Spyhole Secrets (5 page)

M
om said Hallie never should have gone to Bloomfield that Saturday, because the way she’d been acting ever since was “absolutely impossible.” Hallie supposed she was right. She was right about one part of it, at least: the part about how it had been a mistake for Hallie to go back. But as for “acting impossible,” she could see nothing different about the way she’d been acting.

“What do you mean, impossible?” she asked icily. “How could I possibly do something that’s impossible?”

Her mother sighed angrily.
“That’s
what I mean. Impossibly touchy and quarrelsome and sarcastic.” She turned her face away and motioned over her shoulder for Hallie to go away. So Hallie did.

In her room, Hallie sat on her bed and tried not to think about what Mom had said and whether it was really true. After a while she began to think that maybe she had been touchy lately, and maybe she was
sorry about it, but there was no way she was going to be able to say so. What she did instead was to go out and ask Mom if there was anything she needed at the store, which in a way was a kind of apology, if only because of the way she said it.

All she actually said was “Hey, Mom. I really need to go to the library. You know, to work on my essay for social studies. I could stop at the store on the way home if there’s anything we need.” Her smile felt almost real as she went on, “Didn’t you say we were out of milk?”

Looking surprised, Mom opened her mouth to say something, but Hallie hurried on. “So would it be okay if I did some shopping?”

Mom definitely looked pleased. Surprised at first, but then mostly pleased. “Why, yes. That would be a big help,” she said. “We are out of milk, and the bread is almost gone too.”

So that was how it happened that maybe half an hour later Hallie was sitting at a big library table in the East branch of the Irvington Public Library, reading up on the Sinai Peninsula in a junior edition encyclopedia. It wasn’t too interesting, just kids’ stuff, but when she tried to bring an adult encyclopedia into the children’s room the librarian told her she couldn’t. Hallie didn’t see why not and she said so.

“Oh yeah?” she’d said. “They always let me in Bloomfield. In the Bloomfield library I got to read any encyclopedia I wanted to.”

So then the librarian, whose name was Mrs. Myers, said that must have been nice, but rules were rules, and that here in East Irvington the adult encyclopedias were for adults to use. Hallie thought of a sarcastic remark she might have made, but instead she only shrugged and turned away.

It didn’t take long to make notes on the material in the junior edition. Hallie was almost finished when a squeaky voice said, “Excuse me. Could I ask you something?”

For just a second she didn’t know where the voice was coming from. Not from the old man at the end of the table, which only left whoever it might be almost out of sight behind the big stack of books directly across from where she was sitting.

“Yeah?” she said more or less in the direction of the book pile. “What did you say?”

The top of a head appeared then, brown hair and big dark eyes. “I said, could I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” Hallie said. “Like what?”

More face appeared over the wall of books. A small, toothy mouth and then a pointed chin. “Like, could I see that S encyclopedia when you’re through with it?”

She remembered then that she had noticed the kid as she sat down, but just barely. Mostly what she’d noticed was the big pile of books in front of him. A kind of book barricade that had almost hidden him until he sat up straighter and stretched his neck a little.

When she did get a better look at him she was surprised, because he looked so young, for one thing. Probably not more than eight or nine years old. Not nearly old enough for the kinds of books he was reading—or at least hiding behind. Hallie couldn’t see any of the titles, but there seemed to be several junior edition encyclopedias plus a lot of the kind of big old dusty volumes you had to ask the reference librarian for. So when the kid’s funny face poked up from behind his book barricade and asked for her S volume, Hallie couldn’t help grinning.

“Sure,” she said, “when I get through with it.” She looked his stack of books up and down before she asked, “You in a big hurry? Looks to me like you’ve got enough there to keep you busy for a while.”

The kid glanced at the books before he nodded and said, “Well, I’ve already read most of these. At least the parts I’m interested in.”

“Oh yeah?” Hallie teased with a grin. “Let’s see. What parts are you interested in?” She turned her encyclopedia and studied the letter S. “Oh, I get it. Like S for sex? You looking for sexy stuff?”

The kid looked at her for a while before he shook his head. Not angrily like she’d expected, and not embarrassed either. Just a kind of curious stare before he said, “Is that what you’re reading about?”

“Who, me?” Hallie put on an offended expression. “For your information, I happen to be reading about
the Sinai Peninsula. S-I-N-A-I, with a capital S. Get it?”

“Oh.” He nodded thoughtfully. “The Sinai Peninsula. Is the Sinai Peninsula interesting to read about?”

“Yeah, sure. Real interesting. So how about you? If you’re not reading about sexy stuff, what are you reading about?”

