What about the other one percent?
“I’m not putting my daughter in the loony bin, sheriff,” Dad demanded calmly, but I saw his upper lip curl slightly in disgust. Inwardly, I rallied behind him with fireworks and all. Outwardly, I continued to try and hide how scared I was of the conversation.
Burt visibly swallowed. “I’m just tryin’ to help you out some. From my side of the fence, something has to be done to fix her behavior, and I’d prefer not to have to fill out the paperwork for juvie again. But I’m leaving this completely up to you.”
Studying him with gray eyes so unlike my own, Dad sat there for another good five seconds before getting up and casting a blood-curdling look my way. “You won’t have to fill out any more paperwork on her, sheriff. My daughter is done defiling public property from this moment on. Have a good day, Burt.” Bobbing his head to the older man, he motioned for me to move out of the door, and I didn’t think I had ever scurried faster to do what I was told in my entire life.
My dad was a quiet, smart man and always had been, even before Mom died, or so I’d been told. Having graduated from Berkley at twenty-one and gotten a job as the head of the history department at the Chicago Field Museum two years later, he wasn’t one to be slow on anything, really. But the one thing he’d never been able to understand was his only child. I was the most outrageous and confusing piece of work he’d ever seen, and I knew it frustrated him that he couldn’t place me in his logical, organized mind. I was unpredictable, and that made his sleep patterns messy and his colleagues stare. It was outrageously frustrating that his daughter was only good at one endeavor, and that was messing everything up.
As we exited the police station, one time too many, I saw that torment in his eyes even without him saying a word.
I’d let him down. Once again. And it wasn’t even my fault.
I needed to tell him. I needed to let him know I wasn’t just being spiteful toward him; I wasn’t purposely making his life hell. I was just trying to escape the constant battle I went through every single day of my life, under the same roof as him, but without his realization. He had to understand.
But sickeningly, I reminded myself he never would. And possibly, he might just agree to send me to that asylum like the sheriff suggested.
The silence was thickly spread as we made our way through the parking lot, the morning sun blaring through the Chicago haziness already and the smell of morning coffees and breakfasts consuming my senses to remind me just how early it was. And just how late to work my father was going to be.
While he angrily fumbled for the keys to unlock the car and I prayed silently he wouldn’t get it open in order to lecture me the whole ride home, I heard someone shout out and turned to see who it was. A young boy dressed in a regular police uniform was jogging over to us with a friendly expression on his face. My dad pursed his lips as the kid approached our navy-blue sedan, out of breath, and went to shake Dad’s hand.
“Mr. Rose, a pleasure.”
Dad looked drained of energy already, running a hand over his messy salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
The overly excited cop’s nametag on his left pocket read Young. He smiled broadly at my dad before turning to me and nodding his head. “Oh, no, we haven’t. I was just told by the sheriff to rush out here and give this back to a certain Mr. Rose’s daughter. And since you two were the only non-cop car owners in the parking lot, I just assumed…” As he lifted his hand, the golden chain of a locket sparkled in the light of the barely breaking day. “Does this look like it might be something of yours?”
I jerked my hand up to my neck to feel for the jewelry that usually swung there, and my lungs started to ache when I found nothing. “My locket,” I breathed.
Officer Young reached forward and slid the necklace into my palm easily. When I looked up to meet his eyes, I was jarred frozen when I thought I recognized him.
He looked startlingly just like the Lost Boy in my mosaics.
“Oh, wow, thank you. She would’ve gone ballistic if she lost that thing again,” Dad said, breaking into the numbing eye contact between the guy and myself. The car finally beeped to life as Dad managed to unlock it. “It was her mother’s.”
“Just doing my job, sir.” Officer Young cleared his throat, standing up straighter, and then flashed us both a charming smile before dipping his head. “You two have a nice day now.”
“Same to you.” Dad waved good-bye before opening his door and giving me an expectant look. “You should really be more careful, Lacey. You can paint graffiti all day long, but you can’t get back something like your mom’s locket.”
