The cab ride from midtown Manhattan to Waverly Place was a short one. It seemed to Courtney that the deeper they got into the neighborhoods of Manhattan, the less it felt like she was in the past. The buildings didn’t look all that different from the buildings of Second Earth, especially as they drove through Greenwich Village. Most buildings were three-or four-story brick walk-ups. The ground floors had restaurants and cleaners and clothing shops. The upper stories looked like apartments. It was pretty much the same as on Second Earth. With no Starbucks. The only obvious, in-your-face sign that things weren’t like home was the cars. The streets were clogged with big, growling monsters with gleaming chrome grills. They had names like “Studebaker,” “Hudson,” and “Cord.” There wasn’t a single Honda, Volkswagen, or Volvo in sight.
The streets of Greenwich Village were narrower than the wide avenues of midtown. They crossed one another at odd angles and had weird names like “Bethune,” “Gansevoort,” and “Bleecker.” Courtney was happy to see that the cabbie knew exactly where he was going. In no time he made the turn from Bank Street onto Waverly Place and stopped in front of a quaint corner eatery called “Ye Waverly Inn.” Dodger wanted to pay the cab fare, but Courtney wouldn’t let him. This was her mission, after all. As they got out of the car, Dodger looked around at the narrow street and shook his head in wonder.
“Coming down here feels like taking a trip into the past,” he marveled.
“You have no idea,” Courtney said with a snicker.
Dodger put on a brown hat that made Courtney chuckle.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“You trying to be Indiana Jones or what?”
Dodger shook his head in frustration. “You know what I’d like? Just once I’d like it if you said something that made sense.”
“Don’t count on it,” Courtney replied.
Next to the restaurant was the entrance to a four-story brick building—#240.
“This is it,” Courtney said nervously.
“Now do you trust me?”
“No.”
Dodger took a small piece of paper out of his pocket. “My friend said the patent was issued to Mark Dimond at this address. Apartment number four-A.” He put the paper back into his pocket and asked, “If you could get the patent number, how come you couldn’t get the address?”
“I don’t know,” Courtney answered as she started toward the door. “Computers aren’t infallible I guess.”
“There you go again not making sense,” Dodger said as he followed her toward the door.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Courtney said. She stopped at the bottom of the steps that led up to the black front door.
“Now what’s the problem?” Dodger asked.
“I’m debating about letting you come in with me.”
“Why?” he whined. “I got you this far, didn’t I?”
Courtney nodded.
“So why don’t you trust me?” Dodger asked.
Courtney looked him over, thinking, then said, “You can come. If you’re Saint Dane, I’d rather know where you are.”
“Good. I think.”
Courtney walked up the stairs and scanned the door.
“What are you looking for?” Dodger asked.
“The panel with the security buttons so we can get buzzed in.”
Dodger gave her a strange look and opened the front door. It wasn’t locked.
“Oh,” Courtney said, and stepped inside. It was yet another subtle sign that she was in a different time.
The building was too small to have an elevator, so they climbed the marble staircase up to the fourth floor. It wasn’t a fancy building, but it was clean. The smells of cooking filled the stairwell. Good cooking. Courtney thought it was either spaghetti sauce or some yummy soup. It gave the building a warm, inviting feel. She was glad that Mark had landed in such a comfortable place.
Mark. With each step up, Courtney grew more tense. What would she say to him? More important, what would he say to her? Courtney couldn’t imagine any excuse for why he’d brought technology from home to a different territory. He knew how wrong that was. She couldn’t come up with a scenario that would explain it. As she grew closer to her reunion with Mark, Courtney wasn’t sure how she should feel. Angry? Hurt? Frightened? Sympathetic? All the above? The best thing she could do was take it one step at a time. First find Mark and make sure that he’s okay. After that, the way to go would be clear. Or so she hoped.
They arrived on the fourth floor, where they were faced with five doors leading to different apartments. Number 4A was to the far right of the landing.
“What do we do?” Dodger asked.
Courtney’s answer was to stride across the landing to Mark’s door. Before she could change her mind, she boldly knocked. No answer. She knocked again, louder. Still no answer. They waited a solid minute, knocking a few more times.
“Either nobody’s home or they don’t want company,” Dodger said.
“I’m not leaving until we find out who lives here,” Courtney said adamantly.
“That thing you said before? You know, about saving humanity from total destruction? That was a joke, right?”
Courtney gave him a serious look. She didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t scoff and say, “Nah! Just kidding!” either.
“Right,” Dodger said thoughtfully. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how huge it is,” Courtney finally answered.
“Right,” Dodger said again. “Just making sure.” He took a step away from the door, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, then suddenly ran for the door of apartment 4A.
“Hey!” Courtney shouted in surprise.
She had to jump out of the way or she would have been bulldozed. Dodger hit the door with his shoulder, hard. With a loud crack the door gave way, swinging in and smashing against the inside wall. Dodger tumbled inside, falling to his knees. Courtney ran to him.
“You’re crazy!” she exclaimed.
“A little.”
Courtney helped him to his feet. “Are you okay?”
