The Otherworldlies (13 page)

“So that’s it?” Sam said in a low voice.

“Yes. We lucked out.” Mrs. McAllister turned her attention to the passenger seat. “Fern? How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Fern said, looking straight ahead.

“Really?” her mother said in disbelief.

“Other than the fact that I keep disappearing and have no control over where I go or why I go, yeah, I’m fine,” Fern said, turning away from her mother.

“Fern, I know nothing makes sense right now and that you’re probably worried and afraid,” Mrs. McAllister said. She didn’t take her eyes off the road, and her face was illuminated by the low glare of commuter headlights. “I’ve already made an appointment with someone who’s an expert in this kind of thing. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

“Is he a doctor?” Fern asked.

“Sort of,” Mrs. McAllister said. Ironically enough, when Alistair Kimble had arrived on her doorstep twelve years ago, Mrs. McAllister could have easily mistaken him for a doctor. Now, though, there was no mistaking the significance of Alistair Kimble: He was the one and only link to Fern’s past.

Chapter 9
the undead sea scroll

A
local news event sufficiently noteworthy to headline the front pages of both the
Los Angeles Times
and the
Orange County Register
was always large in scope and usually dealt with a disaster of some kind: wildfires blazing in Topanga Canyon, a huge earthquake in Northridge, the powerful gusting of the Santa Anas knocking down power lines, the Angels winning the World Series.

When Fern McAllister landed on the top of Splash Mountain, she also landed on the front of both local papers the next morning. The pictures of Fern were the stuff that photo editors dream of—a frightened little girl holding on for dear life above the surreal backdrop of the Magic Kingdom. What’s more, the story had legs, making the national news on ABC, NBC, and CBS, as each network broadcast footage showing Fern’s motionless body in the arms of a rescue worker as he rappelled down the face of Splash Mountain. They were calling it “The Climb of One Girl’s Life.”

Though Fern wasn’t mentioned by name in any of the articles, the city of San Juan Capistrano was buzzing with the news. Fern thanked her lucky stars that she had disappeared on a Friday. Although she was to report to St. Gregory’s at eight a.m. to serve the first of two Saturday schools, she knew there would be, at most, a handful of students there. Come Monday, St. Gregory’s campus would be ablaze with talk of her latest disappearance.

Sam insisted that he would walk with Fern to school and would be waiting to pick her up at noon after she had served the first of her two sentences. As Fern and Sam walked through the grove, they hardly knew what to expect. Neither of the twins had much time to think before they spotted someone crouching at the outside border of the row of orange trees near the closest edge of the grove.

“Fern,” Lindsey said as they approached, her eyes wide.

“Hey,” Fern replied warily. Their last interaction had left Fern reeling from the sting of Lindsey’s rejection.

“I’m sorry about chapel,” Lindsey said. “I know you were just trying to help me out.”

Yesterday Fern would have done almost anything to gain such an apology, but today Lindsey’s admission angered her. Lindsey Lin had seen Fern on the news or in the paper, or had heard about her from one of the countless people who were talking about it. Now she was sorry. Fern McAllister may have been confused and scared by recent events, but she wasn’t nearly desperate enough to trade on someone’s morbid curiosity. Even if it was someone who, at one point, Fern had called a friend.

“Don’t mention it,” Fern said, walking away, knowing Sam would follow suit. Without speaking, she and Sam raced up La Limonar, hoping they might reach the gates of St. Gregory’s before Lindsey had a chance to catch up.

“Fern, I’m sorry! It’s going to be a long five hours if we can’t even talk to each other.” Lindsey was pleading, running behind the twins as they exited the grove.

“Don’t you get it?” Sam said, whipping around to face Lindsey. “Fern doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” Sam glowered at her.

The twins hurried toward St. Gregory’s. The campus was very quiet. The movement inside the iron gates was the wind whipping the cable for raising the flag against the flagpole.

“Do you know where you’re supposed to report?”

“Room two hundred,” Lindsey Lin shouted from behind them.

“I heard somewhere it’s room two hundred, Sam,” Fern said, ignoring Lindsey completely.

“Well, I’ll be here waiting for you at noon. Don’t get yourself into any more trouble, all right?” Sam spoke with a tone that was half mocking, but Fern sensed the genuine concern in his voice. She might not count Lindsey as a friend anymore, but she would always have Sam.

As soon as Sam left, Lindsey scooted to Fern’s side.

“You’re really going to ignore me for the entire day?” Lindsey questioned.

“Looks that way.”