I was completely dumbfounded as I watched the kid trot back into the building, the necklace still perched on my hand as if he somehow contaminated it. When he was about to slip into the station’s front doors, he turned at the last minute, and our eyes met again. There was a moment of mental recognition between us before he threw a devilish smirk over his shoulder and finally disappeared inside.
“Get in the car, Lace,” Dad grumbled, now revving the engine to life and having absolutely none of my antics anymore.
But I was in too much shock to hear him correctly. Because not only had that guy resembled the Lost Boy almost perfectly, but there was also another major factor I didn’t quite understand to be possible, and it haunted me the entire lecture-filled ride back to my house:
I’d lost my locket two weeks ago. And even worse…
It was supposed to be at the bottom of the Chicago River right now.
Two
“YOU’RE GROUNDED. FOREVER,” DAD SAID GRUFFLY, grabbing my phone from my desk and stepping through my bedroom door with a huff to go hide it somewhere else in the house—a place I’d, admittedly, probably find at some point, despite his best efforts.
He’d never been a “lose his cool” kind of dad. But with just a few simple words, he could crush all my dreams like a bug under his shoe.
Returning before I could really digest what he’d just said, he opened the door wider to give me marching orders. “Go to the store and get groceries. You’re grounded from your phone, computer, credit card, and television. Your bike is the only transportation you have to go anywhere—meaning to the store and school. That’s it. When you get back, we’ll talk about where we’ll go from here. Understood?”
“Yes.” I ogled my floral-print bedspread guiltily.
“Yes what?” he barked.
“Y-yes, sir.” I bit my lip and then flinched as he left without another word and closed the door loudly behind him.
I was in big trouble. But that was what I kind of really wanted all along, right? Just some attention from my father. Anything. Even if it meant the bad kind.
My shoulders sagged as I got up and shuffled over to my window seat, settling into the cushion with a sigh and noticing the money he’d set on my dresser. Even though I'd been up the whole night, there was no way I could sleep. Besides, no cell phone? I didn’t have anyone to call anyway. Computer? No one would DM me. TV? I didn’t have any interest in watching pointless romances that always had happy endings. There was no such thing, and I’d always thought the people who wrote those stories were ridiculous. Everything they published in entertainment was undoubtedly unrealistic and exaggerated. Besides, I had the best horror shows in my dreams every night.
The sight of a couple teenage boys waltzing by our house brought me straight back to the thoughts I’d been trying to avoid since leaving the police station. But now there was no stopping the reminders of the Lost Boy, rubbing the edge of my mother’s locket now securely around my neck and frowning at my hands instead. Was I just seeing things again? It’d happened a few times before; the dreams became so consuming that I saw the chilling figures in midday. I hadn’t slept in two days, trying to escape more of the dreams piling onto my subconscious before I had the chance to expel them. Was that it? Was I imagining the Lost Boy? But then how had a random police officer found my locket after I chucked it from th
e Michigan Avenue Bridge? It was impossible.
I heard a loud thumping from down the hall again. “Now, Lacey!”
Deciding I didn’t have any answers, I ran my hands through my hair and got up to pocket the cash Dad left for me. Shouldering on one of my jackets and tying my high-tops, my hair annoyingly brushing against my eyelashes, I huffed in annoyance. Thanks to my mother, I was stuck with the blond, unruly mess she prided so much, when in truth, it was frizzy and an all-around pain in the butt to take care of. Forget styling because that wasn’t even in the picture, and most definitely don’t suggest putting it into a ponytail when all it would do was break the elastic.
Really great, Mom.
I felt along the wall for the light switch on my way out of my room and all behind went dark, a shiver running down my spine. Something weird was going on, and I had a feeling my dreams had something to do with it. But I had no idea what.
