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  “Oh sweetie, oh my Katie.” Mom is holding me, and I realise she’s been crying. Mom never cries.

  She also doesn’t say anything about the sweater I’m wearing, and usually she’s all over me like a rash when she spots evidence of untime.

  She takes a step back. Then she hugs me again, without saying so much as a word about my fat lip.

  “Oh Katie. Something terrible has happened …”

  Okay. Now I’m really getting worried.

  But the words that leave her mouth are so unexpected that I feel my legs wobbling beneath me.

  “They’ve taken Mandi. The police have been here. Mandi’s disappeared. Out of her bed, just like the others. She’s gone.”

  I sit down on the floor.

  This is the worst night of my life.

  * * *

  In this world, there are levels to just about everything. I realise that now.

  Even the darker emotions – the ones that are so overpowering while you’re experiencing them – come in different shades and intensities.

  In the end it’s all about priorities.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is that after we heard about Mandi, I didn’t really care about Daniel and his two depraved friends any more. We threw those perverts on Camps Bay beach once we were back in untime. We left them in their underwear, their chests full of written warnings.

  We had more important things to do.

  Chapter 17

  Mom tells us that Mandi’s been missing for two whole days.

  It was the housekeeper who finally alerted the police, after she’d noticed that Mandi’s bed hadn’t been slept in for the second night in a row. Mandi’s stepmother, apparently, had merely thought “Mandisa” was “off somewhere” and she didn’t want to “waste precious police time”.

  That snake.

  Mandi’s dad is flying in from Germany at the moment, and the police have launched an investigation. So far it looks just like the other disappearances. Nothing stolen. No clues. No forced entrance. Nothing.

  Mom is crying, and so am I. Finn has gone completely still. Concentrating.

  Seeing him once again all focused and alert takes away some of the panic that’s been threatening to suffocate me. If only I could stop thinking about the horrible stuff I read earlier while doing my research.

  NGOs working in the field of human trafficking estimate that more than two million people are sold across borders each year. People are sold into slavery, soldiery and prostitution, and can face starvation, beatings, abuse, the loss of organs or other body parts, forced drug use and a ridiculously short life span.

  Oh dear God.

  Mom is getting hysterical. She says we should stop standing around immediately. She says Finn should call untime now. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. In all these years, this is the first time she’s said the word “untime”. Maybe something has finally pierced through the thick layer of denial Mom’s been wearing like a shield.

  She says every second that passes means that Mandi is in more danger. She’s shaking Finn, telling him to do something.

  (A small part of my brain wonders – not for the first time – about the relationship between Finn and my mom. She’s always told me that she owes him everything: her life, her happiness, her sanity. But that’s all she’ll ever say, and now, at this moment, looking at her wild, hysterical eyes, I’m kind of glad she’s never told me more. There’s something about her utter desperation that makes me think it’s a story I won’t be able to deal with.)

  Finn puts his hands on Mom’s shoulders. He brings his face down to hers, looks her straight in the eye. He promises he’ll find Mandi before something bad happens to her. Something about the way he says the word “promise” calms her down a bit. He tells her that we’ll do as much as we can in untime, but that he can’t stop time indefinitely. If we want to find her there are people we must talk to, computers to access, inquiries to make, and all of that must be done in real time. He tells her that he’ll first need some background; he knows nothing about these disappearances.

  This is where I interrupt for the first time. I tell Finn that I’ve been working on the case. That I can give him quite a lot of background right now.

  Finn says he doesn’t want me to get involved. That I’ve been through enough tonight.

  I tell him that he can forget it. Mandi is my best friend.

  Mom explodes, screaming can we please have this bloody debate outside of real time because those sick bastards have got that poor girl and we’re wasting precious fucking seconds.

  My mouth falls open. I have never heard my mom swear before.

  Finn tells her to sit down. Then he closes his eyes briefly and everything goes very still and very cold, and it’s just the two of us again.

  * * *

  I tell Finn everything about the case I’ve learnt so far. It’s a strange feeling, reporting to him, like in the old days. I even come clean about Ruth. I thought he’d be mad at me when he finds out that the girl staying with us is actually a runaway, but he just nods. Like that explains everything.

  I show him the files I’ve drawn up, tell him about my attempted contact with two of the families. But I’m embarrassed. Now that they’ve taken Mandi – now that all this is real – all my efforts so far seem sad and amateurish. A stupid, childish hobby.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I finish. “I know it’s not much.”

  Finn doesn’t say anything to make me feel better. He just stares out into nothing, his eyes narrowed, thinking. (Actually, this does make me feel a bit better. Like at least there’s something to think about.)

  “All right,” he finally says. “This is what we’ll do. You go over to Mandi’s house. See if you notice anything peculiar, anything out of the ordinary. I’ll find the detectives working on the case, see what they know. I’ll learn what I can from notebooks and files, but I might have to speak to a few people or get into their computers, which means we’ll have to move out of untime for short periods. I’ll text you before it happens.”

  I nod.

  “If we do move into real time I want you to hide away, observe Mandi’s stepmother. I don’t trust her; she’s a bad egg.”

  I nod again.

