother painted it, back when I graduated from high school. Can you see what it is?"

"Not really. All the colors kind of run together."

"Yeah, that was my Mom's style. If you use your imagination, it looks like a river flowing between two tall hills. That was the scene behind my old house. One month after my Mom painted that picture she passed away and our old house was sold. What do you think I did then?"

The gravity in her mother's voice was yet another thing Samantha had never experienced. So quickly that the thought was not registered, and certainly not remembered, she marveled at how deep each person's life goes and how little others know of their details.

"I don't know Mom."

"I kept living. That's what I did. My mother was dead and my Dad had died long before that. I lived with my Aunt's family until I left for college, and I kept on living. And I was happy too, because I knew my mother would rather I be happy and go on instead of always being sad, only because of her memory. Do you see what I mean?"

"No."

"It's been a few days, honey. If they don't find Mark in that tunnel tonight and if they don't get a lead in the next few days, then there is a good chance he may not be found. It's horrible. This isn't natural. It's a crime. But as horrible as it is, at some point you realize you have to move on, because otherwise you'll get stuck. And once you are stuck it's hard to get moving forward again. It sounds like your class is moving on."

Samantha saw a single tear course down her mother's cheek and she sensed that great emotion lay underneath her mother's words. However, although the meaning was grasped, the emotion and the truth of the words bounced off as if a shield surrounded her. The simple truth to Samantha was that Mark was missing and that no one seemed to care any longer about what he might be seeing or feeling at that exact moment. She couldn't understand how people could ignore that question just because they could not retrieve an answer. It felt like quitting to her and she wasn't going to do that. She had heard a voice calling for help and she knew the trapdoors hadn't been welded shut the last time she was in the tunnel. She wasn't going to pretend everything was all right.

There was the sound of a car coming to a stop in front of the house and Samantha broke away from her mother and ran to the window. She pulled the curtain aside and saw an idling police car. The brake light flashed off and the doors opened. Samantha ran to the door, opened it, and ran outside without a jacket. Sandra followed.

Officer Martinez stepped from the passenger side and had to put his hands up to keep Samantha from running into him.

"Hurry Officer Martinez. I heard a voice calling for help in the tunnel and I don't know if it was Mark, but it could be so we have to go in and see..."

"Slow down please, Ms. Branson," Officer Martinez said smoothly, cutting her off with no effort at all. "I think it would be best if you could describe everything that happened. Start at the beginning and go slowly."

"But what if he's down there and hurt," Samantha said loudly.

"Samantha," Sandra said, but Officer Martinez smiled.

"I know you want to help Mark as much as you can Samantha. But we need to know everything before we go into a situation. I'm sorry but that's the way it is. We'll get there much faster if you can start at the beginning and tell me what happened."

He had his notebook out and a pen at the ready. Officer Robinson had walked around the car and was standing beside them, holding a powerful flashlight and his body posture was tense. Samantha noticed that Officer Martinez was standing stiffly as well and Samantha felt relief course through her, because they wanted to get to the tunnel as quickly as she did.

"I went into the bamboo to go to the clubhouse and think. I got bored though because none of my friends could come over, so I walked over to the trapdoor."

"Where you going in," Officer Robinson asked.

"No. No. I only wanted to see it. That sounds silly but it's true. I had to move the metal door because it was closed and I looked inside. I couldn't see anything and I was about to leave when I heard a voice call out 'help me'."

"A voice called 'help me'? Was it loud?"

"No, it was very quiet. And echoing."

"Did it sound like Mark to you?"

"I... I wanted it too, but I don't know. It could have been."

Did... oh no," Officer Martinez said.

Samantha turned in the direction Officer Martinez was looking and saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilson running out of their house towards the car. Before Samantha could even move, Officer Robinson had taken several steps towards the Wilsons, intercepting them before they could get any closer.

"Do you have news," Mrs. Wilson cried, "Do you have news about Mark? What have you found?"

"Please Mrs. Wilson," Officer Robinson said, "we're only here to gather some more information for our report. If we could just go back to your home and talk about..."

"Then why are you carrying a flashlight, sir," Mr. Wilson asked coldly, pointing at Officer Robinson's hand.

Ignoring the question, Officer Robinson said, "Please. Let's just walk back to your house and we can discuss this..."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell us what is going on and why you are carrying a flashlight," Mr. Wilson said.

"Like I said sir. We are trying to fill in some details on our report. There's no need to get upset."

"You have no right to withhold information from us. Please tell me what you are doing here."

Officers Robinson and Martinez looked at each other and Samantha could see them debating silently on whether or not they should tell the Wilsons what was happening. Although she could understand why he was upset, Samantha had never disliked Mr. Wilson more than at that moment. His whole posture was full of anger and most of it was directed at the police, even though they were trying their best to help them. With a bitter feeling in the pit of her stomach, Samantha saw Officer Martinez make an imperceptible nod. Officer Robinson straightened up and gestured towards the flashlight in his hand.

"I didn't want to mislead you, Mr. Wilson, but we didn't want to disturb you unnecessarily. We are going back because we have an unconfirmed report of a voice in the tunnel."

"You mean someone heard Mark," Mrs. Wilson asked.

"No, that's not what I meant at all," Officer Robinson started to say, before he was cut off by Mr. Wilson.

"I want an explanation for why you weren't going to tell us that you had a lead on our son. Right now."

He was so angry that ugly splotches of color appeared on his temples and cheeks and he had taken a step towards Officer Robinson, pointing at him with his right index finger. Officer Robinson didn't like it and squared his shoulders, his right hand dropping instinctively to the butt of his nightstick.

"Sir. Please lower your voice," Officer Robinson said in a low, intimidating growl.

"I'll be damned if I will. You weren't going to tell us that you might have found our son. I said very specifically at the beginning that I wanted to know every aspect of your investigation. And you agreed with me, right to my face while we were standing on our porch."

Officer Robinson turned away and started to walk towards Officer Martinez. Mr. Wilson reached out, grabbed Officer Robinson's shoulder, and pulled. The officer whipped around quickly and knocked Mr. Wilson's arm off his shoulder.

"This is your last warning. If you raise your voice or touch me again I'm arresting you. You've already committed one offence and I won't take another. I don't care how upset you are about your son. Do you understand me?"

Mr. Wilson fell back a step and his wife immediately went to his side, putting her arms around his waist in a gesture that was half comfort and half restraint. He looked even more upset than before but he held his tongue.

"Do you understand," Officer Robinson repeated.

"Yes," Mr. Wilson said, carefully.

"Good. Again, we have a report that a noise was heard in the tunnel that sounded like a human voice. To answer your question Mrs. Wilson, in no way can we conclude that Mark was heard. However, we felt that it was important enough to explore and we were not planning to disturb you until we knew whether or not this was a false alarm. Since we explored that tunnel thoroughly only a few days ago, I must be perfectly frank and suggest that a false alarm is the most likely explanation."

"Who heard the noise," Mrs. Wilson asked, looking at Samantha carefully.

Neither of the officers said anything. It was quiet for a long moment, and then Mrs. Wilson said rapidly, "What did you hear Samantha? Was it Mark? You would know almost as well as anyone because I know you were getting to be good friends. Please tell me it was my Mark."

Her voice started to choke off and break apart as tears poured out onto her face, almost as if they materialized out of the chilly evening air. Her complete lack of self-consciousness robbed Samantha of her defenses and she felt answering tears start to rise up inside of her. She wanted to answer, although she knew that she could offer nothing but false hope, because she knew that she knew nothing. Still, anything was better than watching Mrs. Wilson's face and listening to her pleas.

She opened her mouth to voice some of her own hopes, when a dry, crackling voice cut across the yard, stilling her.

"Sorry to interrupt, everyone. I'm sorry. But I think I know what's going on here," Mr. Henson said.

Samantha turned around and felt everyone else shifting their eyes down the street. Mr. Henson stood on his front lawn, but when he saw that he had everyone's attention he walked rapidly down the sidewalk.

"How can we help you, Mr. Henson," Officer Martinez said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"Actually, I think I can help you, Officer. I came out to see why a police car had pulled up and couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation. I think I know where the voice came from."

"Where was that, sir," Officer Robinson asked.

"My basement," Mr. Henson replied.
Chapter 15: The Tunnel

There was a moment of silence, stunned and tense. The wind gusted again, blowing over them, chilling Samantha's uncovered skin.

"From my basement," Mr. Henson repeated. "I have a home theater set up down there and I occasionally enjoy watching movies with full surround sound. I was watching a movie not fifteen minutes ago."

"Please explain why that explains anything," Officer Martinez said, sounding angry.

"Well, I heard you mention that tunnel and I'm sure you know it runs right under my house. I'm probably the only house on the block that has a basement and there is one of those annoying metal doors located right in the basement floor. I have it covered with a couple of speakers and I'm sure that is what caused the sound that Samantha here must have heard."

Mr. Henson looked down at her, his eyes unreadable in the evening half-light. Then he gave her a quick wink.

"You know about the tunnel," Officer Robinson asked.

