By the time I get dressed and blow-dry my hair, Mom and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table with a guy in a jacket and tie and another in a police uniform.
“Faith, this is Detective Larson,” Mom says. “And this is Officer Gans. They want to ask you about when you last saw Abby.”
“Can you describe when you last saw Abby Johnston and what she was wearing?” the detective asks me.
I tell him about the bus yesterday. About Abby in the green, fuzzy sweater that matched her eyes, and the fact that she was wearing makeup, when she didn’t always make an effort. How she seemed in a good mood, and her backpack seemed heavier than usual. How she lied to me about studying for the math test, but I didn’t pick up on it at the time.
“Is Abby a habitual liar?” Officer Gans asks.
“No! Not at all,” I protest. “Abby was … I mean Abby is my best friend. We’ve always told each other the truth about everything — well, until now, I guess. She has been kind of … I don’t know … moody lately. And she doesn’t tell me everything like she used to. Like about this guy she met at the church retreat.”
“Tell us more about Abby’s friend from the retreat,” Detective Larson says.
“That’s the thing. I don’t really know that much. She was kind of weird about him. Like, I couldn’t believe she didn’t tell me about him right away when she met him. We always tell each other everything — or at least we used to. But with this guy, it was this big secret. I thought she liked Billy Fisher. She even went out on a date with him. But then, she kept, I don’t know, blowing hot and cold on the poor guy. I felt sorry for him because Billy’s such a nice guy and I think he really likes Abby. And then, suddenly, out of the blue, she was talking about this mystery guy from the retreat.”
“Did she mention a name?” Officer Gans asks.
“No. Until yesterday she never even talked about me meeting him.” I see them exchanging glances. “Like, normally we’d be talking about our crushes constantly. But Abby was kind of …”
I feel tears welling up, and it’s hard to admit this in front of my parents.
“Abby was pulling away from me recently. Like she didn’t always sit with me on the bus in the morning and sometimes when I IM’ed her she’d ignore me, even though I could see she was online.”
Mom reaches out, puts her hand over mine, and squeezes. Dad hands me a napkin to blow my nose.
“Do you know what websites Abby likes to go on?” Detective Larson asks me.
“Sure,” I sniff. “She’s on Facebook, and we use MSN to chat. But her favorite’s ChezTeen.com.”
“That’s a new one to me,” he says. “Can you spell that?”
“C-H-E-Z-T-E-E-N dot com,” I tell him. “It’s newish, but it’s such a cool site.”
“Does it have private chat rooms?” Officer Gans asks.
I nod.
“Do you have to be friends to chat, or can anyone chat with you?”
“Anyone can chat with you,” I tell him. “It’s like being in a real-life café or at a concert. That’s what’s so cool about it.”
“That’s what’s so dangerous about it, Faith,” my dad says. “I didn’t realize you were going on sites like that.”
“But, Dad, I don’t talk to creepy people. I only talk to people I know, like Abby and Gracie and other kids from school.”
“Did Abby talk to people she didn’t know?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so…. Well … maybe … once that I know of. It was ages ago, like right before school started. We were chatting about what we were going to wear for the first day and some guy started talking to us about what we were wearing and music and stuff.”
“Do you remember his screen name?”
I rack my brain, trying to remember, but I can’t.
“All I remember is that he said he was already out of high school, so I IM’ed Abby on MSN and told her maybe we shouldn’t be talking to him because he might be a perv or something.”
“Good thinking,” Mom says.
“Abby said it didn’t matter because it wasn’t like we were telling him where we lived or anything, which was true. We were talking about music mostly. I think he and Abby liked a lot of the same music — like it was really weird, their top twenty iPod songs were practically identical. He said they were musical soul mates or something totally corny like that.”
My parents exchange glances with the police officer.
“What? Is Abby going to be okay?”
“Faith, there’s a possibility that Abby might have gone to meet someone she met online,” Officer Gans says. “Does the name Luke Redmond ring a bell?”