Looking around at all the books, he nodded and said, “Psychiatry mostly. So far I’ve mostly been reading about psychiatry.”

Hallie let him see she was having a hard time keeping herself from laughing out loud. “Psychiatry doesn’t start with an S.” She giggled.

“I know.” He held up a P encyclopedia. “I’ve finished with psychiatry for now. Next I want to read about shamanism.”

“Shamanism?”

He nodded, pointing at her S encyclopedia. “That’s why—”

“Shhh!”
The man at the other end of the table was staring angrily. “Will you kids shut up!” Hallie made her return stare say maybe she would and maybe she wouldn’t.

But when she turned back to her fellow perpetrator, he’d disappeared behind his books again. Only the top of his head was showing behind the barricade, the top of a small round head covered with a furry crop of thick brown hair. Hallie stared in amazed recognition.
But then, before sneaking suspicion could translate itself into for-sure-and-certain, the boy was on his feet and walking away. The smallish eight-or nine-year-old boy was moving quickly, with a lively, bouncy walk, toward the library door.

“Hey, wait!” Hallie called after him, and then, glancing back at the fiercely frowning old man, she cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered it again. “Hey, wait for me!” But he didn’t, so after hurriedly gathering up her books, Hallie ran after him.

Outside on the front steps, she stopped to look up and down the street. Up and down, but mostly up, toward Warwick Avenue and the Warwick Towers apartment building. And sure enough, there he was, bouncing along quickly, almost at the corner of Abbot Street. She followed at a run, down Larsen Street, the short block on Abbot, and then onto Warwick Avenue. She was close to catching up, only a few yards behind, when he disappeared into the lobby of the Warwick Towers apartment building.

So she’d been right. The small, fuzzy brown head that had appeared from behind a stack of books in the East branch library was almost certainly the same head that had emerged from behind the love seat in the spyhole apartment. And if that was true, what about the monster in the horrible mask? There was something about the lively, limber way the little monster had bobbed around the room that made her
think there might be a connection there too. And if there was—that meant that one of the people who lived in the spyhole apartment was a boy who went around wearing a mask and who hid behind the furniture in order to spy on a bunch of angry adults. And who also read big old books about psychiatry and—what was it he wanted the S encyclopedia for?— oh yes, shamanism.

Shamanism.
The word sounded vaguely familiar. On her way back down Larsen Street to the grocery store, Hallie tried to remember what it meant, without much success. So when she passed the library she popped back in again and found out.

Shaman
, the dictionary said:
a priest-doctor who uses magic to cure the sick, to divine the hidden, and to control events that affect the welfare of others.

So that was what it was with the mask—the weird little creature she’d seen struggling with Rapunzel had been a witch doctor? Or maybe Rapunzel’s little brother pretending he was one? Yeah, that probably was it. The kid had been pretending to be a shaman, maybe putting some kind of witch-doctor spell on Rapunzel, and she hadn’t exactly appreciated it. Picturing what the scene must have been like if she’d caught him doing it, Hallie was surprised to find herself chuckling.

Back in the apartment, Hallie took the milk and bread to the kitchen, and when her mother asked she said yes, she’d gotten the information she needed at
the library. “Yeah. I found out some interesting stuff,” she said. She couldn’t help smiling a little as she added,
“Really
interesting.”

The essay on the Sinai Peninsula went pretty well, except that now and then the writing was interrupted by some questions that weren’t answered in the textbook or in the encyclopedia. Questions like why would a kid want to dress up like a witch doctor? And what had been going on right before Rapunzel dragged him into the living room? Had she been telling his father on him, and if so, what did his father do to him? And what did he find out when he hid behind the love seat and spied on the three angry adults?

There was a lot she didn’t know and wanted very much to learn. But going to the spyhole was out, at least for the time being. Not while her mother was at home. And later, after her mother had finally gone to sleep, the spyhole rooms would undoubtedly be dark and deserted.

So she’d have to wait to find out more. She would wait until Monday, a school day, when there would be that hour and a half before her mom got home. Of course, Monday was also the beginning of another exciting week at good old Irvington Middle School. It didn’t seem possible that she was looking forward to it, but in a way she was. Or at least to the other things that might happen on Monday.

M
onday morning finally came, and Hallie got a B-minus on her essay on the Sinai Peninsula, which was an improvement, even though it would have been one of her lousier grades back in Bloomfield. And what was more, she managed to get through the day without attracting the attention of any of her terrorist-in-training classmates. She might actually have felt like celebrating except that her mind was on something else most of the time—or maybe
someone
else. Someone she started trying to locate as soon as school was out.

