The Spaces In Between (Exit 13, Book 2), page 4
Todd thundered a gastric reply: BWURP!
That broke the tension.
Joris said, “People have been reporting eyewitness accounts of unidentified flying objects for decades. Pilots, ordinary citizens, military personnel. But when people try to tell others about it, they get laughed at, ridiculed.”
“The black swan theory,” Darwin mumbled.
“Exactly,” Velma said, looking from Ash to Willow. “Most people think all swans are white. No one believes in rare black swans—until they see one.”
“People won’t change their minds unless”—Todd pointed an index finger skyward—“aliens come along and take them up, up, and away. Then they start believing real fast.”
“Nonbelievers become believers.” Ren snapped her fingers. “Boom.”
Ash wondered what they knew about liminal spaces. Probably a lot. “You guys are, like, amazing. I mean it. You make being smart seem cool. Forget aliens. I didn’t even know there were black swans!”
“You two are pretty awesome yourselves,” Ren said. “If anyone is going to save our planet—it’ll be young people like you.”
“I heard a joke today,” Velma announced. “Why don’t aliens eat clowns?”
She waited a beat and said, “They taste funny.”
Groans all around. Except for one ripple of laughter: Hee-hee, hee-haw, hee-hee. Ash’s ears pricked up. He knew that laugh. He’d heard it before. He looked at Darwin, the quiet one. Mr. Pajama Bottoms. This was the guy who watched him return to his room late at night. What did he say?
What you been up to, bro?
It might have been nothing. Just a teasing laugh at the end of a long, long night. Hee-hee, hee-haw, hee-hee.
Ash decided that he’d keep a close eye on the one named Darwin.
Willow’s phone pinged. She glanced at it:
A.F.: Your friend is in danger.
Willow typed a quick response.
Willow: My brother, Ash?
A.F.: No, your friend. Grave danger.
Willow: Who is this???
“Why is the UFO Fest held in this town?” Ash asked. “I mean, out of all the places.”
Todd replied, “There are festivals all around the country. Roswell, New Mexico, most famously. Vegas has a killer one. But why specifically here? Legend has it that years ago a UFO landed right near this spot. Supposedly somewhere back in those woods behind the motel.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s the story, yeah.”
“And do you believe it?” Ash asked.
Monica snickered. “Todd believes everything. There isn’t a conspiracy theory he doesn’t believe.”
Todd grinned. “Look, there were witnesses. People talked about it. They wrote about it in their diaries. Do I believe it? Sure, I do. I’d bet my last marshmallow on it. The only problem I have is the landing spot. Why would a spaceship land in the middle of a forest? Why not pick a clearing? Extraterrestrials wouldn’t just drop down on a bunch of trees.”
Willow glanced at Ash. He was thinking the same thing. The scary place where they found Daisy, tangled in vines. It felt haunted. Unreal. Not of this world.
“I think we’ve been there,” Ash said. “A perfectly round, flat clearing where nothing grows. It’s back in those woods. Not too far.”
Willow felt goose bumps along her skin. Just thinking about it—the rush of memories—made her skin crawl.
Joris leaned forward. In a hushed voice, he asked, “Can you take us there tomorrow?”
THE WOLF OUTSIDE Exit 13 Motel was howling, howling, howling.
It sounded like a storm brewing. Wind bending trees, tree limbs cracking. But when Willow listened closely, there was no wind. The only sound was the ghostly howls of the dire wolf. No other wolf answered; it was alone and, perhaps, upset. Was that even possible? Unlike Ash, Willow hadn’t actually seen the wolf in real life yet—but she had heard its howls.
Daisy restlessly circled the blanket on the floor. Pulled at it with her teeth, tugged, poked at it, and got it tangled up in her paws. The goldendoodle finally plopped down. She whined. Willow reached down and placed a hand on Daisy’s rump.
“I’ve never heard the wolf like this before, LB,” Willow said to the darkness.
“Same,” Ash replied from his bed.
And she was right. Tonight, the wolf sounded troubled, pained. It began in a mournful, high-pitched moan—like a whale song. Eerie and sorrowful. And slowly built into a deeper, full-throated howl. Owoooooo. A cry for help.
