“What if they don’t let Abby and the others in?” The mask muffles Jason’s voice, but it’s still way too loud for my liking.
“Then we’re screwed,” I hiss over my shoulder. “And can you not talk so loud, please?” Cars whir by on the main road, thankfully blocking out most of our bumbling around in the dark. A branch cracks beneath my foot and I nearly jump a foot in the air.
“Jeez, Ivy, what happened to not being so loud?”
“Shut it.”
Just like Abby told us, three stairs lead up to a small deck and the back door. A flickering porch light illuminates chipping paint that looks like it used to be white. The door has a square glass window near the top, obscured by a white curtain.
I crouch in the shadows beside the stairs, and Jason sinks down behind me. Our breaths cut through the silence, amplified by the stupid turtle masks.
“Hey,” Jason whispers. “You all right?”
I nod, not daring to talk because my voice would probably give away the fact that I’m about ready to pass out. Before I can stop it, my hand creeps over and squeezes his; he squeezes right back.
“Do you think Abby and the others got in yet?”
As if on cue, the back door opens and my heart jumps into my throat. But Sophie’s face pokes out. All clear, she mouths before disappearing back into the house and leaving the door open a crack.
A guy’s voice echoes from inside, talking to the others.
I tiptoe up the back porch stairs, cringing when they creak under my boots. The door squeaks when I push it. I can feel Jason’s warm body barely an inch behind mine, and I’m really hoping he doesn’t slam into me because I’ll fall flat on my face.
I’m not sure what to expect inside. What do criminals’ houses look like?
The odor of burnt food and cigarette smoke permeates the small kitchen. An old-school clock with a ticking pendulum hangs beside the fridge, which is plastered with coupons and calendars hung up by promotional magnets. It strikes me that this house is perfectly normal. Whoever lives in this perfectly normal house could have hurt my sister.
A toilet flushes, then I hear Sophie’s voice as she returns to the living room with the others.
I tiptoe ahead, staying close to the wall, careful not to trip over the mound of boots thrown on the doormat.
Jason gently creaks open the pantry door, revealing shelves of opened pasta and cereal boxes, but no Autumn.
“Where do we look first?” he whispers.
The house doesn’t seem very big. And it’s definitely not like places in movies where people hide hostages in secret rooms behind bookshelves.
“Abby said Liam’s room, Chad’s room, and the basement are the only places she could think of. Otherwise it’s just the living room, kitchen, and bathroom.” I don’t even know what I’m hoping to find—my sister, held hostage here? My sister, ready to murder me because she ran away and I found her anyway? Proof she’s in trouble? Proof she’s not? I don’t know what would be worse: finding something that proves I’ve been overreacting and risked my friends for nothing, or something that proves I’ve been right all along and she’s in trouble. Even if I can find something to make the police believe me, I’m not sure how to explain where I got it.
A guy’s—I’m assuming Chad’s—muffled voice drifts through the thin walls, and I can pick out words like plastic and fail-safe. Alexa’s probably nodding dramatically at everything he says, while Kevin’s likely sitting in silence, trying not to puke. I owe my friends, like, a zillion favors for this.
According to Abby, the first door should be the . . .
Basement, Jason mouths, pointing at a cracked-open door leading into darkness.
I cast a glance into what I can see of the living room, where I can just make out the tip of someone’s shoe. The distraction seems to be working. I slide through the basement doorway. A loud shudder emits from the stair the moment my foot hits it, and I full-on cringe. We both freeze for a moment, but the only noise coming from the living room is the steady hum of conversation.
“Go.” Jason prods me in the back.
I take the stairs two at a time, creeping through the darkness until I reach the concrete floor.
“Autumn,” I whisper-yell into the darkness. “Are you here?”
“Shut up,” Jason grumbles softly, somewhere behind me. “Are you trying to get caught?”
I click the flashlight button on my phone, illuminating the tiny cellar. A musty old refrigerator buzzes softly in the corner. Rusty pipes crisscross the ceiling. There’s an ancient treadmill in the back that looks like it hasn’t been used since the Dark Ages. I run the light beam around the empty room.
“Okay, she’s not here.” Jason turns toward the stairs. “Next stop.”
“Wait.” I don’t know what compels me to do it. Slowly, I close my fingers around the freezer door handle and tug. It takes a solid yank to get it open, but there’s nothing inside except a few old pieces of Tupperware filled with God knows what.
I start back upstairs, Jason right behind me, but stop halfway when I hear voices in the kitchen.
“So I’m kind of annoyed with Autumn.” Abby’s voice comes from upstairs, with a tinge more drama than her normal tone. “She’s been ignoring my texts all weekend.”
Chad laughs, followed by the sound of a cabinet closing. “Autumn ghosts people all the time.”
I listen closely to catch their conversation, my heart in my throat.
“Yeah, but she usually doesn’t ignore me. Maybe she’s upset or something.” When he doesn’t respond, Abby adds, “Have you seen her?”
“Nah, not since Thursday when you guys were all here.”
I wring my hands, way too close to them for comfort. Come on. Tell her something.
