Mind Gap Page 5

  Jake gritted his teeth. “Who are you? And where am I?”

  Short-Shorts seemed to find Jake’s questions amusing. He glanced around at the others. “I’m nobody,” he said. “Mr. Nobody to you.” He laughed, and they all joined in — everyone except the girl who held her blanket and rocked back and forth, and the strange dark figure seated alone at the far end of the train. There was something familiar about that guy — his shape, his hair …

  Short-Shorts bent down. He leaned in until he was face to face with Jake, the emptiness in his eyes hypnotically frightening. Then he spoke, and his words chilled Jake to the bone. “And you, dude, are nowhere.”

  Jake threw his whole weight forward and tackled the guy. They rolled on the floor, crashing toward the others, who sprang out of the way to clear a path. Jake was on top of Short-Shorts, pinning the guy on his stomach, pressing his face to the floor.

  “What’s going on here?” Jake screamed.

  The other passengers formed a circle around them, jeering and laughing. Jake searched their faces. They were crazy. Every single one of them.

  “What’s wrong with all of you?” he yelled.

  Beads of sweat formed on Jake’s upper lip. Was it his imagination, or was the train getting warmer?

  “Nothing’s going on here,” said Short-Shorts. “Absolutely nothing.” Even under the circumstances, he wouldn’t stop making cryptic jokes.

  Jake searched the faces of those gathered around him. They were empty, hollow faces. Outnumbered by freaks, Jake let go of Short-Shorts. He took a deep breath and stood up. He could see the one guy still sitting all alone in the far corner of the train. Jake craned his neck to get a better look, but the crowd shifted inward, blocking his path.

  “I don’t know what this is all about,” said Jake, focusing his attention on Short-Shorts, “and I don’t even wanna know anymore. I just wanna go home. Can I go home now?”

  The girl in the leopard-print pants stepped forward. “That’s what we all want, Jakey-wakey. We all wanna go home.”

  “Yeah,” said the guy in the leather jacket. “What makes you think you’re so special?”

  “Back off,” said Short-Shorts. “Jake wants to go home …” He narrowed his eyes. “And why not?” he said finally. “Sounds like as good a plan as any …”

  Before Jake could open his mouth to respond, the subway exploded into the station. The doors behind him slid open. Short-Shorts gave him a hard shove to the chest, sending him backward out the train. He landed on his back with a thud, smacking his head on the concrete platform.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Jake opened his eyes, he was lying on his back on the southbound platform in St. George Station.

  He sat up — an action that set the world spinning. His head throbbed. He reached up and felt a tennis ball–sized lump. Jake took a deep breath, and everything settled long enough for him to inspect his surroundings. Directly in front of him was the large ad with the grinning white-toothed people. The clock on the plasma screen read twelve o’clock. Had he returned home? Or had he never even left?

  Jake’s thoughts were soupy. It hurt to think. Before any of the craziness began he’d been running for the subway train and he’d missed it. Had he slipped in his attempt to catch the train? Had he fallen backward and hit his head? Had it all been some crazy concussion-induced fantasy?

  He rolled onto all fours, then pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled. His head was an overinflated balloon ready to pop. A smattering of people stood on the opposite platform, but no one was looking in his direction. Jake’s side of the tracks was empty — except for the homeless guy, who had apparently decided to have a nap on one of the benches.

  No point in asking him anything, Jake thought with a wry grin, though deep down he was relieved to see the man. He felt a twinge of sympathy, having recently experienced homelessness first-hand — or at least he thought he had.

  Jake dug into his pocket and located his old transfer. His wallet, keys, iPod, and phone were there, as well. Jake shook his head and sighed — it had to have been a dream. There was no other explanation.

  Stepping onto the escalator, Jake headed down toward the east–west line. He scrutinized every ad, every person, every bit of space, searching for anything unusual. Everything appeared normal — completely normal. But to be certain, Jake hit the transfer machine and drew out the small slip of paper. He took a long, drawn-out breath, then peered at the transfer. He was home!