Ash knew what the wolf wanted.
Or who it wanted.
You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, he told the wolf in his thoughts. You can tell me your troubles tomorrow.
But to Willow he said, “Wolves are territorial. It might just be saying, ‘I am here, this place is mine.’ ” He didn’t believe his own words. He just wanted his sister to relax. It was after midnight and they both needed to sleep. It had been a late night. And tomorrow …
“I don’t think so,” Willow replied. She tossed in bed, flipping over the pillow. “It’s trying to communicate something. What do you think it’s saying, Ash? You know things.”
“It’s saying, ‘Go to sleep, Willow,’ ” Ash replied.
Easier said than done. Willow felt wide-awake, puzzling over the mysterious texts. Could they be correct? Was Kristoff—what was the phrase?—in grave danger? As in deadly? Kristoff had disappeared after lunch and still hadn’t returned. Fortunately Mr. Do stepped up to take the front desk. He said these things happened from time to time. That it was no concern. But Willow could see the creases in his forehead. The way his lips downturned into a frown. The motel caretaker was worried, too. This wasn’t normal.
Did it all connect?
The howling wolf, the worry, and Kristoff?
Was there a thread that ran through all three?
Her churning mind returned to the texts. Who was sending them? Willow tried process of elimination. It had to be someone from the motel. No one else, none of her friends from home, could reach her. Ash denied it. She believed him. That left her parents, Kristoff, and Mr. Do. What about the man from room 6? A very creepy thought. She would have to learn more about that dude. A little spying when he left the room. But Willow had a strong feeling that the mysterious messenger was an ally of some kind. Not a friend-friend, not someone she knew, but on her side. The UFO crowd? No, she had received a text when they were sitting around together. Unless she missed something, it couldn’t be them. Her thoughts returned again to the man in room 6. He didn’t seem like an ally at all.
On impulse, she tapped out a message on her phone:
Willow: Do you believe in UFOs?
The answer was immediate:
A.F.: Of course!
Willow: Ha!
Willow: I am worried about Kristoff.
She waited several minutes for an answer.
A.F.: We all are.
THE LAST TIME Ash had ventured into the forest, it had been night. He had walked trancelike, shivering in a slantways rain. Trees damp and dripping. The ancient forest whispering his name. Shadow upon shadow. He felt chilled at the memory. The terror of that night. How in the darkness he had come to the clearing and crossed over, into the beyond. How he had returned clutching a water-drenched, half-dead cat.
This time, he told himself, would be different.
This time, he would not travel beyond the clearing.
It was daylight. And he was not alone.
How bad could it be?
Ash and Daisy paused at a spot where the towering pines assembled. Sunlight streaked though the branches, dappled on the fallen pine needles. The group behind him chattered noisily, stomping like cattle. Todd, Joris, Ren, Sash, and Darwin. Monica and Velma had opted out, intending to eat at a vegan place in town. “I don’t hike, period,” Monica admitted last night. “Not my jam.”
Willow had work back at the motel.
The group gathered for a water break. “You’re a sweet, sweet dog,” Ren told Daisy. “I have a bullmastiff at home. One hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle. Named Mulder after, you know, the character in the X-Files. Man, I crushed hard on that guy when I was a kid.” She scratched behind Daisy’s ears.
“Okay, that’s it! I’ve already been bitten by, like, twelve thousand blood-sucking mosquitoes,” Todd complained. He looked flushed and sweaty. They’d only been walking for twenty minutes. “I keep killing ’em and they keep coming. It’s like the Battle of Helm’s Deep from The Lord of the Rings.”
“Right, sure, Todd. Slapping at bugs,” Joris teased. “That’s exactly the same thing as Aragorn and Legolas fighting off an army of Saruman’s Orcs.”
“Here.” Darwin unzipped his pack and handed over a can of bug spray. “Lay it on thick, bro.”
Ash looked around. Today, the forest was silent. The trees were not talking to him. Probably because he was not alone. The path was clear. He felt safe and secure. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this,” Joris said, patting him on the back.
They kept walking.