“You should text her.” Abby is a terrible liar, but Chad doesn’t seem to notice. “See if she responds to you.”
“She won’t even recognize my number.” Their voices fade as they return to the living room.
“Okay, go, go, go.” Jason shoves me forward and I creep up the remaining stairs, peeking my head out before rushing back into the hallway.
“Chad’s room.” I point to the next door. Jason nods, and we practically tumble inside.
There’s, like, eight different posters of women in bikinis on this guy’s walls, but nothing too strange. Jason tears into the closet as I peer under the unmade bed.
“Nothing,” we say at the same time.
I check my phone. Shit. We’re running out of time.
We rush back into the hall, and I’m somewhat calmed by the distant sound of Abby laughing. “Okay, Liam’s room,” I whisper. “Last stop, then we’re gone.”
A small bathroom with blue wallpaper and cracked linoleum tiles greets us behind the kitchen, and sure enough, beside it is a closed door with a real stop sign affixed to it. I touch the sign, brushing the cold metal with my fingertips. Yep. He definitely stole this.
Jason’s face scrunches as he points at the tacky sculpture against the wall. “Is this supposed to be an urn?” He peeks into it, pulling out an empty can of raspberry-lime Polar Seltzer. “Nice. Trash.”
My muscles turn to lead. I snatch the can out of his hand—it’s missing the aluminum tab. “This was Autumn’s. She was drinking it Thursday.”
“Wait, really? How do you know?”
“She always rips the tabs off. It’s hers.”
“Lots of people rip the tabs off . . .”
“I’ll go grab some.” The guy’s voice gets louder. “I think I left it in the kitchen.”
“Go, go, go.” Jason practically shoves me into Liam’s room just as a lanky guy with a goatee steps into the kitchen in a T-shirt and jeans.
I hold my breath, slowly closing the door behind us. We press our ears to the wood and wait, but nothing happens. Something rustles, followed b
y a few light echoing slams, like he’s riffling through cabinets. Jason releases a heavy breath.
“Holy shit. That was close.”
A cat darts out from under the bed and shoots across the room; I gasp, quickly clapping my hand over my mouth. Jason holds out his hands, and I can almost hear him saying, Really?
The cat slips past us and out the door.
“Shit. Was the door closed before?” I wring my hands. “Maybe the cat’s not supposed to get out.” I picture the cat as a spy, rushing out to alert that guy of our presence. “What if she’s like Mrs. Norris? The cat in Harry Potter?”
Jason raises his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
Okay, even if Autumn isn’t here now, finding the can feels like a sign that we’re getting closer. There must be other clues here.
Other than an unmade bed, piles of dirty laundry, a dresser, and a vintage Coors Light poster, there’s hardly anything in the room. I point to the closet in the corner and start wading through ankle-deep dirty laundry to get there. Jason heads for the dresser.
My pulse pounds in my ears. We don’t have much time. Abby said ten minutes, tops. We have to get out before they do.
Jason tears through Liam’s clothes, throwing shirts and jeans to the floor.
“Careful,” I snap. “Don’t make a mess, they’ll know.”
“Have you seen this guy’s floor? How could he even tell?”
“Oh my God.” I rip my hand back. “There’s something sticky in here.”
Jason’s face scrunches. “Gross. Don’t touch it.”
“Whoa. Look at this lamp.” I pull out the bizarre round light. “Some kind of light to grow weed?”
“It’s just a heat lamp.”
I tug out dirty socks, an empty shoebox, and a package of half-eaten cereal. My hands grow more frantic. There has to be something.
“What about this?”
I whirl around. Jason’s holding a Bow High School yearbook from several years ago. I blink at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I dunno. Might have some more info on him?”
I rip open the drawer to his tiny nightstand, revealing packs of gum and old receipts. Sifting through it, I shove a wad of wrappers aside and my fingers meet something cool and metal. I slap my hand over my mouth. “Holy shit.” I jump back so fast, I almost trip and fall. “It’s a gun.”
Jason shoots upward, his eyes wide. The pistol innocuously stares back at me from the drawer. I don’t want to be here anymore.
My phone vibrates with a new text, and I startle, nearly knocking over the lamp.
Alexa: This is getting sketchy. We’re leaving. Some other guy just arrived.
“Shit.” I stumble across the room and grab Jason’s hand. “We gotta go.”
Somewhere out in the hall, a door closes, followed by the muffled sounds of two guys talking. We hold our breath, our feet glued to the floor.
Footsteps echo in the hallway, getting louder by the moment, until they’re right outside the door.
My mind races. “The window.”
Jason unclicks the window lock and wrenches it open. He throws his hands up. “There’s a screen.”
“Get it out!” I charge forward and push the screen as lightly as I can. Nothing happens. My heart pounds against my ribs.
Someone laughs in the hallway. “Yeah, I don’t know, man. Where’d you leave it?”
“It’s in Liam’s room.”
My heart stops.
“Go!” Jason pushes me. “C’mon!”
My friends’ frantic voices fill the air outside, stampeding across the front lawn.
The doorknob turns.
