Wish You Were Dead

won’t bring you salvation.

* * *

ONE DAY WHEN Adam and I were seven, we played doctor. Ever since then, we’d teased each other about whose idea it had been, each of us claiming we’d been talked into it by the other. But the truth, at least as I recalled, was that we’d both been willing participants. And it was a secret we’d never shared with anyone else.

I don’t know if that was what helped me feel comfortable with him, but he was always more like a brother or a cousin to me. Someone I knew I could trust and depend on to do the right thing.

The Pinters lived in a large old house with a brook running behind it. Even though it was cold and damp from the earlier rain, Adam’s younger brothers were out in the driveway playing basketball. They paused and briefly stared at me when I parked down the driveway. Then they went back to playing ball. They seemed used to girls coming by to see their older brother.

I went up to the front door and rang the bell. A few moments later I heard Mrs. Pinter cautiously ask, “Who’s there?”

“Hi, Mrs. Pinter, it’s Madison.”

The door opened. Given the size of her sons, Mrs. Pinter was a surprisingly small person with dark hair coiffed in a slightly old-fashioned way. She smiled. “Madison, what a surprise. How are you?”

I shrugged and forced something that was supposed to resemble cheer on my face. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

“I understand,” Adam’s mom said, her smile fading. “He’s in his room.”

I took the stairs up. A large, bright yellow YIELD sign hung on Adam’s door. I knocked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Madison.”

A chair creaked. Adam came to the door wearing jeans, a hoodie, and a scowl. His eyes were still puffy and darkly ringed. “Were you at school today?”

“Took a mental-health day.” I lowered my voice. “I have to talk to you about something, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing it over the phone.”

Adam opened the door wider and stepped back, allowing me in. On the floor, along with the weights, was a pile of SAT-prep manuals. I sat down on the bed. “Courtney told me about you and her, and that you were planning on breaking up with Lucy. Do the Cunninghams know?”

Adam’s eyes widened with astonishment. Then he hung his head. “Yeah. I didn’t want to tell them, but I had to.”

“Then she could have snapped. She could have run away or … I mean, we really don’t know what she’d do.”

“You really believe that, Mads?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible. No one can absolutely know.”

Adam turned toward his computer screen. “I can’t say for certain that she isn’t capable of doing something to herself. But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do it because of me.” He paused and moved the cursor. “You know, I wasn’t really her boyfriend, Mads. I was just another trophy. Another achievement in the personal resume she kept in her head. Sometimes I think she had to have me mostly because she couldn’t deal with the idea of me being anyone else’s boyfriend.”

I knew Lucy well enough to know that could have been true. “On TV this morning Dr. Cunningham sounded like he thought she’d been kidnapped.”

Adam winced. “Maybe because it’s better than the alternative, you know? It’s been what? Four days? Four days without her medications? Without any money? Four days and no one’s seen any sign of her? You really have to hope she’s with someone somewhere, because if she isn’t …” Adam didn’t finish the sentence. He just shook his head.

“But who could she be with?” I asked.

Adam didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

On my way home, I pulled up to the gate at the entrance to Premium Point and waved inside to the guard. He raised a finger, as if motioning me to wait, then slid the window open and held something out. “Someone left this for you.”

It was a plain white paper napkin, folded over until it was the size of a Post-it. Madison Archer was written on it in thick, smudged pencil. I unfolded it.

You and your friends are in danger

I can tell you more, but first I

have to know that I can trust you.

My whole body grew tense and my stomach started to knot. “Where did you get this?”

“It was wedged into the doorframe when I came on duty.” The guard narrowed one eye quizzically. “You okay, Miss Archer?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Back in my room I read it again. First I have to know that I can trust you. What did that mean? That I wasn’t to tell the police? But how would the writer know if I did or didn’t? How did I even know if this was real and not some kind of a joke?

I was pondering these questions when the garage door opened. Mom was home.

Half an hour later, Detective Payne of the Soundview Police Department was sitting at our kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. The detective was a thin man with a blond moustache. The note lay open on the kitchen table.

“Do you think it’s real?” Mom asked.

Detective Payne made a gesture with his hands to show he didn’t know. “It’s like anything else these days. We have to treat it as legitimate until we know otherwise.” He turned to me. “Why do you think this note came to you, Madison?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to play with your head?” the detective asked.

PBleeker, I thought. “There might be one person. I’m not sure. I get anonymous messages.”

Mom wrinkled her forehead. “How long has this been going on?”

“About a year.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I never really felt threatened. It’s more like someone who, well, maybe has a crush on me and is afraid of being rejected.”

“If it’s online, can you trace it?” Mom asked the detective.

“Depends,” Detective Payne answered. “I’ll take the information, but some people are better at hiding their real identities than others. And frankly, I have my doubts. Why would someone who’s been comfortable communicating on the Internet suddenly decide to leave a handwritten note?”

Mom gestured at the napkin. “What about fingerprints?”

“Not from paper like this,” Detective Payne said.

“I don’t understand how this person would expect me to show that I can be trusted,” I said.

Again, Detective Payne gestured with his hands as if he didn’t know, either.

“What should Madison do?” Mom asked.

Detective Payne turned to me. “There’s nothing you can do, Madison. Go about your business as usual. Just, you know, be careful. Stay alert.” He took one last sip of coffee and reached for the note. “Okay if I take this?”

I nodded. He stood up, folding the napkin and sliding it into his pocket. “It would probably be a good idea if you didn’t mention this to anyone, okay?”

“Is there anything new about Lucy?” I asked