“Window,” she croaked. Each syllable burned at her throat. The smoke was so thick she could barely see her own hands, but she could feel Tenley at her side as they pushed their way forward. Through the cloud of gray. Over the sparking lamp.
“Watch out!” Tenley shoved Emerson hard. She stumbled forward with a cry. A flame ripped through where she’d stood only a second before.
“Thanks,” she gasped. She was struggling to breathe now, but through the wall of smoke she saw it again: the window. She grabbed Tenley’s hand and dove for it. The bottom of the window was hot, so she shoved her sleeve under it. Tenley did the same. Together, they hoisted it up.
Cool, fresh air poured into the room. Emerson gulped it down, letting it fill up her lungs. It cleared her head and sharpened her vision. “We’re going to have to climb.”
“How?” Tenley whispered.
Emerson looked down. There was no fire escape, just a two-story drop to the grass.
Behind them, Matt’s bed caught fire, sending a fresh plume of smoke rushing into the air.
Emerson’s eyes flew to a tree near the window. It wasn’t very far away, but the closest branch looked thin and flimsy. If it held, the tree would be the perfect escape route. If it didn’t… Emerson scrambled onto the windowsill. They didn’t have a choice.
Carefully, she scooted onto the edge. She could feel the heat pressing in on her back. Soon, the flames would reach the window. She stretched out her arms and launched herself forward.
“Emerson!” Tenley’s scream faded behind her.
For a second there was only air. Her arms grasped at emptiness as she catapulted through the sky. Then her hands slammed into the branch. The bark tore at her skin and the branch wobbled dangerously, but it held.
“Now you!” she shouted to Tenley. She was trembling all over as she clung to the tree, lowering herself to the next branch to make room for Tenley.
Tenley climbed onto the windowsill. Behind her, the fire crept forward, flames skimming her back. Sirens sounded in the distance. They drew closer, but not close enough. “Are you sure—”
“Now!” Emerson screamed.
Tenley threw herself forward. For a second she, too, was free-falling. It made her look so small, like a doll tossed on the wind.…
She latched onto the branch. It wobbled and creaked, but Tenley was light, and it held her weight. “Got it,” she choked out.
They climbed quickly to the ground and broke into a run. They’d just made it to the street when a boom sounded from behind. Emerson spun around, her heart in her throat.
Matt’s entire house was engulfed in flames.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sunday, 2:48 PM
Sydney’s phone had disappeared. It wasn’t in her backpack or her purse or, as far as she could tell, anywhere in the apartment. She thought back to when she’d used it last. It was when she’d texted her mom from the party. Had she lost it at Calum’s house?
She used the landline to try Calum’s number. Voice mail. She left a quick message, asking if he’d found her ancient clunker of a phone. “Have you seen my phone, Mom?” she hollered, resuming her search of the apartment.
“No, have you tried calling it?” her mom shouted back from her bedroom. She had the whole day off work, which meant Operation Ten Loads of Laundry was already in effect.
“It’s dead,” Sydney replied. “And, considering its ancient, anemic battery, probably has been for ten—”
The apartment buzzer cut off the end of her sentence. Her mom emerged from her bedroom holding an armful of clean towels. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked, peeking over the pile.
Sydney shook her head. “No one.”
“Maybe it’s your dad. Speaking of phones, he hasn’t answered his all morning. Can you grab it?”
Sydney moved toward the intercom. Her mom’s words echoed in her head. He hasn’t answered his all morning. She stopped short in front of the intercom’s video screen, dread pooling in her stomach.
It meant nothing. Absence did not make him guilty.
And neither did the mementos Tenley and Emerson had found in his so-called trophy box.
She jabbed at the intercom. The video screen flickered to life. Two uniformed cops stood outside her building. A stout, broad-faced woman and a pale, bald man.
The dread solidified into a tomb.
“Is this the home of Sydney Morgan?” the female cop barked. All Sydney could manage was a nod.
“Who is it?” Her mom came up behind her, halting at the sight of the cops.
