“Rory, listen, I understand why you’re upset,” he said patiently, looking me in the eye. I blinked and stared down at our hands, unaccustomed to this kind of contact, this kind of gentle treatment. “You’ve just been through a horrifying experience. Remember after your mom died? Those flashes you used to have? Maybe this is something like that. Maybe it’s just another manifestation of post-traumatic stress.”
He reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear, just like he used to do when I was little and I’d skinned my knee or fallen out of bed. I clenched my hands until my fingernails cut into the flesh of my palm. Little did he know I was having flashes and that these other things I was seeing, hearing, feeling, experiencing had nothing in common with those. But now didn’t seem like the time to bring up my little disconnects from reality. It would only prove his point—that I was losing it.
“Why don’t you go down to the beach with Darcy and try to relax?” he suggested.
My mouth was completely dry, my heart working overtime. As I sat there, my hand inside my father’s hands, I’d never felt so alone, so utterly baffled, so scared.
He didn’t believe me. He was never going to believe me. But I knew Steven Nell was out there, and it was only a matter of time before he struck.
I woke up with a start in the middle of the night, certain the sound of breaking glass had interrupted my sleep. Heart in my throat, I whipped the sheets aside and crept downstairs. The fog was thick outside every window, and all I could hear was that incessant hissing as the wet mist crept along the shingles, the rooftop, the windowpanes.
I paused outside the door to Darcy’s room, my pulse pounding in my ears, and pushed it open. Her bed was empty.
“Dad?” I called. I crossed the hall and shoved his door open. There was no one there.
Another crash, this one closer. I whirled around and raced downstairs.
“Dad? Darcy?”
That was when I heard the laugh.
I screamed at the top of my lungs and lunged for the front door. My hands trembled as I worked the locks and flung myself outside onto the deck. The fog was so thick I could have balled it up in my hand. All I could hear was the hissing. The hissing and the sound of ragged breath.
“Please, no,” I whimpered quietly. “Daddy? Help me.”
The fog swirled dead ahead, and that was when I saw their bodies, all lined up in a neat little row. Darcy with the back of her head bashed in. My father’s leg broken, his throat slit. And Olive. Olive was…barely recognizable.
“No!” I screamed, backing away from them. “Nonononono.”
I bumped into someone, and a dry hand came down over my mouth.
“Miss me?”
I sat up straight in my bed to a deafening crack of thunder accompanied by a flash of lightning. Struggling for breath, I placed my hand over my stomach, which was clenched in pain. I grasped the sheets with my other hand and held my breath until it dulled into a mere ache.
“It was just a dream,” I said out loud. “Just a dream.”
Slowly, I lay back on my sweat-drenched pillows. This was the drawback of being on the third floor. There definitely wasn’t as much insulation up here, and I was sure I was hearing every raindrop, every rumble, much clearer than Darcy or my dad.
I got up, grabbed my iPad off the desk, and took it back to the bed. I’d tried several times today and still hadn’t been able to get any service, but it couldn’t hurt to try again. I had to at least check the news sites and find out if there was any new information about Steven Nell. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe they’d caught him. Maybe tomorrow we’d be able to go home.
But when I clicked open the browser, there was nothing but a blank white screen and that colorful spinning wheel. I sighed and powered down the iPad.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I stared out the huge window, watching the lightning strikes over the ocean. Each jagged bolt lit up pockets of waves, pockmarked by the rain as the water raged and roiled. As I breathed in and out, in and out, slowly the nightmare faded.
Suddenly, I heard a whoop, and when the sky lit up its brightest yet, I could just make out four silhouettes out on the water, straddling surfboards. I scrambled up to my knees and leaned forward. People were surfing in this mess? Were they insane?
