Secret Doors: The Challenge
Contents
Copyright Ebook
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and story contained within, are created within the fertile imagination of the author. Any resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, or any events, are purely coincidental. Except for the guinea pigs, Billy and Badger. They live in Australia and are awesome. Their likeness used with permission.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means electronic, mechanical, printing, photocopying, recording, chiseling in stone, or otherwise, without the written permission from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. For information regarding permission contact the publisher.
Copyright© 2013 by Brian D. Meeks All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9851046-5-8
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Secret Doors
The Challenge
by
Brian D. Meeks
Chapter One
Abby was furious as she walked out of last period. Mrs. Johnson's sixth grade class poured out behind her with Tommy snickering at the rear of the group. Abby stopped at her locker and ignored the jeers as she carefully packed up her books and grabbed her boots. She would leave by the back door near the gymnasium. The stream of kids heading toward the front door made it hard for her as she walked the opposite way down the hall. Tommy and his jerk friends yelled after her but weren't about to waste any of their weekends following.
It was raining out, so she sat down and put on her rain boots. The back hallway was soon empty as all the kids were in a hurry to start the long Thanksgiving Day weekend. Parents lined up outside in their BMWs and Mercedes waiting for their children and hoping to beat the traffic out of town. At least, that was what Abby imagined. Nobody would be waiting for her.
Stupid Tommy, she thought as she pinched the knob of gum stuck in her hair. She wanted to cry but didn't because she had taught herself to be strong. She hadn't cried in two years since she was ten. A last tug and the second boot was on. She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest and closed her eyes. The rain was really coming down, but at least it wasn’t snow. This time of year in Boston wasn't usually this warm. She liked the sound of the storm. Today, it was a steady rain, and there wasn't any lightning or thunder. It had an even cadence to it. The final sounds of the school day were gone, and she was alone. She opened her eyes.
With nobody in sight, she got up and pressed her body against the push bar. The heavy door begrudgingly let her leave. The steps were wet, and she walked out of the building, lifting her hood over her hair. At least nobody can see the gum, Abby thought as she started the walk home.
***
The Drapers lived in a nice brownstone in a respectable part of town. They were, by all accounts, well-bred. The sons, twins, age 13, were enrolled in private school and only returned home on holidays or over the summer. Mr. Draper came from money and held a moderately impressive position as a VP of the bank his father owned. Mrs. Draper had been a model in France and had fallen in love with Mr. Draper when she was doing a photo shoot in the Hamptons. That was the story they told at dinner parties. In truth, she had fallen in love with his home, his two cars, and the fact that he hadn't been snatched up by an American socialite. She hadn't wanted kids, but it was socially unacceptable to remain childless; thus, she bore him the twins. She had hoped for girls.
A little over two years ago, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, a fire had engulfed the only home Abby had ever known. Her parents died in the fire, which had been so spectacular that it required three different departments to respond. A fireman found her in a central room that was spared miraculously from the flames. He brought the crying girl out to throngs of local media. Wrapped from head to toe in a blanket, the heart-wrenching shot of Abby made national news. Mrs. Draper had insisted to her husband that they do something to help the poor thing. Mr. Draper, who had been banished to Michigan by his father after an embarrassing imbroglio, saw a chance to get back into his good graces. He used his connections to arrange to adopt Abby and, within 24 hours, she had a new home. Mr. Draper, Senior, approved of the selfless act as his father had been an orphan.
When Mr. Draper called and told his wife that she had a daughter, she was thrilled and quickly arranged a small gathering of their closest friends. The car pulled up, and Abby got out of the back, cleaned up, though still looking like she might be in shock. She walked slowly up to the door with Mr. Draper who was telling her it would be alright. The door opened and Mrs. Draper appeared, gasped, and whispered angrily under her breath, “My God, she is a ginger...why didn't you tell me!“ A moment later, all of Mrs. Draper's friends were fawning over the poor orphaned girl trying to console her on her terrible loss, and it was done. Mrs. Draper had a pale, red-haired daughter whom she loathed. Abby's life continued to get worse the very next week.
The day after the memorial service, which was attended by thousands of well-wishers from all over Michigan, Mr. Draper announced that they were moving back to Boston. He had been promoted. Abby tried to put up a protest, which Mr. Draper said was incredibly rude and showed a distinct level of ingratitude. He squashed it by flashing his quick temper. He made it clear that she was a guest in their home and should act accordingly. The twins had been merciless in their teasing of their new sibling. They both thought that they should have been consulted before adopting her and were determined to demonstrate their displeasure at every turn. Abby was alone and, the next day as they pulled out of the city, friendless.
Chapter Two
Abby walked in the door of the four-story brownstone and headed for the tiny staircase leading to the basement. The sounds of hurry and chaos were all about. One of the twins ran past, hit her on the back of the head, laughed, and tore up the stairs. Mrs. Draper leaned over the railing and yelled, “Will you stop goofing around? If you aren't packed when your father gets home, there will be hell to pay. Abby, take your coat off. Can't you see you are dripping all over my hard wood floors? You have the poor breeding of a troll.“ Mrs. Draper stormed off and slammed the master bedroom door.
