by Eileen Cook
His glance slid over to the giant orange and yellow sign in the center of the door that declared EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY.
The guy’s dark blue eyes held me in place as firmly as his hand. His fingers dug into the flesh of my upper arms. He was going to leave bruises. “If you were just going to the bathroom, why did you prop the door open?”
Oh shit. I was so busted. “I have a ticket,” I mumbled. “I’m not sneaking in or anything.” Did movie theaters call the cops for this kind of thing? How the hell was I going to explain what I was doing? That was when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a uniform.
I pulled back on my arm trying to free myself. “Do you even work here?”
He ignored my question. “You’re Skye Thorn.”
I blinked. My tongue seemed to have swollen, filling my mouth and making talking impossible.
He knew my name.
I made myself focus and look at him more carefully. I’d seen him before. My mind scrambled to remember why I knew him. Then it hit me. He was Paige’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, Ryan Denton. I’d seen his picture on the news. He was a couple years older than us, but I couldn’t remember if he had graduated or dropped out.
Great. Just my luck that Paige’s ex-boyfriend was some kind of Hardy Boy wannabe.
I tucked some of my hair behind my ear, trying to look casual. “The cops told me about you. The last thing you need is more trouble. You shouldn’t be following anyone—that’s harassment.”
Ryan blinked quickly. “What did they tell you about me?”
I shrugged. “Not much.” I didn’t tell him that the only reason I knew his name at all was that Paige’s dad asked the police about him when I was at his house.
His jaw was tight. “They want to blame me for this.”
“Why?”
He laughed, but it was bitter and brittle. “Why not? Isn’t it always the boyfriend? We have a fight, I lose my temper, and before you know it, there’s a missing girl. I’ve got a record and no alibi for the afternoon she dropped off the planet. For cops I might as well have a neon sign over my head saying guilty.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans.
Was this part of Paige’s plan? Maybe she thought if she went missing, her boyfriend would come running back to her—like some kind of tacky romance. Or maybe Paige wanted the police to question him. If he was the one who broke up with her, she struck me as the kind who might like to get a sweet bite of revenge. I’d thought this was just about her dad, but there was no guarantee she’d told me the whole truth.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the police really think you’re guilty. They told me they thought it was too well planned for someone who wasn’t a pro.”
“They have a funny way of thinking I’m innocent, then. The cops have searched my car and my place in Cherry Fields, twice.” His face was pale with dark circles under his eyes, and despite his tough guy act and tattoos, he looked shaken.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I felt bad, but he wasn’t my problem. I had plenty of my own.
He seized ahold of my arm again, his anger returning. “I didn’t have anything to do with Paige going missing. Which means something else happened to her, and I’m going to figure it out before I end up taking the blame for all of this.”
“You can do whatever you feel like.” I tried to yank my arm back, but he didn’t let go. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“I don’t believe in any of that psychic stuff, which means if you knew where to find Paige’s car, you know something, and I want to know what that is. I went to your place and followed you out here. Who goes to a movie by themselves and then doesn’t even stay to watch it? I want to know why you’re sneaking out of this theater.”
“I needed some fresh air.” I tossed my head, flipping my hair over a shoulder. I hoped to sound tough, but my voice cracked.
He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. “Bullshit. Tell me what’s going on. Did Paige put you up to this?”
“Hey!” a voice called out. Ryan and I both spun to see a thin, pimply kid wearing the orange and navy polyester uniform of the theater workers. “Is everything okay?” He was shaking slightly. “Is that guy bothering you?” His hands hovered over his hips as if he were an Old West gunslinger ready to do battle for my honor. A nervous, ill-prepared gunslinger. “You need me to call a manager?”
Ryan took a step away from me. “It’s fine. I was just leaving.” He pushed open the emergency door and looked back. “This isn’t over,” he promised me. Then he slid out into the night.
Nineteen
Paige
The idea of a ransom first occurred to me when my sister, Evelyn, came home from college unexpectedly for the weekend. She wanted us to meet her boyfriend. This was declared a “very big deal” by my parents, and the entire house went into a flurry of excitement as if the queen of England had announced she might pop over for a social visit.
Mom rushed out to get everything to make her squash risotto (Evelyn’s favorite) with chocolate ganache cake for dessert (apparently the new boyfriend’s favorite). Dad popped his head into my room Friday night to let me know I was expected to cancel my Saturday plans to clean the house before the royal couple arrived and graced our sad, humble lives with their presence.
I’ve always known Evelyn was the favorite. I grew up listening to stories of how she slept through the night as a baby, learned to walk early, and had naturally perfect pitch. Teachers fought to have her in their class. Evelyn always got good grades, she made her bed in the morning before school, she never dyed her hair an unacceptable color, and she was never once late for curfew. And now she was dating the perfect guy.
Perfect being a matter of opinion.
I observed Charles as we made our way through dinner. The light from the chandelier in our dining room wasn’t doing much for him. His skin tone was fish-belly white, made worse by the fact that he had near black hair and was wearing a dark gray sweater. He looked like one of those Puritanical preachers from the 1700s who farmed their land, went to church when not raising a barn, and burned the occasional witch for not knowing her place. The kind of guy who talked about how minority groups should stop asking for handouts and didn’t notice the irony as he climbed into the BMW that his daddy had bought him.
