Call Out by L.B. Clark

my
makeshift pajamas – and pulled them on.
    By the time I opened the bathroom door and
stepped out, I had managed to shut my concerns about London’s
powers into the footlocker with my other worries.
    Brian had traded his guitar for London’s
laptop. London lay sprawled on the bed like a teenaged girl: belly
down, feet in the air, propped up on his forearms. A manila folder
lay open on the bed in front of him, but he ignored it in favor of
the laptop screen, craning his neck to peer around Brian’s broad
shoulders.
    I took a seat on the end of the bed, still
toweling my damp hair, and joined the boys in looking at the
computer screen. We were staring at a map of Orlando. The metro
area looked huge to me.
    “Where do we start?” London asked.
    “Near the airport, right?” Brian asked.
    “Her last known whereabouts,” London said.
“It makes sense.”
    “No,” I said, surprising myself as much as
the boys. Brian turned to look at me, and I shook my head slightly.
“It makes sense, in a way, but I don’t think it’s the best place to
start looking.”
    “Why not?”
    “Brian,” I said, turning my head slightly to
make full eye contact, “What do you think happened?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What happened after Dylan got off that
plane? How’d she disappear? I mean, we obviously don’t know the
answer, but what does your gut instinct tell you?”
    The muscles in Brian’s jaw clenched, relaxed.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and met my
gaze. “I think she was taken.”
    “Me, too. It’s the only thing that makes
sense.”
    Brian relaxed a little, like maybe he’d been
afraid we’d think he was crazy for believing Dylan had been
kidnapped. I shifted, intending to reach out for him, but he turned
back toward the computer.
    “You really think someone just...dragged her
out of the airport?” London asked.
    “Lured, maybe,” I answered. “Coerced.” Out of
the corner of my eye, I saw London nod. “If someone took her,” I
continued, “if she’s being held for ransom or something, I think
that changes things. Wouldn’t a kidnapper hold her somewhere away
from the airport?”
    “But where?” London asked.
    “I don’t know,” I admitted.
    Brian sighed and pushed back from the desk.
“Maybe we should just throw a dart at a map.”
    “Probably as good as anything,” London
agreed.
    Without another word, Brian got up, grabbed
clean clothes, and shut himself in the bathroom. I took the chair
he had vacated.
    “Any ideas?” I asked London.
    “Nope. I meant it when I said the dart idea
was as good as anything.”
    I stared at the map for a minute. There was
something we were missing. Something we hadn’t considered. But no
flash of genius or insight struck.
    The sound of rustling paper drew my attention
from the map, and I turned to look behind me. London rifled through
the folder full of papers, photocopies of handwritten pages. Before
I could decide whether to be polite or give in to my curiosity,
London glanced up and saw me looking at the papers.
    “Ashe’s notes,” he said. “Some good stuff in
here.”
    He handed me a page, and I realized as I
reached for it that he could sense my curiosity and had chosen to
indulge me. Kinda creepy. It would take a lot of getting used to. A
look of dismay flitted across London’s face before he looked down
at the papers, using his hair as a shield. He’d felt my discomfort,
just like he’d felt my curiosity. Shit.
    Not knowing what else to do, I started
reading the page of notes in my hand. I hadn’t even finished the
first sentence before I was distracted by the sound of the bathroom
door opening. I glanced up, and then down again. Brian in boxer
shorts and a white undershirt – the kind affectionately known as a
wife beater – was just not what I needed right now.
    London laughed, and I looked up again.
    “What?” Brian asked, dragging back the duvet
on his side of the bed.
    “Nothing,” London said, but his