At ten, I started a new pot of coffee. The phone rang.
“Well, Gabriella, how was your first day of school? Do you feel like a senior yet?” Dad sounded stoic as always. Relief washed over me.
“Yes,” I tried to match his tone. “I feel one step closer to college in Fiji.”
“So close? I thought you wanted to see the world.”
“Well, NYU hasn’t exactly come to claim me, but it’s still early.” I’d applied exclusively to colleges in cities without annual watermelon or apple-cider festivals: Boston, Chicago, New York, L.A. Whoever would have me.
“Anything unusual happen today?”
Could he somehow know about my day?
“Fall on the stairs? Drop your lunch? Something to make you appreciate the fact that dear old Dad sent you to a small school where your friends will feel like family?”
Of course, I was wrong. My eyes rolled in their sockets. Paranoia was so lame. “No, well, yeah. No, nothing like that, but yeah, something strange.”
His voice changed. His disposition immediately tempered. I could practically see him shifting in his chair. He’d always been protective of me, of my happiness, especially after losing Mom. “What happened?”
“Well, my locker was jammed after first period. I was late because it took so long to get in.” I considered ending it there. I hated to worry him unnecessarily while he was on the road, and he definitely sounded worried. I teetered.
“What else?” His voice thickened with insistence, like a television interrogator examining a criminal in custody.
I stiffened, afraid not to answer. “There was a black satin ribbon inside … like the ones Mom used to wear.” The last part slipped out. He never talked about Mom. Ever. My voice had caught, and I was sure he’d heard it. Matter of fact, telling the story aloud made it seem sad and pathetic. What did it matter? No one had broken into my locker, I didn’t think. The vent seemed the most likely way for the ribbon to have entered, though the locker did jam. It would have taken a long time to feed the ribbon in. I tapped a well-chewed nail against the phone. Black matched the uniform. Plenty of girls wore khaki pants and white polo tops. A black ribbon might look cute. I ignored the voice telling me to mention that our apartment door had been unlocked and that I thought I’d been followed. Pixie had been on the phone. Lots of people walked around the little town. I wasn’t convinced, so I kept it to myself. Liar.
Dad didn’t speak for a long beat.
“The ribbons.” His voice lightened by a fraction.
Would he prefer to hear I’d been caught in an unscrupulous activity, rather than what I was about to say? I rarely connected with my emotionally detached father, but at that moment, I practically heard his thoughts. At the mention of Mom and her ribbons, his thoughts probably ran to his darker days like mine had. He remembered her with her ribbons. When they came out, we moved. Outrunning a ghost was impossible, but Dad never stopped trying.
“I almost hate to give it back. It makes me think I need to pack.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
Silence.
I pulled the phone away from my face to examine it. Had he hung up on me or had a stroke or something? Tension zinged through the phone. The hairs on my arms stood on end. If he wasn’t on business in Tokyo, he might’ve been en route to get me.
“Why?”
“Seriously? You must know we move every time you miss her too much. First, you drag out her ribbons, and then you’re in a frenzy to move.” Finally I’d said what I’d wanted to for years. “I know your work isn’t the only reason we move so often. I know you feel chased.” Dad wore his heartbreak like a neon sign. He had never gotten over losing Mom either. Her loss bonded us in complicated and permanent ways.
“Gabriella.” He cleared his throat. “What?”
“I know you miss Mom. Your grief haunts you. I’m haunted, too.”
“Honey, you’re not hunted. I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
“Haunted.” I enunciated. “Not hunted, Dad. Are you feeling okay? We’re not moving again, are we?”
When he hesitated, I worried I’d gone too far. I blamed nerves and nightmares and gorgeous boys with magical green eyes.
“At what time did you receive your locker today?” His flattened tone frightened me. The interrogation voice was back.
“I don’t know, maybe eight or a few minutes after … ”
“When were you there?”
“Until the bell at eight-ten and then again after that class.”