  “Then I want you to go to the Blue Oceans Hotel and get that receptionist’s BlackBerry. There’s something wrong about that story you told me. Something that makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  “Not for the moment.” Then, “Make sure you’re warm enough.”

  “Okay,” I say. “See you later.”

  And just like that, we’re a team again.

  * * *

  The outside gates as well as the front door and the security gate to Mandi’s house are locked, so I have to break in. But because I’ve got my tools again and I can work without fear of getting caught, it’s not too difficult to get inside.

  At first I don’t learn much from Mandi’s room though. As usual, it looks just like a hotel room – professionally cleaned and decorated – so it’s impossible to get a real sense of her. I can see why the cops are so frustrated.

  Still, the girl is my best and oldest friend, and I know a whole lot more about her life than the police ever will. So I start by looking behind the headboard. Her secret snacks are untouched. Then I open a shoebox in the back of her closet. I find her diary there, not even locked. I read through the last few pages, but don’t find anything significant. The last entry is dated more than three weeks ago.

  Next, I go to her desk. This is probably the only place in the entire suite that’s completely hers. (Nobody in the house is allowed to touch anything on her “work station” after a vicious fight a year ago when her dad for once in his life stood up to Skeletor.) I go sit behind her big oak desk and cast my eyes around to look for anything suspicious.

  But my attempt at detached objectivity is a joke.

  Oh my God.

  The pain, the fear, is too much to stand.

  I’m n
ot crying, but my eyes are burning with unshed tears and my head feels like it’s going to explode. Or maybe it’s my heart. Oh Mandi.

  I look at her carefully labelled files. Her perfect notes, underlined in pink and purple. Her highlighters packed in a neat row – green, yellow, red, like a traffic light. Her study timetable is neatly pasted to her wall and insanely detailed. Next to it is one of those silly notices she once downloaded from the internet with the sole purpose of irritating Skeletor:

  A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. This is my work station …

  I give a little laugh through my tears. Mandi’s such a nerd. Such a glorious, wonderful, obsessive compulsive miracle of a person.

  I can’t believe she’s … I can’t believe …

  I can’t concentrate.

  I have to concentrate.

  I close my eyes, breathe deeply ten times.

  I look closely at everything. Methodically and systematically, the way Simon taught me. It’s all perfectly in order. According to the timetable against the wall, she needs to revise for her calculus test all day tomorrow.

  I look closer. There’s a little note to herself at tomorrow’s date.

  It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

  *Invite Katie over. Tell her to bring her new friend. Make a real effort.

  For a moment I give in, cry a little. But then I pull myself together. As far as I’m concerned, this proves it. There’s no way Mandi just left, the way Ruth did. No way. She was taken against her will.

  The idea makes me sick to my stomach. I’m trying not to think about what those people could have done to her. I’m trying not to think about what almost happened to me last night. How quickly it all happened.

  A lot of bad things can happen to you in two days.

  After what feels like about an hour (in which I don’t learn anything else), I get a text from Finn and I start looking for a hiding place from where I can spy on the Stepmother from Hell.

  Rdy?

  Rdy

  * * *

  This is too much.

  Look, I’ve always thought that Skeletor was a horrible and heartless old cow, but what I’m seeing now is simply on another level.

  The woman is staring at her face in a handheld magnifying mirror, freakishly reminding me of Snow White’s evil stepmother. She’s looking critically at her skin. Every few minutes, whenever she finds an imperfection (or whatever it is), she puts on some kind of cream, but only the tiniest, tiniest amount, like it’s worth its weight in gold. Then she sits back and – I swear – practices looking sad!

  “Oh, it’s terrible,” she says, looking at herself. “My stepdaughter was such a special child.”

  She shakes her head, not happy with her performance, and tries again.

  “It’s heartbreaking!” she cries, then puts her head in her hands. “My dearest Mandi!” Even she must find this over the top though, because she begins to giggle. Then she sees something on her face and frowns, leans closer. “Dammit!” she hisses, and now she looks really upset. She puts a tiny amount of cream on her finger, dots it onto her face, sits back again. “Better.”

  Then she clears her throat, gives herself a little shake. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this tragedy!” she wails. “Mandi was such a darling girl …”

  She looks pleased with this latest performance, so much so that she repeats it.

  From where I’m lying, watching that psychopath from under the bed by means of a tiny tilted mirror, I want to throw up. This is, without a doubt, one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen in my life.

  When Finn calls untime again, I scramble out from under the bed, desperate to get away. My ribs and my shoulder hurt like hell, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the nausea I feel after seeing that woman’s true colours.

  * * *

  When I get back home Finn is still not there, so I look around for some painkillers. I find some Myprodols, but then I worry they are going to make me woozy, so I grit my teeth and decide to just get on with it. My ribs are really hurting though. (Those assholes!)

  I take Finn’s Porsche to the Blue Oceans Hotel, park right in front, in the process knocking over one of those golden poles tied to a red ribbon that they use to keep the riffraff out.

  Ja well. Good luck with that, guys.

  I walk in, glad to see that the automatic doors are halfway open, interrupted in the act of letting a guest in. But this bit of luck is cancelled out by the fact that it’s not the same receptionist who’s sitting frozen behind the desk. What on earth am I supposed to do now?