The trail grew narrower. The underbrush crowded in. Vines choked trees, writhed on the forest floor like snakes. “Watch your step,” Ash warned. “Don’t leave the trail.”
The trees huddled closer, blocking out the lowering sun.
The forest gradually darkened to a semi-twilight.
The joking and laughter grew quiet. The hikers fell into a steady rhythm. One foot in front of the other. Daisy stayed in the lead. Sometimes she’d scamper ahead but would always pause to wait or backtrack, nosing up against Ash before again racing to the front.
The group straggled. Ash and Joris in front. Sash and his enormous, scruffy beard were next. (Sash reminded Ash of Yukon Cornelius from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindoor. “Bumbles bounce!”) Ren was doing her own thing, pausing to marvel at exotic mushrooms, enjoying nature. Ren was fit and athletic, so keeping up was not a problem for her. Darwin and Todd toiled in the rear.
“Hey, Joris,” Ash asked. “Do you know about liminal spaces?”
“Whoa. How old are you, kid?”
“Almost twelve.”
“And you are interested in liminal spaces? I’m impressed.”
Ash shrugged. “I’m not even sure what it means.”
Joris pulled off his glasses, wiping them on his T-shirt. He held them up to the light. Replaced them on his nose. “Okay, let’s see. Liminal spaces. It’s like … the places in-between. Imagine someone who lives in an airport, living in a space between destinations. Not quite anywhere. Does that make sense?”
Ash concentrated, faltered.
Joris tried again, “Are you familiar with the concept of limbo?”
Before Ash could answer, Sash began singing, “Sitting here in limbo …”
Ren joined in, “Like a bird without a song …”
They’d been listening to Ash’s conversation.
Joris smiled, grooving to the song. “Liminal spaces are betwixt and between, neither this nor that, a phase between the world you know … and the unknown.”
Ash wondered if Exit 13 Motel was a liminal space. Could that be it? Had his family been caught in an in-between space?
Neither, nor.
Like a doctor’s waiting room.
Betwixt and between.
He smiled at Joris. “Yeah, that helps, thanks.”
“Think about a butterfly before it becomes a butterfly,” Joris said. “The transition from egg, to larva, to chrysalis, and finally to butterfly! Those are liminal phases.”
“How much farther?” Todd called out. “My dogs are barking.”
“What?” Ash turned to Joris.
“It means his feet are hurting,” Joris explained. “Typical Todd. He only complains when his lips are moving.”
“Not far. Just up this hill,” Ash called back.
“A hill? You’re killing me, kid! I thought this was supposed to be fun,” Todd grumbled.
Ash suddenly stopped, seized by a sharp pain in his head. He leaned up against the bole of an oak.
Two voices reached his skull.
One said, “You okay, kid? Here, take a break, drink some water.”
The other voice came from inside his skull. It called out weakly, Help them, Ash. Come find them before it’s too late.
Ash gulped down the water. He blinked to clear his head. Through the trees, dim in the gathering fog, he saw the shape of the wolf. Bushy tail, sharp ears, fearsome snout.
Red eyes watching him.
IT WAS 4:00 in the afternoon and Kristoff still hadn’t returned. Something was wrong.
Mr. Do filled in, performing Kristoff’s duties. Willow handled the housekeeping. Every hour or so, she entered the office. “Any news?”
Mr. Do shook his head. Not a word.
Willow lingered in the lobby. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Do?”
“Long time,” he answered without taking his eyes off the computer screen.
“Does Kristoff’s mother need anything? I could help with food or—”
“All taken care of,” the handyman replied. And added after a pause, “You are kind to ask.”
“I was wondering …”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“The guest in room six.”
“Mr. Hoover.”
“What’s the deal with that guy? He was super unfriendly yesterday. Something about him feels off. When everyone was at the festival yesterday, he stayed at the motel. He said not to disturb him. But should I still, like, clean the room or—”
“If the DO NOT DISTURB sign is hanging from the doorknob, you do not disturb,” Mr. Do replied matter-of-factly.
“Not even for garbage or towels?”
“Do not disturb.”
“Oh.” Willow paused, shifting strategies. “So do you think he’s here for the UFO thing?”