“When was that?” His questions came one upon another. It was as if I was in trouble again.
“What?”
“What time did you return to your locker, following your first class?” He spoke slowly, clearly. He wanted answers, facts, now.
“Ah, class is forty-five minutes long, so it was almost nine. It took a minute to get back there after the bell.”
“That’s when the locker was jammed? When you discovered the ribbon?”
“Yes.”
“Could it have been there before your first period and you overlooked it?”
“No. The locker was empty the first time.”
“Who else has access? Do you have a locker partner?”
“No. They don’t do that here. Everyone has their own.”
“Tell me more about the ribbon.”
I described it as completely as I could. He insisted I photograph it and send the picture to his inbox while he waited. He wouldn’t get off the phone until he had it in front of him. Then, after he nearly scared me to death with his questions and odd behavior, he went back to making small talk. Jekyll and Hyde much? His keyboard clicked as his fingers flew over the keys. He’d moved on. The ribbon wouldn’t kill me. I rolled my eyes.
“Maybe I can come for a visit. See how things are going. I can check your apartment for safety again. Talk to the school.”
“Dad, no. I’m good. Everything’s good.”
“We can have lunch. I can make pancakes.”
The thought tempted me. I had a million memories of Dad in the kitchen tossing pancakes in the air. Of all the changes in my life, the cabin was a constant I could count on. And I did. The cabin had been in Dad’s family for generations, and we all loved it. We stayed off the grid and enjoyed the peacefulness of nature. Mom had loved it. They’d always made breakfast together. She’d sliced berries and scrambled eggs. They’d sung duets and danced for me. They’d loved doing things together. I’d loved watching. After she died, he still made pancakes, but the singing ended. Her absence gonged in the silence.
I considered telling him I had been afraid to walk home from the coffee shop. I considered playing the frightened-daughter role, maybe even mention the rumor going around. I’d already spent the better part of the day telling myself I was an adult, so I skipped confessing my fears. We said goodbye after a few more feeble exchanges.
The caffeine rush ended, and I crashed. My eyes pulled shut almost before I could get my earbuds in. I set my playlist to start on my favorite song and dragged the light comforter over my body until I smelled the fabric softener. As I inhaled muted scents of powder and lavender, sleep rushed in to meet me.
The dream began immediately. This time I was at my locker. I had a strange conversation with Brian. I asked him about his age when he was about to ask me something else. He wanted to talk to me, and I knew why. He wanted me to promise silence about our previous meeting. Sun glinted off his crisp white shirt. The smell of fresh-cut grass tickled my nose. I smiled.
I wanted to reach for him, but the dream morphed in an eerie way until he was in an alley with me. He seemed at ease, though my heart raced as the scene changed. I knew to be afraid. He didn’t look concerned. He didn’t know we were in danger. I turned to run and ran right into him. He smiled and handed me coffee. I scanned his face for an explanation. How could he not understand that we needed to go? Something bad was near. A low noise sounded from behind me and chills rose up my spine. Fr
ozen in place, I stifled a scream before hearing a familiar sound, the front door.
Pixie tossed her keys onto the counter.
My eyes pulled wide open. I’d slept for two hours.
“Hey, how was The Pier?” I ran a hand through messy hair and leaned into her bedroom doorjamb.
“Do you ever sleep?”
I bit my lip. Sleep and I didn’t get along. “Do you?” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Not enough. I’m going to look like the bride of Frankenstein in the morning.”
“As if. So, did you find me a man?”
“No one you’d look at.” She gave me a sharp look and stripped out of her clothes. I turned away. “Michael stopped by and asked where I’ve been, like I’ve been avoiding him or something.”
Michael, her on-again, off-again boyfriend, gave me the creeps. He dressed like her and listened to the same music, but he gave me a serious poser vibe. Hopefully Pixie knew who he was under the garb, because I recognized an act when I saw one. They told people they had met at a rave, but really it was a book signing. I knew better. I was there, and we all had matching autographed copies to prove it.
