“Maybe,” said Skully. “If you want, I’ll get you the address.”
Allie was going to ask him more, but the doors whooshed open, he stepped out, and a gaggle of little kids swept in from the lobby, on their way to higher places.
Nick. Nicky. Nicholas.
It had taken him hours to remember his name, and now that he had captured it, he wasn’t letting go. His name was Nick. Nick something-or-other. It was a Japanese last name, because his father was Japanese. His mother was Caucasian, although he couldn’t quite remember the details of either of their faces, but that was a battle for another time. Right now, holding on to his first name took all his attention.
Nick. Nicky. Nicholas.
He would remember his last name, too. He would. He had to. Even if he had to track down his own grave and read it there, he would know his last name again.
He would keep them both, and no one would call him Hershey, or Cadbury, or Ghirardelli, or anything other than Nick, Nicky, Nicholas.
He took scraps of paper from his room, and wrote it over and over again, shoving a tiny slip into each of his pockets, in every drawer, under his mattress, and even under the cushions of the sofa that Lief slept on. Lief wouldn’t care—he hadn’t been back to the room for days, anyway.
Nick, Nicky, Nicholas. Maybe even Nic-o.
He was interrupted by Allie pounding on the door. He knew it was Allie, because she was the only one who ever pounded. Mary’s knock was gentle and refined.
Allie knocked like she wanted the door to fall down.
“I’m busy!” Nick said. “Go away.”
But she just kept on pounding, so he had to let her in.
When Allie stepped in, she looked around, as if something was wrong. “Nick, what are you doing in here?”
Nick turned around to look at his room, and for the first time he saw what he had done. There were little scraps of paper everywhere—not just in and under things, but all over the room. It looked like the place was covered in a dusting of snow. He hadn’t just used the paper in the drawers, he had torn out all the pages of all the books on the shelves. Mary’s books. He had torn them to shreds and had written “Nick” on every little shred, both front and back.
Only now did he notice it was daylight. Hadn’t he started this at dusk? Had he been doing this all night? Nick was speechless. He had no idea how this had happened. It was as if he were in a trance, broken only by Allies arrival. The weird thing about it was that a part of him wanted to throw her out, and get back to his work. His important work. Nick, Nicky, Nicholas.
Just like the kids playing kickball, or the kids watching The Love Boat every day until the end of time, he had found his “niche,” and hadn’t even realized it.
He looked at Allie, pleadingly, opening his mouth, but unable to say anything.
He felt a certain shame about it that he couldn’t explain.
“It’s all right,” Allie said. “We’re getting out of here.”
“What?”
“You heard me—we’re leaving.”
Nick resisted. Leave here? Leave Mary? “No! I don’t want to leave.”
Allie stared at him like he was a mental case. Maybe he was. “What do you want to do? Stay here writing your name forever?”
“I told Mary I wouldn’t leave.” But then, thought Nick, that was before she so thoroughly rejected his sorry butt.
Allie scowled, and Nick thought she might start ranting about what a terrible person Mary was, and blah blah blah—but she didn’t. Instead she said: “If you really want to impress Mary…if you really want to be useful to her, then you need to learn a skill.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How would you like to be able to talk to the living—or better yet, how would you like to reach into the living world and actually pull things out of it?”
Nick shook his head. “But that’s Ecto-ripping! Mary hates it!”
“She only hates it because no one here can do it —and just because Mary calls them ‘The Criminal Arts,’ doesn’t mean they really are. They’re only criminal if you use them in criminal ways. Think about it, Nick. If you come with me and learn all there is to know, you can come back with food and toys for all her little kids. You can bring her a dozen roses that will never wilt or fade. You can actually mean something to her.”