“Awesome,” Daniel said. “You deserve it. Mara and I are going to go plan a bit, and then I’m going to take a quick nap before the party.”
God, I could kiss Daniel right now. “Me too,” I said, following his lead. I pecked my mother on the cheek, and whirled around quickly, before she could notice the thin sheen of sweat on my skin. I made my way to my bedroom.
“So you guys are set for the night?” my mother called after us.
“Yup!” Daniel yelled back. I nodded and waved behind me before turning the corner into the hallway. We met up there.
“Daniel—”
He raised his hands. “You’re welcome. Just … relax, okay? You look like you’re going to throw up.”
“Do you think they bought it?”
“Yeah. You did good.”
“But what about Dad’s case? He can’t drop it, not because of me—” I swallowed hard, and tried to steady my balance.
“I’ll make a huge deal about how great you’re doing tomorrow before Noah gets here. How much help you were with the party.”
“You’re amazing. Seriously.”
“Love you too, sister. Go lie down.”
Daniel and I departed for our respective rooms. It had grown dark out, and the hair prickled on the back of my neck as I passed the family pictures. I turned the other way, toward the French doors that looked out on our backyard. With the hall light on, the darkness outside seemed opaque and oddly, each time I approached the glass, I was seized with the sense that there was someone, something right outside—something slinking, something creeping, something—no. Nothing. Nothing there. I made it to my bedroom and darted over to my desk, to the bottle of Zyprexa sitting on it. After a week, my mother trusted me enough to keep the whole bottle in my room. I didn’t remember if I’d taken one this morning. I probably hadn’t. That’s why the whole Morales thing—it was a coincidence that she died. Choked. A coincidence. I shook out a pill into my trembling hand, then tossed it to the back of my throat and swallowed without water. It went down slowly, painfully, leaving a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.
I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed, burying my face in my cool cotton sheets. It was well after midnight when I awoke, for the second time in my life, to someone pounding on my bedroom window.
Deja vu settled over me like a wet wool blanket, prickly and uncomfortable. How many times was I going to have to relive this? I was blind and nervous as I stepped out of bed and crept to my window. My heart lodged in my throat as I reached to open the blinds, readying myself to see Jude’s face.
But Noah’s fist was raised mid-knock.
44
HE WORE A RATTY BASEBALL CAP WITH THE brim pulled low over his eyes, and I couldn’t see much of his face except to tell that he looked exhausted. And angry. I opened my blinds and the window and warm air gushed in.
“Where’s Joseph?” he asked immediately, a note of panic in his voice.
I rubbed my aching forehead. “At a friend’s house, he—”
“He’s not there,” Noah said. “Get dressed. We have to go. Now.”
I tried to arrange my thoughts into a coherent order. The panic hadn’t set in yet. “We should tell my parents if he isn’t—”
“Mara. Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once.” My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips as I waited for him to finish.
“We’re going to find Joseph. We don’t have much time. I need you to trust me.”
My head felt thick, my brain cloudy with sleep and confusion. I couldn’t form the question I wanted to ask him. Maybe because this wasn’t real. Maybe because I was dreaming.
“Hurry,” Noah said, and I did.
I threw on jeans and a T-shirt, then I glanced at Noah. He was looking away from me, toward the streetlight. His jaw tensed as he chewed on the insides of his cheek. There was something dangerous beneath his expression. Explosive.
When I was ready, I placed my hands on the windowsill and launched myself onto the damp grass outside my bedroom window. I swayed on my feet, off-balance. Noah reached out to steady me for half a second, then hurried ahead. I jogged to catch up with him. It took effort—like the swollen, humid air was pushing back.
Noah had parked in the driveway. He was the only one. Daniel’s car was gone, my father’s car was gone, and my mother’s was missing too. They must have gone out separately.
Noah flung his door open and started it. I’d barely sat down before Noah floored the gas pedal. The acceleration pushed me back against the seat.
“Seat belt,” he said.
I glared at him. When we pulled on to I-75, Noah still hadn’t lit a cigarette, and he was still silent. My stomach curdled. I still felt so sick. But I managed to speak.
“What’s going on?”
He inhaled, then ran a hand over his rough jaw. I noticed then that his lip seemed to have healed in the past few days. I couldn’t see his eyes from this angle at all.
When Noah spoke, his voice was careful. Controlled. “Joseph texted me. His friend canceled and he needed a ride home from school. When I showed up, he wasn’t there.”
“So where is he?”
“I think he’s been taken.”
No.
When I saw Joseph last it was at breakfast this morning. He’d waved his hand in front of my face and I said, I said …
Leave me alone. Oh, God.
Panic coursed through my veins. “Why?” I whispered. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.
“I don’t know.”
My throat was full of needles. “Who took him?”
“I don’t know.”
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. I wanted to claw out my brain. There were two options, here: first, that this wasn’t real. That this was a nightmare. That seemed likely. Second, that this wasn’t a nightmare. That Joseph was really missing. That the last thing I said to him was “leave me alone,” and now, he had.
“How do you know where he is?” I asked Noah, because I had only questions and out of all of them, that was the only one I could voice.
“I don’t know. I’m going where I think he is. He might be there, he might not. That has to be enough for now, all right?”
“We should call the police,” I said numbly, as I reached in my back pocket for my phone.
It wasn’t there.
It wasn’t there because I smashed it against the wall yesterday. Just yesterday. I closed my eyes, reeling as I lost my mind.
Noah’s voice pierced through my free fall. “What would you think if someone told you they thought they might know where a missing child was?”
I would think that person was hiding something.
“They’d ask me questions I couldn’t answer.” I noticed for the first time that there was an edge to his voice. An edge that scared me. “It can’t be the police. It can’t be your parents. It has to be us.”
I leaned forward and put my head between my knees. This felt nothing like a dream. Nothing like a
