The Hanging Girl

by Eileen Cook

  Detective Jay sucked in a breath. Bingo. It wasn’t a huge leap. I’d read a lot of cop marriages didn’t last. Now it was time to throw in another guess for a big win. “She’s with someone else now. It’s still hard for you.”

  Detective Jay’s hands shook slightly, and he put them under the table so we couldn’t see. I felt bad picking at a clearly sensitive subject, but I needed them to believe I was something special.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. I tucked the card into my pocket. “Sometimes things just come into my head.” Jay nodded, but I noticed he was careful not to touch me again.

  “What can you tell about me?” Chan thrust his hands across the table. Unlike Jay, his hands were slight and smooth, almost like a mannequin’s. I lightly touched his palm, then pulled away as if his skin were hot. “You believe Paige is dead. That in the end, if you find her at all, it will be too late.”

  He didn’t jump, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Nailed it. Not that it was a hard guess. Chan was a cynic, and Paige was a missing girl whose car had been found with blood in it. Statistically that didn’t bode well.

  The door flew open, and my mom stood there, the receptionist a few steps behind. It must have been raining. Her shirt was damp, and her mascara had smudged under her eyes. She looked rumpled, like an irritated homeless woman who would yell at you for not giving her a quarter.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. She looked back and forth between me and the cops trying to figure out just how much trouble I’d gotten myself into this time. I knew when they called her that she might show up. What I never knew was how to predict her reaction.

  Mr. Lester stood as if he was about to start formal introductions. “I’m Mr. Lester from school. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times.”

  Mom crossed her arms over her chest. “My boss told me this was about that missing girl.”

  Detective Jay also stood. “Sorry. I left a message with your employer when I couldn’t reach you. Skye isn’t in any kind of trouble. We wanted to ask her more about the premonition she had about her classmate Paige Bonnet.”

  “She had a premonition?” Mom’s eyes sparkled and she stood a bit straighter. “Our family is very gifted in connecting with the spiritual plane. I’m not surprised. Candi was always special.”

  “Skye,” both Mr. Lester and I said at the same time. My jaw was tight.

  “The real tragedy is that most people aren’t willing to listen to advice from beyond this world,” Mom said.

  Oh shit. She was about to climb up on her “I’m a magical person and the rest of the world doesn’t treat me special” soapbox.

  Detective Jay’s arms were wide, like he wanted to give all of us a hug. “I’ll admit your daughter is making a believer out of me. Her hunch about Paige has been vital to the investigation. If not for her, we wouldn’t have found the car.”

  “We would have found it eventually.” Chan sounded annoyed.

  “But time is of the essence in these kinds of cases, isn’t it? What with that poor girl missing.” Mom thrust her chin in the air. “Maybe this is something I could help with too.”

  Oh god. No. I tried to catch my mom’s eye so I could mentally scream at her to shut up.

  Chan’s eyebrows shot up. “You have something you can tell us about the case?” He looked around the table to see if he was the only one who was confused. “You’re a psychic too?”

  “Oh, of course, our whole family has the ability. Let me try.” Mom touched her temples and closed her eyes. “The girl is in great danger. I can see her, but she’s surrounded by negative energy. It’s all olive green and a dark, almost maroon around her.”

  “She’s in a green and maroon room?” Chan asked, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

  Mom’s eyes flew open, annoyed. “No, of course not. Those are her aura colors.”

  Detective Jay nodded, but Chan looked like he was ready to fit my mom for a tinfoil hat. I was clenching my jaw so tightly that I heard it click.

  “Can you see what kind of danger she’s in? Or anything about where she might be?” Detective Jay picked up his pen, ready to write down whatever words of wisdom spilled from her mouth.

  Mom massaged her wrists. “They have her tied up. The rope, or maybe it’s some kind of wire, or cord, is cutting into her skin. I can feel it.”

  “Maybe it’s those plastic zip ties,” Jay suggested.