Yanking the front door open and with my shoulder shoving open the screen door, I stopped at my dumb little bike. I swore my dad got it directly from the Wicked Witch of the West; it even had a basket. All that was missing was a little dog and a pair of shiny red shoes.
Did I mention I hated the thing?
Raising the kickstand with my foot, I mounted the dreaded bike. My hands were frozen and my body shivered. It was definitely getting colder out, but that wasn’t new to me. Chicago was always chilly this time of year.
My breath billowed in the cold air as I pushed off and started peddling down our street. The houses passed by in blurs, and the wind rippled in and out of my hair. Maybe I could enjoy this. The fresh air, the brief escape from the confinement of my house, and my dad’s neglect. I was glad he was mad; he barely came out of his office or room anymore. And me, well, I was just kind of… there. The darling daughter of the CEO of the biggest museum in Illinois and completely invisible. To the world, to him, to everyone. And I didn’t know if that would ever change.
Chimneys puffed smoke into the overcast sky as I pedaled faster. People on our street were so old-fashioned that they still bought wood and used fireplaces to keep warm. In a way, I appreciated it. But the heater was also my best ally in our quaint Victorian.
Turning a corner, the bike skidded, and my heart jumped into my throat. Thankfully, I regained control of the stupid thing and continued up the road, seeing just a few cars pass by. Almost everyone was still home, drinking coffee and just beginning their morning, dreading the cold. I tried not to focus on how frozen I was, both inside and out, while I pedaled up the next hill, also rimmed with houses.
Some part of me just wished I could run away. Maybe then my dad might appreciate me more, and then I could stop continually disappointing him.
Mom disappeared ten years ago this December.
Ever since, Dad sort of forgot I was still here. He shut me out of his cherry-wood office, and I went to school like the good little motherless girl I was like nothing happened. They assumed she was dead anyway, and Dad stopped the searches when we ran out of cash. Soon enough, he sort of disappeared just like she had.
Honestly, I was just tired of it. Too many years of not fitting in. Too many years of declining birthday parties and staying inside, away from everyone. Because when Dad locked himself away from the world, he took me and my nightmares with him.
Now, I just wanted out.
The only sound around me was the whisk of my bike wheels, the leaves that crunched under them, and my own breath. I made it to the market on the next street without much effort since it was downhill. The cold air pierced my lungs as I leaned my bike against the market’s outer wall. When I stepped forward, the doors opened automatically and blew welcoming warm air onto my numb face. It was bright inside, and the floor tiles reflected the bright-yellow lights that shone down from the ceiling, welcoming guests to aisles of supplies. But it really just reminded me of a hospital for some reason. Lifeless and sterile.
I pulled the money from my pocket and saw a note folded into it. It read: milk, eggs, bread, sugar, Advil. Sighing, I made my way to the refrigerated section, rubbing my arms to rid the permanent goose bumps that hadn’t gone away since the weird encounter this morning.
Stop thinking about it, Lacey.
I got the milk we needed and scanned the list for what was next. Of course they were out of the eggs my dad liked, so I walked to the front of the store and tried to get a cashier’s attention. “Excuse me,” I said, hoping he heard me.
The boy who turned to face me was no older than me, maybe by a year, and had on the store’s attire, including a blue apron and white messenger hat. His definite bedhead brown hair shot out in all directions from beneath the hat, and he was about five inches taller than me, with wide shoulders. He smiled down at me, his blue eyes practically sparkling. “Yes? Can I help you?”
For a second, I was so caught up in his gaze that I didn’t process his answer. When he leaned in closer, waiting for my response, I cleared my throat in shocked realization. “You… Officer Young?”
The exact replica to the Lost Boy tilted his head briefly, glancing down at his outfit. “Sorry, no officer here.”
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes tight. I was going crazy, imagining him in the daylight.
When I opened them again, the Lost Boy was still the same, except this time he was watching me expectantly.
