Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome (24 page)

At the lobby entrance, one of the suits went inside, probably to collect room keys.

I didn’t know if it was my own thoughts, or a voice speaking to me, but I knew suddenly that I couldn’t stay. The Freaks weren’t the answer. The person who knew what was going
on was the Head Imagineer. I knew—or I was told—where to find him. Maybe I’d overheard someone talking about it. Maybe it was the jet flying overhead. Regardless, I knew I had to
wait outside the backstage gate to Disney’s Hollywood Studios—the Imagineering offices. An answer would come.

I headed back to the van through the valet parking lot.

I saw an amber flashing light through the bushes. Disney Security had found the van.

Panicking, I spun, trying to think of what to do.

When one of the valet dudes in the stupid costumes parked a car and began to trot back toward the hotel, I caught up to him and clipped him from behind, dropping him to the pavement with a
single punch. Then I took his wallet and keys. I didn’t have to use the key, just have it in my pocket. One push of a button, and I was rolling in a red Buick with black leather seats.

Sweet.

When I was right, I was right. Shortly after I parked near the Studio’s security exit, a white van pulled out—the interior light on!—and there was the Head
Imagineer, Joe, riding shotgun. I followed, giving them a good distance.

A half hour later, they turned off the highway toward the Orlando Airport. The van caught me by surprise, exiting before the final turn. I drove past, got caught in the loop that circled the
terminal. I’d lost at least ten minutes.

When I finally made the turn I’d missed, I was on an access road that led along the vast area containing a string of companies and hangars. I slowed at each driveway, looking in. Just past
the entrance to a place called JetPort, I saw the van on the tarmac beside a fancy jet with the Disney “D” on the tailfin. A number of stretchers were being lifted by a device and
rolled into the jet.
The Kingdom Keepers!
The Imagineers were moving the Keepers out of Orlando!

To avoid making a scene, I drove on and doubled back.

Judging by the cars I saw parked nearby, JetPort was a private jet terminal used by rich businessmen and major companies. I went on foot to the front door, but turned around immediately. The
Imagineer was talking to someone at the counter. I didn’t want him seeing me. I felt like a dog on a short leash.

Only after the Disney jet taxied away did I enter the JetPort terminal. The place looked like a country club, all padded carpeting, heavy formal furniture, and an abundance of huge flat-screen
televisions. There was a help-yourself refreshment area. I wolfed down two chocolate chip cookies before approaching the counter.

Glancing at my reflection as I passed a steel post, I realized with a jolt of surprise that I was still wearing my EMT uniform. It occurred to me that I had to play a role. There was no turning
back.

The lady smiled, “How may I help you, sir?”

“Well,” I drawled, “the Disney group that just left? They asked me to air freight some equipment they didn’t have room for. They’re going to need it. I’m
supposed to send it to the terminal there, where they’re landing.” I patted my various pockets. “Trouble is…and I hope this can stay between us…I’ve lost the
address for the place.”

“Sir?” She bit her lip.

“I can arrange it down at FedEx, but heck, not if I don’t have the right terminal!”

She hesitated. “The thing is, sir, we have a strict policy about customer privacy. Very strict.”

“It’s not as if I can call Mr. Garlington.” I thought using Joe’s name might help me. I was right. She stared at me, unsure, but I could see her face softening.

“Look, I messed up,” I said. Words that didn’t come easily. I sighed for effect and looked down. “But my mess up shouldn’t cause someone’s health
complications.”

“All right! Okay!” she said. “It’s an FBO at Burbank called StarFlight. Their flight plan is to Burbank, California. But I didn’t tell you that.”

She lowered her head as if I were no longer in the room.

Soon I was in the Orlando Airport at the ticket counter, buying a red-eye flight courtesy of one of the parking valet’s many credit cards. I hadn’t gotten much
sleep in the past few days. The night flight would do me good.

AMANDA

Blinking awake, I felt a soft tremor beneath me, as if I was on the floor of an apartment near a passing train, or maybe on a ride in the parks. Above me I saw the gentle curve
of off-white fabric. My neck was sore and tight; I fought back a bad headache in an effort to look to my left. Last thing I remembered was the Barracks 14ers in the Magic Kingdom.

