Previously: Twain sent Digger into the past so that he could escape unhindered. And now…
Digger slammed into the exchange student from behind, knocking him toward Frog Boy, who was reaching out a finger to trace the carving on the glowing crystal. Frog Boy disappeared, and the student stumbled through the empty space where he had been. The crystal on its leather lanyard fell toward the floor.
Digger snatched it in mid-air, hopped over the student and kept running. He turned a corner and almost ran into a woman in one of those tight Chinese dresses, accompanied by a man in black leather. “Go,†she whispered.
“What?†Digger asked.
She grabbed the lanyard and whipped the crystal up toward Digger’s face. “He’s getting away,†she said in a strangely familiar voice. The crystal touched his cheek…
And he was stumbling forward in the motel room once again. His head spun as every sensation was suddenly inverted; the hard concrete under his feet became soft carpet, the racket of the crowd became the quiet hum of the air conditioner as the warm humid air inside the flea market was replaced by the cool dry air of the motel room.
Twain was gone and all his stuff with him. The only thing he’d left was a twenty dollar bill on one of the beds.
[blockquote type=”blockquote_quotes” align=”right”]“He’s getting away,†she said in a strangely familiar voice…[/blockquote]But he couldn’t have gotten far. Digger hadn’t been gone long. He stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. He squinted reflexively at the sunlight, even though he wasn’t nearly as sensitive to it as before. The room was on the second level; he stepped to the railing, looked down. Twain’s van was just backing out.
Digger vaulted the rail, expecting to soar out to land on top of the van. But as he pushed off from the gorund, he was reminded by the lack of spring in his legs that he no longer possessed his powers. He clutched at the wrought-iron railing to keep from falling, swung out over it to end up dangling off the second-floor walkway. But he could no longer attach himself to surfaces, and his grip was weak, so he fell before he could pull himself back up. He felt his ankle twist under him as he landed. He tumbled to the concrete.
The van was just pulling out out of the motel’s courtyard into the street as Digger scrambled to his feet and limped after it. The ankle loosened up as he moved, and soon he was running at nearly top speed, but as Digger turned out of the courtyard, he despaired. The van was too far gone for him to follow.
Twain had gotten away.
Digger turned and limped back to the motel. As he walked, the ankle started to throb, letting him know just how bad an idea the running had been. But the ankle was the least of his problems. He was stranded in an unfamiliar city with no transportation, no identification, and no money except for the smelly twenty on the bed in his room.
And the door to his room was locked.
How will Digger catch up to Twain to regain his powers? Join us tomorrow for our next exciting episode!
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