I shove the screen and it pops out.
“Go! Ivy!”
I clamber onto the ledge, the wood splintering in my palm. With a grunt, I drop to the ground and stumble, slamming into the gravel.
“Hey!” A sharp voice booms from the room. “There’s people here!”
Jason drops down beside me, tripping over himself. “Run!”
I take off as fast as my legs can carry me, Jason at my side. My feet pound the spongy grass.
“The car! Start the car!” Alexa shouts. Jason clicks the unlock button twice, and the car beeps. My friends rip open the doors and shove each other to get inside.
The front door flies open behind us. “Hey!”
My friends beckon from the car, their eyes wide and frantic. I’m running so fast, I slam into the side.
Jason leaps into the driver’s seat and I practically swan-dive onto Abby’s and Ahmed’s laps. “Go! Jason!”
The other guy comes charging after us across the lawn, but Jason guns it, still wearing the turtle mask. Chad hollers something in the distance, growing softer as we zip onto the road.
My pulse gallops under my skin, refusing to believe we got away. I rip my mask off with shaking hands. Ahmed, Sophie, Alexa, Abby, and I are all crammed into the back, halfway in one another’s laps.
Heaving breaths fill the car. Tears streak down Sophie’s face. Alexa bites her fingernails, her cheeks pallid. Ahmed covers his face with his hands. Jason’s normally light brown skin goes white. Abby’s staring out the window, her eyes wet. Kevin’s whole body shakes in the front seat, his distinct groans the only noise cutting through the silence.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Jason says finally.
“You didn’t . . .” I trail off. He didn’t have to come. But it’s still my fault.
“I can never go back there,” Abby whispers. “Fuck.”
No one responds to her.
After an eternity, Jason pulls back into the Friendly’s lot. He puts the car in Park and finally tugs off the mask. “Do you . . . do you think he saw my plates?”
No one answers. Everyone’s fixated on the floor, or out the window. My fingers tap against my thighs.
“No,” I say finally. “It was dark.” I don’t know if I believe it.
“He saw our faces,” Ahmed says. “They can identify us.”
Alexa snorts. “And say what? He tried to sell a bunch of kids some fake IDs, and they tricked him? Yeah, right.” Her tone is snippy, even for her.
Everyone silently climbs out of Jason’s crammed car, bumping and jabbing each other. I keep my head down.
“Did Chad tell you anything?” Alexa asks.
“No.” Abby’s voice is a monotone. “And I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. They haven’t seen Autumn since Thursday.”
“You guys got something, right, Ivy?” Sophie asks. “You found a clue or something?”
“I found a seltzer can,” I say, my voice thick with defeat. “Without the tab on.”
The car is silent. “A seltzer can,” Kevin responds.
“So . . . the answer is no,” Alexa says. “You didn’t find anything.”
I close my eyes and swallow the hot lump in my throat. “No. It was all for nothing.”
* * *
—
Jason is silent the entire ride back to my dad’s house. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that I’m a sniffling, crying hot mess, and I’m grateful for it. Mailboxes and houses sail past, illuminated by streetlamps. It all blends together into one awful, dark soup.
Sweat cements my hair to my face, and the Michelangelo mask lies limp in my lap, a wrinkled, lifeless mess. I never want to look at it again.
My phone buzzes—Patrick. Of course. How was ice cream?
I blink back the curtain of tears clinging to my lashes and type, I don’t wanna talk about it. I stare at the message, but I don’t send it. It sits on my screen for five minutes before I delete it and stuff my phone back into my purse.
We pull up in front of my dad’s house. Jase puts the car in Park, but I don’t move to get out. The living room light flicks on. Dad’s never given me a cur
few, but he always waits up for me. I know he’ll still ask where I was. I don’t even know what to say.
Jase’s fingers drum against the steering wheel. He doesn’t look at me. I don’t blame him. “Are you okay?”
It takes me aback. “Me? I almost got you arrested—or shot—and you’re asking if I’m okay? I’m the worst friend in existence. You shouldn’t even hang out with me.”
“Oh, Ivy.” He holds his hand inches from my leg, as if considering resting it on my knee, but he pulls it back at the last second.
I wipe my face on my sleeve, leaving a trail of snot and mascara on the fabric. I don’t dare flip open the sun visor to see how attractive I look right now.
“At least we checked, right?” he says. “We looked and didn’t find Autumn or anything to implicate anyone in that house. More proof she’s not in trouble, just like the cops said. Maybe that eases your mind a little?”
I shrug. It doesn’t.
“I’m sorry.” I tug at a thread hanging off my jacket. “I’ll go.”
“It was an adventure.”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.” I ram the back of my head into the seat. “I feel like an idiot.”
A weird, almost tangible veil of silence covers the car. I grab the door handle. “Well, good night.”
“You’re not an idiot, Ivy.” Jason keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. “You’re the best person I know.”
All my emotions buzz around my brain like a hive of bees. I don’t know if he’s patronizing me or being sincere, but I can’t deal with this right now.
I step out of the car. “See you on Monday.”
AUTUMN
The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly Page 17