“I don’t. But you can’t go to him for help. There was a reason your father never told him about the Abeona Shelter.”

I took a sharp intake of breath when he mentioned Dad. “You knew my father, didn’t you?”

Antoine LeMaire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I knew you too. But you were very small. And you knew me as Juan.”

My mouth dropped open. “My dad,” I said. “He wrote you that resignation letter.”

“That’s right.”

“He wanted out of the Abeona Shelter.”

Juan’s gaze flicked to the right. “Yes. For you.”

For me. My father made that choice for me—and how did that work out? He died, the man I loved like no other . . . he died for me. So I could be spared any discomfort or an abnormal upbringing. For that, my father came back to the United States and died.

And what about my mother? She must have realized the truth—that her husband died because of her son. No wonder she ran away from me. No wonder she ran to a needle instead.

A pain so unbearable, a pain that made Derrick’s beating seem like a light tap on the shoulder, started clawing inside me. I looked up at Juan.

“Bat Lady said that my dad’s still alive,” I said, my vision blurring with tears. “But he’s not, is he?”

Juan’s voice was almost too tender. “I don’t know, Mickey.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Do you want to help us?”

I blinked the tears away and met his eye. I wondered what my dad would want, but maybe that wasn’t even important anymore.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I want to help.”

Chapter 24

I WAS IN THE ALLEY by the same side exit where Candy had led me to safety. The cell phone was against my ear. Rachel and Ema were stalling by slowly filling out job applications, but their excuses were wearing thin.

“Oops, tee-hee,” Rachel said, putting on a breathy bimbo voice. “I spelled my name wrong again. Can I get another form?”

“Sure, sweetcakes,” a rough male voice said. “Why don’t you use a pencil this time? So you can erase.”

“Wow, what a good idea!” Rachel squealed.

“How about you?” the rough voice said.

“No, no, I’m good,” Ema said. “I’ve been able to spell my name since I was twelve.”

Another voice—this one female and older, almost matronly—said, “Okay, forget the forms. It’s time for your audition.”

Now I heard the men in the room snicker. I didn’t like that snicker. I didn’t like it at all. I reached my hand out to open the fire door.

There was no handle, nothing to grab on to. It probably just opened from the inside.

“Yeah,” another guy said. “It’s time to see you girls dance. You go first, Bambi.”

Rachel said, “Me?”

I tried to dig into the sides of the door with my fingers, hoping to pry it open. No go.

“Enough stalling.” This voice was like a gate slamming shut. “Now.”

Oh man.

The older female voice said, “Calm down, Max. Bambi, it’s okay. Really. But I think you should show us how you dance now.”

Ema said, “Uh, it’s getting kinda yellow in here.”

Yellow. The code word.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Sure, we had talked about a code word—but not really what to do if Rachel or Ema actually, uh, said it. I had to get them out, that much was clear, but how? If I called the cops, well, Juan/Antoine had warned me where that might lead. Do I just run through the front entrance myself? Would that work? Wouldn’t that also set Buddy Ray off?

I started prying at the door again. It wouldn’t give.

“Tee-hee,” Rachel started up again, “okay, sure, let’s do the audition. But first I have to go tinkle.”

I stopped. Tinkle?

That was what one of the guys said too: “Tinkle?”

“Tee-hee. Like go to the little girls’ room? Tinkle? You know, silly.”

“Or as our friend Buck says,” Ema added, clearly for my benefit, “we have to go wee-wee.”

“Oh,” a male voice said.

Then another: “The dressing room is over on the left. You might as well change into one of the, um, costumes while you’re there, Bambi.”

“You too, Tawny.”

Tawny and Bambi. How imaginative.

I waited by the door, not sure what to do. I heard some movement and then more commotion. Hopefully they’d find a way to get alone so they could talk to me.

A few seconds later, Ema said, “Mickey?”

“Where are you?” I said.

“In the dressing room,” Ema said. “Which, judging by what I’m seeing, should be called the undressing room. We haven’t seen Candy yet. You still in the car?”

“No.” There was no time to go into detail on my meeting with Antoine/Juan. “I’m outside in the alley by the fire door. Ask one of the girls where it is and then let’s just get out of here.”

“Okay.” I heard conversation. Then Ema came back on. “I think we know how to get . . .” She stopped.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

Then Ema’s voice came back on the line. “I think I found Candy.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s getting too dangerous. You two need to get out.”

“Just hang tight,” Ema said. “Oh, and put the mute back on.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but if she wanted the mute back on, there had to be a good reason. I could hear voices again, but I couldn’t really make anything out. I stood alone in the alley, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. I tried to think of something to do, but there was really no option here.

I had to wait, no matter how helpless I felt.

Ema wasn’t talking anymore. Rachel wasn’t talking anymore. I could only hear background noises. I didn’t know what to make of that. Suppose something happened. Suppose they couldn’t talk. Was I just supposed to stand here doing nothing for . . . well, for how long? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? I remembered Buddy Ray’s face, the joy he took in hurting me. I thought about the fear in Candy’s eyes when we hurried past the “dungeon.”

How could I have let them go in there on their own?

Time passed. I don’t know how much. It might have been ten minutes, but it was probably more like two or three. And then, just when I thought that I might jump out of my skin from worry, the fire door opened.