The Inn Between (11 page)

Quinn has no such stack. She hates reading. She'd much rather ski or skateboard or ride her bike.

A purple pajama sleeve pokes out from under Emma's pillow. It dangles over the edge of the bed. Quinn thinks the pajamas make Emma look like a giant purple popsicle. She tells Emma this each time she wears them, but Emma just shrugs and laughs.

Along the side of the wall hang framed collages that Emma has made from photos. Clipped photos of Quinn and their parents and of the fish, Scales, Emma once had. Of school and friends and teams and dance recitals. Of vacations and birthday cakes and holidays. Quinn tried to make a collage of photos once, too. She gave up after cutting out three pictures.

The closet door is wide open. Clothes Quinn once wore that have passed to Emma now hang gathering dust. Quinn tries hard to picture Emma wearing each and every one. But it's difficult. Exactly how tall was Emma? Where did her hair last reach? Quinn panics. How long will it be before Emma's face gathers dust and fades into the gray closet of Quinn's memory?

She begins twisting the ends of her hair. Emma always did that. She'd snuggle up to Quinn whenever she could, reach over, and start twisting her hair. Quinn would push Emma's hand away, but it always found its way back to Quinn.

Quinn's mother enters the room. She stretches across Quinn's bed and stares at the still life along with Quinn.

“I-I'm sorry,” says Quinn quietly. She's cried a billion tears. She can't cry anymore. “It's my fault.”

“Don't say that,” says her mother, putting an arm around her shoulder. “No one blames you.”

Quinn swallows hard. She wants to tell her mother everything—about what really happened that day after school. She stands and opens her mouth. She tries. But the words are too heavy. So heavy she can't lift them and force them out of her mouth. She stares at her mother with eyes filled with pain.

Her mother doesn't see. She looks past Quinn to the purple sleeve. She gets up and tucks it under Emma's pillow. She walks out of the room.

Quinn sinks back onto her bed, melting into the covers. She looks over at Emma's stuff. The orange backpack sits slumped against the wall so that its enormous smiley face is now more a wrinkled frown. She hears a tiny clink—like the breaking of fine glass. Another piece of her heart has snapped off.

Quinn's about to close her eyes when they settle on the book on Emma's nightstand—the book Emma hadn't had a chance to finish. She reaches over and picks it up. It falls open to the bookmarked page.

Slowly, carefully, she begins to read.

 

18

T
HERE WAS A SOFT KNOCK
AT THE DOOR
.

Kara sprang from the bed. “Mom! Dad!”

Quinn tried to hold her back in case it was the crazy man, but Kara was already opening it.

Persephone stood in the hallway, looking pleasantly into the room. “Hello, girls. I've come for Joe.”

She extended her hand—a long, thin hand with that pale translucent skin that gave Quinn the creeps. Joe moved toward her.

Instinctively Quinn stretched out an arm to bar his path. “He's not going with you,” she said firmly. “He's staying with us.”

Then someone else appeared beside Persephone. It was the old woman with cotton-candy hair and crinkly gray eyes. Quinn had seen her in the restaurant earlier that morning.

“Grandma?” shouted Joe, charging through Quinn's barrier, past Persephone. He threw himself into the old woman's arms. “But…?”

“Time to go, Joey,” she whispered, smoothing his hair, gripping him tightly.

Joe squeezed hard for a moment, and then drew back still holding her hands. “But … Adam?” he said softly.

Persephone exchanged glances with the old woman. They both smiled and nodded. “Adam is going to be fine,” said the old woman. She looked at Kara and winked.

Joe hugged his grandmother again. He took a deep breath and smiled. He turned toward Quinn and Kara. “I have to go now. Thanks for helping.”

Kara frowned. “What about
my
family? Where are
they
? When are they coming?”

“Don't worry,” said Persephone. “I'm sure you'll see them soon.”

Joe walked slowly alongside his grandmother and Persephone down the long dark corridor. Before they disappeared around the corner, Joe turned back. He lifted his hand and waved, and then he, too, was gone.