Fern pushed through the door to room 200. The classroom was completely empty. The walls were unmarked beige. There was no writing on the chalkboard. The back wall was lined with inspirational sayings like, “Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do,” and “Success comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.”

“Jeez,” Lindsey said, scanning the wall. “I wonder what kind of new age teacher has this class.”

Fern, acting as if Lindsey were not there at all, took a desk at the front of the classroom. Lindsey plopped down right next to her. Without speaking, Fern stood up and walked to the back of the classroom, choosing a desk in corner. Lindsey followed, selecting the desk next to Fern’s.

Angered, Fern got up and chose a desk smack-dab in the middle of the room. She could hear Lindsey follow her.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Are you two years old or something?” Fern said.

“I can sit wherever I want,” Lindsey insisted.

“Yeah, well, don’t sit next to me.”

“Please let me explain.”

The door to the classroom squeaked open. A tall blonde with wavy locks down to the middle of her back smiled widely at the girls. Her deep blue eyes were remarkably bright for so early in the morning.

“Well, if it isn’t Eddie’s delinquent little sister.”

Fern smiled at Kinsey Wood. Kinsey was junior class president and a star on the St. Gregory’s tennis team. Though Fern was envious of Kinsey because Eddie now spent a significant amount of his time with her, Fern couldn’t have disliked her if she tried. In truth, even the Commander was fond of Kinsey, whose impeccable manners she hoped might rub off on Fern.

“Hi, Kinsey,” Fern said, her mood lifting.

Kinsey then broached the Splash Mountain debacle innocently, as if Fern had gotten the flu. “Eddie said you’re doing much better after your scary day yesterday.”

“Much better,” Fern said. “So you’re our Saturday school supervisor?”

“I’m afraid so,” Kinsey said, flashing a smile at both Fern and Lindsey. “You girls really lucked out. Mr. Unger’s not coming today. No picking up trash or recycling for you. In fact,” she whispered, leaning forward, “we’ll wait until the clock hits five past eight and if no one else shows up, I can let you go.”

“Really?” Fern’s eyes widened. Her hand had already begun to cramp up at the thought of writing an essay detailing what measures she would take to henceforth avoid Saturday school.

“It can be our little secret. I know you two won’t tell. It was Eddie’s idea, actually. Your big brother’s always looking out for you, Fern.”

“Kinsey, how can we thank you?” Lindsey chimed in.

“Thank Fern. And don’t let
anyone
see you. If anyone does come by, I’m going to tell them I sent you both picking up trash around campus. You’ll still have to write an essay, but you can give it to Eddie and he’ll give it to me on Monday.” She looked up at the clock. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” Lindsey shouted, getting out of her desk.

“I’m sure I’ll see you later, Fern,” Kinsey said, putting her feet up as she sat down in the teacher’s chair at the front of the classroom. She took a book out of her bag and began to read. “Tell Mrs. McAllister I said hi. Go enjoy the day!” Kinsey smiled at them and then concentrated on her book once more.

“Your brother’s girlfriend is cool,” Lindsey said, practically running to catch up with Fern.

“Yeah, well, she should have just let
me
go. She doesn’t even know
you.
”

“Fern,” Lindsey pleaded.

“Fern
what
?”

“Look, I’ll admit it—when I threw that note in your window, I was more curious than anything else. I’d overheard my parents talking about you,” Lindsey said, casting her eyes toward Fern, “and I wanted to see for myself.”

“Why were your parents talking about me?” Fern asked.

“My parents investigate people like you.”

“People like
me
?” Fern said, quizzically.

“You know, people who might have special powers.”

“Do they work for the government?” Fern asked, beginning to worry.

“Sort of,” Lindsey responded.

“What do they want with me?”

“Nothing, really; they keep tabs on these kinds of things. It’s research . . . like the census,” Lindsey said. “Fern, I really am sorry for overreacting. I freaked out for no reason. I want to show you something.”

“What is that?” Fern said as her resolve to hate Lindsey melted. She certainly was
trying
to get back on Fern’s good side.

“It’s at my house.”

“There’s no way I’m going to your house. Give me one reason I should trust you.”

“I’m not out to get you or anything. I want to show you who you are,” Lindsey said dramatically. “We can get Sam if you want.”

After swinging by the McAllister house and convincing Sam to come (it didn’t take much), the three made the ten-minute trek to Lindsey’s house, near the San Juan Capistrano train depot.

“So what is it you’re going to show us?” Sam said, still feeling somewhat hostile toward Lindsey.

“You’ll see.”

