Chapter Five

Mind Your Manors

Sara removed her cell phone from her front pocket and called her mother.

When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are…. She heard her mother’s ringtone.

She followed the sound of the singing phone to her mother’s room. Lying on the dresser was her mother’s cell phone, purse with keys inside, and sunglasses.

“Maybe Mom would leave her phone behind, perhaps her sunglasses, but purse and keys?”

She looked around the room, her eyes settled on the note lying on her mother’s pillow.

Yesterday morning, while her mother was making a special breakfast, Sara had slipped into her mother’s bedroom and placed a note on her pillow, a little reminder to say she loved her. After that, she returned to the kitchen and enjoyed a delicious scrambled cottage cheese with peas, porridge, and an avocado muffin. Now, a day later, the note still lay on the pillow undisturbed.

Her mother had not been home at all yesterday.

Someone had been in her house today to leave the other note and open the bedroom door.

Knock Knock.

Sara jumped.

“Thomas T. Thompson. Is he the villain? Or is he the good guy?”

She looked at her mother’s cell phone. There were four missed calls. One was from her. The other three were from TTT.

Sara put her mother’s cell phone, sunglasses, purse, and the note from the pillow in her backpack. She turned from her mother’s room, trembling and wiping a tear from her eye, and went to the front door.

She remembered her mother’s concerns for safety. “Do you have some ID?”

The chauffeur showed her a blue card with a large white star on it, Thomas T. Thompson Enterprises.

 Shutting the door behind her, she followed the man in the white suit. She had never noticed the small toad tracks outside her mother’s room. She never saw the instant message on her computer- “WE HAVE YOUR MOTHER. YOU ARE NEXT. THERE IS NO PLACE YOU CAN HIDE.”

Arriving in the limo, she glanced back at her house before she tumbled inside the door.

She played with the gadgets in the limo, momentarily forgetting all her problems. She did not notice the car parked behind them- the car with the toad in an ugly green suit.

“Better hang on, Miss Roberts.”

She put on her seat belt and held on for dear life as the car careened out of the parking spot and turned right, left and right again, throughout the neighborhood. The limo pulled onto the freeway.

“Miss Roberts, we should have a smooth ride from here on. It will be lengthy, however. There are some refreshments in the refrigerator, sodas and some homemade liverwurst cookies; try one, they are delicious.”

Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a Mountain Dew and a cookie.

“MMM…This is great, even better than my mom’s.” She licked the crumbs from her finger.

“I am glad you like them.”

Her eyes began to get heavy. She was tired. It had been a long day. She was exhausted. She drank more Mountain Dew; it always kept her awake. It wasn’t keeping her awake today. It wasn’t wise to fall asleep in the limo with a stranger. She fought a valiant battle to remain awake.

She lost.

“I’m so sorry Miss Roberts. Precautions need to be taken. The location of The Manor must be kept secret.”

The limo drove several miles, took an exit off the freeway, turned down a quiet, deserted country road, and vanished.

Teleportation is still not an exact science. The landings can be unpredictable, especially if the calculations are not configured correctly. Landings are often bumpy. The science has improved over the years, however. In the first experiment, an unsuspecting volunteer in a light blue carriage was to be transported twenty miles. The rear of the carriage arrived unscathed, but the front of the carriage and the driver disappeared.

Fortunately for Sara, the transport to and from Earth and The Manor had been perfected and stored in the Limo’s computer. Bumpy landings, however, were still a problem.

Sara was suddenly awakened by a sharp jerk and a thud.

“Ah, Miss Roberts, you are awake. Did you enjoy your nap? We have arrived.”

She sat up, looking around her and rubbing her eyes. She was greeted by a security camera. On either side of the limo was a long white brick wall extending as far as she could see. In front of the limo was a very impressive wrought iron gate with an enormous white star in the center.

She looked at her palm; the star was white.

The chauffeur punched eight digits into the security system. The numbers were her birthday. The gate disappeared and reappeared once they passed.