Mr. Do looked at Willow, not unkindly. “First job, no?”
She nodded.
“It is not our job to ask questions.” He rhythmically slapped an open palm with the back of his hand. “Some guests want, want, want. They keep us running. Other guests—they want to be left alone. Easier that way.”
Willow sat in one of the office’s three mismatched chairs. “Are you trapped here, too, Mr. Do? Like us?”
Mr. Do’s lips tightened. He returned his gaze to the computer. “The motel is different for every guest. They come and they go. Some stay longer than others.”
It was frustrating. Mr. Do had a way of answering questions without answering them. He talked in riddles. Willow wondered if it was a cultural thing? Or just the way he was? A keeper of secrets? “Do you worry that something happened to him? Kristoff, I mean.” Something about saying Kristoff’s name out loud brought her emotions to the surface. A crack in her voice. “Like, I don’t know, something bad?”
“You think he was abducted by UFO?” Mr. Do grinned, pleased with his joke. Willow didn’t laugh. He saw the wet shimmer in her eyes. He had heard, and ignored, the fear in her voice. “I am sorry. But worry does not help bring the water to a boil. Is the laundry finished? The walkway swept? Every room spotless? Work will help your heart and mind.” Movement outside the window caught his attention. His jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Willow followed Mr. Do’s gaze. Mr. Hoover from room 6 strode purposefully to his car. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving fast.
Willow felt it in her bones. A gut instinct. This guy had something to do with Kristoff’s disappearance. After all, the anonymous message had already been sent: Beware of the man in room six. Willow made a decision. “You are right, Mr. Do. I have to hand it to you. When you know, you know! I’ll go check the laundry and, um, I still have a few … other things … to do.”
The old man nodded distractedly.
He was playing Tetris on the computer.
A few moments later, Willow opened the door to room 6. She pulled the curtains closed, not wanting to be seen by anyone passing by. Willow scanned the room. The computers hummed softly. The screens were blank, in rest mode.
The previous day, over Mr. Hoover’s shoulder, she saw folders and papers. What a name, huh? Hoover. Like the vacuum cleaner. He sucks. Willow chuckled to herself. She popped her earbuds in out of habit; music helped her think. Where were those folders now? She began to search the room.
Under the bed, in the bathroom, in the closet. An aluminum suitcase had the name X-STAR CORP stamped on it. She’d have to look that up later. On the night table, beside the phone, sat a wooden carving. It was a—well, it was hard to tell exactly what it was. A sick duck? A mangled bear? Hoover was no Michelangelo, that much was for sure. Willow kept moving, searching quickly, unsure of what she was seeking. Some evidence of Kristoff? Mr. Hoover was a precise person, everything in its place. Two pairs of shoes in a tidy row. One solitary wrapper in the garbage can. An Almond Joy candy bar. Shredded coconut. How could anyone eat that stuff? Gross, puke.
Willow looked through the clothes drawers. In the bottom drawer, beneath the socks, she found a large knife in a sheath. Okay, that was sort of normal. All sorts of folks had knives for plenty of reasons other than stabbing people. But still, Willow’s heart climbed into her throat. She audibly gasped and shut the drawer. She felt stressed and anxious. Willow wanted to get out of there, fast. But at the time, here was her best chance to solve the mystery. Kristoff was missing. He was in grave danger. Nerves vibrating, Willow forced herself to be brave. She sat before the main computer, hit a key, and the machine leaped to life. It was password protected. Probably encrypted. Figures, she thought. She’d seen detectives solve passwords with guesses. It was worth a try. Willow began to type: H-O-O-V-E-R-6 …
She did not hear the door slowly, cautiously open.
(The closed curtains had alerted him.)
When Willow finally turned her head, there he stood, glaring. Dressed in the same black suit. Bald, shiny head. Mirror sunglasses. For the first time, there was a smile on Mr. Hoover’s face.
He actually looked happy to see her.
Not good.
WHEN THEY FIRST REACHED the clearing, no one could believe it. Which was curious, because, after all, this was a group of believers. UFOs, alien abductions, wild conspiracies. Believing was how they rolled. Sash literally wore a denim jacket with the word BELIEVE painted on the back in capital letters.