I shake my head.
“Luke? Is that the guy from the church retreat?”
“If there is a guy from the church retreat,” Detective Larson says. “We’ll be speaking to the youth director at Abby’s church later today.”
Did you lie about that, too, Abby? What happened to my friend?
I’m scared for Abby but now I’m mad, too. Mad at her for lying to me. Mad at her for lying to all of us. Why, Abby? Why?!
CHAPTER 17
BILLY DECEMBER 8 6:30 A.M.
I thought Dad was going to beat the crap out of me last night when he told me the police were coming this morning to interview me “in connection with Abigail Johnston.”
“Police?” I said, my mouth dry all of a sudden. “Why? What’s up with Abby?”
“Well, apparently the young lady is missing.”
I felt like someone sucker punched me.
“Abby? … Missing? … Since when?! I saw her in science yesterday and …”
She looked so gorgeous in that green, fuzzy sweater that matched her eyes perfectly.
My mother came and stood in the doorway to my room.
“Billy, isn’t Abby the same girl who came here for a study date? The one who you went to the movies with?”
“Yeah. Like I said, she’s in my science class. I don’t understand, she was there yesterday morning —”
She said that it was safer to kiss a dog than a human. Was that a blow-off or just a scientific fact?
“Her mother called earlier to see if she was here,” Mom said.
“I thought it was strange, because you haven’t seen her or talked about her lately.”
“Her mom called here? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mom shrugged.
Of course my dad started to think the worst of me right from the beginning.
“Son, you didn’t … force yourself on this girl, did you?”
I would have laughed out loud if I didn’t think my dad would have smacked me for doing it. My own father thinks I raped a girl. Me, the guy who never even made it to second base.
Mom blew a gasket.
“Will, how can you even think such an awful thing about your own son? Billy would never do a thing like that —”
Good to know at least one of my parents trusts me to do the right thing.
“Sandy! I asked Billy a question and I want him to answer.”
I squared my shoulders and looked my dad straight in the eye.
“No, Dad. I did not force myself on Abby. Are you happy now?”
“Don’t be fresh with me, kid. I’m just trying to find out why the police are coming to investigate my son.”
“Maybe because I saw Abby yesterday? Like, before she went missing?”
“That makes sense, Will,” Mom said.
Dad seemed to calm down a little. But only a little.
“The police will be here at six forty-five. Make sure you’re up and dressed. And brush your hair, for Pete’s sake. You don’t want to look like a slob in front of the police.”
Yeah, because with Abby missing, MY HAIR is the first thing they’re going to care about. Right.
“Will do, Dad.”
When my alarm goes off at six I want to smash it to smithereens. It was hard to sleep after my little heart-to-heart with Dad. Instead, I hit the OFF button with my fist and drag
my tired, sorry butt out of bed and down the hall into the shower.
I keep seeing Abby’s face through the steam. The way she looked in the flickering light of the movie we barely watched right before we kissed for the first time. How she laughed at me yesterday morning in science when I made the comment about not eating my own poop or licking my … yeah. At least I didn’t finish the joke, which was that it wasn’t for lack of trying. The private licking part, that is.
Abby, where are you? How could you just be here one day and gone the next?
I’m just heading downstairs to get some breakfast, my hair neatly brushed, when the doorbell rings. I check my watch. Six forty-five on the nose. These guys are prompt.
Mom tells me to hurry up and eat something — she’ll get the door. I grab a PowerBar and pour myself a glass of milk.
I hear the guys identifying themselves, showing Mom and Dad their badges, then Mom shows them into the fancy living room, the one we hardly ever use.
Dad comes into the kitchen.
“Hurry up. Make sure you look them in the eye when you answer their questions and call them ‘sir’ or ‘officer.’ And tuck in your shirt, for chrissake!”
I follow him into the living room, where Mom stands with the two police officers. They have handcuffs on their belts. And guns. Holy crap.
