“I have to go home,” I repeat. I think of the mural on the wall at my old house. All the time I spent with Robin, and the way he seemed to know me so well, almost better than I knew myself. How long has this been happening to me? For months? Longer than that?
I run toward the front door, ignoring Nicholas and Holly as they call for me to come back. When I climb into the car, I lean against the seat and take quick, shallow breaths with my eyes closed. For a second I imagine that I’m a kid again, riding in my parents’ car on that pretty day nine years ago, when everything seemed perfect, until it wasn’t. I keep my eyes shut as Kimber starts to drive again, afraid to open them and look at the world around me, preferring not to see anything at all, clinging to the knowledge that at least the darkness is real.
Kimber doesn’t speak to me until we reach my house. She pulls up to the curb and puts her car in park, but she leaves the engine running. Then she slips off her sunglasses, sliding them up her forehead to use them as a headband.
“I have to go home,” she says. “I don’t want to be late.”
I stare past her, at my house. All I want is to go inside and find my sister there, waiting for me. I want her to explain everything that’s happened over the past few days. I want someone to confide in, someone who understands me and doesn’t think I’m crazy. I used to think Rachel was the only true friend I had, aside from maybe Robin. I’m starting to believe that I don’t have anyone, that even my bond with my own sister has been a figment of my imagination.
“You have to tell your aunt and uncle what’s going on,” Kimber says. “They need to be looking for Rachel.”
The night at the fair seems like it happened so long ago. Who knows if my memory of the events that evening is even accurate? I’m not certain of anything. I thought I was different, that I was special, just like my grandma. Now I realize, what’s most likely is that neither one of us is special at all. We’re just crazy.
“Kimber?”
She sighs. “Yeah?”
“When we were talking earlier today in the bathroom, I started to tell you what happened to the Captain, but I didn’t finish the story. I never told you how he died.”
She doesn’t even bother to feign interest. “You can tell me some other time.”
“No. I want to tell you now.”
“Alice,” she says, frustrated, “it’s not important.”
“Yes it is,” I insist. “Something happened that day after they took Rachel to the hospital.” I bite the inside of my cheek, hard, until I can taste blood. “Something happened to the Captain.”
“Okay,” she says, obviously humoring me, “what happened?”
“After my parents took Rachel to the hospital, and after my grandma bandaged up my leg, she put the Captain on the back porch. She tied his leash to the railing so he couldn’t get away. We could see him from the kitchen door. My grandma cut me a slice of angel food cake with strawberries, and then she went upstairs to change her clothes. I was alone in the kitchen.”
I pause, waiting for Kimber to give me a sign that she’s listening. She opens her purse and removes a stick of gum. Then she puts it in her mouth and starts to chew loudly, making it clear that she wants me to hurry up and finish so she can get the hell out of Crazytown.
“I sat there eating my cake, getting more and more angry with the Captain. My leg was throbbing. I was thinking about my sister at the hospital; I was worried about her. I started wishing that something terrible would happen to the dog. After a few minutes, I went onto the back porch where he was lying down, asleep. I put my hands on his body. I could feel him breathing. I hated him so much at that moment—I know it was wrong, and that he was just being a dog, but I was only a little girl. Kimber, I stood there touching him for what felt like an hour. He was twitching in his sleep, like he was having a dream. Then he stopped. It happened all of a sudden. One minute he was breathing, the next minute he wasn’t. I could feel the life leaving his body. I know that sounds crazy.” I pause. “I thought I could feel the energy leaving his body. I thought I was taking it from him.”
Our next-door neighbor walks past with her dog. She flashes us a suspicious look, leaning down to peer inside the car. Kimber wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave, like nothing in the world is the matter.
I stare out my window at TJ’s house. His front yard is neatly manicured, the lawn recently mowed, the flowerbeds free of dead leaves or other debris from last night’s hard rain. At the edge of the property, there is a round burst of tiny yellow flowers peeking up from the frays of the lawn. They are the same kind of flowers, I realize, that Rachel has been collecting for who knows how long.