That broke the tension.
Joris said, “People have been reporting eyewitness accounts of unidentified flying objects for decades. Pilots, ordinary citizens, military personnel. But when people try to tell others about it, they get laughed at, ridiculed.”
“The black swan theory,” Darwin mumbled.
“Exactly,” Velma said, looking from Ash to Willow. “Most people think all swans are white. No one believes in rare black swans—until they see one.”
“People won’t change their minds unless”—Todd pointed an index finger skyward—“aliens come along and take them up, up, and away. Then they start believing real fast.”
“Nonbelievers become believers.” Ren snapped her fingers. “Boom.”
Ash wondered what they knew about liminal spaces. Probably a lot. “You guys are, like, amazing. I mean it. You make being smart seem cool. Forget aliens. I didn’t even know there were black swans!”
“You two are pretty awesome yourselves,” Ren said. “If anyone is going to save our planet—it’ll be young people like you.”
“I heard a joke today,” Velma announced. “Why don’t aliens eat clowns?”
She waited a beat and said, “They taste funny.”
Groans all around. Except for one ripple of laughter: Hee-hee, hee-haw, hee-hee. Ash’s ears pricked up. He knew that laugh. He’d heard it before. He looked at Darwin, the quiet one. Mr. Pajama Bottoms. This was the guy who watched him return to his room late at night. What did he say?
What you been up to, bro?
It might have been nothing. Just a teasing laugh at the end of a long, long night. Hee-hee, hee-haw, hee-hee.
Ash decided that he’d keep a close eye on the one named Darwin.
Willow’s phone pinged. She glanced at it:
A.F.: Your friend is in danger.
Willow typed a quick response.
Willow: My brother, Ash?
A.F.: No, your friend. Grave danger.
Willow: Who is this???
“Why is the UFO Fest held in this town?” Ash asked. “I mean, out of all the places.”
Todd replied, “There are festivals all around the country. Roswell, New Mexico, most famously. Vegas has a killer one. But why specifically here? Legend has it that years ago a UFO landed right near this spot. Supposedly somewhere back in those woods behind the motel.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s the story, yeah.”
“And do you believe it?” Ash asked.
Monica snickered. “Todd believes everything. There isn’t a conspiracy theory he doesn’t believe.”
Todd grinned. “Look, there were witnesses. People talked about it. They wrote about it in their diaries. Do I believe it? Sure, I do. I’d bet my last marshmallow on it. The only problem I have is the landing spot. Why would a spaceship land in the middle of a forest? Why not pick a clearing? Extraterrestrials wouldn’t just drop down on a bunch of trees.”
Willow glanced at Ash. He was thinking the same thing. The scary place where they found Daisy, tangled in vines. It felt haunted. Unreal. Not of this world.
“I think we’ve been there,” Ash said. “A perfectly round, flat clearing where nothing grows. It’s back in those woods. Not too far.”
Willow felt goose bumps along her skin. Just thinking about it—the rush of memories—made her skin crawl.
Joris leaned forward. In a hushed voice, he asked, “Can you take us there tomorrow?”
THE WOLF OUTSIDE Exit 13 Motel was howling, howling, howling.
It sounded like a storm brewing. Wind bending trees, tree limbs cracking. But when Willow listened closely, there was no wind. The only sound was the ghostly howls of the dire wolf. No other wolf answered; it was alone and, perhaps, upset. Was that even possible? Unlike Ash, Willow hadn’t actually seen the wolf in real life yet—but she had heard its howls.
Daisy restlessly circled the blanket on the floor. Pulled at it with her teeth, tugged, poked at it, and got it tangled up in her paws. The goldendoodle finally plopped down. She whined. Willow reached down and placed a hand on Daisy’s rump.
“I’ve never heard the wolf like this before, LB,” Willow said to the darkness.
“Same,” Ash replied from his bed.
And she was right. Tonight, the wolf sounded troubled, pained. It began in a mournful, high-pitched moan—like a whale song. Eerie and sorrowful. And slowly built into a deeper, full-throated howl. Owoooooo. A cry for help.
