by S. Massery
Her chest rises and falls rapidly.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she says. Still panicked.
I can’t figure out why. I can’t be just me. We’ve barely spoken in the two years I’ve known her. Definitely not enough to leave this much of an impression. So it’s something else—something she’s done.
“Talk,” I order.
She pales, and for a moment, I think she might resist.
“She took photos of me,” she blurts out. “I scrolled through her camera and saw them. It’s an invasion of privacy, you know? Stuff that I don’t want getting out there.”
I wait. There’s more coming. Felicity’s tension is too high for her to be upset about Lux spying on her. Hell, Lux spies on everyone. It’s in her DNA—a troublemaker through and through. It’s not even mildly surprising, given Lux’s past. Stick a camera in her hand and she’s guaranteed to snoop on someone.
She lets out a strangled sigh. “The guy was waiting outside the dorm when we got back from the game.” Her eyes are wide. “He asked if the bag I was holding was Lucy’s, and it was. Her camera bag, she left it at her seat after she bolted onto the field… He wanted to see her, to surprise her. I let him in.”
My ears are hot. I seem to be able to control everything except how red they get. She, a resident assistant, let a stranger into one of her girl’s rooms. A firing offense, most likely. Especially since the phone is evidence that Lux didn’t go by choice.
Or if he gave her a choice, it was a bad one.
Felicity cranes her neck to the side. “I-I left her camera bag on her bed. I was pissed at her. He just walked in and, I don’t know. Dismissed me, really. But the camera is gone now.”
I whip around. She’s right, it’s missing. Just the portfolio on her bed, something I’m sure she wouldn’t have left out on purpose.
Felicity tries to open the door, but I lean more weight into it.
“Describe him,” I say.
“Please,” she whispers. Her gaze drops to her feet. “I can’t lose my job over this. I thought he might’ve been a boyfriend or something. How else would he know her camera bag on sight?”
If he was watching her…
“Dark hair, tall. Maybe a few years older than us. Tan. He seemed like a good guy,” she babbles. “I have good intuition. I wouldn’t have let him—”
I slam my hand against the wall next to her head, and she flinches.
“You wouldn’t have let him what? How would you have prevented anything from your little bubble down the hall?”
“I…”
I yank the door open. “Get out.”
She doesn’t hesitate. I lock the door behind her, grabbing Lux’s roommate’s chair and pushing it under the handle. I don’t know how long I have, but there must be a clue here. Somewhere she left me a sign.
Right?
She wouldn’t just disappear.
But over an hour later, I’ve found nothing. No papers, no scribbled notes, no clues.
Not even a whisper of a hint.
I finally grab the portfolio and flip through it. I imagine Sebastian did something similar. It’s what spurred his interest in the first place, the bet, everything. His own downfall began in this room, when he decided to target my girl.
The realization of what I just thought hits me. Knocks into my chest and stops me dead.
My girl.
She’s never been anything but that, but I’ve been fighting it since I saw her. Why does it take her being gone for that to click?
I grit my teeth.
I doubt Sebastian had anything to do with this. He’s in the hospital for his knee. But I need an immediate outlet for my growing anger. Someone took her, and I don’t know where to begin searching for her.
This must’ve been how Caleb felt after Margo was abducted. How helpless—but he wasn’t. He had us.
I pull out my phone and spin in a small circle. Finally, I find the photo of Sebastian and Ruby. Before I can think better of it, I hit send.
And then I call Caleb, because I’m going to need all the help I can get.
One week gone
Eli paces back and forth in front of us. His frustration comes out as energy—mine has been under wraps since Lux went missing.
This is an all-hands-on-deck situation, but we’ve hit a dead end. Her parents haven’t heard from her. Her sister hasn’t. The so-called friends she had here turned their backs on her.
I let out another growl, and Caleb shoots me a bleak look.
He knows that I’m dying on the inside.
But we keep searching.
One month gone
Winter arrived early. Only Liam comes back around now, making sure I do my homework. Football is over—we missed the chance at the playoffs by only one loss. LBU is colder without Lux.
There’s been no sign of her.
I took out the SIM card from her phone and put it into an old one of mine out of desperation, and I’ve taken to texting it. Long streams of nonsense, but hitting send eases some of my guilt.
Her parents refuse to file a missing person’s report, which means they must know something. But no one will talk.
No one says a goddamn thing.
Four months gone
Me: Spring is here. Your favorite season. Where are you?
Me: Come back, Lux.
Me: I talked to my brother for the first time in too long. I told him about you, that you were gone. He was surprised that you’d disappear without a trace, and that no one seemed to care.
Me: I care. Don’t forget that. I couldn’t say it before, but…
Six months gone
I arrive at the DeSantis estate, and I’m greeted with chaos. It’s Amelie’s wedding day, but something happened. The guard won’t let me in, no one will talk to me. It’s late by now, when the party should’ve been in full swing. I only found out the date from a social media post.
Not Lux’s accounts—those have been stagnant since she vanished.
