Trapped!: The 2031 Journal of Otis Fitzmorgan by Bill Doyle Page B

what
     I can. No more cat-and-mouse games. I think we've established who the mice are in the room, anyway.”
    I looked at Judge, who shrugged. What did we have to lose?
    I described the scene the statue portrayed: Mary Todd Lincoln stretching out a hand toward Lincoln's killer, John Wilkes Booth,
     her fingers just barely missing him. “It's called “ESCAPE BY A HAIR.”
    Asyla's eyes gleamed at the name. “ SCAPE BY A HAIR” she repeated slowly. And there was something about the way she stretched
     out the last word…
    Then her eyes went cold again. She shook her head. “I've never heard of it.”
    You didn't have to be a detective to know she was lying.
    Judge suddenly said, “It's the title, isn't it? That's what made you sit up straighter.”
    No answer for a moment, and then Asyla laughed. “Of course not. I don't even know what that silly name means.”
    But it seemed Judge was on to something.
    “ESCAPE By A HAIR,” I said, thinking out loud, stretching out the last word the way Asyla had. I remembered the list of materials
     used to make the statue: tin, marble—and human hair.
    Yes! That must be it!
    “This all has something to do with the hair inside the statue, doesn't it?” I asked Asyla.
    She turned her gaze on me, and it was like looking into the eye of a hurricane. Cool, barely controlled rage stared back at
     me. Besides sending a shiver down my spine, it told me we were on the right track.
    Then Asyla blinked, and the rage disappeared, hidden behind a mask of calm innocence. She opened her mouth, and I thought
     she might speak. Instead, she yawned and stretched. “Oh my, I'm sleepy,” she said.
    Asyla walked to the couch and curled up on it, letting her long black hair drape over the end like a dark curtain. “I'm afraid
     we'll have to talk about this another time,” she purred. “Unless you're going to force me to stay awake. But that would be
     inhumane.”

    Before we could protest, she closed her eyes. Judge took a step toward her as if she wanted to shake her awake, but stopped
     herself.
    We shared a look, and I shrugged helplessly. judge and I left the room and stood in the hallway next to the elevator.
    “What did you think of that?” Judge asked me.
    I shook my head. “She definitely knows something, but I don't know what.”
    “Or she could be playing a game with us, making us believe she has knowledge we want,” Judge offered. “She might be as in
     the dark as we are.”
    “The way she reacted to the title of the statue,” I said. “It must have something to do with the hair.”
    “Okay,” Judge agreed. “But what?”
    I thought for a second. “The hair… the hair…”
    I couldn't finish the sentence. What could be so important about hair in the statue?

I DREAMED MY MATH TEACHER WAS SHOUTING AT ME.

JANUARY 6, 2031
Day 6 of 6      1:50 PM
    Last night I dreamed of my math teacher. The dreams were more like nightmares, really. She kept flashing my grade on my desk video screen. F. F. F.
    “You didn't do the work!” she shouted over and over. “You have the answer, but you didn't do the work!”
    When I woke with a start, my body was drenched in sweat.
    Of course, the dream was my subconscious telling me that I was letting everyone down. And I mean everyone: The kids on the
     Elevator, my parents… the entire planet!
    Outside my window, space was just as dark, but Earth was now much bigger. We're almost out of time! I thought. Any moment
     now, the virus will become airborne. We'll breathe it in, and then we'll be just like the adults. And when we reach Earth's
     surface at the end of the day…
    When I went to check on my parents, I found Crockett just leaving their room. If it were possible, he looked even more tired
     than before. The bags under his wide eyes looked like permanent black tattoos.
    “Any chance?” I asked him.
    He nodded grimly. “Yes, but not a good one. Your parents and the other adults are getting worse, Otis. I don't know what I