“We were hoping to talk to you about a local fire,” the female cop continued. She flashed a badge at the screen. “May we come in?”
Sydney’s mom buzzed them in wordlessly. “What’s going on?” she whispered as the cops disappeared from view. She dropped the towels onto the kitchen table, her face pale.
Sydney could only shrug. Her voice was lost in her throat. This had darer written all over it. A knock sounded on the door.
The cops were named Funley and Herman. Officer Funley, the woman, was clearly in charge. “There was a fire at 566 Seaview Avenue,” she began.
Sydney went slack.
“Is Matt—?” her mom squeaked.
“The resident wasn’t home at the time,” Officer Herman jumped in, shooting Funley an irritated look. His thick mustache looked incongruous next to his bald head. “He’s fine, ma’am,” he added in a softer voice.
Sydney leaned against the back of the couch, emotions feuding for space inside her. Relief. Fear. Disappointment. She looked away, ashamed by the last one.
“Then what’s this about?” her mom asked.
“An anonymous source placed Sydney Morgan at the scene right before the fire started,” Officer Funley said briskly.
“What?” Sydney balked. A pit formed in her stomach. “I’ve been home all day!”
“I can vouch for that,” her mom jumped in.
Officer Funley pulled a small evidence bag out of the satchel she was holding. A slightly charred cell phone was visible through the clear plastic. Sydney’s eyes widened when she saw its case: neon orange, with a large S on the front. “We also found this on the premises,” she said briskly. “The case led us to wonder if it belonged to Sydney.”
“It does,” her mom said. “But I’m sure there’s an explanation for it. As I said, Sydney’s been here all day.”
The floor seemed to dip under Sydney’s feet. “I must have lost my phone at the party last night. Or—” She could feel sweat pooling under her arms. “Someone could have stolen it.”
“Two Winslow girls from Sydney’s grade were trapped inside the house when the fire began,” Officer Funley continued.
“Who?” Sydney interrupted. The walls were dipping now, too, making her feel as if she were underwater.
“It appears that neither sustained life-threatening injuries,” Officer Funley continued, ignoring Sydney’s question. “Thanks to their quick thinking. But both are in the hospital, and—”
“Why are they in the hospital?” Sydney asked frantically. Panic made her sweat even more. She could feel a bead rolling down her temple. “Are they okay? Will they be out soon?” She could tell how guilty the questions made her sound, but she had to know.
“They’ll be fine,” Officer Herman assured her. Her mom’s hand found hers, and Sydney held on limply. It had to be Tenley and Emerson. But what had they been doing at her dad’s apartment? She could think of only one answer. The darer had set this all up. But if that was true… and it happened at her dad’s home… was it proof that Tenley and Emerson were right? Was her dad really behind this?
“Let’s try again.” Officer Funley fixed her laser-sharp gaze on Sydney. “Think hard, Sydney. Were you at your dad’s place at any point today?”
“The more honest you are now, the better it will be for you in the long run,” Officer Herman offered. “Especially with your history of arson…” He trailed off pointedly.
Sydney shook h
er head helplessly. “I swear I wasn’t there.”
Officer Funley sighed. “Would you mind if we looked around the apartment, then? If you have nothing to hide?”
“Of course we have nothing to hide,” Sydney’s mom said sharply.
“Great.” Officer Funley smiled tightly. “Then, with your permission, we’ll take a look around.”
As the officers disappeared into Sydney’s bedroom, she sank onto the couch. Her mom stormed over to the kitchen and grabbed the phone. “Still no answer,” she said a minute later. “Where is your dad?”
Sydney was wondering the very same thing. Her mom picked the phone back up and dialed again. This can’t be happening. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Sydney could hear the cops moving through her bedroom, proof that it was.
This wasn’t just a scare—this was a crime. If Sydney was convicted of arson, she’d be forced back into rehab, or worse, juvie. Would her own dad do that to her?
Her mom dropped onto the couch next to her. Her eyes, so like Sydney’s own, were filled with tears. “Syd—”
“I didn’t do this,” Sydney cut in. She grabbed her mom’s shoulders. “You have to believe me.”
