"Do either of you need anything from the concession stand? I'm heading that way."
Cameron stands as well. "No, thanks. We're gonna cut out a little early. My parents want me home because of the other kidnapping."
Turner falters, a movement so subtle I almost miss it. But his rapidly paling face is more noticeable. "There… there's been another one?" The shift in his mood is startling, as if Cameron's words unplugged whatever normally keeps Turner in go-go-go mode and left a shell of our teacher standing in front of us.
Cameron glances at me and I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea why Turner's reacting like this. Cameron touches his arm. "Maybe you should sit down."
I jump to my feet, my home-made emergency training kicking in. "Or do you want us to get you a drink? Maybe some candy?" Turner sinks onto the bench and I touch his forehead, then quickly pull my hand back. He's my teacher. I don't think we're allowed to touch.
"No, you kids go on. I'll be fine."
"No offense," Cameron says, "but you don't look fine." We exchange puzzled looks over Turner's head, and for the second time in fifteen minutes I find myself wondering if we should tell an adult what's going on.
Turner presses his hand to his chest and studies us with watery eyes. "You just caught me off guard." He looks off toward the field, then at Cameron. "It gets easier, but you'll never forget."
Cameron's lips tighten into a firm line. They seem to have an understanding, but I have no clue what it's about.
I bite my tongue when we say goodbye to Turner and keep my mouth shut during the walk through the parking lot, but now that we're in the car and driving home, I can't stop myself. "What the hell happened back there?"
"You don't remember?"
"Clearly I don't." Cameron winces, and I'm left feeling like I should know about this secret bond the two of them apparently have. I tone down the attitude. "Can you please tell me what’s going on? The only adult I know who goes all wobbly like that is my dad, and I know Turner doesn't have epilepsy."
Cameron snorts, which sends my blood pressure soaring. "No, nothing like that." He takes a quick breath. "When Katie had been gone for a couple months, someone from the police department recommended this support group for families of people who'd gone missing."
"Like AA?"
"Yeah, sort of. Anyway, my mom didn't want to go. She kept insisting that Katie would come home and it would be a waste of time to learn how to get along without her."
I vaguely remember Cameron telling me about this when it happened. "You and your dad went, right?"
"Only once. It was too depressing sitting in a room with all these people who were missing someone." He switches hands on the steering wheel and rests a hand on mine. "I didn't make the connection until just now, but Turner was at that meeting."
My head whips towards him. "As part of the support group?"
"Yeah."
I wait for him to continue, but he's staring at the road, lost in his memories. I hate to interrupt, but… "Do you know who disappeared?"
He remains silent for so long I start to wonder if I spoke out loud, but he turns his head slightly to look at me, fresh tears in his eyes. "I think it was his daughter."
His words slam me back against my seat. "Holy shit. I had no idea."
"I'd completely forgotten he was there. It's not like I knew him back then, and I've sort of blocked out a lot of what happened after Katie disappeared."
Helplessness makes my chest feel heavy, solid. Each time I think I understand how deeply Cameron was affected by Katie's disappearance, he shows me a little bit more. I don't know if I'd have the strength to get on with my life the way he has. I stare at my hand beneath his. "I don't know how you do it."
His thumb twitches over my fingers. "Some days I don't either."
I curl my fingers through his, hoping the small gesture in some way shows that I care. "You know words aren't my thing—I'd much rather take a picture to show how I'm feeling—but I want you to know that I'm here for you. If there's anything at all I can do…"
He lifts my hand to his mouth and grazes my fingers with his lips. "I know, Biz. That's why I'm here."
*****
Headlights from an oncoming car fill Old Berta's interior as we turn into my neighborhood, but the sense of dread that follows me at dusk lifts. I allow myself to relax. I won't be flickering today.
Cameron touches the side of my face and I turn to look at him. "I wish I could hang out, but I need to get home."
"Will you let me know what your parents say about tomorrow?"
He parks at the end of my driveway and kills the engine. "I'll text you tonight. Now come here." His seatbelt clicks and he leans across the space between us, enveloping me in his arms.
I breathe in the musky scent that seems to seep from his pores, a mixture of vanilla soap and outdoors, and tuck my forehead against his warm neck. We stay that way for a few minutes, our heartbeats synchronized. Too soon I feel him stir against me and I pull back.
His eyes are bloodshot and his mouth is set in a hard line. Apparently he wasn't thinking the same lovey-dovey things I was.
I lean against my seat and he rests an arm on the steering wheel. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I should go." He sighs. "Besides, there isn't anything to talk about."
I lean towards him once again and rest my hand on the side of his face. His jaw clenches beneath my touch. I pull him closer and press a light kiss on his lips. "Good night." I'm hoping he'll pull me back and tell me to stay a little longer, but his hand doesn't leave the dashboard.
"Good night."
I climb out of the car and grab my bag from the backseat before running to the house. The dread lifts even further when I realize all the downstairs lights are on. My parents are home. No one went to the ER. I turn to wave at Cameron, then open the front door as he drives down the street.
"Hello?" I drop my bag at the foot of the stairs.