“Alice,” Kimber says, once my neighbor is farther down the street, “I can’t listen to this anymore.”
I nod. “I understand. I know it wasn’t real, Kimber. I know he just happened to die, and that it was all a big coincidence. But my grandma believed me. She told me it would be our secret. And I trusted her, you know? I wanted to believe her so badly.”
Kimber closes her eyes and leans back in her seat. She presses her palms against her face and takes a few deep breaths. “You need to go home,” she whispers.
“Kimber, what if none of this is real? What if you’re not real? What if this is all—”
“Just stop,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I mean it, I want you to go. This is too much for me right now. I can’t do it, Alice. I’m sorry.”
She turns away, waiting for me to get out of the car. I’m having trouble fighting back tears. My world, I realize, does not make sense to anyone but me.
I get out of the car. Once I’m on my front porch, I turn around to watch her pull away without another glance in my direction.
When I walk into my house, I freeze. I drop Rachel’s bookbag onto the hardwood floor.
My aunt and uncle are sitting on the living-room sofa with Sean Morelli. TJ is with them.
My aunt is crying. She’s holding a sheet of sketch paper in her lap. It’s the drawing I did yesterday of Charlie, asleep with the kittens.
Sean Morelli won’t look at me. TJ is glaring. My uncle’s whole face is bright red.
“Alice,” he says.
I nod. “Yes. It’s me.”
He puts his head in his hands. My aunt’s cries turn into sobs. “What did you do?” she demands, staring at me. Her expression is pure heartbreak, a combination of anger and horror directed at me alone. As she stands up, the drawing of Charlie and the kittens drifts to the floor. My uncle reaches toward her, trying to pull her back into her seat.
“What did you do?” she repeats, screaming now, struggling to get away from my uncle, trying to lunge at me.
What did I do? I cannot find my voice. I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come out. In my mind, I hear them over and over again: I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My aunt and uncle seem almost paralyzed with anger and disappointment. After a long silence, it is Sean Morelli who finally takes me gently by the arm and guides me toward the oversize chair in the corner of the room. As we walk past TJ, I stop, even as Sean tries to pull me farther along.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. “You don’t know either of us. You might think you know Rachel, but you’re wrong.” I pause. “I know her. Better than you ever will.” But my words sound hollow, even to me. Maybe I don’t know my sister at all. I think of the flowers in TJ’s front yard, and I understand that he must have been giving them to her for a while now, as some kind of small romantic gesture. And Rachel kept them close to her, but she made sure to hide them from me.
TJ leans forward until our heads are only a few inches apart. He stares right into my eyes. “I knew it was you today after school. Want to know how?”
I don’t blink. I don’t flinch. “How?”
“Because Rachel never calls me TJ. She calls me by my real first name. Tom.”
I shrug in careless defiance. “That doesn’t mean anyt
hing.”
His breath, so close to my face, smells like peppermint bubble gum. “Maybe not,” he agrees. “But I can tell you one thing, Alice. I’ve been seeing Rachel for almost a year. Really. Almost a whole year, and she never even told you. She couldn’t stand the idea of you knowing, because she thought you would ruin it.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I take a step backward, closer to Sean’s arms. “That’s not true,” I say.
“It is true. And you know what else?” He leans closer to me. I cannot back away any farther; Sean’s arms are all the way around my shoulders now. “She couldn’t wait to get away from you.”
“Hey,” Sean interrupts, “come on. You don’t need to do this right now.”
TJ closes his mouth and takes a step backward, but he continues to glare—first at Sean, then at me.
Still holding my arm, Sean leads me all the way to the chair, holding on to me as I sit down. I look up at him, desperate for a hint of sympathy or understanding. His expression is glazed and empty, like he cannot believe I’m standing right here in front of him.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
He blinks a few times. His eyes are damp. His neck and cheeks have turned a deep shade of blotchy red. “You’re really Alice,” he says.