Ash knew what the wolf wanted.
Or who it wanted.
You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, he told the wolf in his thoughts. You can tell me your troubles tomorrow.
But to Willow he said, “Wolves are territorial. It might just be saying, ‘I am here, this place is mine.’ ” He didn’t believe his own words. He just wanted his sister to relax. It was after midnight and they both needed to sleep. It had been a late night. And tomorrow …
“I don’t think so,” Willow replied. She tossed in bed, flipping over the pillow. “It’s trying to communicate something. What do you think it’s saying, Ash? You know things.”
“It’s saying, ‘Go to sleep, Willow,’ ” Ash replied.
Easier said than done. Willow felt wide-awake, puzzling over the mysterious texts. Could they be correct? Was Kristoff—what was the phrase?—in grave danger? As in deadly? Kristoff had disappeared after lunch and still hadn’t returned. Fortunately Mr. Do stepped up to take the front desk. He said these things happened from time to time. That it was no concern. But Willow could see the creases in his forehead. The way his lips downturned into a frown. The motel caretaker was worried, too. This wasn’t normal.
Did it all connect?
The howling wolf, the worry, and Kristoff?
Was there a thread that ran through all three?
Her churning mind returned to the texts. Who was sending them? Willow tried process of elimination. It had to be someone from the motel. No one else, none of her friends from home, could reach her. Ash denied it. She believed him. That left her parents, Kristoff, and Mr. Do. What about the man from room 6? A very creepy thought. She would have to learn more about that dude. A little spying when he left the room. But Willow had a strong feeling that the mysterious messenger was an ally of some kind. Not a friend-friend, not someone she knew, but on her side. The UFO crowd? No, she had received a text when they were sitting around together. Unless she missed something, it couldn’t be them. Her thoughts returned again to the man in room 6. He didn’t seem like an ally at all.
On impulse, she tapped out a message on her phone:
Willow: Do you believe in UFOs?
The answer was immediate:
A.F.: Of course!
Willow: Ha!
Willow: I am worried about Kristoff.
She waited several minutes for an answer.
A.F.: We all are.
THE LAST TIME Ash had ventured into the forest, it had been night. He had walked trancelike, shivering in a slantways rain. Trees damp and dripping. The ancient forest whispering his name. Shadow upon shadow. He felt chilled at the memory. The terror of that night. How in the darkness he had come to the clearing and crossed over, into the beyond. How he had returned clutching a water-drenched, half-dead cat.
This time, he told himself, would be different.
This time, he would not travel beyond the clearing.
It was daylight. And he was not alone.
How bad could it be?
Ash and Daisy paused at a spot where the towering pines assembled. Sunlight streaked though the branches, dappled on the fallen pine needles. The group behind him chattered noisily, stomping like cattle. Todd, Joris, Ren, Sash, and Darwin. Monica and Velma had opted out, intending to eat at a vegan place in town. “I don’t hike, period,” Monica admitted last night. “Not my jam.”
Willow had work back at the motel.
The group gathered for a water break. “You’re a sweet, sweet dog,” Ren told Daisy. “I have a bullmastiff at home. One hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle. Named Mulder after, you know, the character in the X-Files. Man, I crushed hard on that guy when I was a kid.” She scratched behind Daisy’s ears.
“Okay, that’s it! I’ve already been bitten by, like, twelve thousand blood-sucking mosquitoes,” Todd complained. He looked flushed and sweaty. They’d only been walking for twenty minutes. “I keep killing ’em and they keep coming. It’s like the Battle of Helm’s Deep from The Lord of the Rings.”
“Right, sure, Todd. Slapping at bugs,” Joris teased. “That’s exactly the same thing as Aragorn and Legolas fighting off an army of Saruman’s Orcs.”
“Here.” Darwin unzipped his pack and handed over a can of bug spray. “Lay it on thick, bro.”
Ash looked around. Today, the forest was silent. The trees were not talking to him. Probably because he was not alone. The path was clear. He felt safe and secure. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this,” Joris said, patting him on the back.
They kept walking.
The trail grew narrower. The underbrush crowded in. Vines choked trees, writhed on the forest floor like snakes. “Watch your step,” Ash warned. “Don’t leave the trail.”