Abby stomped down the stairs and almost slammed her door but thought better of it. Her real bedroom was in the basement apartment. She had one upstairs but was only allowed to sleep in that bed when people were visiting. When they had moved in, Mrs. Draper had insisted she be given the 'guest' quarters where she wouldn't have to stare at the 'girl' all day and night. Mr. Draper had been concerned about her sneaking out at night, so he had added a deadbolt key lock, and then, just to make sure, he used the first three quarters of the apartment for storage. Boxes were piled from floor to ceiling, a baby grand piano, and an antique mahogany roll top desk. Abby couldn't even see the front windows from her tiny cot at the back.
She had made her room as nice as she could. There was a tiny table with a lamp she had found along the curb the day they had moved in. It was another three months before Abby knew if it worked or not. It hadn't had a bulb, and she wasn't able to take one from the storage closet because the house lady kept it locked at all times. Her plan required an accomplice which was how she met Stephen Byrne.
Stevie had been walking down the street casually batting things with an old yardstick when he saw Abby crawl out of the doggie door. “Why are you crawling through the doggie door?“ He asked as she stood and dusted herself off.
; The door is locked, and there are too many boxes anyway.
“Oh, I see them through the window now. Why not use the front door?”
“I’m on a secret mission.”
Stevie liked the sound of that. He sat down on the steps, and she sat down next to him. “My name's Stevie. What's yours?”
“Abigail, but you can call me Abby.”
“Want some gum?” He held out a pack of Trident, and she took a piece. Abby unwrapped it, popped it in her mouth, and tucked the wrapper in her pocket.
“Thanks, I'm not supposed to have gum. Mrs. Draper is very strict. I don't like her much.”
“Who is Mrs. Draper?”
“I live with her,” she said and then sighed and added, “My real family died.”
Stevie didn't know anybody who had had their family die. He wasn't sure what to do. He leaned over, put his arm across her shoulder, and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I never knew my parents. Want to be friends?”
That was how they met.
Abby and Stevie made a plan. She knew that the housekeeper would be changing out the trash bags sometime that afternoon, and, if they timed it right, she would have her chance. She sat on the basement steps and peered out from under the door. All she could see was the floor and the edge of the closet with the light bulbs. When Mrs. Baddumble lumbered past and opened the closet, Abby pulled a string she had tied to the doggie door. That was the signal. Stevie ran up the stairs and rang the doorbell three quick times then ran. As expected, Mrs. Baddumble left the closet door unlocked as she went to answer the bell. Abby crept from her spot, quickly snatched a bulb from the closet, and ducked back down the stairs before being noticed. The plan had worked perfectly, but, sadly, the lamp hadn't. She snuck back out and told Stevie who said it was probably the wiring. That night, Abby took the lamp apart and found a loose wire, reconnected it, and the lamp was good as new.
Today, Abby didn't feel like reading or doing anything. She hung her coat on the nail next to the door and flopped down on her bed. They would be gone soon, and she would be able to relax. The thick wad of gum stuck to the pillow. She decided she had better cut it out. Abby cursed Tommy and his friends. The shrill voice of Mrs. Draper made her cringe.
“Girl, get up here. We're about to leave.”
Abby dragged herself up the stairs and into the hallway knowing the Drapers would be there preparing to head out. The entire family stood ready to leave, their bags lined up by the door. Mrs. Baddumble was with them wearing a silly stocking cap, which almost made Abby laugh. Mr. Draper looked at her sternly. “We will be back on Sunday. The refrigerator is stocked with plenty of food to keep a scrawny little thing like you alive…” The twins roared but hushed when their father waved his hand. He continued, “…as I said, there is plenty of food. Don't go breaking anything, stay off the computer, and in case you were thinking of running around with your little hoodlum friend.”
Abby's eyes flashed. “He's not a hoodlum; he's just black.”
Mrs. Draper stepped forward, wagging her spindly finger in Abby's face and said, “Listen here, ginger girl, I don't like your tone. You are an ungrateful little brat. Don't you forget that we took you in and have kept a roof over your head!”
Mr. Draper put a hand on his wife’s arm, “Come now, dear, we have to get going; the traffic is going to be murder,” he said. He turned back to Abby and added, “We are locking the front door bolt so you will be safe.”
Abby crossed her arms.“You're locking me in! What if there is a fire?”
The twins had already walked down the front steps with Mrs. Baddumble and Mr. Draper close behind. Mrs. Draper turned around with a sly smile. “There better not be a fire...but, if there is, it will be okay...the place is insured.” She slammed the door closed and locked it.
Chapter Three
The rain had turned to snow, and traffic was slowing to a painful pace. Mr. Draper complained while Mrs. Draper talked on her cell phone. Trent sat in the back seat playing a video game on his iPhone. Trevor, listening to his Nano, stared out the window and watched nothing in particular.
The first flicker of light seemed to come from a street lamp, so Trevor didn’t really pay much attention. He looked back casually, and the light appeared normal enough. One long, slow block later another wisp of light seemed to zip into the exact window Trevor gazed at. It must have been a reflection, he thought.
