Little Creeping Things

by Chelsea Ichaso

I can’t wait like a creep forever; I’ll have to flag him down.

  I speed across the street to the lot. Brandon’s head remains low, his engine off. Must be one interesting conversation. My last few steps are cautious; I don’t want to startle him.

  I approach the car and peer through the front window. The object in Brandon’s hands isn’t a phone at all. It’s a small, white box. The kind you’d get from a department store to put jewelry in.

  Something else in his hand gleams in the refracted window light. He palms the shiny object into the box. It goes into his jacket pocket, and his hand reemerges with car keys.

  I duck down behind the car next to his, my legs quivering beneath me. My hands grip the warm asphalt as I take in a shallow breath.

  The gleaming thing in the box.

  It looks like Melody Davenport’s necklace.

  13

  Brandon’s engine rumbles to a start, filling the air with toxic fumes. After he drives off, I let out a long breath. Then I whip out my phone, type a quick text, and send it before I can talk myself out of it.

  Can you meet me at HH?

  This is our secret code for the hobbit house. In ninth grade, Gideon and I discovered the acronym doubles for Hathaway Hall at school. We figured this might become useful if anyone tried to torture the location out of us.

  My legs are shaky when I stand. I have to talk to Tina again. Somehow, there must be a crack in Brandon’s alibi. Brandon was the voice from the woods.

  My phone buzzes with Gideon’s response.

  When?

  My heart lifts. Now

  OK. OMW

  See you

  I can’t do this on my own. The past two days, I’ve given him space, but I’m done with that now. Mad at me or not, Gideon’s the only person I can trust. And I need him on my side so we can come up with a plan. Together.

  I just have to convince him to keep quiet about everything, so he can stay safe.

  I arrive at our hideout. It’s as magical as ever, but draped in yellow tape and veiled in a darkness that can never be lifted, no matter how much sunlight streams through the crowded evergreens.

  Still, I hope once we’re together in our special place, he’ll have to forgive me. He’ll have to listen to me.

  I do a quick scan for cops and duck under the tape. When I get through the trees, I kick aside the vines and grass. I pull aside the tarp and step down, using the wooden crate. It had been such a pain to haul that big block of wood out here. We ended up having to rent a shiny red wagon from a neighbor kid in exchange for a pack of Twizzlers. The crate had a dual purpose though, acting as a tiny table whenever we needed to write prank letters or share a hobbit-sized snack.

  Once inside, I sit against the splintered boards and wait for Gideon. Leaves crunch, and whatever’s gripping my insides loosens. I didn’t really think he would stand me up, but I’m relieved to see his face lowering into the hideout before me.

  “Hey.” I take in the familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with playing football in the grass, the sight of his truant’s smirk and those deep, dark eyes. I’ve missed him, even if we haven’t been apart long. Our fight created a chasm between us.

  And in the fading light of dusk, I notice that Gideon’s winsome smile lines have vanished and instead, harsh creases gather on his forehead and between his brows. He won’t meet my eyes, like he’s afraid to.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  He nods tersely. “What do you need, Cass?” It’s absurd to need a reason to meet Gideon, and the question hits me like a volleyball to the gut.

  “I don’t want things to be like this anymore. I miss you.”

  Gideon shakes his head slowly. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Why?” I shrug, pleading. “I know you’re mad that I’ve kept things from you, but I didn’t have a choice. I tried to help Melody. I went with you to spy on Seth.”

  “And bailed before we got anywhere! And then, what, you felt sick when the detectives wanted to talk?”

  “No, Giddy. I—someone sent me something. A threat.”

  Gideon’s eyes widen and he inches closer. Overhead, an eerie wind sings through the trees. “What are you talking about?”

  “I got a text after Seth’s house, threatening to pin the whole thing on me. That’s why I couldn’t go with you to talk to the detectives.”

  His head slumps forward and he passes a hand through his dark, disheveled hair. I try to touch his arm, but he recoils. Like I’m some sort of diseased creature.