My parents are in the living room watching television. Mom mutes the sound when I come in. "How was the game?"
"Fine." I look between her and Dad, then back to the television. She muted Jeopardy. This must be important. "What's up?"
Their concern is palpable. Mom won't stop pulling on the hem of her sleeve and Dad's crossed and uncrossed his legs three times since I walked into the room. And the television is still silent. I run through the list of reasons why they could be upset with me, but nothing major stands out. Curiosity urges me to press them, but I wait. I'm learning.
After what feels like an hour, Dad sits forward. "Another girl disappeared."
"Oh, that." I sigh audibly and they both raise an eyebrow.
"Oh that?" Mom echoes.
I sit on the edge of the couch. "Cam's mom called to tell him right after we left school. I thought this was about something else."
"Like what?"
"Nothing, I just—were you just going to tell me about her, or is there something else?"
Dad looks at Mom and she clears her throat. "We're worried about the hours you keep. Especially the early drives. We know you like to take photos then—" that's what I have them thinking "—but we're afraid something could happen to you."
My mind scrambles to come up with a good excuse. I can't blow them off about something this serious, but how do I convince them that I'm not in danger? "It's only been little kids who've been taken, and it's when they're running around outside, right?" They both scowl. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best approach. "I'm just saying, I'm in my car and driving. How would someone talk to me, let alone try to kidnap me?"
Mom sighs, a long, drawn out exhalation of breath that seems to wrap around the room. Maybe I've convinced them. "Biz, we know you're almost an adult and can take care of yourself, but you are still our baby. We can't help but worry."
"I always have my phone. If someone ever tries to stop me I promise to call you right away."
This time Dad sighs, and I know I've won. That seemed a little too easy, but I'll
take it.
But I don't want to rub their faces in it. "Are we okay? I don't want to make you guys worry, but I really don't think I’m in any danger." I get up and give Mom a quick hug, then linger a bit with Dad. "I swear I'll be safe."
With that over, I head upstairs and grab my camera from my bag. Turner's business card flutters to the floor. I finger the edge, Cameron's words flooding back to me. I can't believe that something so awful happened to Turner and I never knew. With Cameron, it's like his sister's disappearance is a badge he wears, not necessarily out of obligation, but as a way to never forget her, and it surprises me that there's this side to Turner I'd never imagined.
I set his card next to my computer and scroll through my images from the past week. Trace fills my screen, followed by a distant shot of his teammates gathered around their coach, and then my breath catches. The man is staring at me. This isn't the first time I've seen this photo since uploading them, but the intensity in his gaze freaks me out. I lean closer, studying the lines around his deep-set eyes and the way his light hair brushes the top of his ears.
How is it that he was looking right at me when I took the picture? The thought of him watching us when we weren't paying attention to him makes my skin crawl. A shimmer of concern pricks the back of my neck. Maybe my parents are right to be worried.
I open my email and type in Turner's address, attach the photo, and click send.
I'm halfway through the photos from the football game when Cameron texts.
"They said no."
Ugh. "Why?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
"They don't want company right now."
"Since when am I company?"
I've been hanging out at his house since we were in elementary school. I'd shed the company label around the same time I ditched my pigtails and rainbow sneakers. Or so I thought.
More silence.
Guilt burns my chest. Cameron's dealing with a lot of shit and I'm stressing over a stupid label. "Are you okay?"
Still nothing.
Well, crap.
Chapter 19
My alarm goes off long before the sun rises—I set it on vibrate so I won't wake my parents—and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in my high school anxious to roll out of bed right now. I slip into yesterday’s jeans and tug on a sweatshirt before tip-toeing down the hall.
Dad's snoring drifts through their closed door, but that's it. No tell-tale light that they're awake.
Downstairs I grab an apple from the bottom drawer of the fridge then sneak out the door.
Streaks of red and orange light the sky as I head towards the Strand. I take a few bites of the apple, then toss it on the floor of the passenger seat. I'm not hungry, and while I can't say I've ever noticed if they affect my migraines, I figure it can't hurt.
I round a bend and the Strand looms up ahead, but the sun isn't high enough yet.
This happens sometimes. Because the time of the sunrise changes, I don't always get here at the right moment. Once last winter I was so early I killed time drinking coffee at a diner. But I think a quick loop to the next main road and back should give the sun a chance to do its thing.
I drive slowly to the next bend in the road. For a second I consider stopping on the shoulder, but my promise to my parents urges me to keep moving. Barely ten hours have passed since they asked me to be careful, and here I am contemplating doing exactly what worries them.
No matter. A burst of light breaks the tree line. It's time.
I check the rearview mirror to make sure no one's behind me, then press the accelerator. It doesn't matter if anyone's here, but I don't really know what happens to my car when I flicker. I assume it's like a big rewind button freezes everything, then whips everything back to yesterday, but images of my car careening into a ditch or skidding into oncoming traffic make me avoid other cars if I can.
Slivers of light shine though the trees. I roll down the window. The cool air lifts my hair and sharpens my senses.