“So Evelyn tells us you’re studying engineering.” My dad topped up Charles’s wine. He’d opened a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape from the cellar in the basement. He’d determined within minutes of meeting Charles that he deserved the good stuff. This was likely due to the fact that Charles shook my dad’s hand firmly and called him sir. I’d seen my parents exchange glances, like they could hardly believe their luck, when they met him. I tried to score a glass of wine, but my dad told me not to be ridiculous. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he hadn’t counted the bottles, because I’ve taken more than one in the past.
“Yes, sir. I’m doing a dual major in computer engineering and business. Ideally I’d like to work in the aerospace industry after graduation.”
Dad’s eyebrows went up a millimeter. “Interesting choice.”
“My father works with NASA,” Charles explained.
I managed to avoid rolling my eyes. I could see my dad already envisioning his next campaign ad with an astronaut son-in-law-to-be at his side.
Charles took another sip of wine and then smiled at my mom. It looked to me like he bleached his teeth. “The dinner is amazing, Mrs. Bonnet.”
Mom blushed and waved him off with a flick of her pressed napkin. “It’s nothing.”
We ate in silence for a beat. Just the sound of the silverware tinkling against the Haviland china plates and the faint sound of soft classical coming from the speakers in the living room. We’d all dressed up for the occasion, and it felt fake. Like we were onstage playing a happy family having a fancy dinner party, only there wasn’t any audience. We were pretending just for ourselves, which struck me as even more pathetic than if we were doing it to impress anyone else.
&n
bsp; I had this sudden urge to yell out something really vile. Maybe the C-word just so I could watch the shock in all of their faces. I wanted to stand up and sweep the bottle of wine off the table or chuck the bowl of salad at the wall. Let’s see how perfect Charles handles a bit of reality.
But I didn’t. Instead I carefully used the back of my knife to tap a tidy portion of risotto onto my fork the way I’d learned as a kid. I didn’t fit in, but I knew how to look like I did.
“I hear we may be mortal enemies come next year,” Charles said to me.
I dropped my fork onto my plate in surprise. My mom winced at the clatter. “What?”
Charles laughed. “Sorry. I just meant that Evelyn said you were planning to go to Michigan State next year.” He mimed boxing. “That makes us arch football rivals.”
I pressed my mouth into a shape I hoped looked something like a smile. “I guess so.”
“Oh, do you play?” Mom asked.
“No, ma’am. I played in high school, but not with Michigan.”
“Paige didn’t have the grades for Michigan.”
“Donald.” Mom’s voice was scolding. “You know that’s not true.”
“Oh, Paige knows I’m teasing her.” Dad winked at me, then turned back to Charles. “Both Ms. Bonnet and I went to Michigan as well. Paige is going to be the first Spartan in the family.”
“Guess we can’t all be Wolverines,” Charles said. “At least she’s not going to Ohio State.” The entire table laughed as if he’d said something remarkably witty. I imagined tossing my sparking water into Charles’s smug sluglike face.
Dad raised his hand. “Ah, this is one of my favorite pieces.” We all paused to hear the sounds of Ligeti’s Violin Concerto coming from the other room. Dad closed his eyes for a beat. All that was missing was him raising a conductor’s baton over his head and guiding the music in. “Charles, did Evelyn ever tell you that she used to play the violin?”
“Dad.” Evelyn blushed.
“No.” Charles nudged her softly. “Look at all the secrets I’m learning.”
“She really had a gift,” Mom added.
I could feel my spine stiffening. The risotto I’d eaten started to twist in my stomach. I prayed he wouldn’t ask.
“Why did you give it up?” Charles asked.
I winced even though I’d known the question would come. Evelyn held up her left hand, wiggling her pinkie finger. “I told you I had an accident, years ago.” The tip of the little finger was gone, not quite down to the first knuckle. It was the kind of thing you might not even notice about her until she started waving it around. “It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make it so I couldn’t play the really challenging pieces. Besides, no matter what my parents say, I wasn’t that good.”
Evelyn was right. She had been good, but I don’t remember at the time anyone in our family talking about her being Juilliard bound. After the accident, however, descriptions of her talent grew until she was practically a budding young female Mozart taken out in her prime.
Cut down by yours truly.
Not that I did it on purpose. It had been an accident. We’d been in the kitchen, helping my mom with dinner. I was eight and was thrilled to be in charge of chopping carrots. Evelyn kept saying that I was doing it wrong. Making the pieces too big. I kept insisting right back that I had it covered. She put her hand down on the cutting board to point out a piece that was the wrong size, and thwack. The tip of her finger came off before I’d even realized what happened.
I’d cried inconsolably at the hospital. I didn’t always get along with Evelyn, but I’d never wanted to hurt her.
“Daddy thinks this is all my fault,” I wailed.
Mom patted me on the back. “Your dad knows this wasn’t your fault.”
Even at eight, I’d known she was partially right. My dad knew it wasn’t my fault, but at the same time he believed it was. It wasn’t that my dad didn’t love me—he did—but he didn’t really like me.