  Maybe I am.

  “It was kids from school messing with you, Cass.”

  “No, Giddy.”

  But his eyes are lost. “I should’ve helped her,” he says into his hands. “I should’ve listened to you. At least she would’ve had a chance. Now she’s probably dead”—his voice breaks—“and I let it happen.”

  A rogue tear drips down his face until he swats it away. Despite all the times he’s comforted me through a cry, I can’t remember Gideon tearing up since his dog died in third grade. Sorrow writhes in my chest. I want to reach for him, but I keep my distance, worried he’ll bat me away like that solitary tear.

  “Please, just listen. I know who did it.”

  His head lifts slowly. “Who?”

  “You have to promise you won’t go to the cops or confront this person. Not until we have proof.”

  “Tell me.”

  I take in a tremulous breath, the scent of damp wood doing little to aid my voice. “Brandon.”

  Gideon draws back. “What?”

  “He’s hiding Melody’s necklace in a box in his jacket pocket.”

  “He’s your brother’s best friend.”

  “And I don’t trust him! Have you seen the missing-person posters?” They’re plastered all over town; they’re hard to miss.

  He hesitates, but half nods.

  “The gold necklace with the musical note. I think Brandon has it.”

  “You think?” Gideon lifts a hand impatiently and releases a pathetic laugh. “Oh, good. As long as you think, then we might as well go to Brandon’s house and tie him up ourselves. Is this about the diner? Something did happen between you two, didn’t it?” For a second, his eyes soften and he reaches for me. “Did he hurt you?”

  Tears sting behind my eyes. “No, Giddy, nothing happened.”

  “Then what is it?” His voice is raised and hoarse. “What is your goal here, Cass? The fire hasn’t made your life easy, I get that. And Brandon’s ex is the worst of your tormentors. But do you really think this story about him is going to make things better for you?”

  His words strike and stab like nails. This story. Daylight has dwindled. Gideon’s dark eyes recede into the wooden walls around us, leaving me nothing to grab on to. I wipe away tears and peer into the dark. I can’t see my best friend’s eyes, but I know they’re glowering at me.

  I could fix this. I could tell him about Brandon and the party, about the notebook. I could make him see it’s not just a story. But Gideon doesn’t trust me anymore.

  Which means I can’t trust him. I don’t know what he’d do with my secrets.

  Gideon’s foot creaks on the crate. Light barely trickles in through the treetops. I forgot my flashlight. We’ll become stranded out here once those few rays are extinguished.

  Nothing has gone as planned. There is no forgiveness. No hug. No see you tomorrow. Not even a supportive hand offered as we pick ourselves up out of the hole in the ground. Instead, shrouded in twilight, we trudge and stumble our way back through the pines, the sound of twigs snapping like brittle bones beneath our feet.

  14

  In the morning, my mom tells me the whole town is helping to search for Melody. My heart drops—I watch enough true crime shows to know this means that the cops have already given up on finding her alive. Every day that goes by
decreases our chances of finding her, and Melody disappeared on Tuesday. Four days ago.

  But if the whole town is participating, Brandon might be there, which means I can pump him for information.

  Asher and I walk toward the woods behind my neighborhood, Sheriff Henderson’s instructions fresh in our ears. My parents paired off to search the forested area behind the diner. Asher studies the small area circled in red on our map. I peek at the map, trying to calm my nerves. I’ve managed to keep some amount of hope alive—that Melody simply ran away from this tiny town in search of bigger things. That she was abducted but will connive her way into getting released, the way she conspired to get me left behind last year for our away game against Millington. Even hope that this is all some sick joke she’s playing to torment me.

  But today we could find her body in these woods.

  I peek up from the map, wanting to share all of this with Gideon. But he’s standing over by the tent, pretending not to see me.

  I notice Tina and Laura up ahead, squinting at their own map.

  “Asher,” I say, nudging his arm. “I’ve got to talk to Tina real quick.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he mumbles without looking up.