  Mom’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t think I can tell you anything more—the connection’s lost.”

  Mr. Lester was gaping at my mom, his mouth open in awe. He’d never seen her in action before. Detective Chan pushed his seat back. “Well, if the connection is lost, we might as well call it a day. Both or either of you need to get in touch if you get any other . . . hunches. Otherwise I’m going to ask you to keep your involvement quiet.”

  “Of course,” I said at the same time that my mom asked, “Why?”

  “We typically keep certain details out of the public eye,” Detective Chan said. “We don’t want to get a bunch of wackos who pretend like they know something when they don’t. We want to make sure we can focus on finding Paige.”

  It might have been my imagination, but he seemed to be staring right at me as he spoke. My heart picked up speed. If he guessed what I was up to, I was dead.

  Eleven

  Mom practically bounced in the driver’s seat. “When I woke up today, I knew something special would happen. There were three crows on the telephone line above the parking lot. All in a row, all facing the same way. That’s a sign, you know. Birds don’t naturally flock that way.”

  Suddenly she was an avian expert. “Mmm,” I mumbled. My mom saw signs in everything. Changes in the weather, which direction the wind blew, dogs howling, bells ringing—you name it. In her reality, coffee grounds on the counter were never just a mess—they were messages from the beyond. It was just a matter of time until she discovered the face of the Virgin Mary in one of her grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “Why in the world didn’t you tell me about this prediction?”

  “I don’t know.” I rested my head on the passenger-side window.

  “This is serious. It’s not the kind of thing you should keep hidden.” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “You’re always keeping secrets. You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “And you wonder why I snoop.” She shook her head. “If you just told me what was going on, I wouldn’t be blindsided. Imagine how I felt when I got a call from the police.” Her fingers were tapping out a drum beat on the steering wheel. “We should light a candle when we get home and see if the tarot can tell us anything more.”

  “I don’t feel like it.” I slouched further in my seat. When had this become an “us” project?

  Mom looked over. “That girl is at risk. I think we have an obligation to do what we can.”

  “I can’t do anything,” I said.

  “Don’t be silly, Candi. You’ve already done something. Tell you what, I’ll swing through the drive-through at McDonald’s and get us some dinner.” We were crossing from the west side of town, with its Panera and Starbucks, to the east side, which was full of dollar stores and fast food joints.

  “I don’t want McDonald’s,” I said. “That stuff isn’t even food.”

  She snorted. “You used to love it. Remember how you thought you were related to Ronald McDonald when you were little?”

  “The key word there is that I used to like it. I’m a vegetarian—I’ve told you a thousand times.”

  Mom waved me off. “I saw you eat a hot dog last week.”

  “It was a veggie dog,” I pointed out. The truth was I wasn’t a great vegetarian. I did my best to at least avoid beef, pork, or lamb, but chicken was a weakness, and I’d pretty much convinced myself that fish wasn’t even really an animal in the same way. I was always able to find an excuse when I wanted something bad enough. My morality was more flexible than I liked to admit.


  “You could get a salad, or—oooh, I know, one of those apple pies.” She whistled, her mouth a perfect O of Revlon Colorburst Candy Apple red.

  “Whatever you call that thing, it isn’t a pie. It’s fruit paste wrapped up in a fat-and-sugar-coated-cardboard crust.”

  “Mmmm, now I want one of those too.” A truck horn blared as she crossed into the other lane without looking or signaling, our ancient rust-spotted Ford sliding across the wet road with a squeal. I grabbed the armrest in the door. A mud-splattered UPS truck whipped by inches past my side of the car. The bottom of our car scraped against the speed bump as we pulled into McDonald’s like we were rogue NASCAR drivers. She glanced over. “You sure you don’t want one?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Positive.”

  She paused in front of the buzzing neon menu board, ordering a Big Mac combo meal with a pie for herself. “How ’bout fries? They’re vegetables.”

