The Philosophers' Game

Chapter 21: Numbers

Chapter 21: Numbers

As Diogenes, Plato, and Aristotle scoured the school, I headed to Socrates's estate, thinking that Anna might try to find Socrates, to either keep an eye on him or apologize. The street was quiet, too quiet, as I parked and then walked down his long driveway lined with gargoyles. The tall iron gate had been left unlocked, a sign that Alice and her father had left in a hurry.

After looking back over my shoulder every couple of steps, I finally made it to the porch and tried to open the front door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.  Still not giving up hope, I walked around the side of the stone mansion to the back patio. But those glass doors, too, were locked. I walked one lap around the entire estate before I received an update from Aristotle:

Not here. Plato's heading back to the hospital. Where else should we try?

Beginning to really worry about Anna for the first time, I sent him and Diogenes to search the alley by the underground fight club and decided to wait at Socrates's estate for a few more minutes. Once fifteen minutes had passed, however, I had become so restless that I couldn't bear the suffocating silence and dark aura of the place any longer. Instead, with shaking hands and blurred vision, I just drove and drove. I would see her somewhere. I had to.

Essentially on autopilot, I wound up parking on the side of an empty residential street to take a few deep breaths and check my phone again. Only when I'd set it back down in my cup-holder did I truly realize I was right across the street from the junkyard. The Shack. The scene of an actual fire, but not the Philosophers'.

My whole body tingled with anticipation, as if screaming that I'd found her. Nevertheless, I didn't pick up the phone to let the boys know; I just walked into the Shack and whispered loudly, "Anna?"

No response, though the oil lantern was missing from its hook. Holding my breath, I pushed open the secret door and took a few steps downward into the blackness of the underground. At once, the sound of footsteps rushed toward me, but then its maker crashed powerfully into me and we both fell hard on the dirt stairs. Simultaneously came the breaking of glass, and I knew it was the oil lantern, felt the warm metal of the base on my skin just before my arms were sliced with small shards. I was too shocked to even scream in pain.

She must have been injured too, for she was slow to get up. Actually, as soon as she had, I grabbed her arm and shoulder for my own leverage. "Anna," I said, gripping her sweater, wet with blood, for dear life. "Anna, stop. It's going to be okay. Soc--Drew is fine."

She was sobbing and her body was shaking. "No, I hit him. I hit him and I meant it!" Her voice cracked with remorse, disbelief, and fear. She tried to pull away from me, but I was too strong and she fell down again. This time, she stayed there. "What will happen to us?" To her and Drew, she meant.

"Drew will make a full recovery. He'll be able to play polo again," I answered honestly, then paused since I'd been wondering the same thing about her for hours now. "And you...are going to see him again. You'll get help."

Of course, vagueness wasn't what she wanted or needed to hear. She was still bawling over what she had done and forever over her ex-boyfriend. I'd opened the flood gates by confronting her, and now it would take only a miracle, only Drew, to save her. "He doesn't like me, Candace. He likes you. I tried to change that. I was so jealous. I blackmailed you and posted those pictures at school. I tried to tear you apart. I even tried to tear him and Benny apart, to push Benny toward you. But it didn't work." I couldn't see her, though I imagined her curled up in fetus position on the steps, defeated, with tears and dirt staining her face and clothes. Like she had given her all --physically and mentally-- yet it was not enough and never would be.