The Octopus Effect (10 page)

“Please, Sara Beth. I know who you are. Who you
really
are! I can tell you why you can't remember anything . . . and I can even tell you about your tattoos.”

Sara Beth glanced down at her covered arms and legs. Had this nut job been watching her? But what if he really did know something? What if he could help?

“Fine, but get out of the way.” She gestured for him to move aside so she had a clear path to run. “And if you act creepy, I'm screaming. Loudly.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But I want to help you, Sir.”

“Did you call me ‘sir'?”

“Sir. Sirabetta. That's who you
really
are. Can't you remember? Formerly Sara Beth Daly, you were a member of the Order of Psychology. You should have been Keeper. You tried to serve the greater good and were punished for it.”

Sara Beth stared at him. What was this crazy person saying? “That's it—get out of here.” But her voice had no conviction; something was nagging at her.

The man made no move to leave. “The Union couldn't keep you down; you had a way, some secret method of fighting off their memory wiping. A way to remember your true self. You gained tattoos of tremendous power.” He pointed to her arms and legs. “You found other people who wanted freedom from the strict rules and injustice in the Union. You were going to overthrow it, starting with Ralfagon Wintrofline.”

“Ralph-a-gone?” she asked, numbly.

“The Keeper of the Order of Physics. We put him in the hospital so you could take his Book, the
Teacher's Edition of Physics.
That brat Simon Bloom got to it first.”

Sara Beth shivered. That name. “Simon . . . Bloom?”

“Yes! He and his friends stole the Book, took its powers, fought you, fought me, fought that idiot Mermon Veenie. They won. Somehow they defeated you, made you a child instead of your true age. Ruined your tattoos. But I'm here to set things right. Those fools in the Order of Physics never suspected where my loyalty truly lay. And your faithful followers are waiting for you to resume control. To lead us to glory. Now is the time, Sir. It's time to restore your greatness!”

Sara Beth frowned. The man sounded like a babbling psycho, but somehow every word he said almost made sense. It was on the tip of her mind, just out of reach, but so close. So close. “My greatness?”

“Once you're back to your proper age, your tattoos should work again. You'll be able to control all that power and use it to destroy our enemies!”

Sara Beth's heart pounded, and her head throbbed, as if something was pushing, straining to get free. She pulled up her sweatshirt sleeves and stared at the colors. Yellow, green, silver, blue. Were they ever more than just blotches?

“This is it, Sir. We'll take a secret route to the Order of Biology, where allies will restore your proper age. That should also restore all your magnificent power. We'll topple the Council of Sciences, tear apart the Keepers, and destroy Simon Bloom!”

“Order of Biology? Council of Sciences? Keepers?” Part of her was starting to see. To feel how
right
this all was. Whatever was fighting inside her mind was winning . . . breaking free of its chains.

“We won't go by Gateway, of course—the Union would know. We'll use another method, not as fast, but safer. Come on, Sir—remember. Embrace the truth!”

The man's face was bright red from his excitement. He was practically foaming at the mouth. He looked completely bonkers. And yet . . .

“I know you?” she asked, tentative at first. But then, “I
do
know you.” She pulled out a small mirror from her bag and stared at her reflection. It had never seemed so artificial. “You have powers? Show me.”

“Of course, Sir.” He pointed to a nearby cart filled with books. “Keep your eyes on that!” He spoke what sounded like nonsense to Sara Beth and then pointed at the cart. It started to spin around, faster and faster, its wheels squeaking as it rotated on the carpet.

The books went flying in all directions; Sara Beth had to dodge as one soared at her. Finally, the cart smashed into the far wall, clanging loudly.

Sara Beth gaped at him. Her first quick thought was about the damage to all those books. Then she realized what she'd just seen . . . how was that possible? But deep down, she knew. Whatever barrier there was in her mind was crumbling. She pushed up her sleeves and stared at the colors there. That blue blob on her right arm . . . she associated it with air expanding, making things explode. She patted at a spot on one leg, where her jeans covered another blue mark. It made her think of blazing, all-consuming heat. And that silver tattoo below the knee of her other leg gave her an image of a glowing ball of light that could shatter solid steel.

These thoughts shattered more than steel. Memories that were supposed to have been destroyed were returning, coming back from where they'd been safely stored by an old Order of Psychology trick she'd taught herself years before.

“Yes. YES. Your name . . . you are Willoughby Wanderby!” He nodded eagerly. “And I . . .” There was pain, now. A piece of her, deep inside her head, was disintegrating and beneath it—inside it—was another thing entirely. Her everything. Her self.

“I remember!” she shouted, triumphant. Her hands were clenched into fists, both held above her and shaking. Trembling with rage. “I remember everything.” She finally, truly
saw
. The books around her were filled with pathetically limited knowledge. The Outsider librarian rushing over, probably to investigate the noise, was a helpless fool. Her own thirteen-year-old hands were her prison. And the novel in one hand that just minutes ago had offered her such peace was only a distraction from her true purpose, from the blood and pain she'd have to dispense before she was done.

Sara Beth Doe stared at the book in her hand. Then Sirabetta tossed it aside. There was no room for peace for her now. It was time for war. And vengeance.

On Tuesday morning, Alysha and Owen met outside their school and waited for Simon.

“What's with everyone?” Alysha asked as she gestured toward their schoolmates. There was none of the usual fun or cheeriness in the air outside Julius Henry Marx Junior High School. No boys were riding on skateboards or playing with hacky sacks. No girls giggled together or flirted with the boys. Instead, the students were standing in tense clumps and talking in hushed voices.

