D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

“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.