"Of course. I knew about it when I moved in and played in it quite often when I was still back in high school. It's been sealed up for years now, of course. Sorry for the confusion but that is certainly understandable under the circumstances."

He paused and looked at Mrs. Wilson, her tears starting all over again.

"You mean that wasn't Mark down there after all," she cried. "You said he was there. You said he was."

Mr. Wilson put his arm around her, his face gentle now, and disappointed. He started to escort her back towards their house, where Samantha could now see Cliff standing in the front doorway, silhouetted against an internal light. The going was slow and they all watched them walk away, even the police officers. Officer Martinez closed his notebook with a frustrated snap.

The Wilsons got up to their house, the only sound the wind and Mrs. Wilson's cries. Then the door closed and they were gone.

"Well, thank you for your information, Mr. Henson," Officer Martinez said. "You saved us a trip back into that wet bamboo."

"My pleasure officers, although I hate giving bad news."

They nodded and walked back to the police car. Sandra also turned and walked back to her house, leaving Mr. Henson and Samantha standing on the sidewalk. The officers got in their car and started the engine, pulling away. Samantha watched them go in disbelief.

"Lost your friend, huh," Mr. Henson said, "I bet that makes you sad."

Startled, Samantha turned and looked at him.

"Yeah, I can tell you are sad by looking at you. It's always hard to tell how grief will affect people, you know. You can never tell how someone will respond to the death of someone close to them until it happens. And you don't look like the type that can handle it, young Ms. Branson. Just like your grandfather."

Disgusted, Samantha started walking up to her own house, rubbing at her bare arms to warm them.

"I bet you're even more upset that you couldn't use your newfangled abilities to help him," Mr. Henson said.

Samantha's first panicked thought was that her mother would hear what he was saying and that her secret would be lost. However, Sandra had already gone inside so Samantha turned to Mr. Henson.

"I don't know what you're talking about" she said.

"Don't you," Mr. Henson asked.

"No. And I heard about what happened back when you were younger. My Grandpa told me."

"Oh did he?" Mr. Henson took a step closer to her. "I bet that made for an interesting story. But I bet he didn't tell you everything and I bet you know that, don't you."

Samantha looked at him carefully and with some curiosity, but in the end her disgust was what determined her actions and she walked up the sidewalk to her front door.

The evening continued. Before dinner time seemed to stop completely, as Sandra mentioned repeatedly how she should have never called the police and the thought of Mrs. Wilson's disappointment went straight to her heart and lingered. The first time Sandra started talking about her regrets Samantha tried to defend herself. The second time she ignored her mother and let her talk, realizing in some distant way her mother was not blaming anyone in particular but the situation as a whole. Still, it made for an unpleasant scene because Samantha and Sandra were making dinner in the kitchen together. Thomas was over at Neil's house again, another fact that made her mother angry.

"Grandpa will probably be over for dinner again," Sandra said. "Not that I mind him being over so much because it's great to see Neil and your father getting along. But he might as well move in if he plans to be here so often."

"You think he might be here again tonight," Samantha asked, worried about her plans.

"I bet he will be," Sandra said.

That made the wait even worse and time slowed down another notch as Samantha now had something else to worry about. She was still determined to explore the tunnel herself and she didn't trust Mr. Henson or his explanation. She knew what she heard could have been a movie but she didn't think it was. How could he have known about her talent though? Or was he just teasing her, remembering old stories that must circulated about her grandfather after he kicked the football off the field?

She didn't trust Mr. Henson, but did she trust her grandfather anymore either? She thought angrily about how Neil set Mr. Stillson to spy on her. Even if he did it out of concern it was an awful thing to do. And what to think of Mr. Stillson? He saved her from the nurse but why did she feel so uneasy around him most of the time? Was it because he was spying even though he didn't think it the right thing to do? What did he say? He had to do it because it was the honorable choice. Unbelievable. Did she not trust him because he hurt his back and didn't tell her why? Samantha could trust her friends and her parents but she couldn't tell them the most important thing about herself. It was so very frustrating.

She was chopping celery and grating carrots, not watching what she was doing, and she scraped the top of her hand on the grater, causing the middle knuckle to bleed. She put her hand under cold water and watched the blood seep to the surface of her wound, then get entrained in the flow and spiral down the drain.

As Samantha was drying her hand and the scrap was beginning to clot, the front door opened. Samantha did not hear voices. A moment later Thomas walked around the corner of the wall and smiled at them. Sandra walked over to him and gave him a hug and kiss.

"Smells good," Thomas said, but he sounded distracted.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Long day, that's all."

"Where's your Dad," Sandra asked, looking around the corner and back towards the front door. "Is he getting something out of the car?"

"No. He isn't coming tonight."

"Oh," Sandra said, looking relieved and unable to hide it.

"Yeah. He was in a grouchy mood all day," Thomas said quietly. "Actually, he was a lot more like how he used to be. I had not seen him that way in awhile. Not too much fun. By the end he even admitted he wasn't feeling well. Dizzy and nauseous he said."

Samantha looked up from the lettuce she was shredding. Up to that point she was just happy her Grandpa wouldn't be over for dinner. At the news he was feeling dizzy and nauseous, exactly how she herself felt when she had a draining, a tremendous bolt of excitement coursed through her.

If her Grandpa felt weak because of a draining, that meant she was the only one who could be pulling that strength. That meant she would live to be as least as old as her grandfather, because otherwise he would never have felt the draining. If she lived until her grandfather's age it meant nothing bad was going to happen to her tonight in the tunnel. Samantha was so excited she put down the lettuce, walked out of the kitchen, and passed her parents without a word. She went straight into her room and proceeded to pace in front of her bed, trying to calm down by focusing on the mountains and forests painted on the bottom of her wall. She couldn't calm down, though, because now that she knew she was going to be alright, she wanted to get into the tunnel as quickly as possible.

About ten minutes later she opened her bedroom door, feeling a little better, and then stopped cold. What if her Grandpa was only ill and it had nothing to do with the talent? If he was sick then it meant nothing for her. Pausing in the hallway, thinking hard, Samantha felt something brush the end of her nose. Startled, she jerked back, and saw her father standing there, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Earth to Samantha," he said. "You there?"

"Yeah. Hi Dad. I was just thinking about something."

"Hey, your Mom told me about what happened this afternoon. I think you did the right thing," Thomas said.

"I thought it was Mark."

"I know. Was it a good day at school?"

"Sure. Not much happened."

"Your Mom said that Cliff was back in class today. How was he?"

"He seemed too happy."

Thomas looked surprised at her answer, and then his mouth settled into its usual half smile and he nodded, as if he understood completely. Samantha doubted that he understood it the way she did, however.

"Well, I'm glad everything is going well. I'm going to take a quick shower before dinner."

Samantha remembered her Grandpa's diary and turned back to her room and closed the door. She had forgotten to look at the old book before school and had been too distressed after her conversation with Neil the night before to even think of reading. Papers and books cluttered her desk to their usual depth. She shuffled a couple of papers around and heard a metallic thump as something shifted further down the pile. She saw the diary under an assignment from class.

She opened it and heard the cloth binding crinkle under her fingers. The pages were old and brittle but hung together well. She flipped forward to the day her grandfather was as old as she was at that moment. There was the story her grandfather had told her the night before, written in the shaky hand of a young boy who had earlier that day beaten another boy unconscious. None of her Grandpa's long remorse was evident in the entry. Instead, the passage read like a play-by-play account of a victorious warrior.

She read the entry several times, nearly forgetting why she was doing so in her attempt to understand how her grandfather could have been the boy writing the words in front of her. Would she feel the same way at some point in the future? Would she look back at this night as one of the worst decisions of her life? She closed the book, realizing she was determined to stick with her plan. The antics of her grandfather, as interesting and disgusting as they were, had no relevance except for the fact she might need to use her talent tonight while her grandfather was using his fifty years before.

Nervous, she put the diary back on the dresser and picked up her own. She hadn't been writing in it enough and she knew it, but she wasn't going to correct that bad habit now. Dinner would be any moment and she felt too jittery to sit down and write about her day. Instead, Samantha walked to the kitchen.

"So you decided to run off and leave me to make dinner all by myself," Sandra said, half joking.

"Sorry Mom. I forgot something in my room."

"Can you finish setting the table please?"

Samantha grabbed the silverware and set it beside the three plates already on the table. Sandra was looking down the hall, her head cocked to one side.

"It sounds like your father has finished with his shower. We might as well get the food too."

Samantha helped her mother carry over the casserole dish, the corn dish, and the salad bowl. They finished as Thomas approached in a thick bathrobe, with moist hair sticking up from a wrapped towel.

"I could smell this in the shower and couldn't wait any longer," he said, sitting down at the table.

"Yes, you have a rough life dear," Sandra said.

"I know, I know. Dinner with two lovely ladies. Could my life get any worse?"

Thomas spooned a large helping of the casserole onto his plate and passed the dish to Samantha. She took a spoonful to avoid suspicion, but she had never felt less hungry in her life. She passed the dish to her mother and asked the question of most concern.

