Flotsam Page 9

  “Guess not.”

  She sighed, and looked up. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to come with me and Brier when we start looking for ole’ outlaw Leatherspur’s lost lightning treasure?”

  Mr. Heckler smiled. “I would love to.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. I’m not so old and detached from life zat I’ll pass over a good treasure hunt.”

  “Tomorrow then?”

  Mr. Heckler plucked his eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah. Should be fun.”

  “Okay,” Amy said, getting up and yawning. “Well I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

  Amy lay on her bed, unable to sleep. Her dreams had been troubling her. In every dream, she had been searching for something, but just before she found it she woke up every time. It was as if whatever she was looking for in her dream didn’t want to be found.

  She shivered and pulled the covers around her, listening to the thunder and the wind howl through the many cracks in the wall. When she did find that treasure, the first thing she would do would be to build Mr. Heckler a decent house with no holes. She pulled Mr. Heckler’s find-it list out and gazed at it like it was a passage of scripture that held many important answers. She mulled over the significance of the things he had asked her to find. What was their importance? How would they help her find the things she was looking for?

  There was a strange noise outside her window. She sat up, listening, then screamed as something sharp broke through her window, sending glass everywhere. She slowly got out of bed and picked her way through the broken glass, over to the window. Lying on the floor in the scattered glass was a sharp arrow, with beautiful feathers at the end of it. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the feathers.

  “Tristan?” she wondered, recognizing the make of the arrow. She stepped closer to the broken window, and peered outside. Cold wind and a spray of rain hit her in the face. One of Mr. Heckler’s wolves howled, causing her skin on the back of her neck to prick. Whoever had broken her window was still out there.

  “Flotsam,” she murmured, thinking of bringing her fawn indoors. Just as she grabbed the doorknob to leave her room, she heard the remaining glass on the windowsill clatter to the floor as someone leapt through opening into her room, with a loud thump.

  She held her breath and quickly turned the knob, just as a strong hand caught her from behind and pressed a cloth over her face. She tried to scream, but her knees buckled and she fell back, blackness enveloping her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Missing

  Mr. Heckler awoke to the sound of his wolves howling as if the world was about to end. A brilliant flash of lighting lit up the walls in his room, and a deafening crash of thunder followed. But even through all the thunder, it was not enough to silence his wolves mournful howls.

  Worried, Mr. Heckler peered into Amy’s room to check on her. She was gone! The room was filled with a cold, damp wind that blew in from a shattered window.

  “Amy?” he called, glancing around the room. “AMY!”

  Papers, from Mr. Burnham’s lunchbox that Amy had been drying on a long string strung across the room, had blown about the room.

  Mr. Heckler picked up one of the papers. He was surprised to see that it was a letter written in German. He hurried to pick up the rest of the scattered papers, quickly reading them. He glanced at Amy’s dresser where a good deal of the lost things Amy had found were placed in neat rows. He grabbed Mr. Burnham’s lunchbox, examining it with great interest. “My, but it is the very same one. Who would have ever guessed?” He quickly shoved the photos and papers into the box. Taking the box with him, along with one of Amy’s old shirts, he ran outside calling her name. But there was no answer. He checked the place where Flotsam usually slept. The deer was also gone.

  He shook his head, and gazed around him. His idea of keeping the girl safe on his farm had not worked.

  Mr. Heckler threw open the barn doors and called to his wolves. “Find her, boys,” he cried, pressing Amy’s shirt to their noses so they could catch her scent. “Find her! Quick, before anything bad happens.”

  Releasing the wolves, he grabbed an old gun, and took off into the night, behind the howling animals. The wolves paused in the middle of the road, sniffing the air, then ran down it to the main paved road.

  Mr. Heckler ran along after them, nearly colliding with an oncoming truck that suddenly pulled out in front of his wolves.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” the man yelled from the truck, pulling to the side of the road. He squinted at Mr. Heckler, and frowned. “Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night and you’re running around in the center of the road with a pack of wild animals.”

