Piles of yarn sat in bins and on shelves. Stacked boxes were in a corner, threatening to tip over at a moment’s notice. A small computer sat on a desk shoved against one wall, and there were sticky notes with her mother’s cursive script plastered over the entire surface. From what she could tell, they were orders from friends and ideas she’d scribbled down lest she forget them.
Both of her parents were tidy, organized people. Her mother, especially, enjoyed puttering around the house, straightening her knickknacks and fluffing the pillows. Judy Quinn took great satisfaction in being a homemaker, an enjoyment Cassie never would understand.
But this sewing room was disheveled and disorganized. Cassie wasn’t sure if it was because her mother’s projects were taking on a life of their own, or if it was because her mother knew no one would step foot in this room. She could be as messy as she wanted in here, and no one would be the wiser. It was an odd sort of freedom.
Cassie caught sight of the boxes stacked in front of the open closet door. There were four of them bursting at the seams. Her name was scribbled on each one, and she noticed Laura’s boxes stacked behind them. Had Laura been required to throw out pieces of her childhood, too, or was that reserved for the least favorite daughter?
Cassie shook her head to clear away the anxious thoughts. They lived like mosquitoes in her brain, buzzing and poking her with their needle-sharp comments. She knew her family didn’t hate her, but sometimes the lies her brain told her were so convincing, she believed them despite evidence to the contrary.
Cassie would wait a little longer before having a conversation with her mother about the last ten years of her life. Going through her childhood belongings seemed like the easier option. Besides, she had another motive.
Maybe she’d learn more about Sarah Lennox.
When faced with the option to either confront the divide between her and her mother or delve deeper into the murder of her childhood best friend, Cassie chose the latter. What did that say about her?
The contents of the first box were musty, but the delight in seeing her childhood toys overrode the annoying tingle in her nose. She pulled out a stack of Animorphs books and smiled. She only had the first six, minus the fifth one, but that hadn’t mattered. Cassie had read them so many times, she still saw the stories in vivid detail through her mind’s eye.
Underneath the books were a pair of Barbies. One wore a scuba diving outfit, and the other wore a doctor’s coat. When she was little, she had dreamed of being a heart surgeon, but soon realized she didn’t have a stomach for it.
Given her current trajectory in life, the universe clearly had a dark sense of humor.
The box was full of what at first glance would appear to be a random assortment of junk, but for Cassie, it was a gateway back to her childhood. Lisa Frank folders and Tamagotchis were shoved to one side. On the other, a binder full of Pokémon cards she’d spent years collecting. One summer, she’d used a month’s worth of allowance to buy as many packs as she could. Her mother thought she was irresponsible, but her father had slipped her an extra ten dollars to get a couple more.
Cassie frowned as she realized she needed to decide which toys to hang onto and which to donate. The Pokémon cards were worth some money, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to part with them.
Cassie opened the flaps on the next box and caught her breath. Laura’s teddy bear was at the top, face down, waiting for her to rediscover him. It was the same teddy bear Laura used to give her when she got upset. The same teddy bear Laura had been holding in her recurring nightmares. The same one the little boy had handed her in this morning’s dream.
Cassie reached out but stopped just short of touching the bear’s matted fur. It didn’t look dirty, but he had soaked up a lot of snot and tears over the years. His white ears were tinged gray, and she knew without turning him over that his stomach would look the same. The brown of his back and sides was less vibrant than she remembered, but he emanated the same warmth and comfort he always had.
Cassie flipped him over and let her hand linger on his arm. She was half expecting a vision to hit her, but she found herself staring into his brown eyes instead. He’d seen better days, but his tattered appearance was nothing more than a sign he’d been well-loved by both sisters.
What Cassie hadn’t expected was a memory to hit her instead. It was almost as strong as one of her visions. As she stared into the bear’s grungy face, she remembered one of the last times she ever held him in her arms. It had been the night Sarah Lennox disappeared. Laura must’ve thought Cassie had needed the bear’s comfort, even if she didn’t understand why. Their parents had separated the two and brought Cassie into the other room by herself. There, they sat her down and explained that Sarah wouldn’t be coming over to play anymore. When Cassie asked why, her parents shared a glance and nodded their heads in unison, as though they’d been waiting for this and had practiced their answer ahead of time.
“Honey, something very bad happened to Sarah.” Her mother must’ve been tasked with the role of breaking the news. “Someone did something they shouldn’t have, and now Sarah is gone. But try not to be sad, okay? She’s in a better place.”
“A better place?” Cassie knew what that phrase meant. She was old enough to understand death, but she’d never dealt with it personally. It would be another fifteen years before she felt its icy breath on her neck. “She