“I told him, ‘give me a break. It’s the first day of school.’ He was all ‘excuse me for caring.’ I said ‘yeah sure,’ and he was all ‘whatever.’ The whole Pier saw it. I have witnesses.”
“Are you going to see him again?” I wanted her to be happy, for sure, but single Pixie meant more time for her to fill, and I didn’t want to become her pet project. She already looked at me like her personal social-science experiment.
“Nah. We’re cool, but I hope he learned his lesson.”
Sure. That lesson sounded clear as mud. Why wouldn’t he have learned?
“Do you think Brian acted strange today?” Unfriendly, elusive, douchey.
“I think he was nervous and probably embarrassed to see us at his new school. I mean, he doesn’t have a super-awesome roommate like you to make this place fabulous.”
Who was his roommate? There weren’t many guys at Francine Frances. Was he in the senior dorm, too? Davis never paid any attention to him. My mind whirled.
By the time Pixie went to bed, I was wide awake again. The fog of sleep gone. Thoughts of Brian plagued me. I walked out to check that the deadbolt and chain on the door were secure before sliding back into my bed.
What was Brian doing in Elton? Elton was an hour’s drive from Francine Frances. Was he from Elton? I had so many questions. Did he register at my school before or after we met? Did he have any idea I was a student here? He looked too old for high school. I hoped Pixie was right before and he thought I looked older, too. I liked the idea that I could pass for college age. It’d make getting along next year easier if I didn’t look like a child.
I combed through our conversation from the flea market. We had talked about coffee addiction and how I didn’t sleep. I honestly couldn’t remember him saying anything too specific about himself, and he had asked very little about me. We talked and walked and laughed. He bartered with an Amish woman over the price of her pies. He lost, but he still bought one. What would he do with an entire pie?
He rode a motorcycle. Shiny, blue, and mildly intimidating, but not a clue to his deep, dark secrets. No one had been with him at the coffee shop. I still wasn’t sure if he had gotten there before or after I arrived. Though he said he saw me arrive, I hadn’t seen him. He didn’t talk to many people at school either. He could be shy like me, but that didn’t align with the confidence he’d shown in Elton. What else did I know about Brian? He had commented on some art from Germany at the flea market. Maybe his family traveled. He had mentioned the Peace Corps, but I couldn’t remember why. Very little of what he had said meant anything. I rubbed my arms as a chill slid over them. He was big enough to be dangerous. If he was following me … I swallowed hard. No. Brian wasn’t the bad guy. There was no bad guy. I hoped.
The apartment creaked and settled around me. Pixie was sound asleep, along with everyone else in the time zone.
I booted up my laptop. If I couldn’t sleep, I’d get a jump on our Sociology assignment. I was about to type Gabriella Smith in the search box, but instead I searched the local news site for references to a serial killer in the area. One small article reported that the FBI had contacted local police regarding a serial-killer case. The details were minimal at best, limited to names I didn’t know and the date and time of the contact. Whoever had started the rumor at school had either misread the article or intended to scare the rest of us with the news. I shook my hands at the wrists, utterly tense.
I opened a new window and typed Brian Austin into the search engine. Pages of hits came back. I clicked on the one from D.C. first. I loved D.C. All my memories there were happy ones. We lived there until my mother died. After that, Dad avoided big cities at all costs, as if people in small towns never had car accidents.
The Brian Austin in D.C. was in his nineties. I giggled. The article was an obituary. The smile fell off my face. A small write-up in the local paper covered his lifelong career in the military and dedication to his country and community. I read a few words about his sons and grandsons who “followed in his endeavor to protect and serve our country.” The article was mildly engaging but useless. It was a little interesting that someone with his name had lived in D.C. with me when I was a kid.