Quinn looked at Kara. “Something isn't right. I saw that woman earlier. If she was here earlier why didn't she come for Joe? Maybe she isn't really his grandma. Maybe someone who looks like her.”

“Let's follow them,” said Kara.

“What about the man?” asked Quinn. “What if we run into him?”

“He's probably still pacing the hallway near Joe's room. Probably doesn't even know we've left. We'll keep an eye out.”

Quinn agreed.

Kara locked the door and Quinn took her hand, gripping it tightly. Together they made their way through the hall toward the lobby.

When they got to the entrance, Quinn poked her head around the corner. An old woman moved with her walker toward the restaurant. A man was milling about at the front desk talking to Persephone. The guy with the ball cap wasn't there.

Neither was Joe. She wondered how Persephone had gotten him to his family and then returned to the front desk so quickly.

Then she heard the familiar grinding noise of the elevator cables. Through the metal bars she saw Joe, standing beside his grandmother.

The operator, Sharon, was saying, “Kindly place any hand baggage in the overhead bins. Larger pieces must be stowed beneath your seat.”

Joe was looking up at his grandmother, smiling.

“There he is,” said Kara. “I guess the rest of his family's waiting for him upstairs.”

“Just like Mr. Mirabelli,” said Quinn.

“Who?” asked Kara.

“The old man in the pajamas.”

The windows of the hotel had turned to mirrors once again, which meant all remaining sunlight was gone. Quinn stared briefly into one mirror and then into another, as if the reflections might tell her something the real space couldn't. All they told her was that it was late. And she suddenly remembered they hadn't had dinner. She wasn't hungry, but they'd need to eat to keep up their strength. Something told her she'd need her strength.

Back in the room, Kara ordered a large pizza.

Quinn switched on the TV. She was greeted by fuzz. She flipped from channel to channel. Nothing. She hit the top of the TV a few times, hoping something would jog the connection, but nothing changed. She switched it off.

The pizza and pop arrived in no time. Neither of the girls had much appetite, but having something warm in their stomachs was a comfort. Quinn made sure both the dead bolt and the security chain were engaged. Then they washed up and got ready for bed.

“Let's sleep in our clothes,” Quinn suggested.

“Why?” asked Kara.

Quinn didn't have a good answer. “Just in case,” was all she could think of to say.

Kara seemed to ponder this for a moment and then nodded. She threw herself in the bed her mother had slept in. The bruises on her arms and legs had deepened in color. She rubbed her knee.

“I'm tired,” she said, yawning. “Like I could close my eyes and sleep forever.”

Quinn stretched across the other bed. “Me too.” But she was afraid to sleep. Everyone kept disappearing. She was afraid if she closed her eyes—even for a moment—she'd lose Kara, too.

“Give me your hand,” Quinn said suddenly. “The one with the bracelet.”

Kara sat up and frowned. “This isn't the time for silly stuff.”

“Come on. I'm not losing you, too.”

Quinn untied the knot on her wrist. She slipped her band through Kara's, just as she'd done before. Together they retied it. They were linked once again so that, even asleep, neither could move without the other knowing.

“Forever?”

“Forever,” said Kara. She took a deep breath and settled back into bed. After some time she spoke quietly. “Remember the time I got stuck in that tree in the forest behind the school?”

Quinn smiled.

“You wouldn't leave me. Not even to get help.” Kara's voice was soothing and the memories calming. “You climbed up and then we were both stuck.”

Quinn yawned. “Yeah. That was dumb.”

“We got down. Eventually,” said Kara.

“That's 'cause Emma found us. She was always trying to tag along.”

Kara continued to talk. She spoke of good times. Things they'd done. Things they'd planned to do.

They lay there, on opposite beds, their arms dangling in the center. It wasn't comfortable, but Kara seemed weak and exhausted. As soon as she stopped talking she drifted off.

Quinn couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about Emma. What if Emma really was here? What if that freaky man was the guy who had abducted her? Maybe he somehow knew what Quinn looked like. What if he knew that Quinn knew the truth about who he was and that's why he was after her? What if he had Emma locked in some room?

