by Amy Ross
Puloma puts her cup down without taking a sip.
“They’ve had these disagreements before,” she says, “and it blows over. But this time... I don’t know. Somehow it kept escalating, no matter how much I tried to calm them both down. One minute Tom was shouting, then they were shoving, and the next thing I knew, Tom was across the room with a bloody nose.”
I gasp. “Is he okay?”
Puloma nods absently. “He’ll be fine. But...” Puloma stops herself and stares down into the cup in front of her. When she looks up again, there are tears gathered on her lashes. The sight sets something off in me, and I feel my own chest tightening. I move to sit on the couch next to her and take her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for a tissue. “It’s just...this isn’t like Jayesh at all! You know him, right?” She looks to me for confirmation, as if needing reassurance that she knows her own son. “He’s not violent. He’d never hurt anyone, even in anger,” she continues. “We were all so shocked. Even Tom. No one did or said anything. No one even moved. And Jayesh, he looked as horrified as anyone. Then he disappeared into his room, and a few minutes later we heard his door slam.
“Tom was upset, but I told him to just let it be. I figured Jayesh needed to let off some steam, but that he would come back by morning and we would settle everything. But he didn’t. And when he still hadn’t been in touch on Monday, and I got the call that he hadn’t shown up at school, I started to worry.
“Ever since we moved in with Tom and the kids, Jayesh’s been more distant, but I figured it was to be expected, under the circumstances. As long as he was staying out of trouble and keeping up with his schoolwork, I didn’t worry too much. I knew he didn’t always sleep at home, but I figured he was spending the night with a girlfriend and wasn’t ready to tell me. To be honest, I assumed it was you.”
I look away and shake my head silently. The fact is, for all that Jek and I have been seeing more of each other lately, I have no idea where he’s been spending his nights.
Puloma sighs. “Tom always said I was giving him too much freedom, and too soon, but I told him to stay out of it. Jayesh and I understood each other well for years. I didn’t think I needed Tom’s input. But I guess he was right. If I had listened to him, set more limits, given Jayesh a curfew and expected him to be home every night...”
“No, Puloma,” I say, laying my hand over hers. “Don’t. None of this is your fault.” I hate to hear her talk like this, partly because I’ve always thought Puloma was an awesome mom, and I know Jek loves her and values their relationship, despite his animosity toward Tom. But it’s also out of loyalty to Jek. My own blood boils in sympathy to think how furious Jek would be at his stepfather laying down rules and interfering in his life. I feel sure that if Puloma had encouraged that, it only would have made Jek rebel a thousand times more.
Puloma squeezes my hand and smiles weakly.
“When he didn’t come home, I thought maybe he’d gone to his dad’s. Emerson’s always inviting him to move in, and it would be natural under the circumstances for him to seek out his father. But he said he hasn’t heard from Jayesh in over a month. I don’t want to overreact and dwell on nightmare scenarios, but I’m his mother. If I knew where he was, or even just that he’s safe—”
“Have you checked with all his friends?”
“I started with you. What about Hyde? Do you think he might know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Last I heard, he and Jek had some kind of falling-out, and Hyde hasn’t been around since.”
“Can you try him? I don’t have his number, and if there’s even a chance...”
I hesitate. I don’t really want to speak to Hyde, not after my last interaction with him. Thinking of the way he looked at me, the way he touched me that night at his party, still gives me chills, and all I want is to keep as much distance between us as possible. But this is Jek, and Puloma is desperate. Her next move will probably be to call the cops, and I know Jek would definitely prefer not to have the police digging around in his lab, asking questions.
I call the number, but I’m not exactly surprised when it goes straight to voice mail.
I take Puloma’s hands in mine again. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll ask around, find out anything I can. And I’ll let you know as soon as possible. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
* * *
I don’t exactly have a plan in mind, but I head to Hidden Ponds, anyway. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find since I’m pretty sure Hyde is long gone, but something keeps nagging at me about the way he disappeared so suddenly. Is there a connection to Jek’s current vanishing act? Have they gone to the same place? Or else... The truth is, I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that Hyde wouldn’t have gone willingly. Part of me is still convinced that Jek must have done something to get rid of him. And it’s always possible that Hyde did something else for revenge...
A dense, cottony fog encases my car as I drive, dulling the usual sights and sounds of the commercial strip. Against the blankness of it, images flash through my mind: a broken window. A pool of blood. A makeshift weapon. A rotting corpse. But when I pull up across the street from the trailer, the place looks more or less the way it did last time I was here, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I park my car and try the front door, but it’s locked, so I stand on tiptoe and peek through the windows. Again, there’s nothing terribly remarkable inside—just clothes strewed around here and there, a TV and a video game system. It looks like a sloppy bachelor pad—not all that different from Jek’s place, actually, or any teenager’s room.
In fact, if there’s anything strange about it, it’s that it looks so normal. It’s been two weeks since anyone has seen Hyde, so why hasn’t this place been cleared out? Is he still paying rent? Or if he really left town, why didn’t he take his stuff?
Unless he left in such a hurry that he couldn’t. Or if he never left at all.