The trees huddled closer, blocking out the lowering sun.
The forest gradually darkened to a semi-twilight.
The joking and laughter grew quiet. The hikers fell into a steady rhythm. One foot in front of the other. Daisy stayed in the lead. Sometimes she’d scamper ahead but would always pause to wait or backtrack, nosing up against Ash before again racing to the front.
The group straggled. Ash and Joris in front. Sash and his enormous, scruffy beard were next. (Sash reminded Ash of Yukon Cornelius from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindoor. “Bumbles bounce!”) Ren was doing her own thing, pausing to marvel at exotic mushrooms, enjoying nature. Ren was fit and athletic, so keeping up was not a problem for her. Darwin and Todd toiled in the rear.
“Hey, Joris,” Ash asked. “Do you know about liminal spaces?”
“Whoa. How old are you, kid?”
“Almost twelve.”
“And you are interested in liminal spaces? I’m impressed.”
Ash shrugged. “I’m not even sure what it means.”
Joris pulled off his glasses, wiping them on his T-shirt. He held them up to the light. Replaced them on his nose. “Okay, let’s see. Liminal spaces. It’s like … the places in-between. Imagine someone who lives in an airport, living in a space between destinations. Not quite anywhere. Does that make sense?”
Ash concentrated, faltered.
Joris tried again, “Are you familiar with the concept of limbo?”
Before Ash could answer, Sash began singing, “Sitting here in limbo …”
Ren joined in, “Like a bird without a song …”
They’d been listening to Ash’s conversation.
Joris smiled, grooving to the song. “Liminal spaces are betwixt and between, neither this nor that, a phase between the world you know … and the unknown.”
Ash wondered if Exit 13 Motel was a liminal space. Could that be it? Had his family been caught in an in-between space?
Neither, nor.
Like a doctor’s waiting room.
Betwixt and between.
He smiled at Joris. “Yeah, that helps, thanks.”
“Think about a butterfly before it becomes a butterfly,” Joris said. “The transition from egg, to larva, to chrysalis, and finally to butterfly! Those are liminal phases.”
“How much farther?” Todd called out. “My dogs are barking.”
“What?” Ash turned to Joris.
“It means his feet are hurting,” Joris explained. “Typical Todd. He only complains when his lips are moving.”
“Not far. Just up this hill,” Ash called back.
“A hill? You’re killing me, kid! I thought this was supposed to be fun,” Todd grumbled.
Ash suddenly stopped, seized by a sharp pain in his head. He leaned up against the bole of an oak.
Two voices reached his skull.
One said, “You okay, kid? Here, take a break, drink some water.”
The other voice came from inside his skull. It called out weakly, Help them, Ash. Come find them before it’s too late.
Ash gulped down the water. He blinked to clear his head. Through the trees, dim in the gathering fog, he saw the shape of the wolf. Bushy tail, sharp ears, fearsome snout.
Red eyes watching him.
IT WAS 4:00 in the afternoon and Kristoff still hadn’t returned. Something was wrong.
Mr. Do filled in, performing Kristoff’s duties. Willow handled the housekeeping. Every hour or so, she entered the office. “Any news?”
Mr. Do shook his head. Not a word.
Willow lingered in the lobby. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Do?”
“Long time,” he answered without taking his eyes off the computer screen.
“Does Kristoff’s mother need anything? I could help with food or—”
“All taken care of,” the handyman replied. And added after a pause, “You are kind to ask.”
“I was wondering …”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“The guest in room six.”
“Mr. Hoover.”
“What’s the deal with that guy? He was super unfriendly yesterday. Something about him feels off. When everyone was at the festival yesterday, he stayed at the motel. He said not to disturb him. But should I still, like, clean the room or—”
“If the DO NOT DISTURB sign is hanging from the doorknob, you do not disturb,” Mr. Do replied matter-of-factly.
“Not even for garbage or towels?”
“Do not disturb.”
“Oh.” Willow paused, shifting strategies. “So do you think he’s here for the UFO thing?”
Mr. Do looked at Willow, not unkindly. “First job, no?”
