My mom’s frown deepened. “And her parents really don’t think anything is wrong?”
“No. It was so weird. It was like they forgot they had a daughter or something.”
Mom nodded. She consulted a list of local numbers by the phone and held the receiver up to her ear.
“Hello, this is Agnes Hartsell,” Mom said briskly. “Can you please send an officer to the house? It’s twenty-two Colonial Avenue.”
I shivered. Part of me was glad that my mother was doing this, but another part of me, a smaller part, was scared. I didn’t like confrontation, and I didn’t like cops. I had no idea what I’d do if they asked why I hadn’t come forward sooner.
When Mom hung up, she looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a game or anything, is it Elizabeth?”
“Oh, my god, no,” I said quickly. “No, Mom. It’s not anything like that. I swear.”
My mom nodded. “That poor girl,” she said softly. She looked at me. “You’re okay, right?”
“What?”
“I mean…” Mom trailed off. “You’re getting older, Elizabeth. Fifteen is around the age when kids start acting out. You’re not doing anything wrong, are you?”
I thought of Steven kissing me in Monica’s backyard and I blushed.
“No,” I said after a long pause. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
I went upstairs and stared down at my math textbook until there was a sharp knock on the door. My heart lurched in my chest as my mom opened the door. I heard a flurry of muffled conversation, then Mom yelled for me to come down.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and went downstairs, trying to look as casual and nonchalant as possible. Mom was standing in the kitchen with two uniformed officers that included Mr. D’Amico, Steven and Andrea’s dad. When he saw me, he nodded.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Mr. D’Amico said. “How are you feeling?”
I sat down in a chair and drummed my fingers nervously on the table. I shrugged.
“Elizabeth, we’ve met before. This is my colleague, Tony.” Mr. D’Amico gestured toward the other cop. “Can you tell us about Monica?”
“Like, what? She’s blonde with brown eyes,” I said. “But you knew that. You have a picture.”
“Does she have any identifying details?”
“Like tattoos?” It was hard not to laugh. “Monica would never get a tattoo.”
“What about birth marks?”
I shrugged. “I think she has a mole, like here,” I pointed to my shoulder. “But I can’t remember which side it’s on.”
Mr. D’Amico wrote something on the notepad. “Anything else? Does she wear glasses, contacts? Has she ever broken a bone?”
“No, I…” A thought wormed its way into my head and I shuddered.
“What, Elizabeth? What did you think of?”
“She only has four toes on her left foot,” I said slowly. “She got in some kind of accident when she was a little kid and had to have the pinky toe amputated.”
“That’s very helpful. Thank you,” Mr. D’Amico said.
I shuddered. I knew why it was useful: it was something they could use to identify her body.
“Tell me about the last time you saw her.”
I nodded, glancing nervously at my mother. “I spent Friday night with her.”
“I see.” Mr. D’Amico scribbled something on a pad. “Just the two of you?”
I shook my head. “Um, no. She had a party…well, not really a party. Just some kids came over for a few hours. They were all gone by nine-thirty.”
“I see. And were Mr. and Mrs. Boer home?”
I blushed before quickly shaking my head. “No. They were gone for the weekend.”
“Elizabeth,” Mom chastised. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Mr. D’Amico said. “Just trying to get all the facts. Can you detail the events of the party?”
My heart thumped nervously in my chest. “Um, sure. I came home first because Monica said she was going to call David–”
“Who?” Mr. D’Amico squinted. “Who’s David?”
“Her boyfriend,” I explained. “He lives in Vermont. They met at camp over the summer.”
“I see. Can you tell me about him?”
“Well, he didn’t even come to the party–”
“Please, Elizabeth,” Mr. D’Amico said, interrupting me for the second time. “Just tell me everything you know about him.”
“His last name is Spring,” I said, biting my lip. “I’ve only met him once. He, uh, he came up for dinner with Monica and her parents, and she invited me over.”
