Chapter Thirteen
Alice
ALL THE WAY back, through the heavy snow, Mattie listens uncomplaining to the long complicated game Oren has dreamed up. It’s something to do with Yoda and Luke having to save Han Solo from the ice caves before Darth Vader gets him. From what I remember of the movie this isn’t exactly what happens, but it’s not unusual for Oren to make up his own story. Scott said that Oren was “working through” his issues by playacting these stories, that Darth Vader stood in for Davis. Sometimes I’m Princess Leia, but today he’s decided that Mattie is the older Princess Leia from the new Star Wars movie and I’m Rey, the kick-ass heroine. That’s okay with me. There have been whole afternoons when I had to pretend to be Chewbacca.
The truth is I’m grateful for Oren’s distraction. There’s no opportunity for me to talk to Mattie, to come clean about Davis. She’d definitely call the police, which is what we should do. Since Davis isn’t dead there’s less of a chance that Oren will end up in juvie for just a stab wound. It’s Davis who will go to jail for killing Scott.
And Oren? Where will Oren go?
“Alice? Earth to Alice. I’m talking to you!”
I turn back to look at Oren. He’s waggling the green Yoda at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Weren’t you listening to me?” Annoyance is seeping back into his voice. I see Mattie flick her eyes toward me, suspicion and distrust etched on her face. She hasn’t trusted me since I pulled Oren’s arm back at the convent.
“I was listening, buddy,” I say, making sure my voice is extra loving and patient. “Luke and Yoda have to save Han Solo from the ice caves while Princess Leia and Rey are marshalling the resistance.”
“But didn’t you hear what I said about Darth Vader?” He kicks the back of my seat for emphasis.
I swallow a curse. “What about Darth Vader? I thought the Emperor killed him.”
“No! He was just pretending to be dead. He’s alive and he’s coming for Luke and Leia. He’s already killed Lando.”
Something icy crawls down my spine. It’s just a story, I tell myself. Oren has no way of knowing about my phone call with Davis. “It’s all right,” I say automatically. “Darth Vader doesn’t know where Luke and Leia and Rey are and their location is . . . cloaked. Look”—I point out the window—“you think that’s snow? It’s really a cloaking device hiding Luke and Leia and Rey’s location.”
I’m proud of myself for coming up with this colorful solution, but Mattie is staring at me and Oren looks dubious. He peers out the window as if trying to make out enemy Death Stars through the swirling snow. Mattie is watching him in the rearview mirror. We’re both, I realize, waiting for his verdict.
“I don’t know if it will cloak us,” he says finally, “but I bet it will slow him down.”
Mattie grins, but I feel the ice spread from my spine into my gut. “No one at Sanctuary would tell anyone where we are,” I say to Mattie, “would they?”
“Of course not,” Mattie says with a prissy little cluck of her tongue. “That’s the first thing we teach our volunteers. Everything about the client is confidential. Don’t worry. We’re safe as houses.”
“Safe as houses,” Oren repeats to himself, obviously pleased with the phrase. “Safe as houses.” As he says it a second time, Mattie’s house looms out of the snow as if he has made it appear by magic. The way he made those tickets to Delphi appear. The way he made those footsteps appear in the maze. The kid’s creepy, Davis said to me once. It had shocked me that a father would talk about his son like that, but I’ve caught myself thinking the same thing sometimes.
When I look out the rear window the road has vanished, as if the snow has swallowed up the rest of the world and all that’s left is this old house. I briefly wish that Oren and I had stayed at the convent or that Best Western. But it’s too late now.
The moment Mattie stops the car Oren jumps out. He runs toward the house, kicking at the new-fallen snow, which is already filling in the path he shoveled earlier. How much more snow is going to fall? I wonder. How will we ever get out of here?
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Alice?” Mattie asks.
“What do you mean?” I snap back too quickly. She sounded so much like Davis for a moment. She’s staring at me with those unnerving lavender eyes as if she could see right through me.
“It’s just you seem nervous.”
“I’m homeless and on the run with a ten-year-old boy. Who wouldn’t be nervous?”
“But the man you were running from is dead,” she says.
I stare at her. Does she know that Davis isn’t dead? Did that policeman tell her something? Did he tell her something about me? But if she knew the truth about either me or Davis she would have turned me in already. Oren and I would be sitting at the police station back in town.
“You know that’s not the only man I’m running from,” I answer finally. “Or have you already told the police that we’re here? You seemed pretty chummy with that cop.”
She laughs, which seems to surprise her as much as me. “Trust me,” she says, “he’s no chum of mine.” And then, putting her hand on my shoulder, “I didn’t tell him you were here, Alice. I know what it’s like to lose a child. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment and I start to relax. Then something hits the window hard behind me. I jump and swivel around as Mattie powers down the window to reveal Oren, his face red from the cold, his eyes strangely excited. “He’s gone!” he shouts, his voice high and shrill in my ear.
“Who?” I cry, grabbing his arm. “Did you see someone? Who was it?”
He winces at my touch—I’ve grabbed the same arm I dislocated before—and looks past me toward Mattie. “Han Solo. He’s gone! Someone’s taken him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mattie
OREN INSISTS ON dragging me down the snow-filled path to the place where Han Solo isn’t. There’s the little scooped-out niche where he placed the action figure and it is, indeed, empty. I remember thinking that I should take the toy before we left because I wasn’t planning on bringing Oren and Alice back here. But did I? I surreptitiously check my pockets but find only cough-drop wrappers and balled-up tissues. I search my memory as well but find only a similar assortment of detritus. “Maybe he fell down,” I suggest.
Oren drops to his knees and sweeps the loose snow. “I already looked,” he says. “Somebody took him.” He looks up at me accusingly.
“Not me, buddy,” I say, hoping that it’s not a lie.
“Then it was somebody else,” Oren says, his voice quirking up at the end.
“Somebody else who did what?” Alice asks. She’s taken her time following us from the car—maybe to collect her thoughts. She’d looked rattled by my question and then she’d jumped like a nervous cat when Oren smacked the window. She’d jumped the way a woman with a history of being hit jumps.
“Somebody took Han Solo!” Oren cries. “Was it you, Alice?”
“The action figure Oren left here is gone,” I explain.
Alice sighs. “I’ve told you not to leave your toys outside.” And then to me, “He’s always leaving them places around the neighborhood.”
“That’s how you play the game, dummy!” Oren punctuates the sentence by kicking Alice’s leg.