Dodger rubbed his shoulder. “Sure,” he answered casually. “Wasn’t the first time I had to break down a door. Won’t be the last. Being a bellhop ain’t all glamour.”
Courtney quickly closed the door. She didn’t want nosy neighbors peeking in to see strangers smashing into the apartment.
“Looks like we’re too late,” Dodger said.
Courtney saw that the place was empty. It was a small, clean apartment with white walls. The short front hallway led into a small living room. To the right was a door leading to a kitchen. To the left was another short hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom. There were no pictures on the walls. No plants. No rugs. No clues as to who may have lived there. Courtney walked into the kitchen. There was a small stove and a table. That was it. She left the kitchen, walked through the living room and into the bedroom. She found a small bed with no sheets or blankets. The one piece of furniture was a wooden bureau. Courtney deflated.
Dodger said, “If he was here, he’s long gone now.”
They were about to leave the room when something caught Courtney’s eye. On the floor was a plain white piece of paper. Most of it was underneath a closet door. One corner stuck out, which was the only thing Courtney saw. She knelt down and pulled it out. The paper turned out to be a four-by-five-inch rectangle. Courtney turned it over. When she saw what it was, she started to cry.
“What is it?” Dodger asked.
“It’s an accident,” she said, wiping her eyes. “No way this was left on purpose.”
Courtney handed him the paper. Dodger took a long look and asked softly, “This him?”
Courtney nodded. It was a photo that could have been taken at a local drugstore on Second Earth. It had a cheesy fake background that looked like a Cape Cod beach. Courtney knew it was fake because she didn’t think Mark had ever been to Cape Cod and nobody in the picture was dressed for the beach. It was a photo of Mark and his mom and dad…the mom and dad who had been killed. It was the sudden, shocking death of his parents that catapulted Mark into the trouble he now faced, and the trouble he was bringing to Halla.
“He looks about fourteen here,” Courtney said. “He’s older now.”
“His parents?” Dodger asked.
Courtney nodded. She took the picture back. She wanted to see it again. She wanted to see the old Mark. The Mark who ate too many carrots and loved Japanese animation. The Mark who was Bobby’s best friend and had become her best friend once the doorway to Halla had opened. She wanted to see that Mark again. She wanted to hear him stutter. She wanted to know why the hell he had done what he did.
Courtney wiped her eyes and stood up, tucking the photo into her back pocket. She was in control again.
“So what do we do?” Dodger asked.
“We talk to the neighbors,” Courtney announced, all business. “Somebody here must have known him. Maybe they know where he went.”
They started on the fourth floor and worked their way down, knocking on doors and asking suspicious neighbors if they knew anything about Mark and where he might have gone. They pretty much got the same answer each time. Many people saw Mark, but nobody spoke with him. Nobody had a clue as to what had happened to him either. After a futile hour Courtney and Dodger found themselves back out in front of the building, not knowing much more than when they had started.
“At least we know he was here,” Dodger offered hopefully. “That’s something. Maybe I can call the city, or the post office, and see if he left a forwarding address.”
Courtney brightened. “That’s a good idea!”
“Thank you,” Dodger said. “Trust me yet?”
“No. No offense, but no.”
“None taken. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
As if on cue, a taxicab screeched to a stop at the curb next to them.
“See?” Dodger exclaimed. “Things are looking up already!”
The two got in the cab and settled in for the ride uptown.
“Manhattan Tower Hotel,” Dodger said to the cabbie. “Don’t take the scenic route.”
“No, sir!” the cabbie said brightly. “I’ll get you right where you need to be.”
Courtney froze. She knew that voice. It took her two seconds to process the information and make a decision.
“Get out!” she yelled at Dodger.
“Wha—?” he asked dumbly.
“Get out of the car!” she screamed, and grabbed at the door handle. It was locked. She went for the door lock. It was sawed off. She lurched across Dodger’s lap to the door on his side. It was just as locked and just as sawed off.
“What are you doing?” Dodger asked in confusion.
“Yeah,” the cabbie said. “What are you doing? Don’t want to take a spin with me?”
Courtney didn’t have to look at the cabbie to know who it was, but she looked anyway. A glass partition separated the front seat from the back, but she could still see the cabbie as plain as could be. Staring back at them, wearing the floppy hat of a New York cabbie, was Andy Mitchell.
“Saint Dane,” Courtney whispered.
“Who?” Dodger asked.
Mitchell snorted, smiled, and exclaimed, “Let’s roll!”
The cab lurched forward, throwing Courtney and Dodger back into the seat.
“Hey!” Dodger screamed. “Are you nuts?”
“If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked me that…,” Mitchell said with a laugh.
“Who is he?” Dodger asked Courtney.
“He’s the bad guy,” Courtney answered.
“Pleased to meet you!” Mitchell said, tipping his cap. “Mitchell’s the name.”
“I thought you said his name was Saint Dane?” Dodger asked Courtney.
The cab screeched around a corner, seemingly up on two wheels. Courtney fell into Dodger. The tires dug into the road. The car flew forward.
“Where’s Mark?’ Courtney yelled.
“You’re too late.” Mitchell laughed. “He’s a big shot now. He won’t be living in dumps like that anymore.”