Her plan, which she’d been working on all day, was to head for the corner of Warwick and Bruce Street, where anyone coming from the elementary school and heading toward Warwick Avenue was likely to cross. As soon as her last class was dismissed she started for Bruce Street at a run, but she must have been too late, because the fuzzy-headed kid never showed up. Maybe he’d skipped school that day. Or
maybe he went to another school, like St. Paul’s at the other end of town.

Anyway, since he didn’t show up, she finally decided to forget it, at least for the time being. But just in case, she went on waiting at the corner for at least another fifteen minutes before she headed home. Home to the cell block and, even though it was late, to the attic spyhole.

She hurried across the attic. The far corners of the long, empty space were oozing ominous shadows, but with her mother due home in less than an hour there just wasn’t time to worry about ghosts. And once she was seated on the old trunk, leaning forward to the blue-glass spyhole, she forgot about ghosts and dry, dusty heat and everything else.

However, the living room of the little witch doctor’s apartment was disappointingly empty. And it stayed that way until her time was up and she had to run downstairs to wait for her mother.

The next day at school started out pretty much as usual, but during lunch hour Hallie sat with Erin and another new girl named Jolene. The first time Jolene talked with Hallie alone, she brought up the subject of Hallie’s father. They had been on their way to science class when Jolene said she thought it was really the pits about Hallie’s father and the big freeway pileup.

Hallie’s first reaction had been anger. “Oh yeah? Who told you about it?”

Jolene shrugged. “Erin,” she said. “Erin talks about everything.”

“So I guess she told you I lied to her about my father?”

Jolene looked puzzled. “Oh yeah? What did you tell her?”

Hallie couldn’t believe she was actually talking about such private stuff with an almost perfect stranger. She stared at Jolene for a second, thinking seriously about just turning around and walking off. But in the end she went on walking silently.

“She didn’t mention a lie,” Jolene finally said. She grinned. “It probably didn’t make much of an impression. She’s a world-class liar herself.”

Hallie nodded. “Yeah, I guess that explains it” was all she said.

Being with the two of them that day in the cafeteria wasn’t much of a strain. With Erin and Jolene, most of the time all she had to do was sit there and listen, or at least pretend that was what she was doing. The gossip that day was mostly about this very popular kid named Jason who had been running in a relay race when his baggy cargo pants fell down.

“Yeah, I heard about it,” Hallie said. “And he was wearing Batman underpants … right?”

“Right,” Erin and Jolene said in unison. Then they had another fit of giggling and Hallie laughed a little too, just to be sociable. When her last class was finally
over she took off at a run for the Warwick-Bruce intersection.

Quite a few elementary school kids crossed the intersection that day, but not the kid she was looking for. She was on her way home, feeling angry and frustrated, when suddenly there he was, scurrying down the street from the other direction. He was wearing a heavy backpack and clutching a stack of books in both arms. Obviously he’d come home by way of the library, and running after him, Hallie asked herself why on earth she hadn’t thought of that possibility. Stopping off at the library was exactly what a nerdy little kid like that would do.

“Hey!” Hallie yelled. “Hey, kid!” He kept right on going, but when she finally caught up and reached out to get his attention, he stumbled and fell. Books went everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” Hallie said. And she really was. He’d never talk to her now.

Sitting on the sidewalk, the kid was pulling up his pants leg to inspect his knee.

“Is it skinned?” Hallie asked. He didn’t look up for a moment. Too angry, maybe, or else fighting tears. But when he finally did lift his head, it didn’t seem to be either. He stared at Hallie for a moment before he asked, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Push me down. Why did you want to push me down?”

“I didn’t.” Now
she
was getting angry. “I didn’t
want
to push you. Why would I want to do that? I was just trying to get you to stop.”

“Hmm.” He looked thoughtful. “Why did you want me to stop?”

The little dork really was frustrating. Totally frustrating. “Look,” she said, “I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.”

Pulling down his pants leg, he stood up and began to collect his scattered books. “All right. What did you want to ask me?”

“Well, when we were talking in the library the other day…” He looked blank. “You do remember, don’t you? We were sitting across the table from each other in the library?”

“I remember,” he said, nodding solemnly.

“Well, then…” What should she say? What should she say that would get him started talking? “Well, then, I was wondering what you’ve found out about shamanism. I’d like to know about shamanism myself.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, just because …” She got bogged down for a minute, and when she went on all she could think of to say was “Why do you keep asking
why
about everything?”