Quinn managed to switch off the bedside lamp. Waves of exhaustion splashed over her as the events of the day unfolded in her mind. They were stuck in the middle of the desert, and no one knew they were there.

What if it was something entirely different? Maybe they'd stumbled upon some freak cult who preyed upon lost travelers. Perhaps they brainwashed people until they no longer knew who they were. She and Kara would wind up worshipping heads of lettuce, devoting themselves to snake-handling, and drinking from cups made from skulls of dead animals.

Or, perhaps Josh was right. Maybe Area 51 aliens
had
escaped. They'd set up shop in the desert and were collecting lost travelers, using them as specimens, experimenting with them.

A million strange ideas danced inside Quinn's mind, each more bizarre and horrific than the last. Finally, sleep rose up around her and she let herself sink beneath its inky surface.

The TV clicked on. Quinn's eyes snapped open.

She sat up and searched the room. For a moment she'd forgotten where she was, whether it was night or day. On the opposite bed, Kara breathed heavily, fast asleep. Their hands were still tethered by the bracelets. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. Kara hadn't disappeared.

The TV drew her attention. Black-and-white fuzz filled the screen. Had someone turned it on? Impossible. They were alone.

Quinn swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She tried to reach for the power switch, but she was tethered to Kara's arm.

The swarming black dots on the screen gathered, drawn to each other like tiny magnets. They grew into dark clusters that began to take shape. Behind the shadows, the blue-white screen melted into color. The shapes grew clearer and a scene unfolded, as though someone had downloaded a movie and hit play.

 

19

T
HE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL
is dark. The pavement and lawn are covered with a thick layer of snow. People are gathered outside the building. They hold candles.

The scene is the vigil—the memorial they held for Emma.

The camera focuses on the Cawstons. All three lean into one another, as though only their combined effort can keep them upright. Mrs. Cawston holds a single white candle.

The camera shifts. It finds Quinn's mother and father standing a few feet away. They are marble statues, all pale and ghostly. Neither moves a muscle. A neighbor—Mrs. Johnston—hands Quinn's mother a bouquet. She accepts it mechanically.

The camera pans the crowd.

Most of the teachers have come. Mr. Mason's shoulders sag. Ms. Giuliani's head is bent. Señora Márquez's body quakes. She sobs quietly, warm puffs of air lingering in the chill around her.

All the kids are there as well. Some hold hands. Some hug each other. Tears stream down some faces, dampening cheeks and collars.

Against the fence is a makeshift memorial. A girl from Quinn's class breaks free from the crowd. It's Becky Hewlet. She makes her way toward the fence and adds a small teddy bear to the growing pile of stuffed animals and flowers and cards and signs.

Quinn's mother begins to tremble. Her knees buckle. Mrs. Cawston releases Josh and Mr. Cawston and lunges for her. The two women bury their faces in each other's shoulder.

The camera rises to a bird's-eye view.

Quinn stares at the screen. Something is wrong. Something is missing.

Then slowly, bit by bit, the scene begins to transform. The snow melts and the grass on the lawn grows green and lush. The sky brightens, like an eerie reverse sunset.

All the people remain standing, fixed to their spots, their candles flickering softly, but their clothes have changed. Boots and heavy coats disappear, replaced with shorts and T-shirts.

It wasn't January …

Quinn's heart beat quicker. Panic swelled inside her chest. She didn't want to see any more of this movie. She stretched out her arm, dragging Kara along with her. But Kara was heavy, sound asleep.

She managed to get close enough to hit the power switch with the tip of her toe, but nothing happened. The movie continued.

The camera focuses on the fence. It zeroes in on the stuffed animals that surround a portrait.

Quinn jabbed the button again, this time harder.

The camera zooms in. Closer. Closer.

Quinn kicked wildly at the TV. She didn't care if she knocked it down. She dragged Kara farther and punched the button again and again with her fist, but the film continued.