  Jake rubbed his head as the subway zipped back to Victoria Park Station. Once he got home, he’d put some ice on that lump. Home. What a wonderful word. He’d remember never to take it for granted again.

  When Jake got on the bus, he flashed the driver his transfer. The man was reading a newspaper and didn’t even look up. With the strangest feeling of déjà vu, Jake sat back and watched the houses and buildings melt away until he reached his stop. It was a huge relief to be holding his keys in his hands as he jogged up the side street toward his building.

  Halfway there, Jake’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket. Happy to see the text, Jake forgot how angry he’d been at Cole.

  Where are you, man? You’re missing a wild party. Shelly’s been asking for you.

  Jake smiled. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He’d call Cole in the morning. No matter how wild Cole thought his party was, Jake was sure his had been wilder. Not even ten Shellys falling all over him could make him wish he was at that party. All he wanted right now was some ice for his head and the comfort of his warm bed.

  Jake entered his building. Chipped paint, cracked walls, and graffiti greeted him. It felt so good to be home. He took the elevator up to the seventh floor, doing his best to ignore the uneasy feeling it still gave him. It was warm inside the elevator. Too warm. He was relieved when the doors slid open and he stepped out into the hallway.

  Standing outside his apartment door, Jake ran his fingertips across the tarnished brass numbers — 710. Home, sweet home.

  Jake placed his key in the door and gently turned until he heard the deadbolt click. He held his breath. The old hinges complained as the door slid open. He was sure his mom would pounce on him. When she didn’t, a horrible memory streaked through his mind: that bloodshot eye, that crusty voice. For a second Jake’s confidence faltered. Was he really home? Was his mother really there?

  He crept toward the living room. Through the darkness he could make out her shape stretched across the sofa bed. Jake listened. Relief drizzled over him when he heard the familiar sound of her breathing. He closed his eyes and listened for several minutes. He’d missed her.

  Jake walked to the kitchen and got some ice from the freezer. He wrapped it in a few sheets of paper towel and held it to his head. The coolness soothed his burning lump.

  He stepped into his bedroom. There was no mistaking the familiar shape hidden beneath his brother’s covers. Drew’s breathing was raspy and annoying. Jake smiled. It was funny how all the little things that had bothered him were now strangely comforting.

  Jake wanted to make as little noise as possible, so he decided to hop into bed and sleep in his clothes. As he lay down, he held the ice on his lump. It was much smaller already — fading along with the weird dream. Once the ice completely melted, Jake placed the wet wad of tissue on his nightstand and closed his eyes. Exhaustion overcame him, and he quickly drifted off into a deep, deep sleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jake rubbed his eyes and checked his alarm clock. It was a quarter past nine. Drew’s bed was empty and already made. He must have just left. Drew had karate lessons at 9:30 on Saturday mornings and was pathologically punctual.

  Sitting up, Jake stretched. His body was sore and stiff, but he felt strangely well rested. The events of the previous night were hazy in his mind, and now more than ever it all seemed like a b
izarre nightmare. There were no crazy freaks riding some time train. He hadn’t visited the past. He hadn’t met his father.

  Jake’s head still ached, but as he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed the swelling had disappeared. He glanced at his nightstand. The wad of paper towels he’d left there the previous night was gone. Drew must have cleaned up. Aside from being pathologically punctual, his brother was obsessively neat. A mess would practically have to jump up and smack Jake across the face for him to do anything about it.

  Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Jake suddenly remembered he’d slept in his clothes. He decided it would be a good idea to shower and put on something fresh before he faced his mother. Jake could hear her moving around in the kitchen, so he ducked into the bathroom quickly before she spotted him.

  For the longest time Jake stood under the hot water, letting it wash away any trace of the previous night. When he was finished, he brushed his teeth and got dressed — opting for a fresh pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and his Kobe jersey.