“Oh. Why do I ask
why
so much?” He nodded slowly. “Because that’s what psychiatrists do, and I might be one someday. Either that or a shaman,
maybe. I haven’t finished deciding which. I want to be someone who finds out what people are thinking about and why they do the things they do.”

“Do shamans do that?”

This time his nod was firm and confident. “Yes. Yes, they do. Just like psychiatrists, only they do it in different ways.”

“Like by dancing or doing ceremonies?”

His stare was questioning, suspicious maybe. “Yes, sometimes.”

“And do they wear anything special while they’re doing the ceremonies? Like special costumes—and masks?”

This time his quick glance was definitely suspicious. “Yes, sometimes.”

“Cool,” Hallie said. “I like that. I like masks, that is.” She tried to make the next question sound like something that had just occurred to her. “Do you have a mask?”

This time his nod was enthusiastic. “Yes. I have one. A really great mask. My uncle gave it to me.”

“Oh yeah? Is he a witch doctor?”

His smile was almost a laugh. “No. He’s in the navy. He goes to a lot of places. Like to islands in the Pacific Ocean. That’s where he got my mask.”

“Really? From an island? Tell me about it. What does it look like?”

But suddenly he was gathering up the rest of his books. “I have to go now,” he said.

“Wait. Wait a minute,” Hallie said frantically. “Don’t go yet. Please don’t go.”

“Umm …” More slow, thoughtful blinking and nodding. “Why not?”

Hallie racked her brain. If she told the truth, if she said “Because I need to find out some stuff about you and your sister,” he would ask
why
, of course. And what would she say then? All she could do was stammer, “Because—because I want to talk to you.” And then, while his mouth was just beginning to shape itself in another “why,” she had an inspiration. “As a psychiatrist, I mean. I’ve been wanting to talk to a psychiatrist for a long time. So maybe I could be—like someone for you to practice on.”

That took a lot of thought, but when the lips finally puckered to form a W sound, what came out was not “why” but “where?”

They wound up sitting on the bench at the bus stop at the end of the block. While that was being decided on, and during the time it took to walk down to the corner, Hallie’s mind was racing, coming up with an interesting idea or two. So once they were seated, with the kid’s books neatly stacked beside him, she began by saying that maybe, if he was going to be her psychiatrist, they ought to introduce themselves.

“My name is Hallie,” she said. “Hallie Meredith. What’s yours?”

“Zachary,” he said. “I’m Zachary.”

But when Hallie asked his other name he shook his head. “Zachary is enough,” he said. But then he smiled, a small private smile, and added, “Except for Doctor. Doctor Zachary.”

“Okay.” Hallie suppressed a grin. “Doctor Zachary. Got it.”

“Okay.” He took a notebook and pencil out of the side pocket of his backpack. “What did you want to talk about?”

Working on what she ought to say next, narrowing her eyes and chewing on her lip, Hallie put on a deep-in-thought act. “So,” she began, “so, Doctor Zachary…” But she had to stop then while she straightened out an even more insistent grin. The crazy little dork was just too funny, sitting there in the midst of all those fat books with a supersolemn expression on his babyish face, and with his great big lug-soled shoes swinging at the end of his short, skinny legs.

“So … how old are you anyway, Doctor Zachary?” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say but it just slipped out. If he didn’t like the question, it didn’t show. At least not so she could notice it. But he did frown a little when she went on, in a teasing way, “And don’t ask me
why
I want to know.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I already know why. It’s because I don’t act my age.” He shrugged. “That’s what a lot of people say anyway.”

“Which is?” Hallie prompted him.

“Nine” he said. “Well, almost nine. My birthday is in November.”

So the doctor was going on nine years old. Hallie unbit her lip and then said, “Well, what I’ve been wanting to talk to a psychiatrist about is…” Suddenly she had a great idea! “Well, it’s about these strange dreams I’ve been having.”

The kid—Dr. Zachary, that is—looked almost enthusiastic. The most enthusiastic, actually, that Hallie had seen him look about anything. “Yes,” he said approvingly. “Dreams. Dreams are good. What kind of dreams?”

Now she was ready for him. “Well, most of them have been about this girl. This girl who lives high up in a tower, and she has this awesome hair. Long and blond, like, way down past her waist. Only her eyes are very dark. Very big and dark. And she is standing—in this dream, she’s standing in this window staring down toward a busy street. And she’s looking sad, or maybe kind of angry.”

Dr. Zachary was definitely interested. He stared at Hallie for quite a while before he said, “How old is she, the girl in your dream?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Pretty young, though. Probably a teenager. Yeah, she’s this really gorgeous blond teenager.”

“Hmm,” the doctor said. “That sounds like my sister.”