  “Lost my girl, Mr. Burnham,” Mr. Heckler said, recognizing his neighbor. “Zomebody broke in, and took her.”

  “Somebody broke into your house, and kidnapped your girl? Why don’t ya call the police?”

  “I don’t want no trouble, zat’s why. Plus them police probably chust tink she has run off. Anyhow zey von’t look for her unless she’s been gone for a lot longer.”

  “You’re right,” Mr. Burnham murmured, eyeing the lunchbox Mr. Heckler was carrying. “You all want to jump in and I’ll give you a lift?”

  Mr. Heckler shook his head. “No, zank you. I’ll stay here, and look for her, if it’s chust za zame to you.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Mr. Burnham interjected. “Bet if someone’s got her, she’s a lot farther away from here. Get in, and while you’re at it, tell me why you’ve got my lost lunchbox in your hands.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prisoner

  Amy opened her eyes and groaned. Her head throbbed. She felt groggy, dizzy, and confused. She had been placed on a chair with her hands tied behind her back. The room was dark and damp. The only light was from a couple of lanterns set on the floor a few feet away from her.

  “Glad you’re finally awake,” the familiar voice of Mr. Locksley growled. The repulsive man held a lantern aloft. When he smiled, the eerie light from the lantern made his face look demonic. He was wearing a green hat with a feather in it. His had painted his face in earthy brown and green colors. He had a self-righteous air about him, which when combined with green clothes and scruffy beard, made him look altogether medieval and very Locksley like. “Welcome to Locksley’s secret cave,” the man said. “Tristan here says you have already visited. Now that you are awake we can finally begin our treasure hunt.”

  Amy looked at him, confused. “Treasure hunt?”

  “Yes, treasure hunt. Tristan, get over here.”

  Tristan had a big bruise on the side of his face and an angry glint in his eyes. He, too, was dressed similar to Locksley.

  “The list,” Locksley commanded. “Get it.”

  Tristan pulled out Mr. Heckler’s List of Lost Things from his pocket, and handed it to Locksley.

  “See this?” Locksley said, holding it in front of Amy’s nose.

  “Yeah,” Amy nodded.

  “Well, Tristan here seems to think that you have a gift for finding lost things. And we’ve lost something very important. Something so important that if you don’t find it for us, your friend Brier and your beloved deer, Flotsam, will end up with an arrow through their hearts. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Amy could see the faint outline of Flotsam in the far corner of the cave. He was tied to an old tire. His eyes looked wistful and worried. Brier lay crumpled on the ground with his hands and feet bound. Amy looked at Locksley and nodded. “Okay, I’ll help you find it. Just don’t hurt my friends..”

  Locksley smiled. “Good. You are much smarter than you look.”

  Amy sighed wearily. “So, what is it that you lost?”

  “I didn’t lose it,” Mr. Locksley shot back. “Tristan did.”

  “Okay,” Amy said, glancing at Tristan. “What did Tristan lose?”

  “Money,” Locksley shouted. “My money. Lots of it.”

  Amy looked at Locksley with
a blank face. “Guys, I’m going to need a little bit more information than that if you want me to find your money.”

  Mr. Locksley nodded and paced back and forth in front of Amy. “See, this is the story. Tristan hocked my drugs and took the money and gave it to his no-good, double-crossing mother, with a plan to ditch me, then sail off into the sunset together. His mother, however, ditched him, nearly ran him over at a gas station just outside of town, and took the dough.”

  Amy nodded, feeling sorry for Tristan. He was one of the many who were lost, just like herself. “Tristan,” she said, “in order to get a clear picture so I can find the lost money, I need to know what your mother looked like.”

  “She’s got dark hair…” Tristan paused and glanced at Locksley. “If we find her, you won’t hurt her, or anything, will you?”

  “No!” Locksley thundered. “Of course not. Now finish explaining to the girl.”

  Tristan glared at Locksley for a minute, and then proceeded with his description. “She’s skinny. She has an earring in her nose. She has a nice smile. Ah…and she smokes a lot.” He smiled, feeling proud that he remembered so much.