I try to see if there’s any obvious sign of recent activity, like leftover food or take-out containers, but there’s nothing visible in the kitchenette. Impossible to tell if it’s not being used, or if Hyde just cleans up after himself.
I go around the back, checking for any further clues, but the trash is empty and the back windows are all sealed tight. The only thing of interest is a deep tire track cutting through the mud behind the house—a bicycle tire. I can’t say what it means, though. It could just be some kid taking a shortcut.
I take one last look at the scene and head back to my car. I can’t get distracted wondering what happened to Hyde—Jek is more important right now.
I text Lane, but he hasn’t heard from Jek lately, either. But he’s at least willing to help brainstorm.
He’s hanging out at the Double Dutch diner, doing homework while Hailee waits tables and keeps him supplied with a bottomless cup of coffee. It doesn’t hit me until I walk through the door that I haven’t really spoken to Hailee since that night at Hyde’s. Not that I’ve given it much thought, but I guess in the back of my head, I assumed Hailee and Lane must have broken up that night. And yet...here they are, still together and chatting quietly during a lull. It makes me feel oddly hopeful, like maybe the damage Hyde is inflicting on this town can be healed.
I scoot into the booth across from Lane and we spend the next few minutes tossing around theories of what might have happened, but since there’s no way to check them, they’re pretty much dead ends. Eventually Hailee takes her break and joins us. She listens to a few of our aimless ideas about Jek’s disappearance before tossing in one of her own.
“Do you think it could be work related?”
I frown at her. “What do you mean? Like, his experiments?”
“Like his drugs,” she explains. “He’d been working on that psychedelic we tested a while back, right? Maybe he decided it was time to market test it.”
; “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know,” she says carefully. “It could just be a coincidence, but I hang out on a forum where people talk about clubs in Chicago. Folks don’t usually talk openly about drugs, but there are code words you can pick up on, if you know what to look for. They post about what they bought at this or that club, or from such and such dealer.”
“And people have mentioned Jek?”
“Not in so many words, but I’ve seen some references to Kymera.” Lane and I exchange blank looks, so she explains. “Jek didn’t have a name for the drug he gave us, remember? He had some alphanumeric gobbledygook for his own records, but nothing that would work as a street name. He asked us all to suggest something, and I suggested Kymera. He never got back to me about it, and I just assumed he either picked something else or hadn’t given it any more thought. But just the other day I noticed people referring to something called Kymera being dealt at a club called The Glass Horse, and what they described sounds a lot like what we experienced. It might just be a coincidence, but...” Hailee trails off into a shrug.
“It’s the best lead we’ve got,” I agree, grimly. “But why would he skip school to deal drugs in a club in Chicago?”
“Who knows?” says Lane. “Maybe he really is sick of his stepdad and planning to set out on his own. Maybe he needs to set himself up with some cash first.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling out my phone. “It’s not much, but it’s a possibility.”
“Wait,” says Lane. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Jek’s mom. I told her I’d let her know if I found out anything.”
“Lulu,” he says, placing a hand over mine, “maybe think twice about that. Are you sure you want to tell Jek’s mom that you tracked him through his illegal drug empire?”
“It’s technically not illegal,” I point out weakly.
Lane snorts. “Yeah,” he says, “tell yourself that. And his mom.”
“Look,” says Hailee. “It’s just a hunch, we don’t even know if he’s been there. You want to rat him out over a hunch?”
I slide my phone back into my purse. They have a point. But in that case, there’s only one thing to do. I turn to Hailee.
“That club you were talking about. Do you have an address?”
CHAPTER 14
My first stop is Camila’s to borrow an outfit at least vaguely appropriate to this kind of club, plus her fake ID. Thankfully we look similar enough in dim light. When she asks what it’s for, I tell her I have a date and feign shyness to discourage any more questions from her. I hate lying to my cousin, but if Camila knew my plan, she’d only tell me to stop playing guardian angel and leave Jek to his own problems. Maybe she’s right, but I can’t do that. I have to help him, if I can. And even if I can’t, I need to know where he is and what he’s doing. I won’t be able to rest until I’ve found out.
With the club’s address plugged into my phone, I drive into the city. It isn’t long before I’m in a neighborhood I’ve never been to before—an abandoned industrial area, all empty lots and shadowy smokestacks that have long since gone extinct. Street numbers are hard to come by in this deserted maze, and streetlights even more so. I’m almost convinced I’ve missed the place entirely when I see a line of outlandishly dressed people extending into the dark, their outfits clinging and glittering in the light cast by a pink neon sculpture. As I get a little closer, I realize the sculpture is meant to be an abstract horse’s head, and it’s the only sign over an otherwise undistinguished-looking door.
This must be the place.
I park the car and line up with the others, feeling self-conscious at being by myself and conspicuously underage. When I get to the door, I hold my breath as I hand the bouncer Camila’s ID, but he barely glances at it. He seems a lot more interested in Camila’s dress, and the parts of me that are not perfectly covered by it. It’s gross, but it gets me a nod, so it’s worth it.