I looked for another Brian Austin until nearly dawn. Nothing came up matching a high school guy. Not even a Facebook profile. I expected to find a newspaper article with a photo of him on his teammates’ shoulders somewhere. He looked like an athlete, a star, someone who could do anything. Another shiver passed over me. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
Chapter Six
I fell asleep at my desk and woke to the sound of my alarm clock for the first time in years. Sleep time: one hour and twenty-seven minutes. Didn’t matter. I was amped. My heart rate spiked at the idea of intrigue. Brian could be another guy like Davis, new to the school and nothing more. He could, but, for a reason I couldn’t deny, my intuition screamed otherwise. If I hadn’t met him before our first day, maybe, but not now. No more ignoring my instincts.
I hadn’t been exposed to anything interesting, ever. Dad’s method of grieving for the past decade and all the moving could’ve been interesting if we had ever gone anywhere good. Instead, my lackluster life compared to the thrill of a lecture on how good kids had it today. I’d heard that one a few times. Excitement rushed through me before I had time to reach for my pills. I needed to know. Who was Brian Austin?
I popped a caffeine capsule in my mouth and swigged from the water bottle on my nightstand. Then I hit the treadmill without coffee. The belt purred underfoot. I mulled over what I knew, which admittedly wasn’t much, and set out a plan to see what I could find out. Light as a feather, I ran to expend energy, for the first time, instead of find it. The pill was part habit, part trouble-shooting the inevitable headache that came without one.
As a future attorney, I would benefit from the investigation experience, regardless of how rudimentary. So, in this case, being nosy and paranoid came second to career preparation.
I rushed through my morning routine and hated that I’d fallen asleep. I’d managed not to dream in the short snippet of time. For that I was thankful. There were too many better things to think about. I swept my hair off my shoulders and buttoned my cardigan. I shoved a journal in my backpack to write everything down. Then I left without Pixie. I wanted to get coffee and make it to the wall on campus before the crowd arrived. I hurried so I wouldn’t forget anything from the night before. If Pixie saw me, she’d know something was up. I was dying to tell her my suspicions, but I didn’t want to sound as unstable as I felt about my new game.
Outside, it was funny how different everything looked in the morning. Sunlight glistened off the dew, still fresh in shaded places. The blacktop sparkled. The birds sang. Squirrels were hard at work preparing for fall. Girls filled the entire shop from wall to windows. The line for c
offee stretched out the door. The silent coffee shop from last night had been replaced, filled now with shoulder-to-shoulder patrons, laughing, voices blending together. Dozens of my classmates clung to one another, talking, gossiping, and smiling. I grabbed my order and ducked out.
The walk to school gave me time to think. Ideas and theories swirled in my mind. By the time I reached my wall, I already had a pen in hand. I looked over my shoulder frequently for good measure. Mowers in the distance provided the perfect amount of white noise. I tossed my bag onto the grass and got comfy.
“Good morning.” One of the groundskeepers approached with a tip of his hat. I couldn’t be sure, but he looked like the one who had witnessed the awesome rumble I’d had with my locker. I jumped at the sight of him, feeling inept after my attempts at vigilance. I hadn’t seen anyone around or heard him approach, thanks to the mowers.
“Hi.”
“Beautiful day.”
“Yep.”
He paused, shoving up his cap to wipe his forehead. “You picked a nice spot. Private.”
Maybe too private. I considered moving. Did serial killers ever pose as janitors?
“Enjoy the stolen moments.” His voice changed on the final words. His expression fell.
He walked away before I turned back to my notebook. I hated that I hadn’t seen or heard him until he was right in front of me. He looked back over his shoulder twice before disappearing around the side of the school. I kept one eye on him, behind a veil of my hair, until he was gone.
I scribbled in my journal until my hand hurt, forgetting where I was, putting thoughts of the awkward exchange out of my mind. A long shadow grew over me. My muscles tensed. I hadn’t heard anyone approach for the second time, and it was early. Dad would be furious. There wouldn’t be students on campus for another thirty or forty minutes. I prayed I wouldn’t find the same guy standing there. My tummy tightened. I turned my face upward to the shadow.
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