“These damn idiots,” Mr. Draper yelled, pounding his hand on the wheel. “We live in Boston, for crying out loud, why you people can’t learn to drive in the snow is beyond me. I mean really…”
“Yelling at them won’t do any good, mon cheri,” Mrs. Draper said as she turned on her Kindle and tried to lose herself in a good mystery.
“We need to get some machine guns strapped to the front of the car,” Trent suggested, then went back to his game.
Trevor was going to chime in when he saw three flickering lights zoom past his window. He swung his head around and tried to see where they went, but they were gone. “Hey, Trent, did you see that?”
“Shut up, I’m busy.”
The car was stopped at a light. Trevor leaned forward and saw streams of flickering lights flying down the street, turning and flowing around the car. He was mesmerized. It was strange that his father and mother weren’t saying anything about them. He hit his brother on the shoulder and pointed.
“What the…”
Mrs. Draper, quickly turned around, “Watch your language, young man!“ She gave him a glare and, satisfied, returned to her book. Trent and Trevor just looked at each other as the yellow and green lights disappeared down the street.
***
Abby sat on the edge of her bed still mad about the gum and really missing her family. She felt all alone until she heard the knocking at the window. One long knock, three quick ones, and one more long knock. She knew Stevie had arrived by their secret code.
She moved the box in front of her passageway through all of the stored junk that had become the walls of her hidden fort. The path wove its way past the table, under the old piano, and into a cleverly concealed corner area. In this little room Abby kept her books and treasures that Mrs. Draper would call “her childish things.” Mrs. Draper once found a small pile of books next to Abby’s bed, threw a fit, and demanded she get rid of all the clutter.
Abby had made it comfortable with a few pillows and old blankets she had found in some of the boxes. Stevie had found another old discarded lamp and given it to her. He had even bought her a bulb so that they wouldn't have to pull another caper.
Abby made it to the covered window, reached up between the boxes, and gave two hard knocks. That was the signal she was coming out. Abby poked her head through the doggie door and saw Stevie’s feet. She looked up. “I have a surprise for you. Just a second…” Her head disappeared back through the hole. She put the key into the dead bolt lock, gave it a turn, and twisted the handle. Abby opened the door just far enough and said, “Come on in.”
Stevie smiled. “How’d you get a key?” He squeezed through the door and into her tiny room.
“It was in the junk drawer in the kitchen. I took it to see if it worked in the lock,” she said, holding up the key.
“It looks brand new.”
“Actually, it is. When the key worked, I took it down to Mr. Pak’s and had him make a copy. Mrs. Baddumble never noticed it was missing.”
“Cool. I wasn’t looking forward to standing outside and talking to you this winter. This is better.”
Abby gave him a tour of her little hideaway and offered him a seat on the big purple pillow. They played a game of checkers and soon it was getting dark out. Stevie said, “I have ten dollars; you want to go to Mr. Pak’s?”
Abby said, “Just a second, I still have seven dollars left from when he let us clean up the back room.” She crawled down the tunnel, returning a minute later. When she got back, she turned off the light. “Let’s go.”
By the time they emerged from Abby’s fo
rt, the lights the twins had seen had already passed by and were out of sight. “It’s snowing,” Abby said gleefully, feeling less alone.
“I know; it started when I was walking over.”
“Do they know you are gone?” Abby asked.
“Nah, they never do. I snuck out. The orphanage is crazy with Thanksgiving planning stuff. It's annoying.”
Mr. Pak’s Grocery was Steve and Abby's favorite place. Mr. Pak, an old Korean man, was always nice to them. He didn’t care about where they came from or that neither one had any family. Mr. Pak always said, “People are people…some are good…others are bad. You two are good kids.” Then he usually asked Stevie for a high five. Stevie thought it was funny, but he always gave him one and said, “You're crazy Mr. Pak…crazy cool.”
His wife, Mrs. Pak, was always in the little apartment at the back of the store cooking and always insisted they have something to eat. When Abby and Stevie walked into the store, Mr. Pak saw them and waved.
“Hello, it’s my best customers. Come on in; it is a slow night. Mrs. Pak is making dumplings. You will have to have some.”
“You know me, Mr. Pak...I’m always up for food.”
“My man,” Mr. Pak said, raising his hand.
Stevie gave him a high-five. The wind blew the door shut. The snow flurries were getting heavier. Mrs. Pak came out of the back wearing an apron, “You come on inside. No shoppers tonight; everyone staying inside. I’ve got something special for you…”
Abby looked out the window, she thought she had seen something. Mrs. Pak noticed the spot where the gum had been.
Mrs. Pak gasped, “What happened to your hair Abby?”
Abby told them about Tommy. By the time she was done, she was furious all over again. Mr. Pak, with a gleam in his eye, said, “I don’t think it looks bad at all.” He slid his hand down her long red hair, and, as he ran his fingers over it, the cut section grew to the same length as the rest of her hair. Abby felt the warmth of his touch but had no idea what just happened.