I flex my fingers, allowing the tingling to sweep through my arms and out my toes. I take a deep breath. The heaviness pushes me back and I struggle to control the car. Lower, lower, I sink into the seat, my gaze barely clearing the dashboard, my fingers slipping from the steering wheel… and the weight vanishes and I'm sitting upright, my feet drifting from the pedals. I turn my head to glance at the trees and—
I'm walking down the hall with Amelia, heading to lunch.
Bishop's class isn't as bad this time around since I already know about the ridiculous score on my test, but I'd love to skip his pep talk. I'm a little calmer when Cameron and I leave for the football game, but knowing what happens doesn't calm the butterflies. Repeating things doesn't seem to have an effect on them.
When Cameron's mom calls I turn away so my expression doesn't reveal anything, when a feeling of horror more intense than anything I've ever felt slams into me. The girl just got kidnapped.
And I knew about it.
I try to act surprised when Cameron tells me the news, but I can't get past the turmoil that's shredding my insides. Why why why didn't I do anything? I could have called one of those anonymous tip lines or… I don't know, gone to her house or something. Anything. Now she's gone.
Fortunately Cameron's so distracted he hasn't noticed that I've yet to say anything. We ride in silence until we arrive at the stadium.
Cameron turns off the car and reaches over to touch the back of my neck. "You've been quiet. Is your headache back?"
I touch my temple. "Yeah, a little." I worry that lying to him will somehow jinx me, then remember it will: I've already flickered so I've got about twelve hours until it descends.
I follow Cameron through the parking lot and let him pick the far corner to get settled. My energy rebounds a little when I start taking pictures, and I almost forget about the creepy man. I turn towards the stands. It'd probably be better to email Turner a more recent picture of this guy.
He's sitting right where I saw him, but for once he isn't watching me. I follow his gaze to the field. Maybe he is someone's dad and it's just a coincidence that I keep catching him staring.
Cameron's shutter clicks next to me and I quickly take a dozen shots of the man. As if he senses me, his head slowly turns my way until his eyes are holding mine. A shiver runs down my spine and I lean closer to Cameron.
He slides his free arm around me. "What's wrong?"
"That man is here again." I point him out and I'm halfway to my feet when Cameron stands.
"We need to tell someone."
"He's probably someone's dad. It's not like I've seen him anyplace other than games." My heart isn't in it this time. I know we need to talk to Turner, but I don't like changing things more than I need to. In this case I feel like I need to let Cameron convince me. Give him something to think about other than kidnappings.
"How many kids does this guy have that he's been at three different sports? We don't have that many big families in our school."
I pause long enough to make him believe I'm considering his argument. "We could talk to Turner. He'd know if this man is someone’s parent."
Cameron's already walking towards the stands.
The conversation with Turner goes much the same way, except this time I have pictures to show him.
"I've never seen him before. I don't attend every game, but I'm fairly certain I'd recognize a parent. Biz, do you mind emailing these to me tonight when you get home?"
I nod and accept his card.
The drive home is quiet and I wait for Cameron's promise to text me later before climbing out of the car. If he senses my distance he doesn't call me out on it, but he's had years of practice.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the talk with my parents. I fling open the door. "I'm home."
They're in the living room, looking nervous. I let them start.
Dad sits forward. "Another girl disappeared."
"I heard. Cameron's mom called while we at the game."
Dad looks at Mom and she clears her throat. "We're worried about the hours you keep. Especially the early drives. We know you like to take photos then but we're afraid something could happen to you."
"But if I'm driving, how could someone do anything? I swear I'm careful." I'm feeling especially guilty since the reason I'm repeating this conversation is because of my early morning drive yesterday. Tomorrow. I shake my head. It's sometimes hard to keep track of the days.
Mom sighs.
Repeating lectures is the worst part of flickering. No, repeating classes is the worst part, but this is a close second. Why couldn't Cameron have kissed me before he dropped me off? That I'd like to do over. And over.
"Biz, we know you're almost an adult and can take care of yourself, but you are still our baby. We can't help but worry about you."
"I always have my phone. If someone ever tries to stop me I promise to call you right away."
Dad sighs.
I give them another minute. "Are we okay? I don't want to make you guys worry, but I really don't think it's a big deal." I get up and give Mom a quick hug, then linger a bit with Dad. "I swear I'll be safe."
I run upstairs to email Turner and wait for Cameron's text. If only there was a way to change his parents' decision.
*****
I toss my phone across the room.
You'd think it'd hurt less to hear I can't go to Cameron's tomorrow since I already knew that's what would happen, but it doesn't. An unfamiliar longing sweeps through me, crushing me, curling me into a ball on my bed. Then it pisses me off.
I sit up. He's a guy. A guy. Why am I letting myself get so worked up over him? I'd never admit it, but I pride myself on not getting hung up on boys.
But Cameron's different, a little voice insists, and I curl back up.
I allow myself to wallow for a few minutes, then the voice shifts. I need to know about the little girl. I pull my laptop off my desk and rest it on my pillow. A couple of keystrokes later she's staring back at me. Brown hair, brown eyes, missing front tooth.
Flicker Page 11