Officer Funley emerged from Sydney’s room before her mom could reply. “I’d like to ask you a question, Sydney.” She stalked over to the couch, her arms crossed against her chest. “Why is a search for ‘homemade explosives’ open on your computer?”
“Sydney?” Her mom’s voice was raspy. “What’s she talking about?”
Sydney drew in a breath. She’d spent hours researching online last night, trying to determine how someone might have thrown an explosive from the cliffs with that long rock bridge in the way. She must have forgotten to close the page. “I…” Sydney looked frantically between her mom and Funley. There was only one way to explain it. The truth bubbled up inside her, begging for release. And why should she stay quiet any longer? She’d listened to the darer. She’d played by the rules. And look what it got her: cops in her apartment.
“Someone’s after me!” It exploded out of her. Saying those words, hearing them in her own voice, made her feel stronger than she had in months. “Someone’s been texting me and threatening me, and I think whoever it is made a bomb. I think it’s the same person who killed Kyla Kern! That’s why I was Googling explosives. I was researching, trying to figure it out.” The longer she spoke, the better it felt. She was finally telling the truth. Whoever the darer was—her dad or not—the cops could help her. But as she looked between her mom and Officer Funley, their expressions were like one-two punches to the gut.
They didn’t believe her.
“It’s true!” She straightened up, shoving her hair out of her eyes. “Someone has been texting me, threatening to kill me if I told! Plug in my phone. If it’s still working, you can check. You’ll see—all the blocked texts. Whoever’s been sending them must have planted my phone at the fire and placed that anonymous call!” She pointed at a charger in the wall, and Officer Funley went to it with a sigh. A minute later Sydney’s phone powered on. “Look in my texts,” Sydney repeated firmly. She watched as Officer Funley tapped impatiently at her phone. The officer was silent as she scrolled through Sydney’s in-box. Sydney held her breath, waiting.
“I don’t see any blocked numbers.” Officer Funley yanked the phone off the charger. “And, frankly, I don’t appreciate stalling tactics, Sydney.”
“What?” The breath Sydney had been holding came out hard and fast. “That’s not possible.”
Officer Funley held up the phone and scrolled quickly through her texts. Further and further back. There were no threats, no blocked numbers. They must have all been erased before her phone was planted. Sydney buried her face in her hands, tears burning at her eyes. The darer beat them every single time.
“Did I hear someone say Kyla Kern?” Officer Herman emerged from Sydney’s room. A necklace was gripped in his gloved fingers. “Because I found this sticking out of Sydney’s backpack.”
The room blackened around the edges. All Sydney could see were the four gold swirly letters dangling from the end of the chain. KYLA.
“It’s not what you think,” she choked out.
“Then, please,” Officer Funley said calmly, “tell me what it is.”
Sydney stared mutely at her. She thought of the clown they’d found in the ocean, four words scrawled across its face. This is no joke. But that was just it, wasn’t it? It was a joke, and the darer was the only one laughing. Sydney opened her mouth, then shut it again. There was nothing left to say.
She’d been framed.
By the time the cops left, Sydney could barely think straight. Her mom was scurrying around like some kind of cartoon character, cleaning at warp speed. Sydney knew she should help, but the thought couldn’t seem to work its way from her head to her muscles. She remained immobile on the couch, her mind frozen on the same two thoughts.
The darer had framed her.
Was the darer her dad?
The shrill beep of the apartment’s buzzer made her jump. “Can you get that, Syd?” her mom asked wearily. Sydney dragged herself to her feet. Her limbs felt weighted as she made her way to the video monitor for a second time. The image on the cheap screen was fuzzy, and it took her a second to place the stoop-shouldered man outside. “It’s Dad.” One by one, she could feel her nerves waking up, blood rushing from limb to limb.
“Finally,” her mom sighed. “Buzz him up.”
“I’ll just go down and let him in. I need some fresh air anyway.” Sydney was out of the apartment before her mom could protest. The questions she had to confront her dad with were not ones she wanted her mom to hear.