“Yes,” I say.
I can actually see him, right now, breaking into a sweat. Tiny beads gather like shiny sand in the hollows beneath his eyes, on his forehead, at his temples. He lets out a deep breath. “Holy shit,” he murmurs. “You sure as hell fooled me.”
“Alice,” my uncle says, “we need some answers, and we need them right now. Where is Rachel? We know she’s not with Robin.”
That’s right, I think, because Robin isn’t real.
“Alice,” my uncle repeats, more firmly now, “answer me. Where is your sister? When was the last time you saw her? Was it last Saturday? At the fair?”
I shake my head. “No. I saw her yesterday.”
“Yesterday,” he repeats. “Okay. Where did you see her?”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry that it feels like I’m going to choke on my tongue. “At Grandma’s,” I say. “I saw her in Grandma’s barn.”
My aunt glares, first at me, then at my uncle. “My mother. My own goddamn mother. Are you hearing this, Jeff?”
He nods. “Yes.” To me he says, “Does Grandma know Rachel’s there?”
My aunt stands up. She stomps her foot against the floor with such force that the heel of her shoe breaks off, tipping her balance so she has to grab my uncle’s arm for support. “Of course she knows!” she shrieks, leaning over to yank off her shoe without missing a beat. “Get the phone. I’m calling her. No—wait. Get the car keys. We’re going over there right now.”
My uncle nods. He heads toward the kitchen.
As the four of us sit there, waiting, there is a sudden loud knock at the front door. Nobody moves to answer it. After a few seconds, the doorbell rings.
My aunt crosses the room, taking off her other shoe as she walks. Once she opens the door, I can only make out the low murmur of her voice, but not her actual words.
I look at Sean. “Where’s Charlie?” I ask.
“At work. I’m supposed to pick him up in a little while.”
“Oh.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Mr. Morelli?”
This time, he doesn’t tell me to call him Sean. “Yes?”
“What were you doing over here?”
“What? Oh.” He shakes his head, like he’s distracted by something. “I, uh, came down for a beer. I wasn’t here five minutes before TJ came banging on the door, insisting you weren’t Rachel. Your aunt didn’t believe him at first. She went upstairs to take a look around your room, and she found the drawing you did of Charlie.” He pauses. As he glances toward the door, he lowers his voice. “Tell me the truth, Alice,” he whispers. “You didn’t see Rachel at your grandma’s house yesterday, did you?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I saw her.” But did I? I can’t be sure. I can’t be sure of anything anymore.
He narrows his eyes. His lips curl into a slow smile. When he speaks again, his voice is so low that I can barely make out his words. But I could almost swear that he whispers, “You’re a little fucking liar.”
I don’t have time to react. My aunt comes into the room, followed by—oh God. Just when things were going so well.
It’s Mr. Slater.
“Alice,” my aunt says, “Mr. Slater stopped by to drop off your homework assignments. When I told him you were here, he said he had something he wanted to ask you.”
I stare at my aunt. “Really? Now?”
She shrugs. “He insisted.”
“Oh.” Right away, I can smell the reek of cigarette smoke all over him. As usual, he looks sad and disheveled.
“Alice?” he asks. “Are you sure? You look just like Rachel.”
I shake my head. “I’m Alice.”
“Oh.” He pauses, stares at the pile of papers in his arms. “I feel silly asking this. I’m sure it doesn’t matter. You must have seen her picture somewhere and used it to work from. I hope you’ll understand. I—I—don’t want you to draw her anymore. If it’s all the same to you.”
And as he stands in my living room, my teacher begins to cry.
“Mr. Slater?” I ask, startled. I’ve never seen one of my teachers cry before. The sight is unsettling, to say the least. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My uncle has returned with his car keys. “What’s going on?” He looks at Mr. Slater. “Who are you?”