  I dash over to Tina and tap her lightly on the shoulder. No need to call Laura’s attention. Tina turns around, smiling when he sees me. “Hey, Cass. Need a partner?”

  “I’m actually partnered with Asher. But I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  One look at her smiling face and my nerves falter. Just say it. “Look, I know nothing happened between you and Brandon last Tuesday.”

  Tina’s smile freezes, then slowly deflates. “Excuse me?”

  “You weren’t driving around or doing anything with Brandon all afternoon.” It’s a gamble. But deep down, everyone—Tina included—already wonders if I’m crazy. What’s the worst that could happen? “My question is why did you lie?”

  Tina blinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Why would you spread a rumor that you were with Laura’s ex,” I say, leaning in close, “when you weren’t?” I straighten again, taking a step in Laura’s direction. “I mean, she’s right over there. Maybe you want to explain it to her.”

  Tina pulls on my sleeve. “Wait.” She gnaws her bottom lip, her eyes zipping over to Laura and then back to me. “Fine. I lied. But I’m not telling you why.”

  I exhale slowly, so she can’t see my relief. “Really? Maybe we should see what Brandon thinks about your little rumor.”

  “It wasn’t my rumor,” Tina snaps. “Stephanie saw me get into the car and started blabbing about it. I didn’t tell anyone on purpose.”

  Guilt tumbles in my stomach. “I’m not going to say anything. I just need to know. Did Brandon put you up to this? Did he tell you to say you were with him all afternoon?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “He just gave me a ride. Cass, please. I can’t have people asking me about why I was in town or why Brandon drove me. You have to let this go.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened, and I give you my word it will stay between us.”

  Tina’s head slumps. “I was one test away from academic suspension.” A few yards away, Laura stirs, so we move a few steps farther from the tent. “Coach was going to call my parents,” she whispers. “No more volleyball. I promised I’d get my grades up, but there weren’t enough hours in the day. I remembered Dave talking about this guy behind Carver’s who can sell you something to help you stay awake.” She glances anxiously behind her to make sure no one is listening. “When Coach ended practice early, Brandon was already getting into his car. I needed a ride from someone who wouldn’t ask questions.” Her face flushes. “Please don’t tell anyone. If Coach or my parents ever found out—”

  “Tina, it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.” I regret this whole conversation, for making Tina—one of the few nice people on our team—admit something so shameful. But I have to push it, or it was all for nothing. “I need to know one more thing. Where did Brandon go after he dropped you off?”

  She frowns. “I don’t know. He let me out and drove off.”

  “He didn’t say anything about where he was headed?”

  “Why is this so important? Is this about the diner the other night? I saw Brandon flirting with you, but I didn’t think you’d actually fall for”—she peeks behind her again, where Laura’s chatting with some guys from school—“someone like him.”

  “What does that mean, someone like him?” Does Tina know about Brandon? The real Brandon?

  “Nothing.” She gives me an unreadable look. “Just be careful, Cass.” Then she turns back to the search tent, and joins Laura and the guys. I speed-walk back to Asher.

  So there is a crack in Brandon’s alibi. He was unaccounted for long enough to lure Melody Davenport into the woods.

  Asher is still engrossed in his map, oblivious I ever left. I kick a pebble as someone behind us shouts, “Hey, Pratts! Wait up!”

  Brandon.

  He stops beside me and my heart whirrs like a wind-up toy.

  He’s wearing the jacket from yesterday. It’s one of those green parkas with all the pockets. A couple bulge, but I can’t tell if any of them hold the box.

  “Hey, Brandon.” I wave and take a step closer. Then, holding my breath, I force myself to lean in for a hug.

  Brandon’s body stiffens beneath my arms, but I brush a hand over the bulgiest of the pockets anyway. My fingertip knocks something, making a faint, hollow tap. It could be the tiny box, the one holding Melody’s necklace. I let out the breath and pull back, smiling awkwardly.