  The smell of fresh fried food mixed with the scent of rain on pavement wafted through the open window, and my mouth watered at the idea of salt. “Small,” I said grudgingly.

  She pulled to the window and turned down the radio while we waited.

  “I know why you’re upset.” Mom checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror, adding another spackle-like coat. “You think I don’t get it, but I do.”

  “I’m not upset,” I lied.

  “Sure you are. You’re picking at your fingernails. You always do that when you’re worked up about something.”

  I glanced down and realized that I’d just torn a thin sliver of skin down the side of my thumbnail. I slid my hands under my thighs. I couldn’t have my fingers looking bad. Who’d want their tarot cards read by someone who looked like she got a manicure by putting her hands in a paper shredder?

  She giggled. “Remember when you were in fourth grade? I put duct tape on your fingers to keep you from tearing them down to bloody stumps. You walked around with tape gloves.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You remember it your way, I’ll remember it mine.” She wagged her index finger in my face, the crystal chip in her nail polish winking at me.

  I felt a flash of annoyance and had to restrain myself from slapping her hand away from me. “You can choose to remember things any way you want, but it doesn’t change reality.”

  She tapped me on the nose. “See, you are cranky and upset. Some fries will do you good. You probably got low blood sugar.” She leaned out the window into the speaker. “Can you make it a large fry instead?”

  I bit my tongue. There was no point telling her what I wanted.

  “You’re upset because, as much as you try and act like these abilities aren’t real, now you’re being confronted with the fact that there is something to them. Otherwise you never would have gone to the police. In your heart, you know you’re special. I’ve always told you that you have a gift.”

  “What you always talk about is how you have a gift.” I slumped down, trying to disappear into the seat.

  “Where do you think your ability comes from?” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe how thick I was. “I’ve always had these feelings. I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should either. Psychic ability is like any skill; you’ve got to practice if you want to be good at it.”

  “You don’t need to practice.” I watched an empty paper cup skitter across the parking lot in a wind gust. The clouds were starting to break up. The storm was over already. “I had one tiny prediction, but the cops can take it from here.”

  I wanted to kick myself. I should have known my mom wouldn’t be able to resist sticking her nose into this. My mom was supposed to be the adult, but at times she was more like an annoying little sister following me around, sneaking through my things, complicating my life.

  “How can you say that? The police all but admitted if it weren’t for you they wouldn’t have found that girl’s car. I tell you, I got a hunch. We’re going to save her.” Mom patted my knee.

  I pulled on the seat belt, letting it snap back tighter across my chest. I was going to have to figure out how to manage her. If she wanted to fake psychic ability, that would be one thing, but my mom actually believed she had abilities. She would fret and pace about readings she gave people, worried if she’d gotten it right. She used terms like not wanting to let the universe down. She never seemed to wonder why the universe had dropped the ball when it came to us.

  For me, at first, it was a bit of a joke, something to do at a party. I liked how everyone would gather around with their red Solo cups full of cheap beer and watch, their voices low and respectful. Then people started to ask for readings. There were plenty of people who vouched that I’d known things I shouldn’t have, that I’d predicted everything from college acceptances and breakups to meeting someone special. Between good guesses and being able to peek at Lester’s files from time to time, I had a pretty impressive rep for what was basically a party trick.

  My phone buzzed, and I jumped. I fished it out of my pocket. It was a text from Drew.

  U ok? Haven’t seen u all day.

  I couldn’t share the truth with Drew, which meant I didn’t want to tell her about it at all if I could avoid it. I typed a response quickly. Sick. Left school early.

  Drew answered right away. Sick sick? Or other stuff? Heard u left with Lester. Things ok?

  Shit. I should have known Drew would worry. My panic attacks freaked Drew out. The only thing worse than a panic attack is trying to act like you aren’t having one because it upsets your BFF. The last one happened in the middle of the mall in Traverse City. For a second I was certain I was going to drop dead outside of the Sunglass Hut right next to a display of discontinued Ray-Bans, which seemed like a really shitty way to go. Most of the time the techniques Lester taught me, from deep breathing to imagining myself at a beach to calm myself down, worked, but other times the anxiety kicked my ass.