"Was it still windy out there Dad?"

"Sure it was. Can't you hear it?"

"Yeah, but I was wondering if it was still as windy as it was this afternoon. When we were outside with the... when we were outside earlier it was really cold."

"If anything it's windier now than it was this afternoon. When I was over at your grandfather's we had the news on and they were forecasting thirty-five mile an hour winds all through tonight. It should stay cold all day tomorrow and we might even have frost tomorrow night. I'll need to get some of the plants covered tomorrow afternoon."

Samantha nodded. She tried to imagine how cold it would feel later on, outside at night, and couldn't. She would have to wear as many layers as possible.

Dinner stretched on, time slowing to a crawl. Her father told them about cleaning Neil's house and all the interesting items they were finding. Not for the first time, Samantha found herself wondering why her grandfather was spending so much time cleaning his house. Was he planning to move, maybe even in with them? They had found an old baseball mitt from the sixties, a long lost photo album, and her grandfather's collection of beer cans. Sandra sniffed her nose at this and asked how many cockroaches they found in between all the priceless relics.

After another few minutes, Samantha asked, "Can I be excused?"

Thomas looked at her plate. "You've hardly eaten anything. Your migraine isn't coming back, is it?"

"I'm fine. I guess I'm not hungry tonight for some reason."

"Alright then. I guess you're excused."

"Just put your dish in the sink tonight dear," Sandra said, "I'll get the dishes."

Samantha looked at her, surprised, because she was always supposed to wash her own dish immediately. She shrugged and carried her plate over to the sink. Then she walked back to her room again, feeling as if she had just missed something important.

Once in her room, however, Samantha wondered if she hadn't made a mistake by leaving the table, because there seemed an unbelievable lack of things to do inside her room. Nothing sounded good. The thought of writing in her diary was almost painful. The thought of reading seemed too lethargic considering her plans for the evening. She briefly considered drawing a new picture on her wall but that seemed too contrived. A million ideas streamed into her head and all of them were rejected instantaneously.

Samantha woke up, startled, lying on her side and looking towards her closet door. She couldn't remember falling asleep. She rubbed her eyes and wondered, in her sleep-confused mind, if it was time to wake for school. Then she remembered her plan to explore the trapdoors in the tunnel and groaned aloud, frustrated that she had fallen asleep. Turning over, she noticed it was still dark behind her window shade, and, when she was able to see the clock, her shoulders sagged with relief because it was only 8:30. She wasn't asleep for more than thirty minutes.

Samantha sat up before she could get drowsy again, walked over to her chest-of-drawers, and pulled out a black sweat suit, along with a t-shirt and a heavy wool sweater. She couldn't hear the wind from her room but she figured it was strong and she didn't want to be cold. She also pulled out a sheet of paper and looked at it for a few moments, and then grabbed a pencil and started writing.

Dear Mom and Dad,

If I'm not in here, don't be worried. I've gone out to the tunnel to explore some of the other trapdoors. They were not welded when I was in there with Cliff and Mark, but the police said they were. I think someone went back and sealed them so I'm going to look to see if that is true. I don't like hiding this from you, but I knew you wouldn't let me go. Come and get me if you find this. I know I'm in trouble but I had to see.

Samantha

Samantha folded the note and wrote, "Where I am," in big bold letters on the outside. She put this on her desk and walked out of the room. The house was dark, surprising her, because her Mom usually stayed up until ten. Samantha wandered around the dark rooms and stopped for a drink of water in the kitchen. Satisfied no one was up and the door to her parent's bedroom was closed, Samantha went back to her room to stay quiet and kill time before she left. Since her parents had gone to bed early, she thought she might be able to leave a little sooner than she had planned.

Once in her room with the door closed, Samantha put her clothes on the bed and changed into her nightgown in case her Mom came in to check on her. Then she climbed into bed and started to read. Her quick nap had eased her nerves and she got interested in her book quickly, losing track of time within the exciting pages. The knock on her door startled her from a pleasant reading world and into the real one.

The knock was perfunctory, as it always was, and her Mom would open the door without waiting for a response. Samantha, with a panicked look, realized she had forgotten her clothes on the edge of the bed, neatly folded and ready to wear. With no thought, her legs tingled under the blankets and launched into a vicious kick, flinging her covers back over the clothes. The disturbed sheets settled as her Mom opened the door.

Sandra looked sleepy and distant and she only poked her head in through the door. Samantha realized she had left her note on her desk, in plain view if her mother came further into the room.

"Hi sweetheart. Ready for bed."

"Yes," Samantha said, getting out of bed so her Mom could see she was wearing her nightgown. "I think I'm going to get a quick drink of water and go right to sleep."

"Good."

Sandra glanced around the room but Samantha was already at the door, so Sandra backed out and Samantha closed the door behind her so that it was only open a crack. Sandra leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Sleep well dear. And don't stay up too late."

"I won't Mom," Samantha said, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Sandra walked back to their bedroom while Samantha went to the kitchen again to make it look as though she really did need a glass of water. She paused at the patio door and looked outside, watching the wind. By leaning against the cold glass she could almost see the bamboo waving back and forth like weeds in a turbulent stream.

She went to the sink and got a small sip of water, and then went to her room for what felt like the twentieth time that night. She hid the clothes and note under her bed, and waited.

The close call with her mother brought her nerves back and the next couple of hours were the longest of her life. Fatigue tried to creep in and she would fight it back with effort, but it became harder and harder to do. By eleven she knew she had to either go to sleep or get up and try, because she couldn't stand the waiting any longer. Quietly she got out of bed, trying to be conscious of every little sound her movements generated. She could hear the low buzz that always seemed to be in her room, but nothing else. She slipped out of her nightgown and put on the clothes she had hidden under her bed, feeling a little ridiculous and bulky wearing so much inside the house. She placed the note carefully on her pillow so it would be seen immediately. Samantha then examined her door and flicked off the light. The door was closed, so she turned the knob as slowly as she could. It produced no sounds. When she reached the limit of the door knob, Samantha pulled the door back slowly, listening to the familiar scrape as the bottom of the door rubbed against the carpet. She opened the door only wide enough for her to slip out. Samantha walked quietly down the hall. She paused again at the kitchen, listening for any sound, but she heard none and thought she was safe. Ahead of her was the door leading from the kitchen to the garage and it had a squeaky hinge. Samantha realized she should have oiled the hinges a couple of days before.

She crossed to the door and again turned the knob slowly. It turned easily and silently in her shaking right hand until it reached its limit. She opened the door. It made a single, long, relatively loud squeal and Samantha froze. The door was opened about an inch, and already it had made a sound loud enough to carry down the hall. Frozen, wondering what she should do, Samantha debated whether she should just close the door and sneak back into her room fast or if she should keep going. Staying was not a good option because if her parents opened their bedroom door and looked out they would see her.

Samantha decided to keep going and she kept opening the door, pulling so slowly that it didn't even seem to move. It made a little more noise but not as much as the first loud squeal. There was still no sign her parents had heard anything. Finally the door was open enough for her to squeeze through. She then closed the door, forcing herself to close it slowly.

It took almost a minute for her to get the door closed and by the time she did her feet were starting to hurt because they were planted on the cold cement floor. As soon as the door closed with an audible, though quiet, click, she pulled her old tennis shoes over her bare feet. It was like loading wooden blocks into her shoes because her feet had almost no feeling left in them. She tied the shoes down, not able to feel whether the shoes were loose or tight, and opened the cupboard.

She felt a moment of panic because she couldn't see the flashlight. She reached in a little further, into the dark corner where she couldn't see anything, and felt the hard, cold metal of the flashlight handle. Grabbing it, she walked over to the door leading outside, sparing a single glance at the kitchen door, and wondering if her parents were awake already. The door leading outside was already open a crack so she didn't worry about being cautious. She pulled it open. Her first step outside reminded her how cold the wind can feel when you have been inside someplace warm.

Samantha could see the edge of the eucalyptus grove and the tall trees were swaying back and forth, the deep leaves on the ground blowing like snow drifts. She walked forward and an interior alarm bell went off in her head, telling her that she shouldn't proceed. She did pause physically for a moment, wondering at the source of the alarm. She realized what the internal warning must have been. She had never snuck out of the house before at night. She had read stories where kids had done so, but nobody she knew in real life had ever even tried.

Samantha jogged along the path into the eucalyptus grove, the air so cold she felt like her nose was cutting the air with each step. The grove was empty, of course, and dark, but she didn't want to turn the flashlight on until she got into the bamboo. She knew her way so well that she could walk it blindfolded, but the wind and the leaves shifting on the ground made the environment seem new and somehow frightening. She stopped jogging and walked forward timidly, knowing on some level that her nervousness at traversing a path so well known was draining her confidence.

The wind gusted, more strongly than anything she had directly experienced before, and a tree limb above her cracked. She jerked to the side, but managed to keep herself from turning on the flashlight. The crack had been sudden but no limb plummeted to earth. Samantha craned her head upward and thought she could even see the broken limb, hanging by a few threads of wood, near the top of the tree.

