The Originals Page 17

  I drive down, park, and run in.

  “Hello?” I call from the entryway. “Betsey? Ella?” I wait a beat. “Mom?”

  There’s no answer. I call again. Still nothing.

  I run from room to room on the main floor, searching for my family. Then I sprint upstairs and look in the rec room; the spy phone that I left for them is on the coffee table. Frantically, I check all four bedrooms and three bathrooms. I end up back in the entryway, turning around, directionless.

  My cell rings.

  “They’re not here,” I say. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  “Maybe they just went out somewhere,” Sean says. “Like after your mom came back. Maybe they went to find you.”

  “They didn’t,” I say. “I know it. They didn’t call me back and the phone is here; they wouldn’t leave without it. I just know something’s wrong.”

  “Because you can feel it,” Sean says, almost a question.

  “Yes,” I say, a little snappily. “I can feel it. It doesn’t happen all the time, but every once in a while, something happens, and the others know. I knew before Mom told me that Ella broke her arm when we were younger. Last month when I got home, Betsey was singing a song I’d been listening to in the car. It’s like a form of telepathy. So yeah, I can feel it.”

  Instead of snapping back or telling me to calm down, Sean lowers his voice.

  “Do you need my help?”

  I think for a moment, then answer. “Yeah, I do. Meet me at my mom’s office. I’ll text you the address. I have an idea.”

  Sean’s already at the office when I arrive, leaning against his car in the parking lot. He follows me inside the building, pausing to inspect Betsey’s, Ella’s, and my walls from the doorway of Mom’s office like I did when I first visited. I don’t stop this time; I rush to the desk and start opening drawers.

  “What are we looking for?” Sean asks when he recovers and peels his eyes away from my wall. He joins me behind the desk; he’s standing and I’m sitting.

  “My mom has a terrible memory,” I say. “She always writes things down.” I yank a drawer divider out of the top left drawer so I can see under it. “Passwords. We’re looking for passwords.”

  “Got it,” Sean says, pulling a handful of files from the bottom right drawer and beginning the search.

  My anxiety level grows with each passing second. Every five minutes at most, I pause to either call home or the other phone, or check my voice mail even though the spy phone’s ringer is on high and it’s been right next to me this whole time. Fifty minutes into the process, I’m about to start crying out of frustration when Sean pulls a little box out of the bottom of the file drawer across from the desk. With me watching, he opens it, then smiles.

  “Bingo,” he says.

  “Oh, thank god,” I say quickly, rushing over and grabbing the pink sticky note from his hands. It’s just a handwritten list of strange number-letter combinations, with no explanation of which matches which account… she wouldn’t make it that easy. But I breathe easier knowing that somewhere on this list is the key to finding Ella and Betsey.

  I wake the computer, open the Internet, then start typing the name of a website that auto-fills thanks to Mom’s frequent visits. I type my mother’s email address into the username space, then start trying the passwords. At the very moment I hope that this isn’t one of those sites that locks you out after too many failed attempts, I’m in.

  “What is that?” Sean asks, peering at the map of the United States over my shoulder. There’s a little green dot flashing on the screen, which gives me a small sense of relief.

  Except that it’s flashing over Nevada.

  “It’s them,” I explain to Sean, touching my throat instinctively. “It’s the necklace.”

  “Should we call the police?” Sean asks. “Report a kidnapping?”

  “Except they don’t exist,” I mutter. “And besides, it’s only been an hour. They’ll never believe us.” I pause for a few seconds. “Plus, we don’t even know what happened.”

  “Lizzie, isn’t it obvious that your mom… did something?” Sean says impatiently. “That she’s behind this? I mean, look at this place.” He gestures toward the walls. “She’s been watching you three, and now, on the day you were going to expose her secrets, suddenly, she, Ella, and Betsey are gone. There’s no way she isn’t involved.”

  “Maybe,” I say, unable to picture Mom forcing Ella and Betsey to go somewhere with her… without me. I shake off the thought.