“Good morning, Billy. I’m Sergeant Marr,” the taller one says. “And this is Officer Conner.”
I make sure to look him in the eye when I say, “Good morning, sir.”
“Please have a seat,” Mom says. “Would you like some coffee?”
Next thing you know she’s going to be cooking these guys breakfast while I’m here shitting a brick.
“No, thanks. We’re good,” Officer Conner says.
I sit in the chair closest to the door. My leg starts jumping up and down the way it always does when I’m nervous.
“So, Billy, can you tell us about when you last saw Miss Johnston?” Sergeant Marr says, pulling a notebook out of his pocket.
“Uh … it was yesterday. Fourth period. In science. We did a lab together. Abby’s my lab partner.”
“What time is fourth period?”
“It starts at ten after ten and ends at eleven.”
“Did anything seem out of the ordinary about Abby’s behavior in class yesterday?” Officer Conner asks.
I try to think back to yesterday morning, but all I can think is that Abby is gone. That she’s disappeared, like those kids on the milk cartons. That someone could be hurting her right now while we’re sitting around in my parents’ fancy living room, talking. I want to throw up.
“I … don’t know … I —”
“Take a minute,” Sergeant Marr says.
The two officers are watching me intently and I suddenly think, Holy crap! Do they think I had anything to do with this? Yeah, I have a serious crush on the girl, but we just went to the movies once and then she’s pretty much been driving me crazy since then, being friendly but always running away when I try to ask her out again. Does that give me motive? Oh, man. But I HAVEN’T. DONE. ANYTHING.
I put my head in my hands to blot out the police and my parents, who are staring at me, too, and try to focus on science class yesterday. Abby. How cute she looked in that green, fuzzy sweater; how it brought out the color of her eyes and made me want to rub my hands all over her back. How cold her hands were when I took them in mine, because she said she’d had too much caffeine and she was jittery. And —
“She kept looking at the clock the whole time. All through class. I asked her if she had a train to catch. She said she was hungry because she hadn’t had breakfast, and she was counting down to lunch, so … I snuck her some of my Snickers bar.”
I cast an anxious glance at Dad. “We’re not supposed to eat in the classrooms and especially peanuts and stuff, but her hands were all trembling and cold when she got to class…. She said she’d had too much caffeine.”
Sergeant Marr is jotting stuff in his notebook while I’m talking. I wonder if any of this is important. I’m scared that they think I might have something to do with whatever happened to Abby. Please let her be okay.
“Were you close to Miss Johnston?” Officer Conner asks.
Oh, man. Here it comes. I wonder if they’re going to do the Good Cop/Bad Cop thing, like they do in the movies. I’m trying to figure out which one is going to be the Good Cop.
“I don’t know if I’d say ‘close.’ I mean, I really like her and I asked her out. We went to the movies once, and I had a great time and —”
“What movie did you see?” Officer Conner asks.
Despite my nerves, I swallow a laugh, remembering how little we actually saw of it. Laughing would not be at all cool right now. Not cool at all.
“Uh … Zombies vs. Aliens from Outer Space.”
“Sounds like a great date movie,” he says, but it’s clear he means the total opposite. “What did you think of it?”
“It was okay.” I try to remember something the reviews said, but totally space. All I can think of was how sweet it was when I felt Abby’s lips for the first time.
“How long ago was this?”
“Um … it was the second weekend of October.”
“And did you and Miss Johnston see each other after that?” asks Sergeant Marr.
“Well, yeah. Every day in class. And I was … you know, hoping we’d go out on a date again. But …”
“But she turned you down?” he says.
Thanks. Rub it in, why don’t you?
“Not exactly. The first time I asked her, she was busy. And then … it’s just … I don’t know…. She always seemed to be distracted or in a hurry whenever I wanted to talk.”
Sergeant Marr’s face doesn’t show any expression, but Officer Conner gives me this look like Don’t you know a blow-off when you see it, dude? I’m getting the impression he’s the one playing Bad Cop.