She started jogging again, from fear more than anything else, and she emerged from the eucalyptus grove. The wind was stronger in the open so she ran to the bamboo and dropped into a slide without pausing, scooting her body forward to the wooden fence in a haphazard infantryman crawl. The hidden door was still propped open and Samantha leapt inside the bamboo tunnel, flicking on her flashlight. The glare was welcoming and the strangeness of the scene felt almost like home. She could see the upper bamboo stalks rippling like flags high above her, but she could hardly feel the wind in the tunnel. She walked forward, turned right, and went directly to the trapdoor.

Samantha paused again, reminding herself to be careful of using her talent because she didn't know what would happen. She might find her strength full, doubled, or not available at all. If she failed, she could even feel as though her energy was drained and she might pass out, or lie uncomfortably on the floor of the tunnel until the next morning, which would send her parents into a panic.

Samantha took a deep breath, tucked the flashlight under her arm, and lowered herself into the tunnel with one easy motion. Her feet, still tingling as they slowly warmed, splashed into the shallow water at the bottom of the tunnel. The flashlight slid out from under her arm at the moment of contact but her right hand whipped out and she managed to catch the flashlight by the end of the handle before it could crash into the cement. She then moved her feet so that she was straddling the stream of water and breathed a sigh of relief.

Before proceeding, Samantha pointed the flashlight down the tunnel both ahead and behind, verifying no one was there. She could see nothing but the tunnel, just as it looked when she was here with Cliff and Mark. She moved forward, looking carefully at her feet for any sign of Mark's presence.

Alone, the tunnel seemed much smaller and more frightening. When she heard echoes she couldn't dismiss the sounds as easily as she could when she was with friends. Instead, they splashed and echoed back, making her think someone was behind her, or out of sight in front. The third time this happened, perhaps because the tunnel was now starting to curve to the left, a strange overlay of echoing footsteps sounded like a whispering voice. Samantha gasped, and again almost dropped the flashlight from her sweaty hands. She seized it tightly and pointed it around her in all directions, but there nothing was there.

She closed her eyes and brushed her hair back from her forehead, forcing herself to breathe deeply. When she opened her eyes she felt calmer and made herself walk slowly, afraid that in her uneasy state she might miss a sign that Mark had been here. If she wasn't careful it would defeat the whole purpose of her trip.

The tunnel was curving and Samantha thought about what Mr. Henson had told the police regarding the trapdoor under his basement. She hadn't realized it during the first trip, but the curve would take the tunnel underneath his house.

Ahead was the first trapdoor. She could see the edges of the door contrasting against the curved, pitted cement of the tunnel walls. She jogged ahead, weaving back and forth to stay out of the water.

She reached the door and shined the light against it anxiously. The metal looked the same as the one covering the entrance in her yard and the opening seemed to be approximately the same size. Moving the most intense flashlight beam along the edges of the metal, she could see why the police thought the doors were welded shut. However, she did not think they actually were. There was an old weld but there was also a seam where the metal frame touched the slab. Samantha trained the light over the tunnel floor, but, besides a little more debris than further down the tunnel, there was nothing of interest. She looked back at the door, trying to decide whether she should give it a push. Mr. Henson said it was covered by heavy speakers but she didn't she believed him. Suppose she was able to push on the door and it was not covered at all? What if there were no speakers and Mr. Henson was lying? Would that mean she really had heard a voice coming from the tunnel? Samantha thought the answer was yes, and that if she heard a voice then it must have been Mark calling for help.

Samantha stood, her feet out of the water, thinking hard. She wanted to try the door but it would require her talent, because she could only reach the bottom of the metal while standing on her tip-toes. She would have to jump and push at the same time. However, if she tried her talent and her Grandpa was still using his then they might conflict and she didn't know what would happen.

Samantha didn't want to get tired and fall helplessly into the cold water at the base of the tunnel, but she also hadn't snuck out to the tunnel to do nothing. Frustrated, she walked a little way down the tunnel and found what she was looking for after only about thirty feet. A small, solid piece of wood about five inches high was lying along the concrete floor in the shallow water. She carried it back to the trapdoor and stood on the wood. Samantha couldn't get any leverage on the trapdoor with one hand, so she placed the flashlight carefully on the floor of the tunnel away from the water and got back on the wood. She stood on her tiptoes and pushed with both hands, being sure not to trigger her strength. The door did not shift and Samantha was positive she had pushed hard enough to make it move. It was either welded or there really was something lying over the top and forcing it down.

Samantha picked up her flashlight in her right hand, the wood block in her left, and continued down the tunnel. The slow curve continued and she saw another trap door just ahead. Again her excitement propelled her into motion and she ran underneath. There was no sign of anything interesting on the base of the tunnel, so she examined the door carefully and her heart sank. There were indeed small gaps along the edges of the trapdoor, although no light was coming through because it was dark outside. Samantha could see the gaps quite clearly because the metal slab was slightly curved upward along the edges, but she could also see that the corners were firmly welded shut.

She was so disappointed that she slumped against the wall and slid into a sitting position. Hot tears threatened at the corners of her eyes and she realized how deeply tired she was, and how nice her bed would feel. The whole trip, all the worry and preparation, seemed to have become worthless in a moment. And with that failing hope went her conviction that Mark was safe.

Samantha thought she would break down and start crying, which would serve no good purpose but seemed undeniable. She wanted nothing more than to slink back to her own trapdoor and head to bed, hoping her parents had not found her missing. The thought was compelling and difficult to ignore. Gradually, however, she was able to push it to the background.

Her memory of the first trip into the tunnel was less than perfect, but she seemed to remember that the next trapdoor, the one where Mark fell, was loose and not welded. She remembered thinking Mark had moved it and that she could have moved it herself if she could have used her talent. Samantha pulled herself up, wiped at tears that had not fallen, and resumed walking. She continued to carry the piece of wood in her left hand, but after ten feet she dropped it to the floor of the tunnel with a resounding crash. The sound of the wood was almost deafening in the enclosed tunnel and quickly the tunnel replied back with loud echoes. Samantha was oblivious, because even before the echoes had come back to their origin she was running down the tunnel, splashing the sides with long streamers of water.

She had seen, as the tunnel straightened after the long curve, a step ladder sitting in the middle of the tunnel, clearly revealed in her flashlight. Moments later she arrived at the ladder, positioned underneath the trap door where Mark had been hurt.

Breathing hard, Samantha touched the wooden ladder lightly with one finger, verifying it was not a feature of her stressed imagination. The ladder rocked when she touched it because it was sitting unevenly on the round floor of the tunnel. She looked around the base of the ladder. The floor looked different here, as though the water had been disturbed recently. Samantha flashed the light on the trapdoor and then clicked the flashlight off in sudden surprise. The trapdoor was open, and, before the light disappeared, she could see a ceiling beyond.

With the light off she was in darkness so complete that she felt separate from her body. All she could hear was the harsh sound of her breathing. Frightened, Samantha crouched in the darkness and waited, wondering if anyone was above her. She listened with all her concentration for a sound, watching the memory of light play across her eyes.

Samantha remained in this position long enough for her leg muscles to cramp, feeling the cold water working into her shoes and socks, chilling her entire body from the ground up. No sounds came from beyond the open trapdoor. Her mind felt sluggish and it couldn't seem to focus on anything in particular. She tried to imagine where she was. Was she under a house, or a barn, or a church? She didn't know. Then she tried to figure out who would have opened this trapdoor and left a ladder, and couldn't focus on that important question either. She knew this was likely the place where Mark had gone, if he had been down here at all. Was the room above her empty?

Samantha coughed, low and flat, and was badly startled at the noise because she hadn't known she needed to cough until she did so. It was the dark, she thought randomly, the dark was so thick that she was suffocating. A cramp of fear hit her fingers, triggering them on the flashlight switch, which turned on while pointed at the floor of the tunnel. The light, after a moment in complete blackness, seemed much too bright and it reflected off the low water onto the walls of the tunnel. Squinting, Samantha looked back at the trapdoor tentatively, expecting to see a horrible leering face looking down at her. Her first glance saw such a face and she drew in breath to scream, when she realized there was nothing but her imagination. She wiped her forehead and was not surprised when water dripped off her hand.

There was little choice as far as she was concerned. The ladder was here, the trapdoor was opened, and, as she had thought while standing under Mr. Henson's house, she came down here to find stuff out, not to run away because she was scared. Samantha put her left foot on the first step of the ladder, and then her right on the second. She had a moment to reflect on how easy, how fatally easy, it was to do something once you started. Another step and her head could be through the trapdoor if she straightened her body out. Samantha shone the light up through the trapdoor, saw a low cement ceiling split by thick wooden beams. She took the step and her head went through the trapdoor.