  “The only thing I can think to do is follow the tracker,” I say, standing up from the desk with purpose. I start unplugging Mom’s laptop to take with me, so I’ll be able to see where they stop. If they’re already in Nevada, they have to be on a plane. I stuff the computer, a power cord, and the Internet cable into a bag I find leaning against Mom’s desk, then finally, I look up at Sean. He’s watching me with an expression so serious my heart jumps. He doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking.

  “You’ll get in trouble,” I protest without fire.

  “I don’t think I will,” Sean says. “Once I explain everything, my mom will be okay. And besides, you’re worth it.”

  “I don’t know, Sean,” I say. “I can’t ask you to—”

  “You’re not asking,” he interrupts, then takes a step toward me. He looks so determined, so strong. “I’m going.”

  Doing my best to think a few steps ahead, I take a couple of minutes to gather up some of the papers on Mom’s desk and pull down a few notes from the boards. Maybe I’ll need them as leverage; maybe I’m just wasting time. There’s no way to tell now.

  Sean follows me back to the house in his car; we both park in the driveway. We go inside, and hastily, I toss some clothes and my toothbrush into an overnight bag—I don’t know how long this will take. When I’m ready to go, Sean convinces me to leave the sedan at home—his car is gassed up, and he’s in a better frame of mind for driving. We stop by his house and he runs in and grabs some clothes, too; I stay outside and keep an eye out for his mom. Soon enough, we’re on the freeway headed toward Los Angeles.

  “This is definitely not how I thought this day would go,” I say quietly, looking out the window as the tan landscape breezes by. I have my arms wrapped around my stomach because the nervousness is there: mine, and theirs, too.

  “We’ll find them,” Sean says, resolute. “I promise.”

  I think that he shouldn’t make promises that might be too big to keep, but I don’t say anything. I appreciate the sentiment, at least.

  “I’m just worried we’ll be too late,” I say. “They’re moving really fast; they’re obviously on a plane.”

  “We’ll make it,” Mr. Confidence says again. I smile at him, then realize something.

  “But how are they on a plane?” I say aloud, not really asking Sean. Asking myself.

  “What do you mean?” He glances at me, then back at the road.

  “They don’t have IDs,” I say. “I mean, there’s only one, and I have it. There’s no way they could get on a plane without IDs.”

  “This guy my mom dated once was getting his pilot’s license, and we went up with him,” Sean says, blinkering to get around a pokey driver. “We just drove right out to the tarmac. It was a really small airport that did a lot of charter business. We didn’t need IDs.”

  “They’re on a charter?” I ask, thinking how beyond strange that seems, like we’re in a James Bond movie or something. “Who charters airplanes anymore?”

  Sean shrugs. “Rich people, I guess.”

  I think of Mom’s mystery money and have to force myself to catch a breath. What if she really did take them somewhere?

  “Can we listen to some music or something?” I ask, feeling like I might burst out of my skin I’m so anxious.

  “Of course,” Sean says, fishing his iPod out of the center console and handing it to me. “You pick.”

  I get us set with some road tunes, and eventually the music starts to ma
ke me feel better. Well, that, and Sean’s hand resting on top of mine, sending me “calm” by osmosis.

  We pull over outside of L.A. to check the tracker at a coffee shop that offers WiFi. The website is one of those that’ll open only on the user’s assigned computer and phone; it’s frustrating that we have to stop every time I want to look—which happens to be frequently. Sean and I are jittery from all the coffees we’re buying in order to use the Internet.

  “It stopped,” I say to Sean, pointing at the screen. He hands me a latte I don’t want or need; I take a sip and set it aside.

  “Where?” he asks, sliding into a seat on my side of the table.

  “Denver,” I say. “I wonder if that’s the final destination.” I stare at the blinking dot, willing it to give me the answer.

  “Let’s hope so,” Sean says. He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and starts tapping the screen; I lean over and see that he’s looking at the GPS. I notice that his right knee is bouncing up and down; I push his latte aside, too. “We can make it there by morning if we drive all night.”