“Sydney!” Her dad’s shoulders sagged with relief when she opened the door. Immediately, the wind whipped inside, lifting the hood on her sweatshirt. Her dad stepped into the building and closed the door behind him, shutting out the growing storm. “It’s so good to see you in one piece. When Officer Funley called and said there were two high school girls in my burning house… God, I was so scared it was you.” Sydney was shocked to see tears in his eyes. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a rough hug. Sydney’s arms hung awkwardly at her side as her dad clutched her, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry the cops were here, Syd.”
“I didn’t start the fire,” Sydney said sharply.
“I never thought you did.” Her dad pulled back and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to tell the officers that myself.”
Sydney stared blankly at this distraught man, searching for signs of a twisted killer. But in his concern, all she saw was a dad. A dad who used to take her to catch butterflies and jump waves. Who taught her how to throw a ball, and laughed when she threw it right into his chest. Sydney squeezed her hands into fists. “Where were you, Dad? Why didn’t you answer any of Mom’s calls?”
Her dad looked around furtively, and in that second, Sydney’s blood froze. “Where were you?” she repeated, tenser this time.
Her dad pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small box, not so different from the one that had held Tenley’s lock of hair. Sydney’s muscles spasmed. She took a step back, ready to flee.
Her dad opened the lid.
Sydney blinked. A gorgeous diamond ring glittered inside. “I was in Boston,” her dad said. “Buying this for your mom.”
“You’re proposing?”
“Reproposing, technically. But, yes, I’m going to ask your mom to marry me again. A new ring for a new start.” He touched Sydney’s shoulder. “If I have your permission, that is.”
“My permission?” Sydney repeated dully. All at once, the old memories of her dad popped: Bam! Bam! Bam! In their place rose new memories, hovering large and glossy above her. Her dad with Emerson. Her dad keeping Meryl Bauer’s skirt as if it were some kind of prize. Her dad receiving a breakup note from Kyla Kern.
She’d been trying so hard to listen to her gut—to hold on to the belief that her da
d was innocent. But it was becoming harder and harder to remember why.
“I know the truth, Dad,” she said slowly. “I know about all of them. Not just Emerson, but Meryl, Kyla, your whole high school girl trophy box.” She glared up at her dad, and the ring box slipped from his grip, landing with a light bounce on the Berber carpet. He knelt clumsily to retrieve it.
“I—” he began.
“I’m not done,” Sydney said tightly. If she stopped, even for a second, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to start again. “As I said, I know about the girls, Dad, and I do mean girls. But what I don’t know is just how far it went.” She took a deep breath, then forced out the question. “Did you kill Meryl Bauer? Or Kyla Kern? Did they have to pay for breaking your heart?”
“What?” Her dad bolted up, the ring box gripped tightly in his fist. “You think I hurt someone, Sydney? And what are you even talking about? Meryl and Kyla weren’t murdered. It’s this town—the curse—that killed them. How could you think I…” He trailed off, tears choking up his words. “I know I’ve made huge mistakes. Believe me, Syd, I’ve lived in shame for years. But I’m done with that now,” he added forcefully. “I’m getting help. I’ve been going to therapy sessions nearly every day, and I’ve been working hard to make amends with your mom. I want to be with my family—with your mom and you. To be the father you deserve.” A tear worked its way down his cheek. “How could you think I killed someone, Syd?”
Answers fought for space on her tongue. “You dated almost every Lost Girl, Dad. Meryl, Kyla, and Emerson—Caitlin’s best friend. I’ve heard theories that their deaths weren’t such accidents. And here you are, connected to each of them.”
“I didn’t date Kyla,” her dad said, shaking his head. “I did try. I tried with several girls over the years. But Kyla wasn’t interested.”
“But that letter in your box,” Sydney protested.
“You mean the one where she told me to stop calling? That was her rejecting me.” He smiled ruefully through his tears. “She was a strong girl. I still remember how I found out that she’d died. I was in San Francisco at a fire chief–training seminar. Bob Hart called to tell me.”
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