“And what was he like? What was his relationship like with Monica?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay,” I said. I felt guilty. I didn’t like David, but I had a feeling that no matter what I said, Mr. D’Amico would start investigating. “He’s kind of arrogant. He’s older. He’s seventeen, and he didn’t come to the party because he was going to another party at some college closer to him.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Have David and Monica quarreled often in the past?”
“Not that I know of,” I said suspiciously. “They haven’t really known each other long – maybe, like, four months.”
Mr. D’Amico frowned. He scribbled something on his pad and nodded. “Okay, Elizabeth. Tell me about the party.”
I cringed. ‘Shit,’ I thought. ‘I can’t tell him the truth! I can’t tell him that his son showed up with a case of beer and some liquor!’
“Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”
I shook my head quickly. “Nothing, nothing. Just, um, thinking.”
Mr. D’Amico sighed. “Elizabeth, this is serious,” he said gruffly.
“I know,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry.” I glanced at my mom. “It’s just hard.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I went to Monica’s around seven,” I said. “She hadn’t called David yet. She told me she’d fallen asleep. She called him, and she got a little upset when he said he couldn’t make it, but she didn’t seem too worried. She was a little freaked about all of the stuff going on around Jaffrey, though.”
“Like what?”
“Like…the guy who lives next door to Monica, all of his cows were slaughtered one night. Monica thought it had something to do with those weird break-ins all over town.”
Mr. D’Amico chuckled. “Paranoid little thing, isn’t she?” He glanced at his partner, Tony. “Tony thinks the break-ins are drug related. Probably just people looking for money.”
“That’s what I said to Monica,” I said. “But she was still freaked out. She said she didn’t want to be alone.”
“Who all came to the party?”
“Um, Steven,” I said. “You know, your son. And some of his friends from school. Mostly football players, I think. Juniors and seniors. Not really anyone I’m friends with.” I held my breath, almost certain that Mr. D’Amico would ask me about alcohol.
“Right. So, what did you kids do?”
“Steven and I talked in the backyard for a few minutes.” Behind Mr. D’Amico, my mom’s eyes bulged, and I cringed internally. “And then Monica came out and asked us to come back inside.”
“That was it?”
“No,” I said quickly. “There was some really loud sound from the woods – almost like a scream. And then a helicopter flew over Monica’s house.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Was there alcohol at this party?”
After a second, I nodded.
“Who supplied that?”
“Um,” I bit my lip. “One of Steven’s friends, I think. They all showed up together.”
Mr. D’Amico frowned. He wrote something on his pad. “And what happened the rest of the night?”
“Not much. Someone started playing music, and Monica made everyone leave. She said she was sick of having people over. This was…I don’t know, around nine or nine-thi
rty.”
“Did you stay?”
I nodded. “We stayed up in the living room and watched movies,” I said. “I think Monica was upset about David.”
“And what happened the next morning?”
“We went for a walk in the woods.” I bit my lip, wondering whether or not I should say something about the trees.
“And?”
I sighed. “And we weren’t gone very long. Monica found some trees that had been cut down, with scratches all over the trunks. We found a knife by the tree line. It was big,” I added, gesturing with my hands to show the length of the blade. “Monica kept it. She told me that she had to write a paper, so I went home.”
“And have you heard from her since?”
I pulled out my phone. “No.” I handed it over to Mr. D’Amico. “I texted her a few times; you can see here. But she never replied. And she hasn’t been in school.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “I haven’t heard from her parents.”
“I went over there today, and they both think she’s fine,” I said softly. “They think she might have gone to visit David or something.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know!” My voice came out as a loud whine, but suddenly, I no longer cared. This whole thing – treating Monica’s disappearance like it wasn’t a big deal – seemed incredibly stupid to me. I wanted to grab Mr. D’Amico by the shoulders and shake him. I wanted to tell him to wake up, that something horrible was going on.