  “Sean,” I say, looking at him, “that’s crazy.”

  He laughs it off. “I’m good,” he says. “I’m caffeinated, and running on ten hours of sleep and pure adrenaline. I’ll stop if I get tired, but really, it’s not a big deal.”

  I consider how badly I want to find Ella and Betsey, how much I need to make sure they’re all right.

  “Fine, but you have to let me drive part of the way.”

  “You got it.”

  twenty-six

  I wake up the next morning in winter.

  There’s snow on the mountains and frost on the windows, and the road and landscape are the muted color of cold.

  “You said you were going to wake me up!” I say, sitting up quickly and wincing at my stiff neck, then smacking Sean lightly on the arm. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “Near Grand Junction, Colorado,” Sean says before taking a sip of coffee from who knows where. “And I didn’t wake you up because you needed some rest. But it was all good. I had my tunes and my thoughts to keep me company.” He pauses, glances at me, then smiles. “You talk in your sleep.”

  “Oh, no,” I groan, having heard it before. “What did I say?”

  “Something that sounded straight from a Stephen King novel,” he says, laughing. “You talked in this low monotone, like you were possessed. Don’t worry, I couldn’t understand what you were saying. But I gotta admit, it was late and dark and I might have screamed like a little girl… which didn’t wake you, by the way.”

  “Sorry,” I say, looking away, embarrassed but mostly amused. Then I remember that this road trip isn’t about fun and silliness. “Let’s pull over and check the tracker.”

  “I already did when I got coffee,” Sean says. “They’re actually not in Denver; they’re in a town called Mystery. I Googled it; there’s a college there. It’s called Bramsford University.”

  “What the hell?” I ask, groggy and confused.

  “I don’t know, but we’re only about four hours away. We’ll find out soon enough.” Sean looks at me and takes my hand. “Let’s stop and eat, though, okay? I’m hungry, and you look like you could use some pancakes with whipped cream right about now.”

  “I couldn’t do this without you,” I say seriously. He squeezes my hand, but keeps his eyes on the road.

  “Yes, you could,” he says, “but I’m glad you don’t have to.”

  When we’re closing in on Mystery, Colorado, the tracker gives us a street address, which Sean punches into his car’s GPS. Happily, I retire the clunky laptop computer to the trunk. The closer we get to the town, the more insanely nervous I feel.

  “Deep breaths,” Sean says calmly. “We’re going to find them.”

  “But what if we can’t get to them?” I ask.

  “We will.”

  I think that his confidence is borderline naïve, but it does help me mellow out a little bit. Soon enough, we’re exiting the highway and pulling into Mystery.

  Sean follows the GPS directions, turning right onto what I can tell is the university campus even though there are very few students around—it is Thanksgiving, after all. I see a sprawling, frost-covered lawn with crisscrossed walkways connecting old brick three-story buildings that look like they’re part of a collection. Sean navigates around the U-shaped drive and ends up in front of a building marked Ashby Hall. According to the GPS, this is our destination. Sean pulls into a space marked VISITOR while a fresh onslaught of overzealous butterflies ravages my insides.

  “They’re in this dorm?” I ask, so confused my brain might explode.

  “Is there any way your mom just took them on a college tour or something?” Sean says, grasping.

  “On Thanksgiving?” I ask, laughing a short, high-pitched laugh like someone on the edge of crazy might. “Without me?”

  “I know, it’s a lame idea,” he says, blowing on his hands.

  Like the last survivors on an alien planet, a group of students huddled together walks by the front of the car. They’re so bundled in beanie hats and big coats, you can barely see their faces. I shiver just thinking of getting out; Sean touches the dial on the heat again, but it’s already up all the way.

  “It’s freaking frigid,” Sean says. “We need coats.”

  “But we’re here,” I say, gesturing to the building.

  “Yeah, but we’re going to stick out like a sore thumb. I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure Ella and Betsey aren’t just waiting to greet us in the lobby. We’re going to have to look around a little. We need to seem like we belong here.”