Hard hands grabbed her around the chin. Samantha screamed and the flashlight fell out of her right hand and tumbled back through the trapdoor, shattering on the floor of the tunnel. The hands were strong and Samantha was pulled through the trapdoor, smashing her shin against the edge. That pain was minor, though, compared to the thick, wrenching pain in her upper neck and jaw. She was still screaming, running on a never ending breath it seemed, when a hand let go of her chin and smashed back into her cheek as a fist a moment later.

That threw her into a strange world, one where she already couldn't see because of the impenetrable blackness, but also where the black faded to gray. Her first frantic thoughts of using her talent to get away faded into the gray mist and she felt herself being dragged across an uneven floor, her wet shoes clattering along behind her.

Samantha fought the grayness, but it proved too thick for her. Vaguely, she felt herself thrown against a wall, and her arms were raised above her head. Something cold, maybe metal, wrapped around her wrists and pulled tight so her arms were suspended above her head. The strength in her legs ran out just as her attacker was placing the cold metal band around her ankles. She didn't fall though, and didn't even need to use her arms to hold herself up, because there was a chair under her. All she could hear was rough breathing and a low buzzing sound. Footsteps went away from her in the dark. The footsteps were the last thing Samantha heard before she passed out.
Chapter 16: The Simple Truth

Samantha slowly came back to herself, wondering why her head hurt so badly and why it was so dark. She thought she must have gotten sick in the night, which was too bad because she didn't want to stay home again. She tried to rub her eyes but her hands wouldn't move, which was the strangest thing. Samantha opened her eyes and wondered why she couldn't see anything except a dull, feeble light.

Then she remembered what happened and adrenaline flooded back into her veins, causing her to stand up and yank with her arms. They were fastened tightly and pulling made her shoulders flare in intense pain. Her eyes cleared and she realized a thick cloth bag was over her head. She tried to shake it off. The attempt proved futile as it was pulled too far down over her neck to be dislodged. She kicked half-heartedly with her feet, but they proved to be fastened as tightly as her arms.

Movement outside the cloth bag, both seen and heard, caused her to freeze. The feeling saturating her at that moment dwarfed any other fear she had felt in her life. She was trapped, completely helpless, probably by the same person who kidnapped Mark. It was like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, understanding completely that the end of her life could be moments away. Samantha's lungs filled with air as her terror tried to find an outlet in screaming, but before she could start a thin, raspy voice cut her off.

"A scream right now and you'll die with that bag over your head."

"Who are you," Samantha asked.

There was a low chuckle and the footsteps got closer. She could see a small shape moving through the bag.

"I thought you would've known already, Samantha."

And Samantha realized she did, that she had known ever since he claimed his television caused the sound of a person crying for help. She had known he lied to the police but she didn't take that seriously enough. He probably did have a television in the basement of his house but they were not at his house now. Samantha was sure of that.

"Henson."

The bag was ripped off her head and even the dim light from a meager lamp in the corner of the room was bright enough to make her squint. Sanford Henson stood in front of her, the cloth bag raised over his head like a trophy. He stared at her, and then backed away and gestured to his left.

Samantha looked the direction he pointed and felt something jump in her chest. Mark was lying on a table against the wall, wearing all black. His hands were folded on his chest and his face was still and pale. His eyes were closed and Samantha could not tell if he was breathing. He was so still he could be made of wax.

"Mark," she said, breathlessly.

"Oh yes. Your friend Mark is certainly here," Mr. Henson said, walking towards him. He stopped by a small medical case sitting on the edge of the table. He reached in and pulled out a syringe, holding it up for Samantha to see.

"He's still alive, in a sense. I'm sure you're glad, but don't be too glad Samantha. As soon as I knew you were on your way I injected him with a poison. He'll be dead in ten minutes unless I give him a shot of this."

Samantha stared at the syringe as if she had never seen one before.

"Inject him."

"Not quite yet," Mr. Henson said. "We have to talk first. You see, you went and did something that disturbs me very greatly and I have to make sure it doesn't cause a problem. You wrote a note to your parents saying you were going into the tunnel. If they find you missing the police will search the tunnel for you and would certainly hear any sounds you might make. So, we have a simple situation. You make any loud sounds, and your good friend Mark doesn't get an injection and you will watch him die."

"No," Samantha said, struggling again against the chains.

"Yes. You make any loud sounds and you will kill your friend. If you stay quiet then I inject him in..." Mr. Henson paused and looked at his watch. "Five minutes."

"Inject him now. I won't make a sound."

"You think I would trust you? You, with a grandfather like yours? I have no idea what types of tricks he's tried to teach you. That bastard has been around you like a coat for the last two weeks and made my job extremely difficult. Samantha had stopped struggling because it was making her arms hurt. Instead, she looked around the room and saw the ladder was inside and the trapdoor was sealed. She then wondered if she could break the chains by using her talent. She had never tried to do something so difficult, but thought she probably could. Mr. Henson was watching her carefully and laughed.

"Thinking of trying to break out of the chains, eh Samantha? Well, good luck, but I can think of at least two reasons you shouldn't try."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Samantha said.

"Sure you do. A girl your age, I can read you like a book. I've placed your hands tightly above your head, where they are very weak. Nobody, even someone with your strength, could break those chains. Second, this is when your grandfather did something rather unpleasant about fifty years ago. If you try to use your strength, not only will it not work because your grandfather has nothing to give you, but you could also end up destroying your entire history."

He laughed, glancing at his watch as he did so. Samantha, who had been working to build a tingle in her arms, lost focus and the beginnings of the feeling faded away.

"It wouldn't change that much," she said, feeling angry despite her efforts to remain calm.

"Sure it would. That one cowardly act of your grandfather's defined his whole pathetic life. It affected much more than he has told you, I'm sure. And, most unfortunately, we don't have time for all the details but I will say this. Your family is rich for a reason and it isn't a nice one."

Samantha said nothing to this, thinking he was trying to distract her. She remembered Neil saying that when the talent skipped a generation it could become stronger. Maybe she could break these chains after all. She was worried about what Mr. Stillson had told her, though. The talent could work, or not, when it was used at the same time as the source. There was no way to predict the outcome. Even if she used her talent and it worked, she could also change the past, just like Mr. Henson had said. And she had no idea if the changes would be big or small. Things could change so much that her whole past might be different. She could even, Samantha thought nervously, change things so much that she was never born. But was that possible? How could it be when she was here, right now? How could one event in a person's life change so much that followed?

Samantha had a feeling she really could change history so that she was never born. Her grandfather's attack of Mr. Henson was a huge event in his life. Mr. Henson was still looking at her. Then at his watch. He was grinning widely.

"What're you going to do to me," Samantha asked.

"Well, that's a good question. You're quite a valuable piece of property. I was approached by a certain group of people over forty years ago who wished for my services. I had no choice but to agree to what they asked or else I would've had the same fate as those I found for them."

"You're an operator," Samantha said. It was not a question.

"Well no," Mr. Henson said. "Not quite in the same way the Nurse was."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Like I said, I had no choice. If I'd refused I would end up like you."

Samantha looked over at Mark again, lying so still it was impossible to believe he was not already dead. Sickening, deep despair was creeping over her, trying to poison her thoughts, feeling like the beat of a drum, impossible to ignore. With each beat the mantra came closer to the fore and she couldn't think past the basic fact that she was trapped. She tried to pull herself away from that feeling by looking back at Mr. Henson, who was standing away from table slightly, almost seeming disappointed in her response.

"Can you please give the shot to him now," Samantha asked. "Whatever you want from me doesn't include Mark."

"Of course it does! I couldn't figure out how to get to you, or how to verify you had the talent, because Neil was surrounding you constantly. Then you proved it yourself by hitting poor Nurse Wishon. See, I always suspected Neil had the talent but I didn't know for sure. I thought the coincidence of two of us being neighbors was too great and I couldn't believe it. It's still hard to believe because talents are so rare. Not that I liked your grandfather all those years. Far from it! But it never made sense to risk exposing myself for the sake of a hunch. But when you kicked the nurse I knew. The folks I'm involved with will be very excited when I tell them, because it means two talents for the price of one."

Samantha listened to this with only half an ear, instead watching Mark carefully. He had moved. She was sure of it. His right hand had twitched, and then his left.

"What's the matter girl," Mr. Henson asked, "no questions for me?"

"Are you a talent?"

Mr. Henson flashed her an ugly look.

"No."

"But..."

"My family had the gift but my generation was skipped."

"Then why did they want you? I don't understand how you're like me at all."

"There's a lot you don't understand Samantha. And you will never understand it because you have no need. Soon you won't care about school, or friends, your parents, or your life. Do you believe me?"

Mark twitched again.

"Why aren't you giving him the shot? I've been quiet."

"Because I've never had any intention of giving him the shot. Did you see him twitch yet? He's doing that because he's in pain. Of course, the poison keeps his muscles almost completely paralyzed and he won't be able to yell out, but he's awake in there, and he's hurting."

Samantha started to throw herself against the chains again, causing them to thrash and clang against the cement wall.

"Give him the shot," she yelled.