“Calm down,” Mom said. She looked at me nervously. “Elizabeth, maybe you should go upstairs.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Mr. D’Amico said. “Is that alright?”
My mom nodded hesitantly.
“Elizabeth, do you have any idea of where Monica could be?”
I shook my head. Tears filled my eyes and I looked up at the ceiling, willing them away.
“No,” I said softly. “I don’t. I don’t think she would run away.” I bit my lip. “When I went to her house, her mom, Jamie, was drunk. I snuck upstairs and looked in Monica’s room. She left almost everything. She didn’t even take her cell phone charger!”
Mr. D’Amico and Tony exchanged a dark look.
“Okay, Elizabeth. Thanks. You’ve been really helpful,” Mr. D’Amico said. He stood up and grunted, rubbing his hands on his shiny, red face. “Thanks again.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re welcome.” I blinked, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. “I’m just…I’m really scared. I don’t know why her parents aren’t taking this seriously.”
“God damn hippies,” Mr. D’Amico muttered under his breath. He shoved his notepad back in his pocket. “Come on,” he said to Tony, jerking his head to the door. “We gotta take this downtown.”
They both said goodbye to my mother, and then left. The front door banged closed behind them, and I looked at my mom.
“Elizabeth, honey, it’s going to be okay.” But I could tell from the creases and lines of worry on Mom’s forehead that she was just lying to make me feel better. I walked over to her and hugged her tightly – something I hadn’t done in years.
Mom squeezed me back until I could barely breathe. When we pulled away, her dark eyes were narrowed with concern.
“I’m worried about you,” Mom said. “Is there anything I can do?”
I sniffled and shook my head. “No,” I said softly. “I just wish she was okay.”
“I know,” Mom said. The unspoken hesitation in her voice was as easy to read as giant block print: ‘I’m just glad it’s not you.’
Chapter Five
Mom told me to go upstairs and finish my homework, but I couldn’t concentrate. All I felt like doing was staring down at the textbook until the shapes and numbers turned into squiggly lines and dots, marching across the page with absurd speed. Finally, I slammed my textbook shut and crawled into bed.
It wasn’t late – maybe six or seven – but I felt exhausted, like I’d run three marathons back to back with little break in between. When I closed my eyes, I didn’t expect to fall asleep. But after a few moments, my brain started feeling sleepy and hazy, and I yawned, curling against my pillow and pulling the blanket over my head.
“Elizabeth, help!”
“Monica?” I stood up, brushing my hands off on my thighs. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know!” Monica’s voice was high-pitched and scared. “Help me, please!”
I was standing in the middle of a clearing in the woods. For a moment, I was almost sure it was the clearing with the felled trees behind Monica’s house. But then I realized it was in no way the same wood. This wood was ancient. The trees were as big as giants, and the branches were strung with moss, fairy lights, and small wooden sculptures dangling from twine. Despite the tiny, twinkling lights, I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of my own face.
“Monica!” I screamed. “Where are you?”
“Help me!”
Monica’s voice was earnest and scared. She sounded like a little girl, and a cold shiver of fear wormed down my spine as I glanced around the clearing. I couldn’t see any sign of human life, aside from the wooden sculptures. Nervously, I wrapped my arms around my torso and began walking out of the clearing and into the thick of the woods.
I didn’t stop yelling Monica’s name as I walked. When she didn’t reply, I broke out into a run. My feet were bare, but the ground underneath me was as soft as a thick carpet. I stumbled over a log and almost fell, but miraculously, I felt my body lift through the air, and I landed on my feet.
“Monica!” I screamed. “Where are you?”
There was no answer. As I ran, the woods grew darker and darker. The lights twinkled and fizzled out, and I realized that the trees were getting thicker and closer together. I shuddered and forced myself to run faster than ever. A small cabin came into my sight, and I ran closer, circling around and looking for an entrance. It was made of logs, with mud daubed between them to create a seal. There were no windows, and it seemed to sway in the breeze as if it were a moment away from collapsing.
