There’s a chain hotel off Commercial Street with a parking garage attached. I figured I’d crouch down between the cars and wait for someone to park for the night. That way the owners wouldn't notice anything missing until tomorrow morning.

But of course I had no clue how to hotwire a car. That's just not a skill that a small-town handyman has any cause to learn. So this wouldn't be easy.

Three cars entered in twenty minutes. The passengers of the first two didn’t head for the hotel. The third car was a junker that probably wouldn’t make it the highway, forget about Manattan.

Five minutes later, the four car parked, a late-model Dodge SUV, and a middle-aged couple stepped into the echoing garage. I heard the bee-twee of the car lock, then the click of heels, his and hers.

They were heading into the hotel. Perfect. I lowered my hood, attempted an entitled expression, and trotted into the lobby behind them.

The girl at the desk said, "Sir?"

Shit. I really needed to work on my entitled expression.

I sent the smallest orb to flit around the girl’s face. She startled and stepped backward, flapping her hand, trying to fend off the huge flying bug.

Because that’s what I’d discovered: even on the Rock, people’s minds looked for other explanations for the orbs. A strange silent beetle bumbling around your face made sense, while a remote-controlled anti-gravity orb did not. A speck of dust might catch in your eye, but quicksilver spheres didn't follow you down a corridor, flashing from hiding spot to hiding spot with a human intelligence.

I mean, that’s just crazy.

So the clerk waved away the beetle dive-bombing her hair, and I saw the elevator doors closing behind the couple. I lunged into the stairwell. The orbs swarmed upward, checking the floors above me as I ran behind, waiting for the elevator to open.

Second floor, third floor. My heart pounded. I led a pretty active life, but by the time I hit the fifth floor my legs were wobbly and my lungs burning. And still the elevator rose.

As if in reply to my desperate, silent plea, it stopped on the sixth floor.

An orb opened the stairwell door for me and I staggered panting into the hallway. Nobody in sight, but a sense of dislocated awareness tugged at me. From one of the orbs, down the hallway. I caught my breath, then jogged to the corner and caught a glimpse of the middle-aged couple keying into their room.

A few seconds later, I hurried past, minding my own business: and when they stepped inside, two orbs joined them.

Then the door clicked shut and I stopped.

Standing in a hotel hallway. Unable to go farther than twenty feet in either direction. Just ... standing there like an idiot. Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. I hadn't planned on being trapped outside their room, but of course it was a necessary consequence of my oh-so-clever plan.

I started walking, to explore full range of my freedom. And fifteen feet further on, the hallway opened into an alcove with a ice machine. Thank God. I slipped in and sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my eyes half-closed. I felt the impression of a hotel room. Big TV, heavy drapes. Splashes of color on the walls. Then a sudden light, and water splashing in a bathtub.

I needed to find their car keys, but I couldn’t direct the orbs based on vague feedback and half-formed instinct. So I breathed slow and steady, and waited...

What did those kidnapers want with Dewitt? It couldn’t be a case of mistaken identity, not with a guy named Dewitt living on a tiny island in Mayne. Did they want Shandra too, or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Hiring mercenaries and a yacht and helicopter to abduct a handyman seemed like overkill. Like an insane level of overkill. There was nothing special about Dewitt except his Storm-borne mnemonic ability. Which meant he listened to a lot of audiobooks, and knew the complete works of Shakespeare by heart: hardly a threat to national security.

Of course, if the government wanted Dewitt, they would’ve just knocked on his front door. And nobody knew about Dewitt’s ability. Or mine. Or anyone’s. What happened on the Rock stayed on the Rock. Except for Maddie, making a life for herself in New Park--so untouched by the Storm and the island, and by me, that she could leave forever.

And yeah, as I sat there, of course I wanted to save Dewitt. Obviously, that's what drove me. He was my best friend, my brother. I'd do anything for him.

But let’s be honest: I also wanted to roll into New Park, rescue Dewey, and have Maddie fall into my arms like some conquering hero.

I mean I’d be the conquering hero. She’d be the …what? I wasn't quite sure. Maybe the grateful helpmeet who’d organized bake sales and waited for her man to return? Yeah, sure. And she'd greet me at the door naked except for an apron and heels.

Frankly, I was more the bake sale type than Maddie. I made a mean blueberry muffin.

I wasn't so good a car thief, though. So I sat there blankly until the ice-maker rumbled and gave me a heart attack.

Then I sat there some more.

Finally, I felt a wash of safety. I focused on the orbs, and noticed darkness and quiet. The middle-aged couple must've fallen asleep.

I cracked my neck and stepped into that unstirring silence that fills hotel hallways.

I drew the two orbs that were already inside the couple's room closer to the door. One nudged the deadbolt lock and the other pressed down on the handle, unlocking the door from the inside.

I opened the door a crack and entered. A shaft of light spread in the darkness. I slipped throgh and closed the door behind me, and the soft clicksounded like a rifle shot. My heart pounded. Standing in the darkness, trying to control the trembling. I'd never committed a burglary before. It wasn't as fun as I'd expected.

The woman said ‘mm?’ and the mattress creaked.

For two minutes, I didn’t move. Then she started snoring, and I crept toward the clutter on the bedside table: a wallet and an eyeglass case and a jagged lump. A keyring.

Somehow, I got across the room. Somehow, I snagged the key and backed halfway to the door before a thought struck me: the parking fee.

I didn’t have a cent. How was I going to pay for parking? Or for tolls? I gritted my teeth and returned to the bedside table. I grabbed the wallet, swiped six twenties and a video rental card--for ID--and slunk away, my heart pounding.

Down the elevator, through the lobby. Into the parking garage. The car unlocked with a bee-twee.

I adjusted the seat and turned the key. The engine purred. My hands felt steady on the wheel as I drove to the exit. The parking attendant didn't seem to notice the neon CAR THIEF sign flashing on my forehead.

There wasn't much traffic on Commercial Street. So far, everything was going according to plan.

But when I pulled the Dodge beside the dumpster, Shandra was gone.