But her mother posted something, a picture of Amelie getting ready in the DeSantis tower in Manhattan. They’re big-time Mafia, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that the guard blocks my entrance. Security on a wedding day…
“Please,” I say. “I’m just looking for Lucy Page.”
The guard’s eyebrows go up. “The sister?”
I nod once, my teeth grinding together.
Please be here.
He checks something on his phone, then shakes his head. “Sorry, pal. She’s not here.”
“She didn’t go to her own sister’s wedding?”
He eyes me. “No, she was here, and now she’s not. She left.”
I wince. So close. But… not. I missed her again. I just keep taking punches, and the pain is almost more familiar than any other sensation. I go to her parents’ house, but it’s empty and dark. Wherever the Pages went, it wasn’t here.
Out of desperation, I check anyway. Sneak in through the back door and creep up the stairs, finding her small bedroom at the end of a long hallway on the second floor.
Nothing.
The room doesn’t even resemble the girl I know.
Knew.
“You won’t find her here.” Her mother steps into the room, eyeing me. “Just let it go, Theo.”
I can’t.
I won’t.
One year gone
Liam bounces across from me, his grin bloody through the mouthguard.
He talked me into fighting—the legal kind—and it’s good to expend energy. Nowadays, I barely sleep. I function just fine: classes, eating, football, fighting. My eyes barely close, and I pace. I’ve inherited Eli’s restlessness. It infected me.
Now I lunge toward my friend. The pain will keep me grounded.
But inevitably, my thoughts turn to Lux. Where she is. Why she left. Who she left with. There would only be a short list of reasons why she’d leave: because of her sister or because of me.
She’s not selfish.
She’s impulsive,
but she’s not stupid.
Liam hits me, and I rock back.
“Pay attention,” he snarls. His foot shoots out and hooks around my ankle, pulling me off-balance. “I never should’ve got that in.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I escape before he can topple me and return a volley of my own hits.
“Enough,” Liam says.
We’re both panting. I’m pretty sure my nose is bleeding, but neither of us talk about that. Instead, he helps me pluck off my glove, and I return the favor. We duck under the ropes.
I stop outside the ring. A flash of blonde hair passing by the window catches my attention, and then everything stops.
Same shade.
Same build.
It’s Lux.
“Wait—”
I drop the gloves and race outside. She’s halfway down the block now, and I take in everything. Straightened shoulders, her hair in a braid down her back. Black windbreaker, jeans, sneakers.
I grab her shoulder and swing her around.
She gasps, cringing away, and then I see her face.
It isn’t her.
The stranger stares at me like I’m about to kill her—and maybe that’s on my face, because she turns and bolts.
I can’t even get the apology out past the lump in my throat. For a moment, a split second, every point in me was convinced Lux had found me. Those emotions crash down harder than I could’ve anticipated.
Disappointment, anger, regret. A hunger for the only girl I’ve been able to think about.
“Dude,” Liam shouts. He skids to a stop beside me. “It isn’t her. It won’t be her. Lucy is gone. You’ve been isolating from everyone for a fucking year now, and I get it.”
“You don’t. You stare at Sky when you think no one is watching. The only one keeping you from her is you. I… I can’t even find her.” My voice cracks, damn it. “How am I supposed to find her?”
He shakes his head and glances away.
We both don’t speak for a while.
“I don’t know,” he eventually says. “But you’re not living. You’ve got to try to do that, at least. Can you do that? You’re making us sick with worry.”
I scoff, ready to deny it. But then I stop. My friends have been more proactive around me. Caleb and Eli drive up to Boston on the weekends they can get away. It wasn’t just out of goodwill—it was concern.
Shame punches me harder than Liam ever could. It knocks the wind out of me.
I lead the way back into the gym. Once the door swings shut behind us, I catch Liam’s gaze.
“I’m sorry. I’ll…” I can’t tell him I’ll stop looking for her, because I won’t. But I can keep living. Keep moving forward. And keep my eyes wide open.
27
Lux
Eighteen months gone
My apartment is on fire.
And not a little kitchen fire, either. Flames lick the walls of my living room, blocking off my exit. I can’t believe it took this long for the smoke detectors to kick in—to wake me up. But they’re wailing now, screaming over my head, and I jolt into action.
I grab my backpack and slide my feet hastily into my boots, running in a crouch to the window. It jams for a heart-stopping second, then finally slides open.
Cool air rushes inside, but it also seems to suck out the smoke. I suddenly can’t breathe, choking for a moment before I force myself to move. I toss the bag out and follow it onto the fire escape. I climb the ladder down two stories, then kick loose the last ladder. It’s stuck, kept above the reach of people who might want to climb up from the alley, but gives with a squeal and descends.
The apartment windows I passed all showed empty rooms, free of smoke or fire, so I feel moderately better about hopping down. Already, sirens from firetrucks are getting louder. I check my bag quickly, one knee touching down to the concrete. The contents are just what I thought: laptop and the rolled charging cord, my phone—currently off and staying that way—and some printed photos in a manila folder. The essentials, I think. Anything else, I can buy.
