by Eileen Cook
He’d replaced the industrial office furniture with two comfortable mismatched wingback chairs that took up the bulk of the space. It was supposed to give you the sense that you were simply having a casual conversation in someone’s living room instead of spilling your guts to a school counselor. It worked, too. There’d been plenty of times I caught myself forgetting that he was paid to be nice to me.
I crossed my legs, and he did the same, mirroring my posture. I did that too when I was doing a reading. It was supposed to make the other person feel more relaxed.
“Would you like some tea?” Mr. Lester nodded toward the bookshelf where he kept his electric kettle. “I’ve got some of that creamy Earl Grey you like.” He tugged on his short red hipster beard as if encouraging it to grow.
“No thanks,” I mumbled. I stared down at my hands. I was too queasy to get anything to stay down.
“If you’re worried about your volunteer obligation with exams coming up, we can cut back,” Mr. Lester offered. He’d arranged for me to work in his office for school service hours years ago. This meant I got free hot lunch without having to volunteer in the cafeteria. The only thing worse than being the kid with no money is having everyone know you’re a charity case week after week as you dole out applesauce and extra helpings of undercooked Tater Tots.
I rubbed my hands on my jeans. Instead of looking directly at him, I focused on counting some of the millions of rust-colored freckles on his pale arm. “That’s not really what’s bugging me.”
“You mentioned Paige,” Mr. Lester said. “I didn’t think you two were friends.”
He knew I didn’t really know her. Anyone who had met either of us for more than five minutes had to know we didn’t hang out. Paige was as likely to be my friend as I was to sprout feathers, fly to New York, and live in the trees in Central Park. “No, we’re not friends, but I’m worried about her.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s understandable. However, there’s no reason for people to jump to any conclusions. Paige has a tendency for . . .” He searched for the right word. “Drama. I suspect she’s fine, just off on an adventure.”
I wondered what Paige would think of the fact that even our school guidance counselor assumed she had taken off on her own. The fact she’d run away last spring break worked against her. She was pretty and privileged. She wasn’t the kind to cause any real damage. But she was trouble.
I even knew exactly what kind of trouble. I’d looked up Paige’s student file. The fact I volunteered in Lester’s office meant that I had a unique opportunity to know more about my classmates than they might imagine.
The first time I’d peeked, I’d done it because I wanted to know what was in my own record. I had to see what had been written about the “dad incident.” But once I’d read about myself, I’d gone back to Lester’s file cabinet to read about other people. I collected tiny details, like the name of someone’s dying grandparent, who had an eating disorder, where they hoped to go to school, and any family drama that they dragged with them to school. All of it made my readings a bit more accurate. I knew Mr. Lester would have been disappointed in me if he knew, but I’d never used the info to hurt anyone. And I figured that since my deep dark secret had come out in a school assembly, it was only fair if I knew a part of what they kept hidden.
When the plan for Paige’s abduction came together, I pawed through her file looking for information. A few incidents of drinking, shoplifting; she’d skipped a class here or there; an inappropriate relationship with her club lacrosse coach; she’d had a fight in the gym with one of her friends. She got caught breaking into the mini-golf fun park on a dare in grade ten. As the news reported, she ran off to Florida last spring. The cops picked her up at a hotel. She’d been drunk and had to have her stomach pumped. That little tidbit never made the hallway gossip rounds. Lester had written he thought she had issues with wanting her parents’ attention and approval. In particular, her dad. Turned out we had that in common. Hers had high expectations; mine was missing in action.
Based on Paige’s history, the idea that she might have taken off without telling her parents where she was going seemed completely reasonable. Pluto had guessed right. No one would take the fact she was missing seriously. They wouldn’t even suspect she’d been abducted.
Pluto insisted I was needed to make the abduction work, but I didn’t see why. There was no reason to believe I was being told the full truth. I certainly wouldn’t have told someone else all the details if it had been my idea. It didn’t really matter. Everyone had a part to play, and this was mine. The sooner I did it, the sooner I could be done with this. Paige could take care of herself. For once I was going to do what I needed for me.
“What if Paige isn’t okay?” I paused. “What if something . . . bad happened to her?”
“Her parents are in touch with the police. I’m certain everything that can be done is being done.” Mr. Lester leaned back, giving his beard another yank. “Sometimes it’s easier to be upset about something happening to someone else than to admit what might be going on in our own lives.” He gave a meaningful pause, complete with another beard pull. It was like his personal whisker safety blanket. “Is it possible that your worry over Paige is because of the uncertainty in your own life? Graduation’s coming. Lots of changes ahead.”
Great, now he was going all Dr. Freud on me.
“The past couple of nights, I’ve had what I’d guess you call a vision.” I looked into his eyes. “About Paige.”
Mr. Lester’s bushy eyebrows drew together, like two ginger caterpillars mating above his nose. “Vision?”
“You know that I have . . . I guess you’d call them hunches.”
He nodded. I noticed he was leaning slightly forward. The hook was in the water, and he was ready to bite. He’d always wanted to ask me more about my tarot card readings, and I usually avoided or changed the topic.