"Quiet," Mr. Henson said harshly, and Samantha did because she heard a crackling scream from the far side of the room. Mr. Henson ran over to another table and picked up what looked like a walkie-talkie. The thin buzz poured out in a continuous stream, but Samantha also heard the sounds of shuffling feet, and then her father's voice, amplified across the two blocks between this basement and her bedroom.

"She went into the tunnel to find Mark! Call the police! Hurry!"

"Where are you going," Sandra wailed.

"Call the police. I'm going to get her!"

Samantha could hear her mother crying as loud footsteps started again and the door slammed. She could picture her room, full of light, but empty. The walls of mountains and the two eagles were there, but she was not. Sitting on her desk were two diaries, one old, full, and crumbling, the other new and empty.

Mr. Henson started towards her, holding the syringe that Samantha now realized had been meant for her all along. Behind him was Mark, twitching regularly now, his legs drumming against the table top.

"But why me," she said quietly, and Mr. Henson stopped.

"Because you are the result of a skipped generation," Mr. Henson said, "as one of my children would have been, had any survived. And no one knows what you might be able to do. They never want a talent walking around free I've taken extra care to make sure you get captured alive, something your grandfather never would have allowed if he had been around. That is why I kidnapped Mark. And waited patiently, playing the helpful fool. Now the police will be looking for a serial kidnapper but I will remain right next door, unsuspected."

Mark jerked again, this time down the whole length of his body. He bounced and his back arched like a cat, over a full foot off the table. Another tremendous lunging spasm shook his body and he rolled sideways. Horrified, Samantha watched as he fell off the table and, unable to put his arms out for protection, hit his head on the floor with a deep, sickening thud. His body was still. There was a moment of complete silence. Then Samantha started to cry, low and helpless, beyond where simple despair could propel her. Mark was dead. There was no doubt of that and, worst of all, she knew she was the catalyst and the cause. Mr. Henson had also turned and was watching Mark on the ground, face down with his legs twisted in a grotesque arc. Then he looked back at Samantha.

"Don't worry Samantha. You won't remember him soon enough."

Instead of going straight to her with the syringe, Mr. Henson walked back to the walkie-talkie, flipped a switch, and the buzz was replaced by a quieter channel. Samantha could hear nothing.

"Soon," Mr. Henson said, "The tunnel will be filled with the shouts of your father, but do you think he will receive an answer?"

Samantha shook her head, realizing she was never going to see her family or her place again. Unbidden and fleeting, her mind fixated on an image of a day she was in the oak tree, looking to the side of the eucalyptus grove and seeing Mark run across his backyard. He had looked up and seen her standing there, silhouetted against the blue sky, and stared. Then he waved, but first there had been the lingering stare. She could remember how that thrilled her.

Then she was back and Mr. Henson was walking towards her again. These were the last few moments and she knew it. He would stand next to her, fearlessly because of the chains, and stick the needle into her leg. She would watch the contents pour into her and feel a wave of black descend over her thoughts and that would be the end.

There was one option left. Her life was already over, but trying to use her talent might break the chains and she would be able to fight. It might change history but she found it didn't matter. The only person who would care if things changed would be her. If it could bring Mark back, so they had never even been in this situation, then it was worth it.

Mr. Henson had paused again, almost as if he couldn't remember if he had everything. Samantha closed her eyes and concentrated. Despite everything, the tingle was present immediately, as if it had been there all along and she just didn't know. Mr. Henson looked back at her, his eyes widening, like he had smelled something bad. Samantha tensed her muscles and pulled with all the strength she could use.

But the chains held limp and Samantha felt the small remaining normal strength in her limbs seep away completely. She had tried to steal from her grandfather, but he was still using his strength and she had been shut out. Just like Mr. Stillson had said. She had failed.

Mr. Henson had started forward, meaning to run, but when he saw her muscles relax back to nothing he stopped and smiled.

"You tried to escape anyway," Mr. Henson said, grinning. "I guess you didn't hear me earlier. I told you this would happen. Well, it makes no difference now. Goodbye Samantha."

Mr. Henson stepped forward and placed the syringe against her leg, then through her sweats and into her thigh. Samantha could barely feel it. Instead, what she felt was an overwhelming nausea, so thick she thought she would go insane. The world seemed to ripple, to stretch, and thin around the edges. The concrete walls were only taffy, after all, and the chains around her wrists were kite string. She felt her own legs grow impossibly long, towering over the world. Then the heaviness of the change swept over her completely and she knew she would black out, that she couldn't possibly hold it off on her own. But she did, for a second, time for a fleeting thought.

I did it. I changed the past. I don't know if I will be there to see the change or not, but please let Mark be ok. Please let him see his family again. again. again...

The blackness, like in the tunnel without a light, destroyed her thoughts and it was just as it was before, except that this time she was not in it.
Chapter 18: Differences

Lying in bed, her arms tucked neatly by her sides under the thick comforter, Samantha woke up but her eyes remained closed. She was awake deep inside, her senses observing the world, but not yet seeming to belong to it. The blankets had trapped her heat and she was warm evenly over her entire body, so comfortable she could have been suspended in liquid the same temperature as herself.

However, thin concern was the true emotion of her core. It was fighting to get out and to the front. Samantha, the almost conscious part of herself, was fighting against the emotion because she wanted to sleep. It was still dark out and it couldn't be time for school. The concern was persistent, though, and it was growing, feeding off the information her deadened senses provided. It didn't hurt, but it chewed and nibbled like a rat at cardboard, until Samantha could no longer ignore it without effort, so she rolled over in bed. The soft mattress she felt beneath her conflicted sharply with something inside, like a memory that was deflating. The comforter pulled up and cold air came in, mixing with the wonderful stagnant air beneath them. Samantha frowned, fought for sleep, and realized with disgust that she had lost.

She sat up, the comforter falling off the front of her nightgown and into her lap, looking around. That thread of concern flared into something like an alarm, bleating red behind her eyes. What was the last thing she remembered? Mr. Henson had her chained to the wall of a basement and had injected her with something. She had felt it crawl up her arms, wiggling towards her heart. She tried to break the chains but her strength was sapped immediately. She had given up and the room had gotten soft and she had passed out and....

Woken up here in bed? Samantha jumped out and her feet hit the cold floor. The feet were clean and unmarked, just like they always were. No mud on her knees and no sign of dirty clothes on her floor. Her hands went over her thin body, checking for anything suspicious. The syringe needle point was bright even in the dim light of the basement memory and she yanked the loose end of her night gown up and looked at her outer left thigh. There was no sign of a needle puncture. The skin was clear and unmarked.

She ran a hand back through her hair, feeling as if she had been born again as a baby but in a older child's body. Nothing looked quite as she remembered it but nothing looked different either. Had her plan worked or was she put here by Mr. Henson after he injected her? And was Mark still dead? The memory came up to her conscious thoughts with no warning and no buffer, and she sat down on the bed with no strength in her legs and seemingly no water for tears. She stared at the floor, remembering his body and how it had fallen lifelessly onto the floor. And Mr. Henson had smiled.

Did it work, Samantha wondered, or am I something like a slave now? How could I know?

Samantha stood up and walked out of her room, sensing it was still early but for some reason not looking at her clock. She ran down the dark hall to the kitchen counter, everything looking familiar and different simultaneously. She picked up the phone and dialed her grandfather's number. She sat with the phone wedged against her ear, leaning against the counter. The ring, click, pause, ring, click, pause repeated several times and an answering machine came on. She heard her grandfather's voice.

"Hi. I'm not in but expect you to leave a message. Thanks."

The pause, the beep. "Hi Grandpa. It's Samantha. Can you call me as soon as you can? Something happened and I need to talk to you."

Samantha hung up the phone and turned to go back to her bedroom, her mind feeling like colors moving so fast they all look white. She took three steps across the kitchen and stopped. Neil was standing beneath the doorway to the living room, watching her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Samantha was so startled that she put a hand over her eyes, feeling her legs wobble and the world recede from white to gray. Then the feeling passed and she was standing straight and firm, but still not understanding.

"Grandpa?"

"Who did you think it was," he asked mildly. "It sounds like you forgot I was staying the night."

Samantha frowned. Her grandfather wasn't spending the night because he wasn't feeling well. Her Dad had told her the night before when he got home. That was why she was able to head out to the tunnel. Neil watched her face progress from complete confusion, to rational deduction, to baffled acceptance, and nodded.

"Why don't you come into the living room and sit down sweetie? I think you have something to tell me."

Samantha did as he asked, but she couldn't remember crossing the room and sitting down. Now she was afraid. Not afraid of whether or not her plan worked, or whether or not she was a slave to Mr. Henson and those operators he worked for, but if she had come back to a world so changed she wouldn't fit in. Did she save Mark but kill her own place? What if her other friends were somehow never born in this world? Perhaps it would have been better if she had not been born either.

"I am Samantha," she said suddenly, causing her grandfather to look up from packing his pipe with a sharp, frightened glance.

"I am Samantha Branson," she said, more loudly this time.

"Yes, you are," Neil said.

Samantha had never seen him smoke before. She felt like laughing her fright and confusion away, laughing until that was all she could remember, one endless stream of mirth.

