Alias - Softcover

"When I was a child, our family used to drive from Arizona to New England every summer. My father hated to stop, even at a motel, and so I used some of that travel experience when I was picturing Toby's adventures in Alias -- if it's Tuesday, this must be the Mississippi!

"Since the publication of Alias, I've had some interesting experiences. Most recently, I was a contestant on Jeopardy. I managed to come back as a returning champion, winning a good bit of money and a trip to Hawaii. (Not recommended for the faint-hearted!)"

Chapter 1

I am on a train, like the ones in the movies, with paneled compartments and old-fashioned seats. The train takes a curve, and I see out the window that at the edge of the track there's...nothing. I grip the edge of the seat, knowing if I move an inch, the whole train, the whole track -- everything -- will fall off the cliff, into black emptiness: the end of the world.

When I woke up, I felt stiff and sore. My hand was clutching the metal hinge of the sofa bed. I'd been having that dream for years. I wondered where it came from, what it meant. It always gave me the sick feeling that everything was up to me -- if I made a false move, the game was over.

Then the alarm clock jangled, and I remembered -- with a twist in my chest -- what was supposed to happen today.

Forget the lousy dream. If I pushed it, I'd have time for instant coffee and a doughnut.

Mom had already left for her job as a cashier at flower shop downtown, near the big hotels. It wasn't much of a job, but it explained the smell that hung over the Dumpster, our one-bedroom apartment: The place was crammed with flowers. Most nights Johnny, Mom's boss, let her take the surplus flowers home. Mom's a genius when it comes to plants. They were all over the living room and the kitchen counter.

I boiled water and stirred in some coffee powder, shoving aside Mom's African violets to make room for a cup. Too bad she couldn't find a dog or a cat that needed a home, instead.

Not that it made any difference -- the slumlord who owned this place wouldn't let the inmates keep pets. When I was nine, I got to have a puppy once. That was six years ago, in another city in another state. Brewster was long gone, wriggling out the door one day never to return. There had been a lot of other states since then.

And now we were in sunny L.A., where the apartments had iron bars over the windows, and every now and then a car slowed outside, and you woke thinking it was the Fourth of July. Until you figured out those pops weren't firecrackers.

I swallowed the coffee in one gulp and grabbed my books. Phantom would be waiting. "You'd better be there," he'd said.

The past few months avoiding the Phantom had become a way of life. Today I planned to skip out last period before I had to give a report on ancient Egypt. I hadn't done much research anyway. I figured if they needed to know about dead pharaohs, they could dig up King Tut.

I waited until the bell rang. Then I slipped into the boys' room in case the vice principal was patrolling the halls for truants.

Two older kids were in there, peddling pot to a freshman. I ignored them and pretended to study a stray zit.

My face looked flat and blank in the mirror, like the face of the moon, or some lifeless planet. Dishwater-blond hair hung over the tops of my huge ears, which matched my huge feet. I felt like one of those bargain-basement suits where the jacket's too short and the pants are too long -- a misfit.

The only good thing about my face were my eyes. Blue and sharp. Mom's are a deep brown. I had enough biology at my last school to know that blue eyes come from a recessive gene. Meaning that somewhere out there, on my father's side, I've got a bunch of recessive, blue-eyed cousins. With huge ears and feet.

"Toby Chase?" I turned away from the mirror. The bathroom was empty. Then I looked closer and saw Phantom's size twelves under one of the stalls.

I couldn't see him, but I knew he could see me, that he was watching me from the other side of the scratched metal door. I stuck a Don't Mess With Me sign on my face, but inside I was scared. He'd been after me all year: Sell this for me, give that kid what's in the bag, drop something here, there, keep half for yourself.

So far all I'd done was buy time. But now Phantom wanted me to drag someone else into it. That was how it worked. I hated knowing he wanted to make me feel afraid. If it wasn't for Mom, I might have taken off by now. But I couldn't do that to her. I was all she had.

And it was all about to explode.

"Did you talk to Teddy?" The voice was low, a rusty hinge on an invisible door.

Teddy Lee was a nice little kid in my homeroom. Little Teddy didn't stand a chance.

"Haven't seen him," I said. Stupid, but brave.

Something metal struck the stall door. The crash echoed off the tiles. I winced.