  Asher and Brandon exchange goofy expressions as we pick up our pace. When we reach our circled area of the forest, Asher points. “The sheriff said to look here carefully. If we see any disturbed patches or anything that might belong to Melody, we have to find an officer. We aren’t supposed to touch anything.”

  “We’d better get started,” Brandon says with a shrug. “There’s a lot of ground to cover. Should we split up?”

  “Definitely,” Asher says. “Shout if you see anything, Cass.”

  “I will.” The boys wander off in opposite directions, and I move in a straight line. I examine the forest floor, pushing aside twigs and leaves with my shoes. It’s a perfect, sunny fall day. The kind that sends the slightest breeze through the woods, kicking up the scent of orange honeysuckle. The kind Gideon and I might spend skipping rocks over the glassy surface of the reservoir. Or doing any outdoor activity—other than this.

  Half an hour later, footsteps break my focus. I look up, expecting Asher. But it’s Brandon.

  “So, where’s Gideon?” he asks, stepping closer. My eyes comb the trees for my brother, but there’s no sign of him. Panic flutters in my chest.

  “He’s around,” I say. “Searching with his mom.”

  “Right.” Brandon bites his lower lip. “Here, let’s go this way.” He points toward a large patch of shrubbery, tugging on my wrist with his other hand. I flinch and wrench my arm away.

  His forehead wrinkles. “What’s wrong, Cass? You’re acting weird.”

  “No, I just have to finish up to that white rock. That’s where the red circle on the map reaches.”

  “I already searched that. Besides, these plants up here need checking.” When he points again, I notice dirt embedded under his fingernails.

  “We weren’t supposed to touch anything.” I stare at Brandon’s dirty fingers.

  He wipes his hands on his jeans, pink blossoming over his cheeks. “I thought something was buried over there.” He glances over his shoulder. “So I dug around a little. Turns out it was an old granola bar wrapper. Nothing important.”

  I nod, but my eyes veer to the once-stuffed jacket pocket, now flat against his chest. Then my gaze travels back to the path I never checked. I don�
��t think Brandon’s digging had anything to do with a buried granola bar wrapper. He’s trying to keep me from that patch of soil I would’ve crossed in a matter of moments. I want to call out for Asher, but force myself to follow Brandon.

  We check a shrub, quickly discovering the only thing it hides is a deadly armor of thorns. I’m still picking them from my clothes when we meet back up with Asher.

  “Nothing?” he asks. Brandon and I shake our heads in silence. “Me neither. I guess we should head back to the tent and ask what’s next.”

  I scurry after him, Brandon close at my side. As we duck out of the forest, I peek over my shoulder one last time. I scan for a marker, some detail to help me remember how to get back to that area Brandon kept me from searching.

  It just may be where he buried the box.

  * * *

  In the morning, I almost oversleep due to the complete absence of sunlight. There’s only a drab, gray sky. Fog covers the family car as we clamber inside to go to church. We park in front of the quaint white building, its spire top lost up in the haze. As we exit the car, the leaden sky opens up and leaks over our heads.

  When the four of us pass through the open doors of the church, hair wet and drooping, we’re swept up immediately by a tide of whispers and cries.

  Louisa Stevens approaches and whispers in my mom’s ear—surely an attempt to protect Asher and me. But she has to raise her voice to make it distinguishable above her own sobbing. “They found—Melody’s—body.”

  I run into the bathroom and throw up in the first empty stall.

  Afterward, as I wash up, I consider hiding out in the bathroom. I can’t face those crying people and their mourning faces. But it’s harder to look at the face staring back at me in the mirror—the one responsible for the girl now lying cold and lifeless.

  Melody’s really gone. She was horrible to me, and I often wished her out of my life. But I never truly wished for this.

  I rinse my mouth, checking in the mirror for a fraction of a second. Then I trudge back out to my parents to endure the nauseating whispers and wails.

  I don’t hear a word from the pulpit, other than the prayer said for the Davenports.