Joe’s face, a knot of concern and worry, loomed above me, as big as a hot-air balloon. Slowly, he blinked, his eyes watery. I watched his troubles melt from his face like Olaf dissolving
near a fire. A tear spilled.

“You’re all right,” he said.

My dry mouth and throat prevented me from speaking. He called out something I couldn’t hear, and a water glass and straw arrived.

“Don’t sit up yet. It’s the drugs,” he said. “They affected you badly.”

“Drugs?” I choked out. I hated even the idea of the things. Had never done any, would never do any.

“Medications. The sleeping aid you agreed to? You all agreed. The nurse, remember?”

I did, vaguely. The idea had not been entirely Joe’s. We’d worked out the legalities before heading to the church, which I also remembered.

“The van,” I said, the water tasting delicious, cooling the back of my throat. “The back of the van.”

Joe nodded. “We put you to sleep and crossed you over as DHIs into the Central Plaza. That way the men from Maryland were only collecting holograms. You must have done a good job
convincing them not to touch you. If they had, they’d have known.”

“We allowed fear,” I said. “Being version 1.6, that made us more solid. But yes, I tried to let them know we wouldn’t tolerate being handled.”

“I’m glad you remember. It must have been a shock. On this end you were supervised and monitored the whole time. We returned you just now. You’re all three coming awake. Sure
glad it worked.”

I saw the nurse; a couple other people I took to be Imagineers on Joe’s team too. Mattie was on a couch across from me, with Jess farther up.

“Where am I?”

“The Disney jet. Remember the plan? We’re heading back to Burbank. It’s a little past three in the morning. We’ve brought the four Keepers along with us for safekeeping.
Their continuing dormancy is disturbing and potentially dangerous. But mostly this is about you.” He grinned devilishly, like a boy who’d played the ultimate prank. “If your
captors are keeping a close eye on you, well, you just disappeared. Otherwise, someone is in for a big surprise tomorrow morning. I doubt they know much about DHIs, so they’re going to wonder
how three girls escaped from a locked room. Let them try to figure that one out.

“I guarantee you,” Joe continued, “those men have no idea where you’ve gone or how it happened. They’ll likely be fired. And I’ve got another trick or two up
my sleeve when it comes to you three. A way to protect you, to keep you safe and sound in the School of Imagineering for a long time to come.”

Overwhelming joy and relief left me speechless. I sniffled, and Joe told me the nurse would get the three of us some power drinks.

“We’ve got work to do,” he added. “I got the security video, as requested. We have it with us.”

Mattie and Jess came through the return well. Joe had not wanted to induce sleep, but he knew he had to cross us over into Central Plaza in the short span of a car ride. So the
nurse had given us something mild, and we’d drifted off. Joe crossed us over, fooling the Barracks 14ers long enough to get us onto a plane and out of Orlando.

Mission accomplished.

Halfway into the long flight, our stomachs full, our heads cleared, Joe got down to business.

“Wanda requested security videos of Walt’s apartment in Disneyland,” he said.

The jet’s window shades had been pulled. A flat panel TV hung on the wall by the cockpit. The screen had been showing our flight path a few minutes earlier; currently, it broadcast video
blue.

“We found it interesting, since our DHI team had been reviewing the same tapes this week. Can you explain why she made that request?”

He looked directly at Mattie.

MATTIE

Joe stared directly at me. My eyes drifted around the jet. My cheeks were on fire.

“We needed answers. You guys, the Imagineers, always seem to have them,” I said softly. “So I kind of…I thought maybe…but I knew I shouldn’t. I kind of
tricked people into letting me read them.”

“My team?” He sounded outraged.

“Uh…yeah.”

No one spoke. My stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just we were desperate—are desperate. And there was this one guy…he has grayish hair. He’d seen the apartment
surveillance videos. Because he saw them, so did I.”

Joe’s face darkened. I hoped he wasn’t considering opening the door and throwing me out of the jet without a parachute. He kinda looked that way.

“No one can fault you for creativity. As long as you don’t share what yo—”

“Never!”

Jess, Amanda, and I did not move. Did not breathe.

“Well, then,” Joe said. “Let’s get to work.”

JESS

The screen flickered to life, revealing grainy footage shot by a security camera. I immediately recognized the room: Walt Disney’s private apartment in Disneyland.