“My homeroom teacher,” I explain.
“Alice has done something to upset him,” my aunt says drily.
“No, no she hasn’t. I’m sure she didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t even have known, but I was collecting her assignments today, thinking I’d give them to Rachel to bring to her. I went to the art room, because I know how Alice loves to draw—I thought maybe there was something she’d like to work on from home. And her teacher gave me this.”
His hand is shaking so much that he can barely grip the sketch paper. He’s still crying. He shoves the drawing toward me, almost like he can’t bear to hold on to it for even a second longer.
It’s one of my portraits of the gap-toothed girl.
“Oh my God.” In an oddly intimate gesture, my aunt reaches out toward my uncle and laces her fingers through his. “I recognize her now. I can’t believe I forgot.” She stares at Mr. Slater. “Was she your daughter?”
He nods. He wipes at his eyes with his free hand. “She is my daughter. She is my daughter. She is.”
My fingertips are going numb. The room feels fuzzy, like I’m not getting enough air. Sean Morelli gazes at Mr. Slater with a mixture of confusion and fascination.
Even though I’m sitting down, I’m lightheaded. “Mr. Slater, what are you talking about? What do you mean, she’s your daughter? I didn’t even know you had a daughter.”
“Jesus,” my uncle interrupts. I can almost see the light bulb above his head. “You’re Jamie Slater’s father.”
He’s still crying. Without saying anything, he places my homework on the coffee table. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket. It falls open to display a photograph of the face I’ve come to know so well over the years, even if I didn’t know who she was. I lean forward, barely breathing, and stare into her eyes.
It’s like she’s looking right at me. It’s like she’s been waiting all this time for me to discover her identity.
The room begins to fade away. Nobody notices as I struggle to breathe, to remain conscious. The last exchange I hear is Sean Morelli asking, “Who is Jamie Slater?”
“It was years ago.” It’s my uncle’s voice. “She just disappeared one day.”
Then my aunt says, “Alice, are you okay? Alice?”
Against the blackness, I see the back of a young woman as she jogs into space. Her long blond h
air is wound into two braids that bounce against her back with every step. She turns around to look at me, raises one hand in a friendly wave. She smiles, like she’s been waiting for me, like she’s never been so happy to see somebody in her entire life. Her name, I know now, is Jamie Slater.
She looks forward again and continues to jog, her steps light and carefree. The lines of her body blur into the darkness. Then there’s nothing at all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I come to, I am lying on the hardwood floor in the living room, surrounded by my aunt, my uncle, TJ, and Sean Morelli. As their faces come into focus, I feel something cool and damp on my forehead. I try to sit up, but my uncle puts his hand on my shoulder, pressing me gently downward.
“What happened?” I ask, blinking and blinking, turning my head away as my aunt wipes my face with a wet waschloth.
“You passed out,” Sean says. “You slid right out of your chair.”
There is a hissing sound in the back of my brain as I remember his words from a few minutes earlier. You’re a little fucking liar. Why would he speak to me that way?
As my aunt is wiping my cheeks, she stops. She lowers the washcloth and leans closer to me. “Alice,” she says, “your face. What happened?”
She’s talking about the bruises; she hasn’t seen them until now.
I thought I knew exactly where the bruises came from, but I don’t. I don’t know anything. All I have is a name—Jamie Slater—and a banged-up face, and a sister who’s been trying to get away from me for over a year, if there’s any truth to what TJ says. I’m guessing there’s at least some. I have been wrong about so many things. Robin. Rachel. The money. The Captain. And the kitten the other night, the one that came back to life—surely that was all in my head, too. Crazy, I think. I’m crazy.
I brush away my uncle’s arm and manage to bring myself into a sitting position. “I don’t know what happened,” I tell my aunt. “Where did Mr. Slater go?”
“He left,” my uncle says. He and my aunt exchange a glance. “Alice … what happened to you? Did somebody hurt you? Did you get into a fight?”
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