  There was buoyancy in his step as he entered the kitchen where his mother sat cradling a mug of coffee. She was gazing at the wall with vacant eyes, the way she did when she was really upset — beyond-words upset.

  Oh-oh, Jake thought. This can’t be good. Maybe she knew he’d been out. But then again, maybe she didn’t. It was hard to tell. She had worked double shifts the previous week. She could just as easily be beyond-words exhausted. Jake decided it was best to play it cool. He’d gauge his situation by her response.

  “Hey,” he said in his most cheerful voice, strolling toward the fridge. He opened it, got out a carton of milk, and turned to face his mother.

  His mother didn’t react. She just sat there, perfectly still, staring at the wall, as though she were made of stone.

  Quick. Say something. Anything.

  “Where’s Drew?” he asked, getting a glass from the cupboard and pouring himself some milk. He knew the answer, but it was the first thing that had popped into his mind. Jake took a huge gulp and let the cold liquid run down his throat. He sat down beside her. She didn’t even glance in his direction.

  The silent treatment. It could mean only one thing. She definitely knew he’d snuck out. Now, just like the last time, she was going to spend an entire week acting as if he didn’t exist. The milk started to sour in Jake’s stomach. Then he had a thought: maybe he should come clean. Maybe if he told her the truth she’d forgive him quicker.

  Jake set his glass down on the table. “Okay, Mom, I know you know I snuck out. But I just wanted to go to a party. Is that so horrible?”

  Still no response.

  Jake leaned back in his chair. If he could just tell her everything. If she only knew how awful his experience had actually been, she’d know he’d been punished enough. But there was no way he could tell her. She’d never believe it. She’d think he was lying for sure, and then he’d wind up in worse trouble.

  “If it makes you happy, I didn’t even go,” he offered. “I just turned around and came home. I swear.”

  Jake’s mother closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and released the air slowly. When she opened her eyes, they were brimming with tears and her lower lip quivered. Jake felt terrible. He hated seeing her so sad. He reached over and almost put his hand on hers, but pulled back when she spoke.

  “Why, Jake? Why would you do this to me?” The tears spilled over and streamed in rivulets down her cheeks.

  “I just —” he began, but she cut him off.

  “How could you take off like that? How could you just leave without saying anything?”

  “I’m sorry —” he tried, but she interrupted again.

  “What am I going to tell Drew?”

  Jake was puzzled. “Drew? What’s he got to do with —”

  “I can’t take it,” she said. Her head dropped into her hands as she leaned forward on the table. She nearly knocked over her coffee cup. It wobbled, but Jake grabbed it and steadied it. “I can’t live through this again,” she said, sobbing. “Not again. Not you, too …”

  Why was she so upset? What was she talking about? Jake struggled to understand. You, too? What did she mean by too?

  Then it dawned on him. This wasn’t about the party at all. This wasn’t about the fact that he’d snuck out for the night. This was about something entirely different. He’d up and left. Snuck out without telling her. His father had up and left — maybe without telling her. It all started to make sense. In her mind Jake had done the same thing. It must have been like ripping apart an old wound. He’d been so focused on himself that he hadn’t thought about what finding him missing would mean to her.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Jake said. “I’m here now, and I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll never leave without telling you.”

  She sobbed even louder, as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He couldn’t understand it. Jake apologized again, but it was as though nothing he could say could possibly make up for what he’d done. He wanted her to stop crying. It was killing him, but he didn’t know what else to say. Maybe she just needed to get it out of her system. Maybe she just needed some space.

  Jake stood up. “I’m gonna go to my room, okay?” When she didn’t reply, he added quickly, “I think I have some homework I need to work on … and … I think I’ll straighten up a bit, too.”

  There. If that didn’t make her happy, nothing would.

  He lingered a moment longer. She stopped crying and resumed staring at the wall. Jake sighed and turned to leave the kitchen. A week’s worth of the silent treatment would be tough to take.