I didn't stick around to find out what it was. In a second I was out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and out the door of Fillmore High.

Well, almost out the door. Just as I reached the exit, a big hand attached itself to my shoulder.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Chase? School's not out for forty-five minutes."

It was Mr. Boyer -- Fillmore's Joe Friday, the Kindergarten Cop himself.

I switched on my default expression: blank smile. "Got a doctor's appointment."

Boyer peered at me. "You don't look sick to me," he said.

"Eye doctor appointment," I improvised, squirming away from the vice principal's viselike fingers. "Can't see the board. Probably need glasses."

He sighed and let go of my shoulder. "You look like a bright kid, Toby," he said. "Got a future, college waiting for you. You don't want to spoil it with 'delinquent' all over your record."

"I think the word is 'truant,'" I corrected him. "I'm not into vandalism, or drug dealing, or any of the popular team sports here at Fillmore." It was true; he couldn't argue the point.

"Your mom's a nice lady," he said finally. "I don't want to put her through another long talk about what to do with you. She always looks so sad."

My eyes grazed the space behind him. A dark shape moved like a whisper down the hall.

For a moment I considered telling Boyer what was going on. Phantom would figure I had snitched anyway.

Boyer was still studying me. Then something in his eyes swung shut, and the moment passed.

I was doomed.

"So straighten up, buddy. End of chat. Now get back to class. March!"

Boyer was blocking the exit door with his cheap suit, so I did the smart thing. I shrugged, snapped off a salute, and marched.

"Another day, another pharaoh," I called.

Joe Friday didn't get it, and I didn't care.

To be safe I took the long way home. Practically through the next county. But the minute I walked in the door and tossed down my books, I didn't feel safe anymore.

Something was different.

Then I nailed it: The plants were gone.

And not just the plants. All the paperbacks had been scooped off the shelf next to the IV The TV was unplugged, the cord wrapped around it like an electrical vine.

"Mom?" I called, panic filling my voice as I headed down the hall. "Mom?"

"In here, Toby," she called from the bedroom. A pile of clothes covered Mom's bed, hangers poking out every which way.

"What's going on?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

She was inside the closet, tossing skirts and blouses through the air. When she came out, I saw there was something different about Mom, too.

That didn't surprise me, either -- my Mom's trying out new looks. For over a year she'd worn her hair tied in a long braid down her back. Now it was short and curly. She keeps herself in good shape, but not really muscular. The hair looked good on her. I wondered how long she'd keep it that way.

"Don't tell me," I said, keeping my voice dead-pan. "Let me guess. We're, uh, moving again?"

She shot me an exasperated look and then smiled. I couldn't tell whether it was a real one, or something to sweeten me up. My mom can be real con artist when she wants to be.

"For heaven's sake, Toby -- don't tell me you wanted to stay here?"

"God, no." I plopped down on the bed, making the clothes bounce. "But school doesn't let out for a few months. Boyer won't like it...."

"We won't ever have to worry about Mr. Boyer again," she said. "I've got it all figured out."

She reached for a plastic garbage bag, the kind you could fit an elephant inside, and began shoving clothes into it: Mom's idea of luggage. She scrubbed a hand through her new short hair. She'd colored it, too -- it was light brown now instead of dark.

"Nice dye job," I remarked. "Washed that gray away?"

"Helen at the salon talked me into it," Mom said.

She tossed me the garbage bag and threw down a last armful of clothes. "And now, smart guy, I'm going to wash this horrible town out of my pores. First a shower, and then we'll hit the road."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Hey, is there anything to eat around here?" I called as she headed for the bathroom. "Or have you packed up the refrigerator, too?"

"There's salami, I think, and some bread," she called back as the shower swished on. "Make me a sandwich, too, will you, Toby? I really want to beat that traffic."

I headed for the kitchen, but the last thing on my mind was making a sandwich. I could hear the train from my dream, the shriek of its whistle as it rattled along the edge...I thought about the Phantom, and firecrackers reaching into your sleep.

Outside a car slowed, and I froze.

It moved on. Just a red light, I told myself. But when I reached for the bread, I had another thought. For once, I was definitely ready to move.

Then again, if you had Annie Chase for a mom, you didn't have much choice.

Copyright © 1997 by Mary Elizabeth Ryan