I dig deeper and find my wallet at the very bottom, and relief crashes over me. Never mind that I’m probably going to lose everything else.
It was my apartment on fire. That much was clear. Not anyone else’s. It didn’t start on the first or second floor and climb upward.
I close my eyes and try to think how that could’ve happened. I got home late, almost midnight, and went straight to bed. No candles, no dinner. In fact, I hadn’t cooked on my stove in almost a week. An outlet could’ve short-circuited…
“Amy, thank god!” The girl who lives in the apartment across from me rushes into the alley, gripping my hands. “Your door was on fire. I thought—”
“I made it out.” I extract myself and swing my bag over my shoulder. “Is anyone else…?”
It’s a small apartment building. Six tenants, two on each floor. I wouldn’t say I’m close to anyone, but we look out for each other.
Case in point: I have no idea what the girl in 3B’s name is. I call her Three B in my head. Same with the rest of them. But you can get away with not knowing a lot if you can bluff.
“We’re all out front.” Three B steps away, clearly expecting me to follow her.
My stomach suddenly twists. The fire… someone could be trying to kill me. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve always been attracted to danger, but I’ve never been this close. The blood rushes in my ears, dimming the noises beyond my own thoughts.
“Wait,” I blurt out. “Can you do me a favor?”
She pauses and tilts her head.
“Can you… forget you saw me?”
“Amy, did you have anything to do with—”
The fake name. Everything about my new life is just the same: imaginary.
“No!” I take a deep breath. “No, no. I didn’t. I just can’t get wrapped up in…” Police stuff. Not for the reason she’ll think, but I’m counting on a miscommunication. On her assumption.
Understanding dawns over her, and it isn’t embarrassment that flushes my cheeks—it’s guilt. She probably thinks I’m hiding from someone. The law, maybe. The first night I met her, a year ago, I was covered in bruises and searching for a place to lay low.
A year ago, my protection flatlined. No more DeSantis help. That much was clear from my last communication with Jameson DeSantis. Wilder’s dad had taken it upon himself to update me: there was a suspect in custody for the murder of the man from Amelie’s engagement party, but his lawyer was stalling the trial. If it didn’t go through, or if he was found innocent, I could be in hiding forever.
Cops are fickle creatures. They get it wrong, they’ll come back and take a new crack at everyone. It doesn’t matter that the dead man wasn’t a DeSantis—some of the police force would use this as an excuse to put away the family, one member at a time.
The landlord doesn’t even have my real name on file, and yet…
“Go,” Three B says, pushing me away. “It’s okay.”
She rushes back the way she came, and I stand in the middle of the alley for a moment—until glass hitting the fire escape draws my gaze upward. The heat and pressure of the smoke must’ve broken the window, and now the black smoke billows out.
I take one more glance at the mouth of the alley, then spin and rush away.
But where to go?
I jog away from my apartment building. The smell of smoke follows me. There’s soot on my shoulders, in my hair. I wipe my face with my sleeve, but it does no good.
The sirens seem to be following me, so I duck into a diner and cross to the bathroom. No one looks at me twice. I’m not in the best part of the Bronx, but I had picked my apartment for the landlord’s lack of attention to details.
That’s how I made it work.
I’ve been close—too close—for a year. Close enough to throw a stone and hit my hometown. Close enough to imagine that I see Theo sometimes. I didn’t have Wilder blocking me from New England or New York City anymore. He had given me a
new name, a passport, a social security number.
But I don’t think anyone expected me to gravitate back home.
I run the water and scrub my hands and face. I can’t do anything about my hair. I try to pick out the flakes of ash, but it just smears in the wheat-blonde color. Giving up on that, I tie it up in a bun and hope no one notices.
And then I pause.
It’s not like I can afford to be heartbroken by this right now. Fear kicks through me, jolting me awake. I didn’t expect retaliation… but this could be it. Clients hire me to dig out the truth—to pry it into the light. Cheating husbands, stealing business partners, long-lost children or parents… I’ve found them, I’ve photographed them. The evidence is plain. Photos don’t lie.
Sometimes I think about how I’d feel if someone caught me at my lowest point. But then I remember that I’m still on a downward spiral, even eighteen months after Wilder plucked me from LBU and forced me to change. To leave.
To become someone new.
That’s exactly what he was going to do to my sister.
But this city has its own laws, I have a bad habit of getting in trouble.
It was bound to happen—but here? Now?
I pull out the folder of photos. The governor and his mistress. People who most certainly should not be caught together—not if he wants to keep his government position. Bill Clinton was impeached for less than what this man is doing.
I thought I was invisible, but he must’ve seen me. A guard, maybe?
I look around. My imagination is running away with me, but I have two choices: continue on as I am or consider the fact that someone might’ve just tried to kill me. It’s twisted logic.
Better safe than sorry.
I climb up on the toilet and shove back one of the squares in the drop ceiling. It’s dark and musty-smelling up there, but it’ll do. If someone saw me leave…