“Did you ever correspond with Abby online?”
“We’re friends on Facebook. But mostly we talked in class.”
“Did Abby ever mention anyone named Luke Redmond to you?”
For the second time in less than twelve hours, I get that sucker-punched feeling. Was Abby dating someone else? Is that why …
“Son, the police officer asked you a question,” Dad says.
I didn’t realize I’d been blown away into my own little world of total freak-outedness.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “She definitely never talked to me about anyone named Luke.”
And looking straight at Officer Conner, I add, “Look, I might be a total moron, but I thought Abby liked me, kinda. I mean, even if she didn’t like me, like me, she definitely didn’t hate me, okay?”
“We’re just trying to cover every base so we can find Abby, Billy,” Sergeant Marr says. “No one’s accusing you of anything.”
“Is she going to be okay, Sergeant?”
It’s like a stare-off for a minute. I’m the one who looks away first.
“We’re doing everything we can to find her, son.”
He hands me his card.
“If you think of anything else that might help us, call me. Anytime.”
CHAPTER 18
HUNTINGVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT
AUTOMATED LAW ENFORCEMENT INCIDENT REPORT
Huntingville PD supplemental report case number: 12-11-103898
Date: 12/08/2011
INCIDENT DATA
Incident Type: Missing Person
Date Reported: 12/08/11
Time Reported: 09:45 hrs
Reporting officer: P/O Conner
WITNESS/OTHER
Name: KEENAN, KENNETH H.
Race: Caucasian
D.O.B. : 2/12/86 Age: 26
Occupation: Youth Group Leader
Home Addr: 1487 Mockingbird Lane, Huntingville, CT 06957 Home Tel: 999-578-9374
Work Addr: First Trinity Church, 24 E Elm St, Huntingville, CT 06957
Work Tel: 999-578-1984
/> NARRATIVE
As a follow-up to the original report of the 14-year-old girl, Abigail Johnston, I interviewed Kenneth Keenan, the youth leader of the First Trinity Church at 09:45 hours on 12/08/11. Mr. Keenan was the adult in charge of attendees from the First Trinity Youth Group to the Youth Directions Summer Retreat attended by Abigail Johnston in summer 2011, at which she claimed to have met her “boyfriend.” I was looking to see if Keenan had any pertinent information regarding Abigail.
Mr. Keenan described Abby as a shy girl of above-average intelligence. Although she participated in all the retreat activities willingly, she did not appear to have any close friends. She shared a bunk with the following girls: Dana Lewis, Tricia Frost, Kelly Trotta, other members of the First Trinity Youth Group.
Mr. Keenan is not aware of any liaisons between Abigail Johnston and a member of the opposite sex, platonic or otherwise. He had never heard of anyone by the name of Luke Redmond. The teenagers were supervised by counselors at all times and did not have access to computers or cell phones while at the camp. Keenan had nothing further to add. A criminal history performed on Keenan found nothing.
CHAPTER 19
LILY DECEMBER 8 12:30 P.M.
You’d think under circumstances like this I’d get a day off from school but Mom made me go. Like I’m really going to able to concentrate with zero hours of sleep, and everything that’s going on. Plus, I feel like I’m wearing this big sign that says: “Freaky sister missing — might have run off with Random Internet Guy.” The last thing I need is for Abby’s weirdness to rub off on me. You know how it is in middle school. But Mom says my “life should suffer as little disruption as possible.” Like, hello? What planet do you live on?
Still, I try to pretend like nothing’s wrong, even though I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Lily, what is up with you? You look awful!” my friend Dawn says when she catches me at my locker before lunch.
I don’t know if I should tell her. If secret-keeping were a class, Dawn would be flunking, and I don’t want the whole school to know about Abby. Mom already told the principal, just in case I lose it in school or anything, I guess. But I don’t want everyone in the cafeteria staring at me. I don’t want to be the girl everyone is whispering about.
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