Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25 (Book 1)

I was released from the hospital around six o’clock. A social worker from the state had come to my room to talk with me, and it was agreed that for the time being I would stay with the Lisses. We stopped at McDonald’s for dinner, then drove to Ostin’s house.

Mrs. Liss had always been nice but tonight she was especially kind. As we walked into the apartment, Mrs. Liss said, “Michael, honey, you can get your things and bring them over. You and Ostin can share a room for the time being.”

“I’d like to stay in my own room for now, if that’s okay.”

She thought about it. “It is just down the hall. I guess that’ll be all right. Take this with you.” She took a bag of red licorice from her pantry and handed it to me. “It will help.”

“Thanks.”

“Want me to come over with you?” Ostin asked.

“Thanks, but not now.”

He patted me on the back. “I understand.” He’s probably the only fifteen-year-old in the world who would.

I walked down the hall. I unlocked the door, walked into the dark apartment, and flipped on the lights. Since we moved to Idaho I had spent a lot of time alone, but the apartment had never seemed so quiet and empty. I looked down at my birthday watch, then I twisted it around on my wrist.

My eyes teared up. Where was she? I went into my mother’s bedroom. There was a picture on her nightstand of the two of us at Zion National Park in southern Utah. It had been a beautiful day, and Kolob Arch could be seen in the distance behind us. As I picked up the photograph I wondered if I would ever see her again. My heart ached. I lay on her bed and cried.

Sometime in the next hour there was a knock on the door. I wiped my eyes and walked out. I had assumed it was Ostin, but to my surprise Taylor’s dad and a woman I guessed was her mother stood in the hallway. They looked very upset.

Officer Ridley spoke first. “Hi, Michael, we’re Taylor’s parents. Could we speak with you?”

I looked at them nervously, reacting with my usual tics. I assumed they were here to talk to me about my mother. “Sure,” I said, stepping back from the door. “Come in.”

Mrs. Ridley’s eyes were puffy. Taylor’s father put his arm around her, and they walked inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Is Taylor okay?” I asked.

Mrs. Ridley began to cry. Mr. Ridley said, “When was the last time you heard from Taylor?”

“Yesterday afternoon. She was going to go with us to the aquarium. But when we got to the school, she was gone.”

Mrs. Ridley began to cry harder.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“You haven’t heard from her?” Mr. Ridley asked.

“No, sir.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Then you didn’t know that Taylor ran away?”

My heart froze. “No. Why would she do that?”

He shook his head. “You know, I’m tough on her sometimes. I just…” He paused, overcome by emotion. “I told her that if she didn’t start spending more time at home she would have to give up cheerleading.” He rubbed his palm over his eyes. “She texted her good-bye.”

“We just didn’t see it coming,” Mrs. Ridley sobbed.

“She won’t return our texts,” Mr. Ridley said. He took his wife’s hand. “We wanted to ask you a favor. We just want her home and safe. Will you please tell her that we love her, and we would really like to talk to her?”

“If I hear from her,” I said. I felt sick but knew I couldn’t show it. “But I’m sure she has a lot of other friends she’d contact first.”

“Then you have no plans to see her?” Mr. Ridley asked. There was a strong inflection in his voice.

“No. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday.”

They were both looking at me with a peculiar gaze. Finally Mrs. Ridley said, “An hour ago she sent another text that said ‘Tell Michael I’ll see him soon.’ ”

Chills went up my spine. When I could speak I said, “I don’t know what she meant by that, but if I hear from her I’ll call you. I promise.”

They both sat looking at me, and I guessed they were trying to decide whether I was telling the truth or not. Finally Mr. Ridley said, “Thank you, Michael.” They stood and walked to the door.

Mrs. Ridley stopped in front of my door, blotting her eyes with a Kleenex. “I don’t know if you know this, but Taylor was adopted.”

“She told me.”

“The counselors told us that sometimes adopted children can carry a sense of abandonment. We tried to fill that, but I guess we failed.”

“I don’t think you failed,” I said. “There must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Michael. Taylor thinks a lot of you. I think if you told her that we love her, she’ll believe you. I think she might come back.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that Taylor loves you both. I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Ridley said. Mr. Ridley put his arm around her and led her out of my apartment.

As soon as they were gone I ran down the hall and knocked on Ostin’s door. Ostin answered the door holding a half-eaten toaster strudel. He read the panic on my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’ve got Taylor.”