Two of the figures turned the tips of their boards toward the shore and started to paddle furiously. They jumped to their feet and rode a massive wave in, side by side, until one of them tumbled forward, careening face-first into the water. My hands flew up to cover my mouth and stayed there until he surfaced once more. He half swam, half staggered his way to the shore, where his friend greeted him with a high five. Soon after, another of the four rode a wave in and joined them near a red cooler in the sand. Rain pelted their shoulders, but they didn’t seem to care—like they thought they were invincible. I envied them. I used to feel that way, and I wished I could go back.
Lightning flashed again, and in that split second I recognized them. Kevin, Fisher, and Bea. The three of them talked for a couple of minutes before they all turned to look out at the water. I turned to look, too. The fourth surfer was still out there. He’d paddled out past the breakers and now sat, his legs dangling casually on either side of his board as he bobbed up and down on the rough sea like a buoy. He was turned out toward the horizon, just staring, his hands lying flat on his thighs.
My heart gave an extra beat. A sad beat. There was something about that lonely figure, something about the way he stared, that spoke of loneliness, of mourning, maybe even regret. Then the guys on the beach shouted something, and he turned his head just as the sky illuminated again. My breath caught. The angular face and wet, haphazard blond hair. It was Tristan.
For some reason I dove backward on my bed, landing on my butt with my knees akimbo. The second I did, I felt foolish. It wasn’t like he was going to look up and spot me. And even if he did, who cared? I lived here. I was allowed to look out my window. Besides, he’d spied on me enough. He was fair game.
I crept forward on my hands and knees and peeked out the window again. He paddled in front of a wave and popped up onto his board. I marveled at how graceful he was, how effortless he made it look, balancing barefoot on a soaking wet slab of waxed wood while rain battered his face.
Finally, he arrived safely onshore, tucked his board under his arm, and jogged up the beach. He laughed it up with his friends, slapping hands and shaking his wet hair back from his face.
I pressed my lips together as I watched, and suddenly a realization hit me so hard I gasped. Last night, Olive had left the party with Tristan. I’d seen them walking out together into the fog. It hadn’t meant anything to me at the time, because they were friends. Because she liked him. But then I remembered how eager he’d been to get away from me this morning at the general store. Did he know something about Olive? Maybe all this time, he hadn’t been watching me but watching Olive. Maybe he really was some kind of obsessed stalker, just not my creepy, obsessed stalker. I got a chill now, thinking about how I’d let him touch me. How I’d let him comfort me.
Arms and legs trembling, I crawled closer to the window, watching as the four friends popped open beers and clinked bottles. Tristan took a long drink, then tipped his head back and shook his hair away from his face, letting the rain pour down over him like he was being cleansed.
I curled my hand over the windowsill, gripping tight. Maybe Mr. Nell wasn’t the only threat out there. Maybe there was an even bigger menace much, much closer to home.
The sun was just hovering over the ocean on Friday morning when I zipped up my hoodie and slipped out the front door. There was a chill in the air, and I shivered as I gazed at the gray house across the street. The curtains were still. I looked left and right. There was no sign of anyone lurking, but for good measure, I flipped the hood up to cover my hair and hurried down the front steps.
Out on the ocean, a sailboat sliced through the water toward the horizon. Seagulls cawed, diving toward the whitecaps. Somewhere, a set
of wind chimes pinged happily. There was no humming. No laughter. Just the sound of my breath and the nervous but determined beat of my heart.
I speed-walked around the corner and almost ran over Aaron.
“Hey!” he said happily. He had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “I thought I was meeting you at your house.”
I blinked up at him. His face was already falling when I finally remembered. “We were supposed to go windsurfing!” I exclaimed.
“You forgot,” he said, biting his bottom lip.
“I’m so sorry.” I brought both hands to my forehead. “There’s just a lot going on. I’m on my way to the police station.”
His eyes widened. “Whatever for?”
“It’s a long story, but…my friend Olive is kind of missing,” I told him.
“Olive?” he asked. “Have I met her?”
A cool breeze chilled my nose as my heart gave an extra-hard thump. I wanted to reach out and shake him. Why didn’t anyone remember Olive? But then I realized that even though they’d been at the same parties, they hadn’t actually met. There was no reason for him to remember her.