In frustration, I circled the cabin over and over. I pressed my hands to the walls and screamed Monica’s name, desperate to know that she was safe. Finally, my thumb found a protruding lip. I pulled, and a small door swung open.
The inside of the cabin was dark. I got on my hands and knees and crawled inside, glancing around and coughing in the musty air. It seemed abandoned, like it had been there for hundreds of years. But as I crawled all the way inside, the door slammed shut behind me. Panic and fear welled up in my chest, and I screamed. I already felt suffocated; the stuffy air of the cabin was musty and old.
“Help me!” I shrieked. “Somebody, help! I’m stuck!”
There was no reply. A strange, high-pitched whirring sound began to play all around me, and I shivered. Tears of fright pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t stop myself from beginning to sob as the tears rolled down my face and dripped from my cheeks. As I screamed for help, a sudden gust of hot air blew over me. I screamed as I saw red and orange flames begin to dance in a corner of the room. They lit up the entire inside of the cabin, and I gasped when I realized there was a huge stone hearth. Brass runes were set into the stones, and they flashed in the firelight.
“Hello?” My legs were nervous pillars of jelly as I walked toward the fireplace, sniffling and wiping my eyes. “Monica? Is that you?”
The flames flickered and grew higher. I gasped as I tilted my head up to the ceiling and realized the cabin had suddenly tripled in size. I was standing in the middle of a giant hall, with rushes on the dirt floor. The flames licked at my body, singing my hair and eyebrows until I smelled the acrid scent of burnt death. I screamed again and tried to scramble back, but I tripped over my feet and landed on my butt. My hands scraped the dirt floor under the ferny rushes, and I groaned, a low guttural sound.
The flames licked and leapt higher toward the sky. I was certain that at any moment, the
small cabin would be engulfed in flames. I closed my eyes, rocking back and forth and praying for a quick death.
“Elizabeth!”
My eyes bolted open. Impossibly, I saw Monica’s slight figure standing in the middle of the fire. Her brown eyes were ablaze, and her blonde hair was tangled and matted. There were odd markings on her face, and her pale arms were bare.
“Help me, Elizabeth,” Monica cried. She closed her eyes, and I could see her face was etched with pain and sorrow.
“I don’t know how!” I wailed. “Help me!”
“I’m trapped, Elizabeth,” Monica said sadly. “I can’t escape. I’m stuck here!”
“I promise I’ll get you out,” I said. The rush of the flames grew louder. The fire began to spread from the fireplace, licking and creeping up the walls until logs and dried mud were raining from the ceiling. I cried out as a log painfully hit me on the head and bounced to the floor. Sobbing loudly, I curled up on the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. I knew I was going to die; I just hoped that it came quickly and didn’t hurt.
“Elizabeth, help me,” Monica’s voice said. She sounded tiny and far away. “Help me, Elizabeth!”
“I can’t,” I sobbed into my arms. “I don’t know how!”
“Elizabeth!”
I jolted awake with a gasp. My heart was racing, and my skin was covered in a layer of damp perspiration. I glanced around quickly, looking for the giant fire and Monica and the old cabin.
It took me a minute to realize that I was in my bed, bundled up and covered with my favorite duvet. My mom was leaning over me, frowning.
“Honey, you were screaming in your sleep,” Mom said. She touched my forehead with the back of her hand. “And you’re burning up!”
The cabin, the fire – hell, even Monica – had seemed so real. I couldn’t believe that I was back at home, in my own bed, safe.
“I had a nightmare,” I said shakily. When I wiped my eyes, I realized my cheeks were damp. I’d been crying in my sleep.
Mom sat on the bed. “I’m worried about you,” she said. “Why don’t you come downstairs and have dinner with Aidan and me?”
I swallowed. “I’m not hungry.” Inside my chest, my heart was still pounding like a frantic drum. “I can’t eat right now, Mom. Really.”
Touch of Fire (Into the Darkness Book 1) Page 23