  Just cold sick.

  U sure? U seem off.

  I leaned back in the car seat. Mom was singing with the radio. The Smiths.

  Yep. Just cold. Maybe allergies. Lester gave me a ride home. See u tomorrow.

  The smell of fried food filled the car as Mom passed the hot, steaming paper bags over to me. “Keep the top folded so everything stays warm until we get home. Then we can bust out some cards.” She winked at me. “We’re going to find that girl.”

  She was right. I would find her, but not until it was time.

  Twelve

  Paige

  The bread’s gone, even the heel bit that I throw away at home. I never realized what it meant to be really hungry. I can feel my body beginning to eat itself for energy. Cannibalization at a cellular level. It’s exhausting.

  I’ve had nothing but time to think. Just time to realize how many stupid things I’ve done for attention or to fit in. Now I wonder if I’ll have a chance to do things differently. I’m so scared that everyone will remember me the way I was—not the way I planned to be at some point. I was going to be nicer, work harder, all that stuff, and now I may not get to.

  I wish I could tell my parents that I’m sorry. This notebook might be the only way I can let them know.

  If I get out of this, When I get out, I’m going to make it up to my family.

  I’m writing all of this down in case I don’t get out. In case I die. I know that might happen. Maybe it’s even likely. I want my parents to know how sorry I really am. I love you all so much.

  Love,

  Paige

  The kidnappers came back! When the door flew open for a second, it was as if I’d imagined them into reality.

  The one guy tossed down this plastic bag from Walmart with underwear, some T-shirts, and a pair of sweatpants inside. The other guy had two other sacks crammed with soap, shampoo, and food. My stomach grumbled, and my mouth watered when I saw the apples. When the guy nodded, I took it as permission, and I snapped up the food like they might take it away. I shoved one of the apples in my mouth. I hardly e
ven chewed.

  The tall guy stood by the door while I ate, and the other guy wandered around. They both wore black knit ski masks so I couldn’t see their faces. If they’re worried about me seeing who they are, that must mean there’s a chance they’ll let me go—right? But at the same time, the masks made them seem almost not human. Part of me wanted to tear them off so I could see their faces, and another part of me was terrified of what might be under there.

  The one guy checked the boards that closed up most of the windows. He touched the scratch marks where I tried to pry them off. He picked up this pad of paper and read what I’d written. I wanted to snatch it out of his hands. The apology on it was for my family. But there was no point. The paper was his, the food was his, the new clothing was his, heck, I’m his. If he wants to read this, he can.

  I finally got up the nerve to ask them what they were going to do with me. The short one licked his lips with this thick slug-like tongue and asked me what I wanted him to do. My mouth went completely dry. Everything I was thinking must have shown on my face, because the short guy laughed. A hacking laugh, like “hock, hock, hock.” He told me to relax, he wasn’t interested. He told me I stunk, and I was embarrassed because I knew it was true and then I was disgusted that I cared what he thought of me. The tall one told him to stop messing around. I get the feeling he’s in charge. He told me that it didn’t matter what they had planned—it wasn’t any of my business. He pushed the bag of clothing closer with his worn Timberland boot and told me to clean myself up.

  Then they headed for the door. When I realized they were leaving, I panicked. I’d been frightened when they showed up, and now I didn’t want them to go. I couldn’t stand the idea of being buried under all that quiet. I leapt up and moved toward them. The short one shoved me back hard. Maybe he thought I was trying to run for it. I stumbled and cracked my tailbone on the floor.

  “Please don’t go,” I begged.

  They didn’t answer—they just slammed the door behind them. I heard the padlock snap shut, and I was alone again. I’m ashamed to admit that I sat there on the floor and sobbed, tears and snot running down my face.