“I don’t think so. I met her when I first got here, and we were supposed to go out for breakfast yesterday, but she never showed,” I said, starting to walk again. He fell in step beside me. I couldn’t tell him about my Steven Nell suspicions, and I didn’t know how to put into words what I felt about Tristan. Instead, I twisted my hands together and forced myself to keep it simple. “She hasn’t called, she hasn’t stopped by. I’m just really worried. I’m on my way to the police station right now.”
“Isn’t going to the police a bit extreme?” he said, his bag bumping against his leg as he walked. “Maybe she simply forgot about your plans.”
I bit my tongue, wishing like hell I could just tell him the truth. “I know. I guess I’m a better-safe-than-sorry person.”
We arrived at the top of the hill. Across the street to our right was the brick facade of the Juniper Landing Police Department.
“You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to,” I told him.
He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “No. I want to.”
My heart warmed, and we exchanged a brief smile. We took the stone steps at a jog and walked inside. The air was frigid, thanks to some pumped-up air-conditioning, and I couldn’t help noticing how squeaky clean everything was. The marble floor gleamed, the wooden bench under the announcement board looked freshly waxed, and the announcement board itself was practically empty. The only notice inside the glass case was an advertisement for Movie Night in the library’s activity room. No pictures of wanted criminals, no warnings about night safety, no reminders to get your dog license renewed or keep your property hazard-free.
Aaron shoved open the swinging glass door to the main room and held it for me. I felt this overwhelming wave of gratitude to him for not leaving me alone, even though he clearly thought I was overreacting.
Leaning against the long, wooden counter was none other than my favorite local, Joaquin, wearing a red JUNIPER LANDING hoodie and talking with four uniformed police officers, who stood in a close-knit circle behind the counter. There was a box of doughnuts and a large, leather-bound ledger open between them. It almost looked like Joaquin was explaining something to them. One tall officer nodded while he listened, and another was taking notes. Then Joaquin must have said something funny because they all laughed, their eyes shining as they watched him, like he was the second coming.
Of course. Of course Joaquin was friends with the cops. He probably brought them doughnuts every morning so that they would ignore little infractions like bonfires on the beaches and underage chug lines at the Thirsty Swan. My heart fell as we slowly approached. How was I supposed to tell the police that I suspected Tristan had something to do with Olive’s disappearance with his best friend standing right there?
The door finally closed behind us, and everyone looked up. Joaquin smiled, pushing the book toward one of the officers, who quickly closed it and tucked it under the counter. The cops, meanwhile, shot us semi-annoyed looks, as if whatever Joaquin was telling them was too important to be interrupted.
“Rory!” Joaquin said, flicking his eyes over Aaron dismissively. “What’re you doing here?”
I screwed up my courage and faced the men behind the counter.
“I need to talk to someone about a missing person,” I said, ignoring Joaquin.
They all fell silent. One of them exchanged a glance with Joaquin, who swallowed the last of his doughnut with a gulp. The officer was tall and broad and looked as solid as a rock. He looked like an ex-Marine—and not someone a person would want to mess with. I might have felt comforted by that fact if he wasn’t giving me a look like I was something rancid he’d scraped off the bottom of his boot.
“Welcome to the Juniper Landing Police Department. I’m Officer Dorn,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. He laid his hands flat atop the desk. “Now what’s this about a missing person?”
“My friend is missing,” I said. “We went to a party together two nights ago, and no one’s seen her since.”
Dorn’s lips twitched ever so slightly. Joaquin cleared his throat and closed the top of the doughnut box, pushing it away.
“Was this girl a local or one of our vacationers?” Dorn asked.
Something inside me shifted. Why would he use the word was? “She is a vacationer,” I said. “She’s staying at the boardinghouse on Freesia.”
“Ah, Mrs. Chen’s place,” Dorn said with a big smile. His teeth were very straight and very white. “Nice lady. She makes a fine lemon poppy loaf.”