The small space was decorated like something you’d see in a grandma’s house: two couches and a handful of chairs; faded floral pillows; the signature lamp in the window—lit, as
always. A large wooden box on legs looking like an extremely old jukebox stood in the corner.

As we watched, five figures entered the room. Amanda tensed as Finn came into view, followed by the rest of the Keepers. They gathered around a chest-high brown box and carried on an animated
discussion. But we couldn’t hear them. The camera lacked audio.

“That object is a vintage music box. Some of the furniture in the apartment are reproductions, but the music box is original. Walt loved his music,” Joe said. “The tapes show
us that the Keepers visited the apartment
and
the music box several times. Then this, a few days later.”

A new video played. This time Finn and Philby stood by the music box. Philby moved to a photo on the wall and removed it. His body blocked any view of what he did before returning the photo to
the wall.

“We are assuming he found a key on the back of the frame,” Joe said.

Philby again blocked the music box. A small drawer popped open below the glass window. Philby took a disc over to the ancient phonograph, and the boys listened.

“We lost them after that. I’ll play another.”

The screen flickered. Finn, alone in the apartment, in front of the music box. He leaned to the side, stared in at the workings of the machine, and then quickly left.

“Not a big help, I’m afraid,” said Joe.

“Can you please replay that last part?” I asked.

Joe politely did as I’d asked.

“His leg!” I said, a little loudly. “Back it up and watch his leg.”

A moment passed. We all watched for a third time. Finn’s leg passed
through
the cabinet.

“It’s a hologram,” Amanda said. “It’s a DHI, not the real Finn.”

AMANDA

I studied Finn intensely.

No Philby, no Charlene. Just Finn, up there on the screen. Uncontrollable, adorable Finn. The boy who had no idea how cute he was. The quiet, brainy kid with a smile that could reach across a
football field and stop you dead. That Finn. My Finn.

“Did you know?” I asked. “A DHI?”

“No. No clue. I’m as shocked as you are. It would appear they came several times as themselves, and then returned as DHIs.”

“But why?” Jess asked. “Why as a DHI?”

“It changes things,” Joe said.

“How?” Mattie asked.

“I wish I knew the answer to that,” Joe admitted. “It took an effort. A plan. Clearly they must have had their reasons.”

“You’re angry,” I said, hearing it in his voice.

“They were only to cross over with our knowledge. They went behind our backs,” he said.

Joe pushed pause on the remote. He might as well have had a button for his facial muscles, too, because he froze.

“You know something,” I said, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. “Those are our friends up there. We’ve fought OTKs, had garden statues threaten us, and been
run down by a bunch of guys in suits. All to save them. Don’t we deserve the truth?”

Joe sighed. Nodded. He seemed resigned to be truthful with us, though it clearly pained him.

Jess spoke up. “I saw you with a woman in a wheelchair. I’m guessing the videos are the last known record you have of the Keepers. Did Philby discover the camera at
some point and shut it down?”

“Incredible,” Joe said, his face drained of color.

I didn’t know if he was complimenting Jess’s logic, or if she was so completely wrong that it made her incredible.

The other two Imagineers came to their feet, exchanged a long look with Joe, and entered into a silent conversation. It went on so long it almost felt comedic, though with Finn in my thoughts, I
wasn’t laughing.

“Your juvenile assessment—” said one of Joe’s colleagues.

Joe stopped the guy with a raised hand. “No, Alex. No more keeping them in the dark.” He spoke solely to Jess: “We have suspected the Keepers were crossed over, but none of the
parents would acknowledge this. Now, thanks to you, we know they are not only crossed over, but in trouble. We don’t know where they may have gone, or why.”

“You have ideas.”

“Hear me out,” Joe said. “Objects inside the park have been doing strange, unexplainable things, like moving by themselves. We consulted Disney Legends—the woman in the
wheelchair is one of them—as well as experts with the Archives, and others, to get a handle on what’s been happening, but it remains unclear. We have encountered
certain…anomalies that suggest the manipulation of our sets and music. There are a hundred possible explanations, from vandalism to collegial pranking by our peers. This is just one of many
curiosities over the past several weeks. Jess’s pointing out that the Keepers had gone into SBS came late. Their families should have alerted us first, but once we knew, I had to see for
myself.