  I force myself to stay calm. I have time. I’m not stupid. I can make a plan.

  I snoop around for a while, trying to get a feel for the place. Fortunately, in real time it’s almost midnight, so there aren’t many people about to creep me out. After a while I find the staff room and – bingo! – a timetable. So far, so good.

  The name of the woman who worked reception on Sunday, I soon find out, is Zuki. I then rifle through the personnel files, and find out with some satisfaction that she is quite a bit older than she looks. (Ha! Sweet justice!)

  And then, another bit of luck. The woman, I see, lives in at the hotel, just like Sammy and her aunt used to.

  I take the stairs up to Room 109. The door is locked but it’s a simple mechanism, dead easy.

  The place is not what I expected. It’s plain, not at all fancy, even a bit depressing. A small sitting area without a window. Two doors leading out: one to a tiny bathroom and one to a bedroom hardly bigger than a closet. No wonder they don’t let paying guests stay here.

  Barracuda Barbie is in, getting her beauty sleep. Her BlackBerry is lying next to her bed. I poke around for a while longer, but don’t find anything interesting.

  So I pocket the BlackBerry and drive home.

  * * *

  I’m at home when we hit real time again. I start up the BlackBerry, search for anything to do with Sheila Kunene.

  I get more than I bargained for: regular email correspondence stretching back months. The last email is dated a week ago.

  Zuks! I’ve got news 4 u. It’s FINALLY happened – he gave me the ring!!! We are going out 2nite to celebrate. Sooooo excited!!! People looking at me like I’m some kind of monster bcoz I’m so happy even tho the child’s gone. But this is MY life … You know what I’m saying??? Don’t I get to have some fun?? Anyway, babes, you gotta see this ring! I’m talking ice like you wouldn’t believe it, honey. And a matching set of emerald earrings and necklace. I’m a diva now, babes!!!! I’m finally getting the perfect life I deserve! Anyhoo, got to go get ready for tonight!!! Wish me luck.

  Xxxxx

  Sheila

  Jeez Louise.

  I get that people grieve in different ways, but this is cold.

  Chapter 18

  Finn is not happy with the work done by the police so far.

  He tells me that from what he could gather, political pressures have led to chaos and infighting, and the woefully inexperienced team have left the investigation a shambles. (He uses a far stronger word than “woefully”, but I won’t repeat it now. Actually, he doesn’t use the word “shambles” either.)

  Apparently, important procedures have not been followed, leads not fully pursued, witnesses overlooked. (He doesn’t tell me all of this directly: from where he’s sitting reading the reports at the dining room table, I can hear him swearing all the way from the kitchen.)

  I make myself a sandwich, trying to think. I attempt to let go of all emotion, to follow the rules, [33] step by step.

  Rule 1: It’s all about money.

  Depressing, but true, unfortunately. More often than not.

  This case is weird though, because there haven’t been any ransom demands. Why steal all these rich kids if you’re not going to ask for money … ?

  As the thought crystallizes in my head, I feel a tingle running down my spine. All these rich kids. Of course!

&nbs
p; All the missing children, I realise with a sting of excitement, come from very privileged homes. Mandi’s dad is obscenely wealthy, Macy’s parents live in a multimillion-rand house in Camps Bay, while Dawid’s father is senior partner at one of the biggest law firms in the city …

  Oh, wait. That leaves little Sammy. An orphan who lived with her aunt, the receptionist, in what’s really only a little box. No extra money there, I don’t think.

  So that leaves us … Where exactly?

  Rule 2: Watch out for “loved ones”.

  More often than not, they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.

  Okay, so let me think.

  Mmm. Mandi and Sammy are both adopted. That’s like fifty percent of the group, which seems rather high to be a coincidence. Also, Mandi’s stepmother hates her, and according to that email I read, Sammy’s aunt isn’t going to be short-listed for a “Caregiver of the Month” award any time soon. But does that mean these women would actually get rid of their adopted children?

  I think about all the love I’ve received from my mom, and I just can’t imagine …

  And anyway, the other two missing kids weren’t adopted, were they? I remember Macy’s mother’s tragically sad Bambi eyes, and I just can’t picture the woman doing anything to her own daughter. And little Dawid’s mom tried to commit suicide, for Pete’s sake …

  Still. People are awful sometimes. And I’ve not met either Macy or Dawid’s fathers. I need more info, it seems. Especially when I think back on Ruth’s horrible tale.

  A home, unfortunately, can sometimes be the most dangerous place in the world.

  But it’s when I look at the “Contact Us” section that I actually yelp in shock. Next to me I can feel Finn’s entire body stiffen.

  Rule 3: Everybody’s got a dirty secret.

  Sex, drugs, cutting, gambling, violence, eating disorders, alcohol … the list goes on. Life is hard, and everybody’s struggle is more difficult than you think.

  Still, Sammy’s only six years old and Dawid has Down’s syndrome, so it’s not exactly like they’d be off to the casino every weekend, snorting CAT from strippers’ naked butts, now is it? And Mandi is clean as a whistle. I know it. True, I don’t know enough about Macy yet, but –