Sofia and Paul knelt right behind the teacher, both of them looking at Tick with wide, confused eyes. So far, a car had yet to pass by the woods, and Tick hoped one did soon so they could ask for help.

“From . . .” Mr. Chu whispered, starting to gain control of his breath. “From . . . a very bad man. Looks like me. Is me.”

Tick exchanged a puzzled look with his friends. He’d never seen his teacher like this, or heard him say such crazy things. He’d never seen anyone act like this. An idea hit him. “Do either one of you have a cell phone?”

Mr. Chu’s hand shot out and grabbed Tick’s shirt, pulling him closer with surprising force. “No!” he yelled, a sharpness narrowing his eyes with a clarity that hadn’t been there moments earlier. “Help me back into the woods—we need to hide.”

“Mr. Chu, I don’t—”

“Just help me!”

With a grunt and another dry, loud cough, Mr. Chu pushed himself back into a sitting position, then held up his hands. Tick and Paul lifted the miserable man to his feet and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. Then, half-carrying, half-dragging Mr. Chu, the three of them stumbled down the small slope and entered the woods, Sofia right behind.

They made their way past a few smaller trees and then rounded a massive, towering oak, finally finding a secluded patch of ivy-strewn forest floor with enough room for all of them to sit. Specks of sunlight littered the ground, the call of birds in the air far too cheerful for the situation. The smells of pine and earth and wood were strong—scents that Tick loved but for some reason made him uneasy at the moment.

They settled into a circle, facing each other. Mr. Chu appeared to be gaining his strength back with every passing minute, though his hands shook with apparent fear; a small drip of drool crawled down his chin. No one said a word, a silent understanding hanging in the air that Mr. Chu would tell them what was going on when he was good and ready.

“It was terrible,” he finally whispered, barely audible.

“What was?” Sofia asked. Tick cringed; it seemed like a really bad time for her usual impatience.

Mr. Chu continued to stare at the ground in front of him. “These men . . . with some kind of electricity weapon, kidnapped me and took me to a place that was like the barracks of a battleship—metallic and cold. They . . . did things to me. . . . Unspeakable things.” He quit talking.

“Who were they?” Tick asked. His mind couldn’t settle on any possible reason someone might want to take Mr. Chu, who was one of the nicest people Tick knew.

“It was . . . him.” Mr. Chu squeezed his eyes closed as if in pain.

“Him?” Paul asked. “Who’s him?”

“The other me. The bad me.”