"I am Samantha Branson!"

"Yes."

"You don't smoke Grandpa."

"Sure I do. I've smoked since I was your age. Terrible habit. Don't ever start because you can't stop."

"I've never seen you smoke."

"Sure you have. Think back sweetie. Think back to when you were a baby. You are one day old and I am outside on the patio there, looking in on a cold November day. I'm out there instead of in here, freezing instead of being warm, because I needed to smoke on my pipe. Your mother refused to let me smoke around you, but you've seen it. You saw it on day one."

"I've never seen you smoke."

"Sure you have. Think back to when you were a baby."

Samantha closed her eyes, felt the drag of fatigue on her senses, wanting to go back to sleep. What time was it, anyway? She thought about it as hard as she could. It was ridiculous, of course. No one could remember themselves at one day old. But she thought anyway. Her grandfather made it sound desperately important that she try and so she did. She thought about sitting in her mother's arms and looking toward a dull bright light. She couldn't really see, not yet, but she could sense. Her warm mother and her food. The tall man with the deep voice that became her father. And a shape behind the dull light, out away from her, surrounded by a cloud. The cloud was smoke.

"You were there," Samantha said.

"Yes. And remember when you were one year old, at a birthday party in the backyard. Before your mother got the hammock and spa. Out on the patio, on a warm November evening, we were eating and you were crawling on a blanket. I walked away to smoke. And you tried to walk after me. You saw me then too."

Samantha closed her eyes and thought back. She remembered the rough, hard surface beneath the blanket, and trying to pull the threads out of the weave. There was one thread in particular, bright blue, that had her attention and she couldn't stop until the thread was free. Above her were mother, father, and Grandpa, talking, eating, and laughing. But that was above her, too far to touch, too strange to manipulate, and so she ignored them. She tried to walk, thinking that it was simple and never remembering that she couldn't move exactly like this. One shape at the table stood out and pulled away. A cloud rose and she started to move after him, because it was so easy really. She walked off into the wet sticky stuff and fell forward, sensing fright as her face hit the ground.

"I remember," she said. "I walked after you, but slipped on the grass and hit my face."

"Yes. You cried for an hour after that one. You didn't like the way the grass felt."

"Why can I remember this Grandpa?"

"You should be able to sweetie. Those are your memories. They're good ones, in fact. You only need to find them all and get them organized. The things that you think are your memories are just stories. They are fictions that you have told yourself over time. You need to let them go."

Samantha stood bolt upright, one moment sitting relaxed, almost hypnotized, on the couch, the next standing as tense as bridge wire.

"Then it worked," she said loudly.

"Yes. Whatever it was Sam, it must have worked well indeed. But please stay quiet. Your mother and father will wake."

"It worked," Samantha repeated.

"I think you must have changed history. I recognize your behavior well. I wore that particular cloak myself once, when I was much younger."

Samantha sat back down, frightened all over again.

"I'm remembering two of everything," she said.

"I know. It will pass quickly. Then it will be like it always has been."

"I remember two of last night. You were sick, but now I think you were actually well, and you were here for dinner."

"I was here for dinner. That was real, sweetie. The other memory is fiction. Let it go."

"But that is why I... That is why I went outside last night. Because you were gone."

"And why did you go outside," Neil asked.

Samantha stopped. She had a clear choice here and she wasn't sure the best choice was to tell her grandfather what had happened. Maybe it already had happened, or maybe it would happen in the future, but she couldn't tell him until she knew, until she remembered more of her own life. Neil noticed the pause and seemed to be struggling with himself. Samantha figured he wanted to know what had happened just as much as she wanted to tell him, and he was trying to not to ask her directly.

Instead, she asked, "Grandpa? What happened to you yesterday evening when you were my age? Do you remember?"

As she was speaking the double memories conflicted with each other and she could remember her grandfather telling her how he and his friends had attacked Sanford Henson, beaten him up, and tossed him into a canal. The other memory, of a conversation she had with her Grandfather only yesterday, ended much differently.

"We talked about this yesterday," Neil said, "but I know you aren't remembering everything yet. As you probably know, that punk had blindsided me when we were playing football and I couldn't hit him. I tried, and I tried with talent. I had lost control. But he dodged me easily. I was furious that he could beat me like that, so when my friends and I spotted him the next day, out hunting with a BB gun, we attacked him. I'm not proud of it, but we attacked him and got to him too quickly for him to defend himself. We pummeled and kicked that guy and he was only semi-conscious, but I didn't care. I was so angry and my blood was so far up that I probably could have killed him given the chance. I picked him up and was going to throw him into the canal. It was probably a fifteen foot drop and there were some rocks down there, but I was going to throw him anyway. Then, just as I had him over my head, my strength rippling through my arms and my friends rushing in to help throw him, my strength collapsed. My legs gave out entirely and I fell, and Sanford fell with me, into the dirt on top of the canal bank. That changed the mood very quickly. I could see the anger drop out of my friend's eyes as they saw both of us lying there. They helped me up and one of my friends carried Sanford back to his house. Of course, we were all still cowards and we left him on his lawn and didn't fess up, but we brought him back home. I don't think he ever knew who did it."

Samantha was listening avidly, feeling the memory become more realistic as his story progressed, making the other version, where her grandfather went home feeling like a returning soldier and Sanford Henson lay bleeding at the bottom of the canal, seem more like a bad dream she had once and remembered briefly upon awakening. More importantly, the story was bringing her other real memories back into clearer focus, and she could feel the tunnel trip draining away into another memory, one that she would soon consciously forget.

The most important question, however, the one that mattered more than all others, still lay hidden behind the clutter. Was Mark missing still? She didn't yet know.

"That's a horrible story Grandpa, but I'm glad you didn't throw him into the canal."

Neil looked at her intensely, a ring of smoke clouding the space between them. Samantha breathed in deeply, thinking she never wanted to smoke but marveling at the delicious smell of it all the same. Her grandfather looked much the same as she remembered him, but maybe a little thinner and with a few less wrinkles in his face. Or maybe that was just the cloud of smoke disrupting her vision.

"You said much the same when we talked about it yesterday," Neil said slowly, "but you only condemned me then. You never said anything about the canal. Now why would that be, I wonder?"

Samantha didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.

"Because I didn't lose the strength in my legs because of second thoughts, did I," Neil said. "I was ready to throw him into that canal, almost hoping that he would hit his head on a rock and split it open. But the strength in my legs ran out because you tried to use your own strength last night. Why?"

"I can't remember," Samantha said, lying.

"You can't remember? Were you trying to stop me? Had you heard my story and the original one had me throwing that poor bastard into the canal? Did he die?"

"No."

"No to which question Sam? What did I do?"

The mood shifted and her grandfather was up and striding across the room quickly, almost before Samantha could register the movement. His face was terrible, teeth flashing yellow through the smoke, his eyes round and white. He grabbed Samantha by the shoulders and picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

"You tell me what I did and what you tried to stop, because that can't be done. You have no right to try and dictate my life like that. So you tell me girl. You tell me right now. What did I do to Henson?"

Frightened, realizing that of all the problems she had considered with changing the past, this one had never crossed her mind. What should she do?

"I don't know what you're talking about Grandpa."

"Yes you do. You've never been a bad girl so why are you starting now? Tell me what you did."

"No."

"Yes," he said, so quietly that Samantha was chilled to the bone. "You will tell me. You've stolen part of my life and I want it back. What did I do to Henson?"

"Grandpa, you're hurting me."

He looked down at his hands, buried into the nightgown bunched against her shoulders. Then he looked back at her face, wincing a little, but still keeping the pain carefully inside, and the strength ran out of him. He dropped to one knee, lowering Samantha as slowly as he could. She still hit the cushion of the couch hard enough to bounce. Then he put his hands to his face and, scaring Samantha more than anything else he had done so far, started weeping. His shoulders shook, slowly at first, then savagely. The sounds were quiet, muted and ghostly, but the force was real. Hesitant at first, then with increased conviction, Samantha put her arms around her grandfather's shoulder, laid her head against his upper back, and hugged him. They remained in that position for several minutes.

He recovered slowly, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. Samantha thought tears looked strange on such an old face. Instead of getting up, however, Neil sat cross-legged on the ground and Samantha was sitting back on the couch, trying to relax her tense, jittering muscles. She still couldn't remember if Mark was missing or not and was becoming increasingly frustrated. Her old memories were fading rapidly, the new ones seemed more real, and best of all there was hardly any difference between the two.

"I'm sorry," her grandfather said for the third time, "I don't know what happened to me. I've never lost control like that since that day by the canal."

"It's fine, Grandpa," Samantha said in response for the third time.

"There's just so much more that happened. Stuff you don't know. And now I don't know how much of that changed because of you used your talent last night. I know that whatever happened before is not real. I've experienced that several times before, but never on this scale. Could my whole life have changed?"

"I don't know," Samantha said.

"Why? Just that one thing. Why did you use your talent last night?"

"It was an accident," Samantha said, finally.

