Dad steps over to my computer and brings the screen to life. He opens up my email and starts scanning messages.
My mother pulls open the drawer of my bedside table and starts rummaging through it.
“Mom, don’t,” I beg.
Her face drops with disbelief and disgust.
I look over her shoulder and wince. She runs her finger over a condom packet before nudging it aside and spotting the pair of black fluffy handcuffs resting beneath them.
Mom picks up the cuffs, her face pale with revulsion.
“It’s not what you think, Mom. I—” Matty bought me the cuffs as a joke. They slip off her finger and clatter back into the drawer.
The sheriff turns at the sound and raises his pale eyebrows. “Find anything?”
Mom slides the drawer closed and shakes her head. “No, nothing.”
“I think I’ve got something.” Dad enlarges the picture on screen. It’s my Instagram photo.
“Yeah, we’ve already seen that.” The sheriff leans over Dad’s shoulder. “You said you’ve checked your credit card statement, right?”
Dad’s cheeks tinge red as he nods.
“Okay.” Sheriff Hutton pats Dad’s shoulder again and stands tall. “Well, she’s a smart girl, so she’s probably avoiding using it for now, knowing we’ll find her if she does. Keep checking. Something might pop over the next couple of days. Have you gone through your wallets? She hasn’t stolen any cash, has she?”
Mom’s chin trembles as she shakes her head and closes her eyes, obviously hating the idea of me stealing and then trying to hide from them. If only I hadn’t given her reason to buy into that lie so easily.
“I only have a few more questions for now. I just want to clarify some facts here.” Sheriff Hutton pulls a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What was she wearing the last time you saw her?”
Dad catches Mom’s eye. She blinks a few times before shaking her head.
“I—I didn’t see her leave on Tuesday, and Mitchell wasn’t home.” The room is silent in response and I can feel tension rocketing through Mom. Both Dad and Sheriff Hutton are judging her and she knows it. “She just called out a good-bye like she always does. I . . . she’s sixteen! It’s not like I need to wave her off every time she leaves the house. I didn’t think it was the last time I’d be seeing her.” Mom’s voice breaks.
The sheriff gives her a sympathetic smile before asking a few more softly spoken questions. Mom and Dad stumble through their answers, obviously knowing very little about my social life.
Finally, in a small show of mercy, the sheriff slides his pen and notepad back into his jacket. “Mitchell, Trudy, I’m so sorry you have to face this. I really am.”
Mom crosses her arms as if holding herself together.
Sheriff Hutton pats Dad’s shoulder again before saying good-bye. I hear the front door close downstairs.
Mom’s hands drop to her side and she walks out of the room. “I’ll go finish dinner.”
Dad shuts down my computer. There is finality to the action that hurts my heart. I’m obviously not the only one giving up.
Dad runs his finger along my bookshelf, a fleeting smile touching his lips. He bought me half those books. We’d read them together and discussed each one, our own private book club.
Mom reappears in the doorway with a cup of tea and Dad looks up at her. “Do you think the sheriff’s right?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Mom says.
Dad’s mouth is set in a tight line. “Ignoring the issues doesn’t make them go away, Tru.”
Mom’s expression starts to fracture, but she takes a deep breath and pulls it together.
Dad sits down on the bed. “I don’t know which is worse . . . her struggling out there on her own . . . or her dea—”
“Don’t say it, Mitchell.” Mom’s sudden outburst makes me jerk. Her blue eyes are wild, her breath shaky and loud. “I can’t lose them both. I can’t do it.”
“We already have,” Dad whispers. “Like you said, we don’t know her anymore. She could be anywhere.” Dad draws in a ragged breath. “We abandoned her, Trudy.” His cheeks look sunken, his mouth too big for his weary face. “I was supposed to look after her.”
Tears stream down Mom’s face as she gazes at her tormented husband.
“I love her.” Dad falls to his knees, a shaky sob stealing his voice for a second. “She’s my little girl. I love her so much and I might never get to tell her.”
He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.
Mom kneels beside him, running a hand over his back. They weep against each other, a sorrowful tune that fuels my own tears.
“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Falling to the floor behind them, I squeeze my eyes shut, murmuring, “I love you, too,” over and over again. It’s then I realize that I can’t die, even if I think I deserve it. I have to live . . . for them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THURSDAY, 8:32 PM
I force my shaking limbs to rise, and leave my bedroom. I need to see Dale and apologize. I need to make this right.
I’m racing up his driveway when the front door swings open and he runs down the steps. His face is tight with worry, his swollen nose looking red and sore.
“Dale,” I call.
He stops beneath the porch light. I walk toward him, suddenly nervous.
“I was just coming to find you. I thought you might be at your house . . .” His voice trails off to a soft murmur as he gazes at me in that sweet, quiet way of his, a soft smile lighting his eyes as he drinks me in. A thought comes to me, unbidden: He thinks I’m beautiful.
The idea steals my breath.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches for me and whispers, “I’m sorry I said that stuff to you.”