Lindsey Lin lived in a bright white house with bright blue shutters on each side of every window. A picket fence bordered a well-manicured lawn. Flowerbeds at the front of the house showcased tulips in bloom. The perfect exterior of the house didn’t surprise the McAllister twins.

Lindsey knocked on her own front door. “Whatever you do,” Lindsey whispered to the twins, “don’t let on that you know anything about anything.”

“Well, hello!”

A woman in a yellow dress and sandals answered the door. She looked to be about thirty-five. Her resemblance to Lindsey was remarkable. It was as if someone had taken Lindsey’s face, softened it up, and stretched it out.

“Hi. I brought some friends from school. May we come in?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Lin said, motioning for the group to enter.

“This is Fern and Sam McAllister,” Lindsey said, once they were safely inside.

“I’m May, Lindsey’s mother. It’s so nice to meet you both. Lindsey talks of you constantly.”

Though it was clear that Mrs. Lin was extending a hearty welcome to both McAllisters, her gaze lingered on Fern for a moment, sizing her up.

“I really like your front yard,” Sam said, trying to be polite.

“Why, thank you,” Mrs. Lin replied, smiling at Sam.

“If it’s all right, we’re going to go up to the study and finish up our project,” Lindsey said.

“That’s just fine, dear,” Mrs. Lin said sweetly. “Miiiiike!” she shouted. “Mike, come in here and meet Lindsey’s friends.”

Mr. Lin walked in through the doorway. He was tall, and his black hair cropped close to his scalp looked vaguely military. His face had some stubble and was slightly more weathered than his wife’s.

“Mike, this is Sam and Fern McAllister.” Though it was ever so slight, Fern saw Mr. Lin’s eyes widen at the mention of her name. Mr. Lin stuck out his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said cordially. “Lindsey, I thought you were going to be at school all morning working on a project.”

“We decided it would be easier to just do it here.”

“Well, you two must stay for lunch,” Mr. Lin said. “Mrs. Lin makes a very good barbecue chicken sandwich.”

“Okay, thanks,” Lindsey said, beginning to climb the stairs to the left of the entryway. Fern and Sam followed behind.

The Lin family study was spotless. A circular rug covered most of the dark wood floor. Bookshelves crammed with works of fiction and nonfiction spanned three walls of the room. A large desk with a computer filled one corner and a recliner sat in the other. Lindsey shut the door behind her.

“So,” Sam said, sitting on the desk, “you told your parents you had a ‘project’ today? That’s an interesting term for Saturday school.”

Lindsey smirked at Sam and then went to work. She climbed on the recliner, reaching above her to the top bookshelf. Though it seemed out of her grasp, the book remained in her hands as she tumbled to the floor. It was a large hardbound copy of the novel
Moby Dick
.

“The secret to who I am is in
Moby Dick
?” Fern asked skeptically.

“Kind of,” Lindsey said, lifting the cover of the book to reveal a carved-out rectangle in its center. She reached into the rectangle and pulled out one sheet of folded paper.

“Why in the world are you hiding one page from a book inside another book?” Sam said, getting up to take a closer look at the hollowed-out inside of
Moby Dick
.

“I had to hide this page because I stole it,” Lindsey said, laying it flat on the ground.

“From where?”

“A book that belongs to my parents. It’s called
The
Undead Sea Scroll
. They publish an updated version every ten years or so. I hid it here because it’s a special page that relates to you, Fern.”

“This is crazy.
The Undead Sea Scroll
? You’re just making all of this up,” Sam said.

“Just hear me out. Fern, I think you’re an Otherworldly.”

“An other-
what
?”

“An Otherworldly. Listen. You know how there are different species of snakes or rabbits or whatever? You’re a different species of human. One that has special powers.”

“Special powers?”

“Yes. All Otherworldlies live a lot longer, are sensitive to the sun, and can predict or influence the weather—stuff like that. Some can talk to dogs. Culturally, they’re not supposed to enter a house unless they’ve been invited.”

“How do you know all that?” Sam said.

“Because I am one.”

Sam and Fern froze, if only for a moment.

“What are you
saying
?” Sam exclaimed.

“Otherworldlies have existed for a long, long time, but because normal humans might persecute us, we keep it to ourselves. It’s a little bit like a secret society—which is why I had to make sure that you were actually one before I spilled the beans.”

“If you’re an Otherworldly, then what’s your special power?” Sam questioned dubiously.

“My whole family has the same talent: We can see events even when we’re not there. I’m not developed enough to really use mine yet, though.”

“Then how do you know you have it?” Sam said, wondering if maybe he hadn’t developed his yet.