  I glance down at my light cardigan. And my flats with no socks.

  “What if they go somewhere else by the time we get back?” I ask.

  “Then we’ll track them again,” Sean says, smiling warmly. “Lizzie, it’s taken us an entire night to get here; what’s another half hour?” When he sees my face, he sighs. “How about if I run in and take a quick look around the lobby—just to make sure they really aren’t sitting there, waiting for us?”

  “Will you?” I ask.

  In response, Sean pulls his hood over his head and opens the door. The kind of cold I’ve never felt before rushes into the car and pricks my exposed skin. Sean slams the door and runs across the sidewalk to the entrance; he’s inside less than two minutes.

  “There’s a guy behind a reception desk, but there’s no one else in the lobby,” he reports when he’s back in the driver’s seat. His cheeks are red from mere seconds spent in the cold. “The good news is that the guy didn’t see me; the bad news is that there’s a sign on the desk that says ‘ID REQUIRED.’ ”

  “How are we going to get in?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” Sean says, “but we’ll think of something. But first… coats. We need coats.”

  We drive into the main part of town and stop at a discount store that happens to be open until noon. I toss a Bramsford University sweatshirt into the cart while Sean goes to find gloves. We both pick winter coats with hoods; mine has faux-fur lining. Sean pays using a credit card.

  “Your mom is going to freak out,” I say.

  “No, she’s not,” he says. “I’ve talked to her twice, and she’s okay.”

  “You have?” I ask. He nods.

  “You were asleep,” he says. Then, “I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her a lot.”

  “And she’s… okay with you just taking off?”

  “Well, no, she’s pissed, but she cares more that I’m safe,” he says. “That you’re safe, too.” Sean looks at me seriously. “She wanted to call the police and let them handle it; I had to talk her out of it. But if we’re not on the way back by tomorrow…”

  “I get it,” I say.

  “And even then, we’ve got some explaining to do when we’re back.”

  I think of Harper, and how she’s the opposite of my mom. Harper is trusting, yet concerned; my mom is overbearing and self-absorbed. All Ha
rper does is love and care for Sean, while, apparently, my mom is basically a stalker. And maybe a kidnapper, too.

  Sean and I grab breakfast sandwiches from the food stand in the discount store, then get in the car and head back to Bramsford. We look like we fit in, but jealous of Sean’s family, left alone by my own, I’ve never felt more like an outcast in my life.

  twenty-seven

  Sean and I park in the student lot next to the dorm this time around, thinking that emerging from the visitor section will only increase our likelihood of being stopped. It’s a good idea except that the back window of Sean’s car is very obviously missing a hot-pink student-parking sticker.

  “They’re not going to tow it on Thanksgiving,” he says, locking the car. I try to burrow deeper into my hood, if that’s possible; the wind here is arctic.

  “You’re mighty confident, you know that?”

  He shrugs, then takes my gloved hand in his. “Remember the plans?”

  “Plan A: You say that you lost your ID and hope the desk guy is feeling charitable today,” I say. “Plan B: We sneak attack up the back stairwell when he’s not looking.”

  “That’s right,” he says, smiling like he’s enjoying this. “And then we walk the halls, looking for your sisters.”

  Normally, the word sisters makes me cringe: It’s a bitter reminder of my life in thirds. But not today. Today, it’s real.

  As it turns out, we don’t need Plan A or Plan B.

  “I didn’t even notice that you left,” the desk guy says as we approach. I turn and look behind me, thinking he’s talking to someone else, but no one’s there. His eyes are on me.

  Oh!

  “Yep,” I say to the guy identified by his name tag as Jarrod. I smile warmly. “We went to get hot chocolate—”

  “But it was closed,” Sean cuts in when he sees Jarrod’s confused expression.

  “Right,” I say, wondering if I should push it by saying I left my key in the room, hoping the room number would actually be printed on a replacement key. But Sean tugs on my arm before I can say more.

  “Let’s go up,” he says. He shoots me a look like Come on! I take a step toward the elevators.