  “Okay,” Amy murmured, closing her eyes. “You promise you won’t hurt Brier, or Flotsam, if I tell you.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Locksley said. “We won’t hurt them. On my word as the greatest outlaw that ever lived.”

  Amy smirked. “That’s comforting.”

  “Yes,” Locksley agreed. “It is that. So do your thing, and tell us where the money is.”

  Amy closed her eyes and concentrated hard. Things attached to people were much harder for her to find. Probably because they were constantly moving. “She’s…” Amy murmured, “she’s…somewhere crowded. On a bus, I think. The money’s in a black case. By her feet.”

  “On a bus to where?” Locksley asked.

  “Uh…it’s…kind of fuzzy. I think her ticket says, Windem. Yes. She’s going to Windem.”

  Locksley cackled. “Ha! She’s in Windem? What luck. That’s only a little ways from here. Wonderful, wonderful news. We’ll have the money before the night is out.” He laughed, and grabbed his bow, a quiver full of arrows, and headed out the cave door. “Come on, Tristan. I want you to be there when I get the money back.”

  Tristan looked at Locksley with frightened eyes. “Uh…I don’t know…”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? Get over here, now, Tristany-ostrich-poison-twig-brain. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not!”

  Tristan cast Locksley a dark glance, grabbed his own handmade bow and a quiver of arrows, and followed Locksley out the door, taking their lanterns with them.

  When the door closed, the room became instantly dark. All that could be heard was the wind howling outside, the angry rumble of thunder, and the pattering of rain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Losers

  Locksley and Tristan waited just outside the bus stop, behind a bush. They blended into the dark night easily. Locksley had schooled Tristan and his gang in the art of surprise, and all things yeomen. They were outlaws, castaways. For the most part, they liked it. Except, tonight was different for Tristan. Somehow taking the money back that he had given his mom seemed wrong. What if Locksley got carried away with his Robin hood act, and actually hurt someone.

  He sighed and tried not to think. Besides, Locksley was right. His mom had proven that she was not his family. Locksley and his gang were the only family he had, and he had to stand by them regardless of what they did.

  “Look,” Locksley said, pointing down the road. “The bus is coming.”

  “Yes,” Tristan said. “I can see.”

  Just as the bus pulled to a stop at the curb, lightning zigzagged through the sky, splitting the sky apart.

  Crowds of people poured out of the bus, holding umbrellas, newspapers, plastic bags or whatever they could find, over their heads to shield them from the oncoming rain.

  “Where is she?” Locksley hissed. “I can’t see her. There are too many people holding blasted-sour-toilet-paper-sandwich umbrellas over their stupid heads!”

  Tristan glared at Mr. Locksley. Tristan liked the man well enough. But he hated it when Locksley got on his creative-cussword kick. Once it was ignited, it was hard for Tristan to take anything Locksley said, seriously.

  “Not sure where she is,” Tristan muttered, standing up and gazing at the crowd.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go find her! Sometimes I think you’re the slowest CD player of a perfumed radio-shack alive.”

  Tristan smiled crookedly at Mr. Locksley and ducked into the crowd. He pushed through the people until he spotted a woman standing apart from the rest of the crowd, smoking. She was well dressed, and wore a very fancy fur coat with a fluffy hood.

  Tristan approached the woman, a little unsure. The way she smoked made him wonder. Then she looked up, and her cover was blown.

  It was her.

  “Mom!” Tristan cried. “I need the money back.”

  “I don’t know who you are. Go away, boy.”

  Tristan took off his green hat and stared at her. “Now do you know who I am?”

  His mom gazed at him with blank eyes. “Yes. Tristan I know it’s you. Leave me alone. I don’t want you to come with me. I thought I made myself very clear in the parking lot.”

  “Yes,” Tristan said, through clenched teeth. “You did. But I need the money back, now.”

  His mother hugged the black leather case to her body and shook her head. “I should get something for bringing you into the world, shouldn’t I? The money is mine!”