“It was fair.” I shrug, willing to forgive him anything when he’s looking at me like this. “I can kind of be a bitch.”
“You’re not.” Dale cringes. “I wish I could turn back time and erase that whole conversation. It’s just . . . I was so humiliated that Trent decked me in front of you.”
I touch his swollen nose with gentle fingers.
“That actually feels good.” Dale closes his eyes. “Nice and cold.”
“You can feel that?” I breathe.
“Yeah.” His eyes open and he gives me a long, steady look that’s enough to unravel me completely. “Want to come inside?”
I can’t help a smile as I reach for his hand. He stares at it for a second, then spreads his fingers. Our palms almost touching, Dale leads me back inside his house.
We climb the stairs in silence and walk into his room. Dale closes the door behind him and I take a seat on his bed.
I hug my knees and glance around the room. “Where’s Jester?”
Dale laughs. “He’s been banished to the yard for peeing on the carpet.” He sits down at his desk. “So what’s our next step? Trent hasn’t exactly been specific about where he left you, and after today, I doubt he’ll tell me anything.”
“The sheriff came over tonight and said he’s going to start a search, but it’ll take a few days.” I close my eyes, trying to ward off a wave of despair. “I don’t have that long. I can’t die, Dale.”
Papers rustle on the desk. Dale has pulled the book of hiking maps down from his shelf.
He bends over the book, his brows knit in concentration. “If no one’s going to help us, then we’re just going to have to do this search on our own. I think we should expand the search areas from the places we selected last night. I’ll get up early tomorrow morning and we’ll start scanning the area. I don’t care how long it takes.”
My heart swells as I watch Dale, his curls falling into his eyes.
“Nicky?” Dale turns to look at me. “Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod, coming closer to look at the map. “Sounds good.”
“Okay, let me just highlight the roads we’ll take so I can get a clear idea in my head of where we’ll be driving.”
Dale rummages around his messy desk for a highlighter. “I was just using it last night, where’s it gone?” he mutters, bending down to look under his desk.
I run my finger over the open book, tracing the winding road through the forest until I reach the edge of the page. I want to turn it over and see how far we should go, but of course my fingers can’t do that. With a bitter frown, I press my finger into the page and flick it.
To my surprise, it lifts into the air, rising an inch before floating back down. My mouth drops open. I remember the way my diary fell out of Mom’s hands when I slapped it and wonder if that hadn’t just been a freak accident.
Rubbing my fingers together, I reach for the page and try again. Determination courses through me as I push my finger onto the paper and flick. The page bounces up a little higher before flopping back down.
I let out a surprised laugh.
I narrow my eyes and use more force this time. It turns.
“Found it.” Dale stands up with a triumphant smile on his lips and a bright orange highlighter in his hand. “Now where were we?” He leans over the book.
“Dale—I just turned the page.” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.
He frowns, then notices the turned page. “Holy crap, you did. Can you do it again?” He steps back to give me some space.
I try again. It takes three attempts, but I eventually turn another. And then another.
Dale watches me with awe. “I wonder what else you can do?” he says, running his fingers over the book before dropping the highlighter onto the pages. “Here, try picking it up.”
I try to pick up the marker, but it won’t budge.
“Try again,” he urges.
“I’m trying, but it’s not working.” I flick my finger and watch it roll slightly.
Dale looks excited. “There you go.”
“It’s hardly anything to be excited about. Why can I suddenly do it?” I ask. “What if it means I’m that much closer to death? Like I’m that much more of a real ghost,” I say.
“Don’t talk like that.” Dale gives me a look. “I think it shows that your mind is strong. It shows that you have some willpower.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead and suddenly feeling exhausted.
“You okay?” Dale reaches for my shoulder, his fingers hovering above it.
“I’m just tired. That was kind of exhausting.”
“Come on, let’s get some rest.” He lifts his chin toward his bed.
Dale flops down on his back, tucking a hand beneath his head. I lie down beside him. My head rests near his and I roll onto my side, gazing at his chiseled profile.
Dale’s other hand rests on the bed between us. I study his strong fingers, and wonder what they’d feel like gliding over my skin. I already know they’d be gentle.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he turns his head in my direction. “I wish I could touch you,” he murmurs, his eyes searching my face.
For some reason that makes me nervous. Plenty of other boys have said that to me before and I’ve always given in, but I don’t want it to be like that with Dale.
My voice shakes as I ask, “What would you do?”
“Well”—a slow grin edges across his lips—“you know how your bangs fall forward and cover up your left eye?”
I nod.
Dale turns onto his side, so we’re lying face-to-face. He runs a finger down the vague outline of my forehead. “I’d tuck them behind your ear and make sure you could see me clearly. Because I need you to know that I don’t think you’re horrible. I think you’re amazing.”
I dip my chin so he can’t disarm me with those eyes again. “No, you don’t.”
“That’s another reason why I was so annoyed this morning.” I glance up at his soft whisper. “All the people you hang out with have no idea who you really are. You’re brilliant, Nicky . . . and none of those guys can see it. Why don’t you let anyone see you?”