  Even if the previous night had been nothing but a dream, it had been so nice to see his mother standing on that porch happy for a change. Seeing her looking so cheerful was almost worth all the other freaky stuff he’d gone through. Almost.

  Before he left he turned to grab his glass of milk from the table. It wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jake’s phone vibrated. “Hey,” he said. “I was just going to call —”

  “Jake? Yo, Jake, you there?” It was Cole, and he sounded pretty stoked, given the fact that he’d probably partied all night.

  “I’m here. What’s up?”

  “Jake, can you hear me? You there?”

  There was something wrong with the line. Cole’s voice came through loud and clear, but apparently Jake’s voice was lost in cyberspace. Sometimes reception in the old building wasn’t good. Jake got out of bed and walked toward his bedroom door. “Can you hear me now?”

  Empty space. The line crackled and then went dead. Jake examined his phone. He was confused when he saw that he had tons of missed calls. Jake was about to check his messages when his phone buzzed again. Cole had sent him a text.

  What’s up, man? Where have you been?

  Jake responded. Just chillin’. What’s doing?

  What’s wrong with your phone? I just tried calling you.

  Bad reception.

  You missed a hot party. Can’t believe you were a no-show. Loser.

  Cole never missed an opportunity to put Jake down. Jake hated to admit it, but sometimes he wondered whether his mother was right about Cole. Maybe the guy wasn’t such a good friend, after all.

  There was no point in even trying to explain to Cole that he’d actually gone to the party, missed it, bumped his head, and slipped into the Twilight Zone. Jake’s thumbs zipped across the keys. Got the text too late.

  Sure. Whatever. Meet me at the coffee shop. I need to talk to you.

  Jake knew exactly what Cole wanted to talk about. He was going to try to convince Jake to go with him tomorrow to make Vlad’s delivery. He was all super-bad on the outside, but inside Cole was poultry. He’d be too afraid to go it alone. Jake was about to tell Cole to relax, that he’d made up his
mind and was definitely going along, but after that loser comment, he decided to let his friend sweat a bit. He’d tell him in person.

  See you in ten.

  Jake stepped into the hall. He could hear the water running in the bathtub. He knocked on the door but got no response, so he knocked again and shouted, “I’m going to meet Cole for a coffee. You want a doughnut or something?”

  Jake waited a few seconds. He thought he heard her say something like, “Come home …”

  He rolled his eyes and quickly added, “I’ll only be gone for an hour or so.”

  Nothing.

  Given the choice, Jake would take his mother whaling on him any day over the silent treatment. Funny thing was, this wasn’t exactly the silent treatment. It was more like the selective silent treatment.

  Jake gave up trying to figure her out and left the apartment. As he rode the elevator, his eyes circled from the ceiling to the wall to the floor and back again. He didn’t hear any more voices, but he could have sworn it was five thousand degrees inside the tiny space. There was something wrong with it — he’d have to remember to tell Mr. Borrelli next time he saw him. If the elevator had some sort of electrical problem, someone could get seriously hurt.

  By the time Jake reached the lobby, he was dripping with sweat. He swiped his hand across his forehead as the doors opened. Two men waited to get on, neither too interested in clearing a path for him. Jake had to squeeze between the two guys to get out while they muscled past him to get on. They were like pillars of stone, practically knocking him down all the while continuing their conversation. Jake shook his head. “Bunch of ignorant …” he muttered under his breath, but the doors were already closing.

  Jake stepped out of the building and into the cool fall air. He stood for a moment and scanned his neighbourhood. It wasn’t such a bad place, after all. He was about to head to the coffee shop when he saw Mr. Borrelli walking toward his car.

  “Yo, Mr. B!” he shouted, but the superintendent didn’t hear him. “Hold up, Mr. B!” Jake tried again, jogging toward the parking lot. Mr. Borrelli got into his car. The Toyota backed up and then sped toward the main road so fast that Jake had to dive out of the way to avoid getting hit.