Horns blared as the cab snaked through traffic.
“Hey, Mac! Slow down!” Dodger ordered, banging on the glass.
“What’s the matter, bellboy? Ain’t you up for a little adventure?”
Dodger yanked on the door. It was a waste of energy.
“How did you do it, Saint Dane?” Courtney snarled. “How did you get Mark to come here?”
Andy Mitchell laughed and gave a humble shrug. “Hey, it’s what I do.”
He turned the wheel hard, cutting off another car, sending it careening off the road and onto a sidewalk.
“Yeehaaa!” Mitchell shouted with exhilaration.
Dodger yelled just as loud. In terror.
Andy yanked the wheel the other way. They bounced off the sidewalk and screamed across three lanes of traffic. Cars spun out and skidded into one another to avoid the cab from hell. Dodger leaned back in his seat and kicked at the glass partition that kept them away from Saint Dane.
“Stop…the…car!” he ordered.
“Why are you doing this?” Courtney yelled. “If you wanted to kill me, you could have done it a thousand times over.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Chetwynde. I just want to have a little fun.”
“It’s below you to torture me,” Courtney said, trying to keep her voice in control. She was scared to death, but she didn’t want to let Saint Dane know that.
“Then consider this a favor,” he said.
“Favor?” Dodger shouted. He kicked at the glass. It was too thick to break.
Mitchell skidded into a turn. Courtney saw the Hudson River directly in front of them. The demon spun the wheel again and they were on the West Side Highway, headed south, parallel to the wide river.
“Why is this a favor, Saint Dane?” Courtney asked, trying to stay focused and keep the fear back.
“Your job is done, Chetwynde,” Andy Mitchell said. “You did exactly what I needed you to do. Now it’s time for you to toddle on home.”
“I can’t break the glass,” Dodger screamed.
Courtney barely knew Dodger was even there. She was focused on Andy. On Saint Dane.
“What did I do?” she asked.
“Isn’t that obvious?” Mitchell laughed. “Sorry you nearly died in Vermont but, hey, if that’s what it took, so be it. Nice to see you’re not crippled anymore.”
Mitchell laughed and jammed past two drivers who were going too slowly for him. They blasted their horns. Mitchell giggled and waved at them.
“What are you talking about?” Courtney demanded.
“Are you stupid or do you just look it?” Mitchell asked. “We came to your rescue. Dimond and me. It was a real bonding experience. After I helped save your life, I looked like a real hero to him. After that, he trusted me, and it was all thanks to you.”
Mitchell bashed into the traffic divider, blowing out the right front wheel. The car lurched to the right, but Mitchell kept in control and charged on.
“That’s why you ran me off the road in Massachusetts?” Courtney asked. “So you and Mark could come to my rescue?”
Mitchell turned all the way around, taking his eyes off the road. He looked right at Courtney and grinned. “Face it, Chetwynde. You delivered Mark Dimond. Now that I’ve got him, I’ve got Halla.”
“No!” Courtney lost it. She screamed and banged on the glass. Her fists were only inches from Andy Mitchell. From Saint Dane. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to bash his smug face. She wanted him to die.
“Look out!” Dodger shouted.
The cab flew down an exit ramp and off the elevated highway. Andy Mitchell casually looked forward and took the wheel, steering clear of a cement barrier.
“Whoa, that would have hurt,” he said calmly.
The flat tire was shredded but the car charged on. Sparks flew from the metal rim that was now the fourth wheel. They were at the bottom of Manhattan, where the river widened out to become a harbor. Long piers jutted out into the water. Traffic picked up, but Andy Mitchell didn’t slow down.
“Where is he?” Courtney screamed, banging on the glass. “Tell me where he is!”
Mitchell turned the wheel one last time. He flew off the road, cut off a car, and bounced over the sidewalk. They were headed for one of the piers that stretched into the river. People strolled along casually, enjoying the day and admiring the view. Not for long. At the sound of the oncoming cab, they dove out of the way to avoid being mashed. The cab charged forward, blasting onto the wide pier.
“Hey! Dead end!” Dodger shouted.
“Is it?” Mitchell asked innocently. “Oops.”
Courtney didn’t care. She was beyond caring.
“Go home, Chetwynde,” Mitchell said calmly. “See your parents. Cuddle up with your mechanical cat. You have a couple of older brothers, don’t you? Spend some time with them. The battle is over. There’s nothing left for anybody to do but sit back and watch me fly.”
Courtney became calm. It didn’t matter that they were hurtling toward the end of the pier. She sat back in the seat and folded her arms.
“You’re wrong,” she said calmly. “It’s not close to being over. Bobby won’t let that happen, and neither will I.”
Andy Mitchell whipped around to look into the backseat. Only he wasn’t Andy Mitchell anymore. His face had transformed into that of Saint Dane. His blue-white eyes flashed. The bloodred veins in his bald head flared.
“Then you’ll just have to die!” he hissed.
Dodger screamed.
The car crashed through a wooden barrier at the end of the pier and sailed into the air. Saint Dane melted into black smoke and blew out the window. Courtney and Dodger were alone as the cab sailed down and hit the water with a bone-jarring shudder.