"What do you mean?"

"After you told me the story about the fight, I guess I was thinking about it and I had a bad dream. It woke me up and I had jumped off the bed. I guess I had jumped off the bed and landed all the way across the room. I don't know why. I didn't know dreams could trigger the talent."

This was the biggest lie she had ever told, the first of many as it turned out later on, but it rolled off her tongue easily. It sounded plausible to her own ears, although she had no idea if it was really possible to use talent in a dream. Neil looked at her carefully and nodded his head, almost against his will.

"It's never happened to me but my old Dad said it happened to him once. But I'm surprised it happened to you since you've always been such a sound sleeper. And I guess we got off lucky, didn't we? Your memories seem the same?"

"Yes, almost exactly. Except that you smoke."

And what about Mark? Why can't I remember anything about him? I can remember almost everything else, so why nothing about him?

"I started smoking the day after we attacked Sanford Henson. One of my friends thought that I had a seizure the day before and he had heard that smoking cured seizures."

Samantha started laughing, cupping her hand over her mouth as she did so. Neil smiled too.

"I know. It sounds ridiculous now but that is how I started."

Samantha shifted on the cushions, suddenly tired again. She wanted to figure out why Mark was not in her memory but the drowsiness was coming at her quick and hard and she didn't feel subtle at all. Neil yawned himself, looked at his wristwatch, and pointed it at her.

"Two in the morning on a school night. You picked a great night for this sweetie. You probably should run back to bed and try to get some sleep before morning."

Samantha nodded and stood up, giving her grandfather another hug, trying not to remember the look of black rage he had given her earlier. He hugged her back and walked over to the corner of the room by the fireplace, where two blankets and a pillow were spread on the floor. Samantha went to her room and slid into bed, amazed to find a remnant of her heat still sleeping under the covers. She wiggled into it gladly.

She closed her eyes, letting herself drift towards sleep but still thinking about Mark and his absence. Why couldn't she remember him? Was he dead in this world? She fell into unconsciousness with the same fear that had accompanied her earlier that night, inside the basement room two blocks over.

Bright morning woke her at six thirty. Samantha got out of bed and started her morning routine without another thought. She staggered into the bathroom and closed the door. She shrugged off her nightgown and got into the shower. Halfway through the shower she realized things had changed last night but she hadn't realized it, because those old memories barely existed. They were like photos on newspaper left in the sun for an entire summer, brittle, yellow, and completely faded. She dug at them, fighting with something like panic to retain the memories. But they wouldn't come back. They were disappearing and soon they would be gone. At that point she would no longer remember the trip into the tunnel, because it had never happened. She would not remember being chained to the wall of a dimly lit basement because it had not happened. It had, of course, and for the time being Samantha knew it, but that time was passing quickly. She had done it to save Mark, her friend. Not much had changed after she used her talent, but no memories of Mark existed either. Had she been successful? She had no idea.

After her shower she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and put on clothes for the day. She could remember her school completely now. Her wonderful teacher Mr. Stillson, who knew she was a talent and was one himself. Her best friends were Becky and Marissa and they all loved to play in the clubhouse. She wanted to build a new path to the second oak tree, but they hadn't yet had time. Maybe they could this weekend.

But they had, and they found the entrance to a tunnel. Remember it! Remember it! Don't let it all happen again.

She remembered Kelvin Zan, the very smart boy in class who she sort of had a crush on, and Mink, the class clown and who sat next to her in the back row and who seemed to have a little crush on her. Samantha knew that made Marissa upset because she liked Mink and wanted to go to the dance with him. So far none of them were going to the dance.

You were going with Mark. Mark! You saved his life!

Who was Mark? Had she read that name in a magazine somewhere? She couldn't remember, because she certainly knew no Mark in real life.

She went to the living room and ate breakfast, hugging her Mom and Dad, who looked exactly as she remembered them. Neil came in a little while later, sitting at the table, talking and laughing with his son, Thomas. Samantha remembered her mother telling her that Thomas and Neil used to not get along at all, and Samantha still wanted to know why but didn't have the courage to ask. Or was that a false memory too?

After breakfast, during which her grandfather kept trying to catch her eyes and she kept ignoring him, she got her backpack from the hallway table and went to the door.

"I'll take her," Neil said, grabbing his keys.

"Great, thanks Pop," Thomas said. He gave Samantha a hug. "Have a great day sweetheart."

"Of course I will Dad," Samantha said, kissing him on the cheek. He laughed, delighted.

"Did you see that? She kissed me on the cheek!"

I always used to Dad, what's the matter with you?

Except that was the first time she could ever remember kissing Thomas on the cheek. Samantha turned, feeling a little embarrassed, and caught her grandfather's eye this time. He smiled and nodded imperceptibly at her, filling her with relief. Grandpa understood what was happening. She relaxed and walked out the door.

"Bye," she called.

As soon as they walked around the corner, Samantha looked at the house next door, instinctively. The lawn was overgrown, as were the bushes. The roof was red tile, not covered with the new cedar shingles she must have dreamed about. A for sale sign was perched at a rough angle in the front lawn, with a sold flag stuck to the top. Samantha paused, feeling like the earth had been pulled out from underneath her feet.

Mark and Cliff lived there with their parents for the past three years. Now they are gone. Why are they gone? Why can't I remember Mark at all?

Samantha didn't know why she was so interested in the house next door, because it looked exactly as it had for the past year, when the Orosco family moved to Texas. But she kept staring at it as if it were the answer to some deep mystery, the nature of which she couldn't grasp.

"See anything wrong," Neil asked from behind her.

"No. No. The house looks the same as it always does."

Neil nodded and walked to the passenger side of his car, and opened the door. Samantha walked up to it but didn't get in. Neil had walked around the front of the car to the driver's side, but didn't open his door right away. He was looking up the street and Samantha saw a car pulling into the driveway of the house next door. Neil laughed, pleased, and turned to Samantha.

"Hold on one moment. I want to go see a friend of mine."

Neil started walking across the overgrown lawn of the house next door and Samantha watched him go, feeling uninterested and somehow dead. She never felt this way and couldn't understand why she did now. The world seemed lackluster and empty, as if an essential part of her had been cut away. Her Grandpa walked up to the car, and a tall man with a bit of a slouch got out of the driver's side of the car. He saw Neil and waved him over. They shook hands and the man gestured up to the house and they both laughed. Then the man, whom Samantha recognized from somewhere, made a "come-on" gesture to the car. The back door opened and two young boys of the same age but different appearance got out. Samantha started walking around the car and the backpack dropped from her hand and clattered to the driveway. By the time she passed her father's car she was walking fast and when she reached the lawn next door she was running. She had no idea why she was running.

The boys milled about behind their father, looking up at the house with a morose expression, shared equally between them. Neil heard the sound of Samantha running and turned.

"Samantha! These are you new neighbors, who happen to be old friends of mine."

Samantha came running up, not daring to look at the boys yet. Neil seemed oblivious to her nervous excitement.

"This is Mr. Wilson, whom I've known since his birth. His Dad and I used to hang out together, back when I was about your age. Probably best buddies, you might say. This is my granddaughter Samantha."

"Pleased to meet you Samantha."

He shook her hand, smiling. Samantha had an image of him yelling at police officers, but had no idea where the image came from. She smiled back with an effort.

"And these are my two boys."

Samantha finally turned, and was looking directly into Mark's eyes from about three feet away. And he was looking back, no fear or curiosity in his face. Instead, there was something like wonder. From a distance, Samantha could hear Mr. Wilson saying something else, probably introducing her to them, but she didn't care. She recognized him, and that dead part inside of her seemed to fill up with cool water. She looked right at him, remembering nothing but fear, feeling nothing but sweet triumph. He looked back at her steadily still, not uncomfortable in the least, the same sense of wonder she felt reflected on his face. Almost as if he recognized her.

He recognized her.

The moment seemed un-ending, and Samantha later wondered exactly how long they remained in that state, looking at each other as if each had found something they had both been looking for. Samantha knew he was from the before she could no longer remember, and that he shouldn't remember anything at all, but he did. Maybe not consciously, but deep inside, or maybe in dreams, he did remember.

The moment ended when Cliff punched him in the shoulder, hard. Mark blinked, and smiled so wide that he looked extremely silly. He held out his hand to shake. Samantha reached out her with own and when she touched his hand the last fleeting glimpse of her old life was gone.

"Hello Mark," Samantha said, shaking his hand, meeting him for the first time.
Table of Contents

The Talent Diary

Chapter 1: The Clubhouse

Chapter 2: Discovery

Chapter 3: The Diary Story

Chapter 4: Test Day

Chapter 5: Marissa's Revenge

Chapter 6: Nurse and Teacher

Chapter 7: A Lost Secret

Chapter 8: Dark

Chapter 9: Injection

Chapter 10: Others know

Chapter 11: Missing

Chapter 12: Daylight

Chapter 13: Decisions

Chapter 14: Singularity

Chapter 15: The Tunnel

Chapter 16: The Simple Truth

Chapter 18: Differences