She nodded.
“It is not our job to ask questions.” He rhythmically slapped an open palm with the back of his hand. “Some guests want, want, want. They keep us running. Other guests—they want to be left alone. Easier that way.”
Willow sat in one of the office’s three mismatched chairs. “Are you trapped here, too, Mr. Do? Like us?”
Mr. Do’s lips tightened. He returned his gaze to the computer. “The motel is different for every guest. They come and they go. Some stay longer than others.”
It was frustrating. Mr. Do had a way of answering questions without answering them. He talked in riddles. Willow wondered if it was a cultural thing? Or just the way he was? A keeper of secrets? “Do you worry that something happened to him? Kristoff, I mean.” Something about saying Kristoff’s name out loud brought her emotions to the surface. A crack in her voice. “Like, I don’t know, something bad?”
“You think he was abducted by UFO?” Mr. Do grinned, pleased with his joke. Willow didn’t laugh. He saw the wet shimmer in her eyes. He had heard, and ignored, the fear in her voice. “I am sorry. But worry does not help bring the water to a boil. Is the laundry finished? The walkway swept? Every room spotless? Work will help your heart and mind.” Movement outside the window caught his attention. His jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Willow followed Mr. Do’s gaze. Mr. Hoover from room 6 strode purposefully to his car. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving fast.
Willow felt it in her bones. A gut instinct. This guy had something to do with Kristoff’s disappearance. After all, the anonymous message had already been sent: Beware of the man in room six. Willow made a decision. “You are right, Mr. Do. I have to hand it to you. When you know, you know! I’ll go check the laundry and, um, I still have a few … other things … to do.”
The old man nodded distractedly.
He was playing Tetris on the computer.
A few moments later, Willow opened the door to room 6. She pulled the curtains closed, not wanting to be seen by anyone passing by. Willow scanned the room. The computers hummed softly. The screens were blank, in rest mode.
The previous day, over Mr. Hoover’s shoulder, she saw folders and papers. What a name, huh? Hoover. Like the vacuum cleaner. He sucks. Willow chuckled to herself. She popped her earbuds in out of habit; music helped her think. Where were those folders now? She began to search the room.
Under the bed, in the bathroom, in the closet. An aluminum suitcase had the name X-STAR CORP stamped on it. She’d have to look that up later. On the night table, beside the phone, sat a wooden carving. It was a—well, it was hard to tell exactly what it was. A sick duck? A mangled bear? Hoover was no Michelangelo, that much was for sure. Willow kept moving, searching quickly, unsure of what she was seeking. Some evidence of Kristoff? Mr. Hoover was a precise person, everything in its place. Two pairs of shoes in a tidy row. One solitary wrapper in the garbage can. An Almond Joy candy bar. Shredded coconut. How could anyone eat that stuff? Gross, puke.
Willow looked through the clothes drawers. In the bottom drawer, beneath the socks, she found a large knife in a sheath. Okay, that was sort of normal. All sorts of folks had knives for plenty of reasons other than stabbing people. But still, Willow’s heart climbed into her throat. She audibly gasped and shut the drawer. She felt stressed and anxious. Willow wanted to get out of there, fast. But at the time, here was her best chance to solve the mystery. Kristoff was missing. He was in grave danger. Nerves vibrating, Willow forced herself to be brave. She sat before the main computer, hit a key, and the machine leaped to life. It was password protected. Probably encrypted. Figures, she thought. She’d seen detectives solve passwords with guesses. It was worth a try. Willow began to type: H-O-O-V-E-R-6 …
She did not hear the door slowly, cautiously open.
(The closed curtains had alerted him.)
When Willow finally turned her head, there he stood, glaring. Dressed in the same black suit. Bald, shiny head. Mirror sunglasses. For the first time, there was a smile on Mr. Hoover’s face.
He actually looked happy to see her.
Not good.
WHEN THEY FIRST REACHED the clearing, no one could believe it. Which was curious, because, after all, this was a group of believers. UFOs, alien abductions, wild conspiracies. Believing was how they rolled. Sash literally wore a denim jacket with the word BELIEVE painted on the back in capital letters.