Tears prick my eyes. “When Jody died, my whole family shut down. We had nothing to say to each other.” I shoot a nervous glance at Dale. He gives me an encouraging smile.
“I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost and when I got to high school, Chris Cooper noticed me. He thought I was cute . . . or vulnerable, I don’t know.” Chris was the first person who didn’t give me a sympathetic look or awkward hug. He pulled me into his life and made me forget about everything. Once I slept with him, all the girls thought I was cool and all the guys thought I was easy. It was a done deal after that. I grimace at the memories. “Before this happened, I would have sworn I’d be lost without my friends.”
“You still have friends, Nicole. Just not the ones you thought.”
I turn back at Dale’s words, so full of understanding. My lips rise in a half smile and I reach over, lightly running my finger down his scar. “Pretty big wake-up call, I suppose. Was it anything like yours?”
Dale frowns.
“Come on,” I say. “What were you like . . . before?”
Dale’s laugh is cold. “Awful. I was a little shit.” His eyes lock on the ceiling. “My parents were teenagers when they had my older sister, Raelyn. Both their families judged them for it, and I think they felt like they had a lot to prove. It’s like they thought they had to be superstrict with Rae and me or we’d make the same mistakes.”
He runs his fingers over the green comforter. “Rae didn’t care, she loved following the rules. But I felt suffocated. When I turned fourteen, I started acting out. My parents didn’t know what to do with me.”
He makes a figure eight on the duvet and repeats the pattern, his voice growing thick. “I started sneaking out to parties, and it wasn’t long before I was drinking . . . and then came the joyriding. We’d break into really nice cars and drive as fast as we could around the back roads. It was a rush. We nearly got caught by the cops a couple of times.”
He goes quiet and the anguish in his gaze slices me in half.
“What?” I touch his frown lines, trying to smooth them away. He lets out a sigh.
“I wasn’t driving the night of the accident, Jack was. I was squished into the backseat with my friends Toby and Luis. I don’t know what happened. We hit something and careened down a hill. Luis went straight through the windshield.”
He takes a deep breath. “It took an hour for Jack to die and then another two before Travis stopped moaning . . . he was in the front passenger seat.” Dale bites his bottom lip, his gaze distant. His voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know when Toby died. He was in the seat across from me and spent about an hour screaming that his leg hurt. I couldn’t do anything. I was pinned. My face was caught on a tree branch that had punctured the window. Every time I tried to move, I thought I might rip my head off, and my shoulder was radiating pain. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to use it again.”
I blink back tears as I listen to his story. His voice is detached as he runs through the rest of the details.
“Eventually it got quiet, really quiet. I knew it was only a matter of time before I joined them. I don’t know why, but I just started praying.” His eyes are bright and clear as he focuses back on me. “I begged God to let me live . . . and He did. As soon as I could think straight again, I decided to stop wasting the second chance He’d given me and start using it for good.” He takes in a breath. “I think about it every day . . . and every day it motivates me.”
I study him, my eyes taking in every inch of his face. His scar seems beautiful now, a line that divides who he was then from who he is now. “Your parents don’t seem so strict.”
“I wasn’t the only one who needed to change,” Dale says. “They
wanted to take me away from my old life, start afresh, so we moved here. We set some new ground rules and one of them was honesty. Every time I feel suffocated, I tell them, and every time they think I’m slipping back, they reel me in. It’s been working okay so far.”
I think back to my parents, holding each other in my bedroom. “I wish I could talk to my parents like that.”
“Well, when you make it out of this, you should start.”
“If I make it out,” I murmur.
Dale rises up onto an elbow and looks down at me. “Nicky, you will survive this. It’ll be your second chance . . . just like mine. All you have to decide now is what you want to do with it.” He gives me a gentle smile. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Dale’s expression is etched in an aching sadness. “You’ll figure it out.” He rolls onto his back and stretches out his arm, beckoning me to lie on his shoulder.
I hesitate, throwing him a skeptical frown.
“Come on, let’s give a try.” He grins.
I inch toward him, slowly lowering my head onto his firm chest. I run my hand over his shirt and he shivers. We lie in silence for a while until night sets in and Dale drops into a light slumber. I can feel an odd coldness creeping into my bones. I inch closer to him, wishing I was snuggled beneath the covers, wrapped in his arms. I wonder what it would be like to sleep next to him all night.
A soft whistling breaks through my daydream, a fuzzy sound that only grows louder and clearer before a searing pain spikes through my head. I let out a sharp gasp, gripping my temples and trying to squeeze it away.
Dale flinches, his eyes popping open. “Nicole? What’s wrong?”
“The room is spinning,” I cry.
“What?”
“My head,” I wail, crumpling into a ball as the green cover starts to warp and curl beneath me.
“Nicole?” Dale’s voice is laced with panic, but when I try to look at him, all I can see is a twisted, mangled image of his face. “You’re fading.”
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