CHAPTER TWO

I stole my way down the dim hallway until a corridor opened on either side. My dilemma of which way to turn was decided when Busy Clipboard Guy came down the hall on my right. I ducked to the left, thankfully not attracting his attention. At the end of the hall I found a small room with a few tables, chairs, and a couple of vending machines. I slid into a chair, tossed my bag on the floor and leaned back in relief.

My heart pounded a tribal beat that certainly could be heard for miles. It had worked! I was backstage for HIS concert and, so far, had eluded capture. One of the knots in my stomach began to unwind. Placing my face in my hands, I started whispering the words of an old hymn, grabbing for confidence like a child stroking a lucky rabbit’s foot.

“When peace like a river attendeth my way.

When sorrows like sea-billows roll.

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,

‘It is well, it is well…”

I pulled my hands away to discover a dirty freckled face only inches from my own. “Aaaa!” I yelped.

“Ha! Gotcha!” The boy laughed as he pushed a flop of blond hair off his forehead with grimy hands that left a smudge behind. “Who are you?”

“I’m Esther. Who are you?” I clutched my shaking hands in my lap.

“I’m Jeremiah and I’m bored. Do you want to play?”

“Actually… um… ”

“I’m eight,” he announced. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” The age I’d acquired less than a week before still sounded strange to me.

“You don’t look that old,” Jeremiah stated as if telling an octogenarian he didn’t look a day over seventy-nine.

“Is that good?”

“Definitely! I’m tired of old people.” He plopped down in one of the plastic chairs and pulled an apple out of his pocket. Now that the panic had ebbed, I detected a British clip in his voice. “I’m hiding from old Wally because every time he sees me he tells me to ‘stay out of the way.’” He swept a commanding arm in imitation of this formidable person. “Who’re you hiding from?”

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” I replied with a nervous laugh.

“Well,” he leaned his head to one side, “every other grown-up is rushing around and acting important and you’re not, so I thought perhaps you were tired of them too.”

“It is pretty busy out there. I guess I am hiding.”

“You’re lucky I found you because I know some wizard hideouts,” he boasted. “Apple?” he produced another from his pocket.

“Thanks.” In my relief at having found a friend, I reached for the proffered fruit and took a bite, not even caring what else had been in that pocket.

As we munched, Jeremiah offered to show me around. “But you must promise to remain unseen. You see I’m spy number O-Seventeen and I have to save the world. If I’m caught behind enemy lines…” He drew a finger across his throat.

Jeremiah’s delight when I agreed to his terms was infectious. Actually, his spy game suited my own purposes to a T.

He hopped to his feet and hid just inside the doorframe, motioning for me to stay behind him. Thus we made our way down the hall, Jeremiah diving and rolling around corners, speaking into his microscopic “communicator,” dodging prying eyes and bullets alike with finesse as I followed with as much stealth as the dress and heels allowed.

Jeremiah possessed amazing timing as well as the instincts of a cat. At one door, I heard voices on the other side as he deposited me in an unoccupied room across the hall then slipped, crawling, through the other door. When he emerged, breathless, thirty heart-pounding seconds later, he grabbed my hand. “Retreat!”

I heard a noise behind us. Uh oh. The game became deadly serious. We dashed around corners until blocked by a set of locked double doors. Our pursuant was closing in.

I pulled a hairpin from my hair and inserted it into the lock. It clicked. Jeremiah’s eyes glowed with admiration. “Brilliant!”

I grabbed the knob—no go. But… that always worked for Nancy Drew. Half of the hairpin fell into my hand as our eyes locked in panic and we stifled gasps of laughter. The sound of footsteps was closer than ever.

I grabbed Jeremiah’s hand, pulling him around the nearest corner where I yanked off my heels and, panic-stricken, raced toward an open door. What appeared to be a large storage room full of props, lights, costumes, and countless other items opened before us. We wove as fast as we could up, around, over, and through the disorganized array, until we paused in a small niche behind a mound of boxes with flower arrangements poking out the top. For several excruciating moments, we listened. All was silent. Finally, we stood, me looking over the top as Jeremiah peeked around the side. Nothing.

We collapsed against the wall snorting with laughter, then replayed every close call with delight.

“I was able to obtain supplies, sir,” Jeremiah pulled canned soft drinks and apples out of the pockets of his cargo-style pants. We crept out of hiding and found seats at a fifties-style soda fountain crammed between stacked sofas and a couple streetlights.

“Who was that chasing us? “

“I can’t be sure, but I think Jerky-eye saw me.”

“Jerky-eye?” Images of Frankenstein filled my mind.

“Perhaps you’ll meet him. He’s not bad—for an add-ult.” Jeremiah emphasized the word with distaste.

“You know, if this Jerky-eye was looking for you, I’ll bet someone’s worried. Is there anybody you should check in with, just to let them know you’re okay?”

“Not today!” Jeremiah’s eyes sparkled. “The nanny Father hired had to leave. I’m celebrating!”

“Your father is here?”

“Oh yes. I travel with Father. Usually it’s fun, but when it gets close to show time I know to stay out of the way!” He flourished the half-eaten apple. “Last week I found a tiny ladder that went way up into the lights. Father was furious when he found out, but it was worth it.”

I tried to convince Jeremiah to let people know he was okay, but he refused to retrace our steps unless I went with him.

We decided to return to “base camp”—the vending room—since I had run off without my backpack at the beginning of the game. We made our way, Jeremiah’s SWAT team maneuvers calling the shots, to our original meeting place where we fell into the chairs.

My backpack was still in the room although I could’ve sworn I had left it on the floor rather than the tabletop.

Jeremiah dug deep into his pocket. “I bought some excellent candy today. Would you like to try it?” He held out a fluorescent green and orange bag with a cartoon picture of a boy with smoke curling from his ears and tears pouring from blood-shot eyes.

“That looks… very tempting,” I replied, “but I prefer not to eat things that fry my brain.”

“You’ll like it! Honest!”

Right. I had brothers. I could smell a rat. “Promise you’re not trying to kill me?”

“Father tried it. Jerky-eye did too.”

So it was the double-dog-dare. I glared at his too-innocent expression. “Where did you hide the bodies?” I took the radioactive-looking blob from his hand and placed it on my tongue.

As suspected, the substance was a great deal less than pleasant as it popped and sizzled while the acidic flavor brought tears to my eyes. I raced for the receptacle next to the vending machines and spit. Then, accompanied by Jeremiah’s maniacal laughter, I turned to slurp from the water fountain, rinsing and spitting with relish, knowing this action would further entertain my eight-year-old tormentor. When I turned, adding a fake gag for good measure, we were no longer alone.

How does a deer feel upon impact with a Mack truck? I no longer had to wonder.