The room I walk into is so dark that I spend a few moments blinking helplessly before my eyes adjust and I can get some sense of my surroundings. The only lighting as far as I can see is a series of neon tubes in a rainbow of colors, snaking along the ceiling and walls like glowing pipes. By their dim light, I can just barely make out the boundaries of the huge, open space. It must have been a warehouse at some point, but now the vast empty space over my head makes it feel like an underground cavern, and adding to that impression is the odd, shimmering quality of the walls. From the way they reflect back the glowing neon colors, at first I’m convinced they are damp, but as I approach, I realize that they’re actually covered with a jagged mosaic of broken mirror shards.
The largest part of the space is taken up with the dance floor, on which bodies move almost robotically to a throbbing beat, their faces oddly lit by the reflected light, while in the void above their heads, metallic balloons bob around on currents of air, directed by giant chrome fans in each corner. My plan was to move through the crowd searching for Jek, but I realize right away that this is hopeless. There’s no chance I could ever shove my way through this mob, let alone find Jek in the middle of it.
Instead, I head to the bar in the opposite corner of the room, but I don’t fare much better there. The music is so loud that I can’t even hear my own shouted questions, plus there’s something about the crowd that makes me nervous. I didn’t really notice outside, but I definitely don’t seem to be the only underage person in this club: a lot of the faces I see look around my age, some even younger. Even more disturbing, everyone else looks at least forty. And the two groups definitely seem to know each other. That alone is enough to make me want to turn around and leave, but I remind myself I’m here for a reason, so I catch someone’s eye and lean close to ask about Jek. That, unfortunately, gives them the wrong idea, and I find myself pushing hands away.
Feeling helpless, it finally occurs to me to try the bathrooms, which are at least quieter. I ask some of the women there if they’ve heard of Jek and show them some photos of him on my phone, but no one recognizes him. I get a better reaction when I mention Kymera, but although people seem to know the name, it doesn’t lead anywhere.
I’m on my way back to the bar when I notice a small group of people disappearing into a dark corner of the space. I wonder if there might be a chill-out room back there where I could talk to people in a quieter environment, so I follow them down a dimly lit corridor where the sounds from the dance floor are significantly dampened. Up ahead of me, the group slips behind a black velvet curtain, but when I step through it, they’ve disappeared. All I see is a dented metal door, probably the entrance to an old storeroom. I’m searching the door for a handle when a towering woman with a shimmery acid-green frock coat, silver hair and elaborately shaped eyebrows steps forward from the gloom.
“You can’t go in there,” she says smoothly.
“But I just saw some people—”
“It’s private,” she insists with a cold smile. “Invitation only. The dance floor and the bar are in the other direction.”
“Fine,” I sigh, pulling my phone from my purse. “But can you at least tell me if you’ve seen my friend here? I’ve got some pictures—”
The request gets stuck in my throat as I feel a hand grip tightly at my elbow. “Lulu, darling,” says a rough, insinuating voice in my ear.
Hyde.
“I heard you were looking for me. Diana? Do you mind?” He presses something into her hand, and though she gives him a dark look, she accepts it and pushes the door open. “Thank you,” he says as he nudges me over the threshold. The door clangs shut behind us and I shake free of his grasp, turning to look at him. He’s dressed normally compared to the other people in the club, in dark jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt, his dark curls casually mussed. The only odd element is a strange black necklace worn tight around his throat, with a single silver ring at the center.
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“I wasn’t looking for you,” I practically spit. “I was looking for Jek.”
Hyde raises a delicate eyebrow. “Well, you found me. Surprised?”
I rub my elbow, feeling sure a bruise is already forming.
“A little,” I say. “I thought you were long gone. In fact, I’d half convinced myself that Jek murdered you.”
Hyde grins, his teeth glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “Jek doesn’t have it in him. Besides, aren’t we supposed to be best friends?”
“I don’t pretend to know what you are to each other.”
“Hmm, very wise,” he says. “I, for one, prefer not to label things.” Hyde starts down the hall at a quick pace, then stops after a few feet. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Why should I?”
“You said you were looking for Jek. Have you got any better leads?”
He bats his eyelashes at me provokingly and I grit my teeth, but I have no answer for him.
“I thought not. You’d better follow me, then.”
He guides me down another dim, anonymous corridor that looks like it could exist in the bowels of any industrial plant. At some point, we pass a door that’s cracked open, giving me a glimpse into what looks like an otherworldly grotto with a violet waterfall spraying lavender foam. I pause a moment to gape, but a heavily eyelinered boy hisses at me and slams the door closed.
When I look ahead, Hyde is inserting a key-card into a door at the other end of the hall, and I hurry back to his side. This room, it turns out, is even stranger—it’s as small as a monk’s cell, but the walls are made of flat, featureless panels that glow with warm, shifting colored light, like the effect of bright sunlight through closed eyelids. The only furnishing in the room is an oddly shaped settee in a plush synthetic fabric, and I can pick out a soundtrack of trip-hop overlaid with muted conversation and giggling, but I can’t tell if it’s being piped in somehow or is just overflow from a neighboring chamber.