I coughed to clear my throat again. “Right, sorry. Thought you were someone else.” When he went back to work marking up prices, I studied my feet. “What I was going to say was you’re out of the American Chestnut eggs… Will you be getting them back in stock soon?”
I don’t know why this boy was unnerving me. Stupid antisocial skills. This was absolutely insane, seeing these young guys as the real-life Lost Boy in my paintings. So I didn’t embarrass myself anymore, I tried to seem uninterested in him—glancing at shoppers as they passed by.
“Sure, let me see what I can do,” he said, motioning for me to follow him, a grin on his face.
We walked down aisle four to the refrigerated section, his walk confident and knowing while mine was awkward and unsure. I followed him while tucking hair behind my ear as we came up to the egg section. When I stopped, I expected him to as well, but to my surprise, he continued walking.
He turned a corner, and I quickly started to run after him to catch up. “Officer Young… I, um… mean, um, you! Aren’t the eggs back there?” I pointed, now turning the corner after him and seeing his strong, skinny form head toward the very back of the store, where a pair of big gray doors stood. I jogged after him, simultaneously questioning if I should still follow. But curiosity got the better of me, and I entered the doors anyway.
“Hello?” I asked after him, looking around in both directions.
The doors opened to a huge warehouse, bigger than the museum building my father worked in and bigger than I expected a little run-of-the-mill Shop N’ Go to have attached to it. The walls were all the same gray, like the doors that led back there, and large plastic-wrapped bundles of goods towered high above me.
So dazzled by the high shelves and beams of the warehouse, I lost sight of the boy for a minute. I quickly ran forward, sliding on the slick floor, and there he was again, ahead of me, still walking fast. Out of breath and tired of following him, I cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted, “Hey!”
And stubbornly enough, he kept going. I was about to give up and go blow off some steam by punching some bags of flour or something, but instead, I sighed to calm myself. He was just a cocky, immature kid and probably liked messing with people like me—the easy to mess with. So I stiffly marched after him, determined to talk some sense into him when I caught up.
He turned one more corner and disappeared behind a door at the far edge of the warehouse.
I pushed the door open with a yank of the steel handle on its outside. “You’re starting to really p—” I stopped in my tracks when I realized there wasn’t anyone in the dirty little freezer I was now in, and then, suddenly, I heard the doo
r swing behind me.
And then the click of the lock.
Shuddering, I spun around in the dark, banging my fists on the door when all I felt was smooth, icy steel instead of a way out. “Hey! This isn’t funny. There’s no handle in here!” There was no response. My heart started beating so fast I could feel it at the back of my throat. Gulping, my mouth went dry and the cold of the freezer stuck to every part of me.
No, I couldn’t have a panic attack right now. I really had to control myself before I started hyperventilating. My biggest fear besides my nightmares: I couldn’t be in enclosed spaces for long periods of time.
So I pounded on the door, feeling like the darkness was enveloping me, and tears began to spring to the surface. Focus, Lacey, focus, I told myself. I needed light to see if there was another way out, but where was the switch?
On the wall by the doorframe, I finally found it and flipped it on. Breathe, Lacey, breathe.
The room around me was small, but it seemed larger because it was colored the same dull gray as the warehouse. Eerie flickering florescent lights cast onto the shelves that lined the walls, loaded with scattered frozen foods and rusty with use. It was a meat freezer, with no windows. Not out of a horror movie at all.
Sliding pathetically down the door, with my face in my hands, I reached for my phone in my pocket. But of course, Dad took that away. Now I was locked in a warehouse freezer with no way out, and no one would know I was here because my father took away the only thing I might need in a situation like this. Literally, this was the only situation I would need something like a phone for—to call for help.
And all I’d wanted was some eggs.
Kicking a mop bucket beside me, I watched as it flipped over with a loud bang. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was all my fault. Everything was my fault.
I ran my hands down my face, and when my eyes lazily focused, what I saw there made me open my mouth and scream.
Mere Phantasy Page 2