“I hope it's not about what Simon did yesterday,” Owen said.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” Alysha said, but she couldn't hide a frown. She waved to a friend, who came over. “Hey, Jill,” she said. “What's the deal?

Jill glanced over her shoulder. “It's really weird; the teachers are freaking out.” She nodded to the windows of the cafeteria; Alysha and Owen followed her gaze. Sure enough, the teachers were huddled together inside and whispering. Occasionally, a teacher made a slashing motion with a hand or shook a fist in the air.

“Yup, they're freaking out all right,” Alysha said. She turned to Jill. “See you inside; we're going to wait for Simon.” Jill waved and walked off while Alysha pulled Owen back to their usual waiting spot.

Alysha saw Owen's mouth open and held up her hand. “Just hold on, Speedy, we don't know the facts yet. Save your strength for Simon-Watch, so we can stop him from accidentally blowing the whole place up or something.”

“Hey,
you're
the one with the plasma problems,” Simon said from behind them.

Alysha and Owen whirled around. “Simon!” Alysha said. “I was just . . .”

Owen looked at his feet.

“Wow, you two are speechless?” Simon asked.

“We just . . . you know . . .” Alysha said. “So how are you feeling?”

Simon shrugged. “Getting over a stomachache. Indian food for dinner.”

“You know what I mean,” Alysha said with a roll of her eyes.

Simon smiled. “It's fine. I'm fine. I think. I'm still nervous and all, but talking to Ralfagon helped a little. What's going on?”

Alysha related what Jill said, and Owen stomped his foot. “This can't be a coincidence! Maybe it's something the Board's up to, or it has to do with Ralfagon. We're going to walk in there and find a bunch of new teachers from the Union here to gang up on Simon and us because Ralfagon had to retire.”

“Don't be paranoid!” Alysha said. “Remember, Ralfagon
chose
to step down.”

“I'm sure it's normal school business,” Simon said. “Not some Union invasion.”

There was a loud burst of static as the school's public announcement system turned on. After a few loud
thunks
from someone testing the microphone, a voice rang out.

“All students please report to your homerooms immediately. Your teachers will escort you to a special first period assembly so you can meet your new principal.”

“Oh, no,” Simon and Alysha said at the same time.

“Told you so,” Owen said.

 

Once the assembly ended, hundreds of students and faculty members filed out of the main auditorium. It was a slow process; everyone turned back to stare at the new principal, especially those who remembered her from Martin Van Buren Elementary. Many murmured about the sudden change in school leadership and, of course, that towering column of hair.

Eventually, all but four people were gone. The only ones left in the auditorium were the new principal and the three students she'd asked to stay after. Now that the place was empty, Simon, Alysha, and Owen made their way down the bleachers to the auditorium floor, where Miss Fanstrom waited.

“That was not pleasant,” she said in her clipped British accent. “It was hard enough arranging my transfer to Martin Van Buren Elementary last May and to Enrico Fermi Junior High this September. But a third move a month later? I'll be hearing about this from the PTA, I have no doubt.”

Miss Fanstrom clapped her hands and smiled warmly at the three friends. “No use weeping and wailing though, is there? Mr. Bloom, Mr. Walters, Miss Davis, it's a pleasure to see you all again. I'm guessing you have questions for me, yes?”

Simon cleared his throat. “Yes. We haven't seen you since you sent us to see our Narrator five months ago.”

Alysha folded her arms. “Every time—every single time—we went to your office to talk to you, you were mysteriously off school grounds or in a meeting!”

“Wait-Enrico-Fermi-Junior-High-in-Stoneridge?” Owen asked in a verbal blur.

The top of Miss Fanstrom's hair swiveled toward Owen. “As always, Mr. Walters, your powers of observation are only outshone by your rate of self-expression.”

“Are there Union members in Stoneridge coming to get us?”

“Ah, and then there's your capacity for needless worrying. No, Mr. Walters, though you have many dangers to face, that is not one of them. Allow me to explain.”

In her calm yet crisp voice, punctuated by the top of her hair periodically shifting its aim from one youth to the next, Miss Fanstrom recapped what they already knew—how, five months ago, the Council of Sciences was unable to remove Sirabetta's ruined tattoos. The Board was unwilling to overlook her crimes, but since she was trapped as a thirteen-year-old girl they found it easiest to try to give her a fresh start.

The Order of Psychology erased her memories, and she was put into foster care, placed in the next town so the Order of Physics could keep an eye on her. Willoughby Wanderby volunteered to be the point person on this. His discipline as a gym teacher made him seem a good choice, especially since his battle with Simon and friends in the previous Chronicle was believed to be a complete misunderstanding.

Miss Fanstrom went on to explain how Sirabetta was treated at school, as well as how the kids' former gym teacher freed her.

“So Mr. Wanderby was really a bad guy all along,” Alysha said.

Owen nodded. “That explains all the laps we had to run.”

Simon, again without thinking, rested his hand on the flap of his backpack. “Okay, what now? Is the Order of Physics going after them? The whole Union?”

Miss Fanstrom frowned. “I wish it were so simple. Any official Union action requires authorization from the Board of Administration. Ordinarily the Board is slow to do anything—they have so many procedures—but for several months now they've been positively glacial.” She paused. “In fact, I've noticed many rather peculiar things about them lately.” She shook her head—hair unmoving—as if to dismiss a thought. “Besides, we can't be certain they even know. Or the Council, either.”