“I’m not really sure how to describe it—sometimes I just know things.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. “It runs in our family. Both my mom and grandma have the same gift.”
“Some people think that intuitive ability is a genetic trait, like blue eyes or big feet.”
My shoulders relaxed. “So you believe me?” I blinked a few extra times, trying to make sure my eyes were wide and innocent-looking. If I could have worked up a tear, I would have let it hang there for a beat before falling gently to the ground.
“Of course. I think there are a lot of things that we don’t fully understand.” He raised a finger. “However, that doesn’t mean that if you had a hunch about Paige, it portends anything in particular. Maybe she had a fight with her parents, or was upset about something else, and that’s what you sense.”
“In my vision, she’s screaming.”
That shut him up.
“The images are clipped, like a slide show going by too fast.” I shook my head as if to clear it.
Mr. Lester took a deep breath. “What have you seen?”
I lowered my voice as if I were about to tell a ghost story over a campfire. “It’s Paige. She’s crying. I think she’s in a car, but I’m not sure. She’s scared. I’m sure of that. I can feel the terror coming off her. I get the sense someone is making her go somewhere.”
“Let’s not assume it means anything. It could be a projection of your own stress. In this . . . vision . . . can you tell where she’s headed?” His hands were clenched.
I bit my lip. “No. There are flashes of things. Some kind of sign, but I can’t read it, a large red barn or maybe a farm, and I see this woman with long blond hair and a huge smile.”
He yanked on his beard. He was going to have a bald patch at this rate.
“A woman? Is she in the car with Paige? Is she the one in the back seat? Maybe that’s what you’re seeing.” He was no longer talking about hypotheticals. He may not have wanted to, but part of him believed.
“No.” I shook my head. “At least I don’t think that’s what she means.” I grimaced as if t
rying to force the knowledge out.
Mr. Lester grabbed a pad of paper from the shelf behind him. He tore off the first few sheets until he had a clean page. “Okay, tell me anything you saw or felt. We’ll make a list.”
“Paige doesn’t know what to do. She wants someone to help her, but she’s alone.” I grab my own head to give the scene some action. “They pull her by her hair to make her get out of the car. I think they hit her too. That’s when she screams.”
Mr. Lester let out a breath. His hand shook slightly as he wrote down each thing I told him into a tidy bullet point list.
“And it makes no sense, but I keep seeing a number. It has a six in it. Maybe a two.” I sighed. “That’s not exactly right, but I don’t know anymore.”
He looks up. “Is it like a room number? Like in a hotel, or could it be part of an address?” Mr. Lester leaned forward, ready to Sherlock Holmes the shit out of this problem.
“I’m not sure. It’s just the numbers in my head. Over and over. That’s it. That’s all I saw.” I threw up my hands. “I don’t even know if it means anything. Like you said, it might just be a nightmare, or worries about the end of the school year.” I snuck a quick glance at him to see his reaction. It’d been my experience that people were more likely to believe me when I questioned what I was saying. If I did it, then they didn’t have to. They would be free to believe. People don’t trust others who are too certain. “I told myself it was nothing more than a weird dream, but then it kept happening, and I felt like I had to tell someone, you know?” I let my voice catch, as if I was overcome with emotion. “What if she needs help, and I didn’t do anything?”
“You were right to come and share what you experienced.” He sat up straighter. “You know you can always talk to me. About anything.”
“I thought about going to the police, but they wouldn’t believe me.” I waved my hands in a limp manner. “I mean, I don’t really know anything. The cops might assume I was making it up for attention or something.” I paused. My past history lay between us. He knew exactly what I was thinking. You make up one injured war vet parent, and no one ever forgets. I needed him to believe me. “Or maybe they’d think the reason I knew anything was because I did something to her.”
Mr. Lester patted my hand. He was shifting into action mode. Guidance counselors so rarely get to feel like superheroes. “You leave this with me. I’ll talk to some people. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows you weren’t involved. If you were, you’d have no reason to come forward. Besides, I know you, kiddo. You’d never hurt anyone.”
I blinked away an image of Paige cowering in a basement, tied up and terrified. She wasn’t hurt. She was fine. I didn’t need to imagine something horrible. I wiped my nose and sniffed. I had an airtight alibi for when she went missing, but I wouldn’t mention it now. I’d let that come out later, when people had more questions. “Thanks, Mr. Lester. I appreciate you didn’t call me crazy.”
He tapped me softly on the tip of my nose. “You’re not crazy, Skye. This is likely just a dream, but better to check it out just to be sure.”
I stood slowly. “I should get to class. Thanks again for helping.”
Mr. Lester beamed. I felt a stab of guilt. I almost wished he wouldn’t be so nice. If the truth came out, he’d be disgusted with me.
He scribbled his name on one of the pink late passes and handed it to me. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for. I’ve got it under control.”
I paused in the door. “You’ll tell me what you find out, won’t you?”
“I sure will, Skye.”
In the end, I wouldn’t need him to tell me. Once the ball got rolling, things happened pretty quickly.