I stood to clear the table. My dad passed me his plate without looking at me. He was deep in conversation with Charles on the merits of various golf clubs. And it occurred to me I was sick of feeling blamed. Sick of feeling second best. And if I couldn’t change how he felt about me—maybe I could make him pay. The plan to go missing was already in motion, but this would be a new wrinkle. That was the first time the idea came to me, but it had been brewing for longer than that. He had always underestimated me.
Twenty
I peeked through the blinds. Two reporters were camped outside the apartment complex right next to the road. The woman was wearing high heels and enough mascara that I swear I could see each individual lash from my bedroom window. The other guy was the cameraman. He looked like a frumpy football coach with ill-fitting chino pants and thick-soled white sneakers. I would have to walk right past them to catch the bus for school. I wanted to kill my mom. This was entirely her fault.
As Drew had predicted, the story had expanded beyond the local news. I’d woken up to CNN talking about how the police had used an unnamed psychic in Paige’s investigation, a student from her school. As far as I knew, I was the only one at my school who did tarot readings. It wasn’t going to take a huge leap for someone to figure out it was me and blab it to the media.
If I was honest, there was also a shiver of excitement when I saw the news. Part of me wanted everyone to know it was me. To realize that maybe they’d made a mistake when they ignored me all these years. I knew it was dangerous to think this way—if there was ever something I shouldn’t want to be connected to, this was it, but a little thrill was there.
Last night I’d lain awake trying to convince myself that there was no real way to link me to the abduction. We’d been careful. Even if Ryan went to the police, he didn’t know anything; he just had suspicions. And who was I kidding? The police had suspicions of their own. They’d checked out my story. But the longer Paige was gone, the greater the odds that they would keep digging.
I paced around my tiny room picking things up and putting them back down. Ever since I got back from the theater, I had the irrational fear that someone had been in my room going through my stuff, though nothing seemed to be missing. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the paranoia was coming from. I had no way of knowing how long Ryan had been following me, or how far he’d go to figure out what was going on. My anxiety meant I was better able than most to imagine the worst-case scenario. Like one where someone who didn’t like me pawed through my things looking for dirt. I checked the window again. The screen was loose, but I was sure it always had been like that. At least I was pretty sure. My fingers spun the screws that held it in place, trying to tighten them.
Would Ryan really have broken in to search my stuff, looking for answers? He was doubtful that Paige had been abducted. That left me wondering what had happened between the two of them and what he knew about her. If the police put enough pressure on him, he’d do whatever he needed to in order to make sure he didn’t get into trouble. Throwing me under the bus wouldn’t even make him blink.
I knew the kidnapping had been a bad decision, and now it was getting worse. This was turning into prison-level bad. If I thought being stuck in a small town sucked, I was willing to bet being stuck in a jail cell would suck a whole lot worse.
I hate hindsight.
My phone rang, and I checked the screen. Drew. “Hey,” I said.
“Oh my god! Have you seen the TV this morning?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed my history book from the floor and stuffed it into my backpack, trying to remember if it had been at the bottom of the stack of books yesterday or on the top.
“You’re totally going to be famous.”
There was that shiver of excitement again, and I pushed it away. I hunched over the phone as if telling her a secret. “There are reporters outside my place.”
Drew whistled. “Serious?”
I peeked through the blinds. They were still there. “Yep.”
“Are you okay
?”
I took a shaky breath. Lester was always on me to breathe, saying how oxygen is nature’s relaxant. “I guess. It’s a bit weird.”
“You want me to pick you up?”
“You’ve got study first period. You don’t have to be in,” I reminded her.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I’m up anyway. It wouldn’t kill me to go to the library. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“The way you drive?” I managed to joke.
“Okay, twenty. But I’ll still be faster than the bus. I’ll pick you up in the back lot. I’ll text you when I get there.”
I hung up and peered out of the blinds again. The female reporter rubbed her arms against the morning chill. If Drew was right, it was only a matter of time until there’d be more. I was glad she was picking me up, but I couldn’t shake the idea that she also liked having a front-row view of everything happening.
This had to end. I couldn’t sleep. I was chewing the flesh off my thumbs. Every sound made me jump, and my stomach was full of acid every minute of the day. If it didn’t come to a close soon, I was going to snap.
I opened the bedroom door and peeked out, making sure my mom wasn’t up yet. It was unlikely she’d be awake without me knowing it. My mom was connected to the TV. She couldn’t stand to be in a room and not have it on. No TV was almost a certain indicator she was still dead to the world, but I wasn’t taking a chance. I tiptoed down the hall and pressed my ear to her door. I heard her breathing heavily in tandem with the fan she ran for white noise.
I slunk back to my room and lifted the mattress, scrambling to find the disposable phone where I’d hidden it. For a split second I couldn’t locate it, and panic flooded my system. Stolen! Then my fingers brushed the cool plastic. I made myself grab it and pull it out—part of me didn’t even want to touch it. I could picture a SWAT team crashing through the front door as soon as I turned it on—drawn by the phone’s GPS or some magical CSI technology I couldn’t even imagine. I punched in the number. It rang for a long time before she picked up.