  “No, mom,” Tristan said grabbing his mother’s wrist, and pulling her into the shadows, away from the crowd. “Listen to me. And listen good. There’s a man out there, with an arrow pointed at your heart. If you don’t give me the money he may shoot you. And I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

  Tristan’s mom looked to where Tristan had pointed, and gasped as Locksley’s formidable figure crept from the shadows, with an arrow drawn back in his bow, aimed directly at her.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said. “You would rob your own mother? This is terrible. I’m your mother. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan said. “Does it?”

  Tristan’s mom fell silent. An angry look crossed her face. “No. I guess not.”

  Tristan held out his hand. “Guess family isn’t all that it’s been cracked up to be. Mom, hand me the suitcase.”

  His mother held it out for him to take, but when he tried to grab it from her, she wouldn’t let go.

  “Let go, mom,” Tristan growled, tugging so hard, that the case flew open, and hundred dollar bills fluttered everywhere.

  “The money,” Locksley barked, still pointing an arrow at Tristan’s mom. “Make sure it’s all there.”

  Tristan bent down, and picked it up. “Locksley, there’s only a couple hundred left.”

  “What? You’re joking.”

  “No. That’s all there is.”

  “Lady,” Locksley shouted, “tell us where the rest of it is!”

  “Spent,” Tristan’s mom said, smiling.

  “Spent? Tristan asked. “You spent it all? On what?”

  “Oh, different things. Plane tickets, cigs. This lovely fur coat. And other things…”

  “You couldn’t have spent it all in one night,” Locksley cried.

  “Yes. I did. And I bought a house.”

  Tristan looked at his mother with great interest. “You bought a house?”

  “Yes. I did. It’s lovely. You should see it.”

  “Yes,” Locksley agreed. “We should! How did you buy it?”

  “I bought it on e-bay.”

  “E-bay?”

  “Yes. The house seems to be located somewhere in Florida. That’s where I’m headed right now.”

  Locksley’s face smoldered with wrath. “You go back and you un-buy that house, and get my money back. Or so help me I’ll…”
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  “You’ll what?” Tristan’s mom asked, blowing a puff of smoke into Locksley’s face. “Shoot me? Go ahead. Do it.”

  “Don’t tempt me, woman!” Locksley thundered, drawing his bow back.

  “Wait!” Tristan cried, stepping in front of his mother protectively. “Don’t shoot. I know how you can get your money. Amy. The girl that helped us find my mom. She knows where lots of money is. She knows where there is treasure. You’ll get your money back, Locksley. I promise.”

  Locksley lowered the bow, and looked at Tristan, skeptically. “I don’t know, Tristan. ”

  “I do know,” Tristan said. “She can find anything. Anything. Kids at school flock to her whenever they’ve lost a nickel, pencil, homework, or anything. It’s amazing. Believe me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Who is this girl who helped you find me?” Tristan’s mom asked. Her eyes were wide, and she looked frightened.

  Tristan shrugged. “Just a foster girl from town.”

  “And you say she can find anything?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  Tristan’s mom blew a nervous puff of smoke on her cigarette, and let out a weary sigh. “Tell me, Tristan. What does this girl look like?”

  Tristan shook his head. “She’s got dark brown hair and eyes. Short. Very short and stubborn. Uh…”

  “Interesting…” his mother murmured. “Tell me. Do you have a picture of her? Anything that belongs to her?”

  “Lady,” Locksley butted in. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “I don’t care what you have time for,” Tristan’s mom snapped, looking at Locksley with such venom that he shut up.

  “No,” Tristan said, wondering what this was all about. “I don’t have anything of hers.”

  “Are you sure? A wallet. Something.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I do have her wallet. Took it from her a while ago. Put some of my own stuff in it. Didn’t have much in it. But, I didn’t bother to take her stuff out.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “Why? You want my money too?

  “No. Just give it to me. I want to see it.

  Tristan frowned and handed his mother the wallet. She thumbed through it eagerly, dumping out dollar bills, and old receipts. “Ah. Just as I thought.” She dropped the wallet, and held up a small worn picture to the street light. “It is her.”