The limo continued up a long, straight driveway towards a beautiful white mansion. Along one side of the driveway was a topiary garden of trees and bushes shaped to look like the strangest animals she had ever seen. One was a winged horse, and another looked like a lion’s body but with the head of an eagle. On the other side of the driveway were large statues of men and women. As the limo passed each statue, it turned and stared at the limo. They were frightening; she had scarystatueaphobia. She closed her eyes and did not open them again until the limo stopped in front of the mansion.

The chauffeur led her to the walkway. “They are expecting you, Miss Roberts.” He nodded towards the ornate, white front door carved with stars.

Hesitating, she wished for some courage building Doritos as she pushed the bell. The door opened.

A very tall man was analyzing her. “Mr. Thompson wishes to extend his deepest regrets for the clandestine manner in which this meeting has been arranged.” He spoke in an adamant British accent.

The tall man led her down a long hallway and, pushing open one door of a set of double doors. “This is the study, Miss Sara; the Master will join you shortly.”

She walked around the study. Books covered the walls. One set of books was out of alphabetical order. She wanted to correct them but restrained herself. In the center of the study sat a large desk. On it, she found a lamp, a large jar full of cell phone batteries, and a weird looking phone. No papers. No files. She found nothing telling her who Thomas T. Thompson was.

The door opened, and the oldest man Sara had ever seen in her life shuffled into the room. His wrinkles had wrinkles. He extended his bony, wrinkled, and brown spotted hand to Sara.

“Sara Roberts, it is indeed an honor to meet you. I have known your family for a long time,” the old man said. He kept his hand out. Despite a severe case of bonyhandaphobia, she reached out and touched his hand, afraid of breaking it, and shook it very lightly. Showing surprising strength, the old man grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously.

Mr. Thompson’s eyes settled on the backpack Sara had dropped in the middle of the floor, and his demeanor changed very quickly. “Pardon my impertinence, but it is imperative I see your backpack immediately.”

“Sure,” she said, placing the backpack on the desk and emptying the contents. The tall man walked in and stood by the desk.

“Scan the contents carefully, Bradford.” The old man as he handed the purse to the tall man.”

“That’s my mother’s purse, Mr. Thompson; she left it at home. Can you help me find my mother?”

“We’ll discuss that later, Sara,” Mr. Thompson as he rummaged through the remaining contents. His eyes landed on the cell phone, and the look on his face switched from mild curiosity to intense concern. He removed the battery from the cell phone and put it in the jar of cell phone batteries. “I’m sorry, Sara, but I forgot to tell you the rules concerning cell phones at The Manor. They are expressly forbidden.”

“My mother’s cell phone is in her purse.” Bradford pulled it out and took off the battery.

“I hope we were in time, Sir.”

“I’m sure we will be just fine, Bradford.” He turned to Sara, “You see, Sara, cell phones have GPS transmitters in them, and with the right equipment, you can be found just by honing in on that GPS in your cell phone. The GPS does not work when the batteries are taken off, therefore; we always remove the cell phone batteries before we come to The Manor. I’m sure there wasn’t enough time to trace you.”

She thought about the toad. Maybe he didn’t even need to see the name on the side of the bus.

Mr. Thompson picked up the hairbrush her father had given her. “Have you been instructed on how to use this?”

“Of course.” Sara grabbed the brush from Mr. Thompson and brushed her hair. Mr. Thompson’s eyes widened, a bead of sweat appearing on his brow, as he carefully removed it from her hands. Bradford took a step back.

“I will just hang onto this for the time being, just for your safety, mind you.”

Mr. Thompson picked up the copy of Huckleberry Finn, leafed through the pages, and began to mumble on about how he had known Mr. Twain personally and had spent time with him in San Francisco. The old man set the book down. Sara picked it up and looked at the inside page; Mark Twain had written the book in 1884.

“Bradford, please take Sara to her room to rest before dinner. I suggest a change in clothes would be appropriate; I don’t understand how your parents could allow you to have a shirt with a rodent on it.” He looked at her Minnie Mouse T-shirt. “Dinner is precisely at 6:46; arrive on time please.”