Eight
The news that the police had found Paige’s car was everywhere by Monday evening. It was parked in the long-term garage at the County Regional Airport. More important, it was also clear that she hadn’t gone anywhere willingly. Instead of sleeping, I’d spent most of the night trolling around different social media sites looking at what everyone was saying. Theories were multiplying faster than I could keep up. People decided that a stalker had taken her, or she’d been sold into an underage prostitution ring, and a few were floating the idea that aliens had sucked her into a spaceship. It was easier to read about hypothetical Paige than lie there picturing her tied up, blood crusted on her forehead, her eyes wide with fear.
The next morning a group of Paige’s friends clustered together hugging and crying by her locker. No one knew any real details, but that didn’t stop anyone from speculating about what happened to her.
I paused by the bulletin board so I could listen in, faking an interest in the notices: a sign up for the senior party being organized by the Parent Action Committee, a flyer for a bake sale fundraiser for the band, and a reminder that if people didn’t order their cap and gown by the end of the week, they wouldn’t be allowed to participate in graduation.
“I heard the police are sure she was forced out of the car,” Lindsey whispered. “Someone took her.”
“What was she even doing at the airport?” Lucy shook her head as if she were annoyed.
“Like she told you everything?” Lindsey sniffed. No doubt Lindsey hated Lucy acting like she was the center of this drama, when as Paige’s official BFF, that role belonged to her.
“I’m just saying, I thought she was grounded, so she would have gone directly home after school,” Lucy explained.
“The kidnappers probably made her drive out there,” Lindsey said.
“Are the police totally sure she didn’t just take off?” Lucy asked.
Lindsey’s nose twitched in annoyance. “The police said there were signs of a struggle, and besides, if she’d taken a flight, there would be a record. No one gets on a plane without picture ID anymore. My mom said because of renovations to the parking lot, the surveillance cameras are disconnected, so there’s no way to see what happened.”
“How would someone know that?”
Lindsey shrugged. “Anyone who worked at the airport would know, or the construction guys, or even someone who flew a lot likely could have noticed.”
“Maybe your mom took her,” Dougie Winsor suggested. “Could be she was afraid Paige was going to steal your prom queen title, so she decided to take her out.”
His comments lay flat and dead between everyone. I shifted by the bulletin board, taking a step closer to them, not wanting to miss a word.
“That’s not remotely funny,” Lindsey finally spit, breaking the silence. “Paige is in serious danger, and you’re making lame jokes.” Her eyes filled with tears, and the other girls closed ranks around her, patting her back, shooting death stares at Dougie.
He held up a hand in surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to lighten shit up. Everyone’s so serious.”
“It is serious. Maybe you should keep your lame-ass jokes to yourself.” Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me or my mom of something like that, even as a joke.”
“Look,” Greyson said, playing the peacemaker, “everyone has to know if something happened to Paige, it’s because of her dad.”
The crowd nodded. Paige’s dad was known as Hanging Bonnet for his harsh way of dealing with people who appeared before him. The judge made the national news for his “shame sentences,” where he would make criminals do embarrassing things in public to teach them a lesson. Now they were saying he was a possible Republican candidate for a Senate seat.
“Do you think someone he sent to jail is getting revenge?” Emily asked. She looked nervous, as if she expected a horde of criminals to rush down the hall toward her for merely being Paige’s friend. I pretended to copy down the information from a flyer so she wouldn’t notice me.
Greyson shrugged. He was on the football team. I could never remember what position he played, but he wasn’t exactly known for his problem-solving skills. “I don’t know, maybe. I bet her parents are freaking out. She disappeared last Thursday, an
d it wasn’t until yesterday that they found her car. That’s a long time for an evil dude to have someone.”
Everyone was silent, as if pondering just how many bad things could happen. “Did you see the public plea her family did on TV? Her dad told Paige to stay strong and know that he’ll come find her,” Lindsey said. Everyone nodded. Anyone who missed it live had seen the clip over and over online. “Her dad even cried. You could see he didn’t want to, but he totally teared up. I mean, seriously, her dad.”
“Whoa.”
Dougie snorted and shook his head. “I feel almost bad for the guys who took her. Can you imagine how pissed she must be? Paige can be a real bitch when she’s crossed.”
Lindsey and her friends glared at him, and he backed up a step. “Geez, all I’m saying is that she can take care of herself.”
I coughed, trying to bury a nervous laugh that was about to break free. Lucy spun around and glared at me.
“You have a problem?” she asked.
“No. No problem.”
“Then maybe you should move on.” Lucy’s hands were on her hips. I could picture her fifty years in the future yelling at kids to get off her lawn while wearing her perfectly matched floral Lands’ End outfit.
I’d heard everything I needed to know anyway. I might as well go to class.
“That girl creeps me out,” Emily said in a loud whisper.
I felt another laugh burbling up. She had no idea. I spun around and slammed right into Drew, making me drop my bag. She grabbed my elbow to keep me from stumbling.
“You okay?” She picked up my bag and handed it back. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.”
Drew watched the group move down the hall. “Did you hear about Paige last night?”