The other officers laughed and made sounds of general agreement. Aaron and I exchanged a look. Okay, good. He was as irked by this behavior as I was.
“Wait a minute,” Joaquin said, dusting off his hands. “Are you talking about Olive?”
My spirits instantly brightened, and I felt a rush of gratitude toward him that was totally incongruous with everything else I felt about the guy. At least someone recalled Olive’s existence. At least I wasn’t going totally insane.
“Yes!” I exclaimed.
“Do you know her?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah, I know her. Of course I know her,” Joaquin said in a “duh” tone. He leaned sideways into the counter, propping one elbow up and crossing his flip-flopped feet. “Don’t worry about Olive. She’s fine.”
“You know where she is?” I asked.
“No, but I’m sure she’s fine,” Joaquin said, flipping open the doughnut box and casually surveying the contents. “She’s Olive.”
What the hell did that mean?
“She’s not fine,” I said. “She’s missing.”
“Listen, miss,” Dorn said, clearly losing patience. “What you’ve told us is you two went to a party and then she didn’t come back to Mrs. Chen’s,” he said, looking down his nose at me. He reached back to straighten his waistband and sighed. “What that says to me is either she got lucky and stayed with some other…friend—” More chuckling from his cohorts. “Or she decided to cut her vacation short and went home.”
“She didn’t go home,” I insisted.
“And you know this how?” he asked.
“I went to her room. All her stuff is still there,” I said.
Dorn blinked, and Joaquin’s smile froze on his face. The guys behind him whispered something to one another and then one of them crossed the room, went into another office, and closed the door. My fingers started to tremble.
“Besides, she can’t go home,” I pressed on. “She’s in a fight with her mother, and she can’t go back until she makes up with her.” I glanced sideways at Joaquin, hating that I had to say this in front of him, that I was letting him hear Olive’s secrets.
“You know what? I’ve gotta go,” Joaquin said suddenly, glancing at a clock on the far wall. “You guys enjoy the doughnuts,” he told the cops. Then he looked at me and Aaron. “See ya.”
&n
bsp; I let out a sigh of relief at his departure. At least now I could talk freely about Tristan.
As the door swung closed behind Joaquin, Officer Dorn exhaled loudly. “Listen, honey—”
My face turned tomato red. Honey? Really? Apparently they didn’t have sexual harassment awareness programs in Juniper Landing.
“I want you to talk to Tristan Parrish,” I said loudly. I wasn’t usually one to order around authority figures, but my anger and terror were, ironically, making me brave. “He was the last person I saw her with.”
There was a prolonged silence, and then Officer Dorn and the other two remaining cops burst into laughter.
“Tristan Parrish,” Dorn said incredulously. “The mayor’s son.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Maybe he knows where she is.”
“We’re not going to be interviewing the mayor’s son,” Dorn said. He picked up his coffee mug and took a casual sip. But from the corner of my eye, I saw just the tiniest hint of a tremble in his grip.
“Why not? Just because she’s the mayor? What if he knows something?” I asked. “I’m not asking you to arrest him. I just want you to talk to him.”
Finally, one of the other officers walked over to join us. He was older than Dorn and shorter, paunchier, and uglier. “Listen, miss. People come and go around here all the time. That’s just the way it is in vacation towns. Now, why don’t you and your friend here go out and enjoy this beautiful morning we’re having?”
“I’m telling you this is different,” I said shrilly. “Something’s happened to her. I can feel it.”
The paunchy guy crossed his arms over the top of his belly. He studied me for what felt like forever.
“Okay, fine. If it’ll make you feel any better, we’ll send out some officers to canvass the beach and the docks, see if anyone’s seen her, okay?” he said. “Now, you two get out of here and have some fun. We’ll worry about your friend.”
Aaron put his hand on my back, and I reluctantly turned to go, but the moment we were outside, I realized something and sprinted back up the steps.