SUNLIGHT BEAMED THROUGH the slits of my half-opened eyes. I blinked, then blinked again. Above me I saw green leaves, an interconnected web of them moving toward and then away from one another in the breeze. I was lying on something hard and cold, and from the dull pain in my neck and shoulders I knew I’d been there for a while. I sat up quickly.
I was on my back porch.
My brain struggled to piece this together. How had I gotten onto the porch? How was it morning already? I searched my mind for the last thing I could remember—going into the plant, finding the door labeled X10, seeing the scorched wall, hearing a noise, and then . . . nothing. Not even any dreams. Just an absence, as if I’d closed my eyes one moment and the next been transported to another place and time entirely. I could still feel the chill of the factory basement on my skin, the remnants of spiderwebs in my hair.
I reached for my phone and saw I had five voice mails and sixteen texts. The texts were all from Dex and Cindy, asking where I was and if I was okay. They got increasingly panicky-sounding as they went on. Three of the voice mails were from Dex, too. One was from my mom. But the last one . . .
The last one was from my dad’s cell.
For a full ten seconds, I just stared at his name on my screen. He’d called just an hour earlier and left a fifteen-second message. With shaking fingers, I held my phone gingerly up to my ear.
“Penelope, it’s Dad.”
My heart thumped so hard it hurt. That was him. It was definitely him. That was his gruff, deep, slightly rushed voice. That was the way he always greeted me when I answered the phone. Penelope, it’s Dad, he always said, as if I wouldn’t have seen his name come up on my screen, as if I wouldn’t know his voice by heart.
A quick sigh, and then the message continued, “I know you’ve been looking for me, and I’m telling you now to stop. Not asking, telling. I’m on a big story, kiddo, but it’s really dangerous. More dangerous than—” His voice broke up a bit, as if he pulled the phone away from his mouth. Then he went on, “So I mean it when I say I want you to stay out of this. Just . . . listen to me for once, Pen. Stay safe.”
I listened to the voice mail again. And again. His last lines rang in my ear.
Stay safe.
Just listen to me for once, Pen.
But already, I knew I wasn’t going to.
Somehow, my bike had been left in my front yard. It was set upright, the kickstand resting gently on the grass near the front porch. I walked over to Dex and Cindy’s first, but no one was home. Then I pedaled like mad for Main Street, trying to ignore the lead ball that was sitting at the base of my stomach. Questions swirled through my head.
What had Dad gotten himself into? I had no idea.
Was he in danger? Probably.
And, the million-dollar question—What the hell happened last night? But in answer, there was just a blank space in my mind, like a file deleted.
Sweet Street’s door was unlocked, but only half the lights in front were turned on. Through the window, I saw Dex standing behind the counter. He glanced up as I pulled open the door, and I could literally see the relief flooding through his facial muscles, erasing the strain in his eyes and mouth.
He didn’t even go around the counter, but jumped over it, rushing over to pull me into a hug. My face was crushed up against his shoulder, and his arms were pushing mine against the sides of my body, but it felt good to be hugged so tightly like that. We stayed like that for a few seconds, Dex squeezing me tight and both of us breathing hard, until self-consciousness kicked in and he released me suddenly, stepping back.
“Penny, where have you been? I’ve been texting and calling—”
“I know—”
“I got the text that you were at the plant, but when I went I couldn’t find you—”
“You went to the pla—”
“And then I had to tell Mom, and she had to call the sheriff—”
“Whoa, whoa, Dex, stop. Let me explain.”
Dex’s mouth snapped shut. But his eyes stayed fixed to my face, as if he was afraid I’d disappear if he so much as blinked. I filled him in on what I remembered—going to the plant, finding the strange underground area, and then the door labeled X10 and the room beyond.
“And then . . .” Dex prompted.
“And then that’s it. I don’t remember anything else. I woke up on my back porch just now and saw all your texts.”
“Your porch? We checked your whole house last night, and you weren’t there. I looked again this morning but didn’t think to check the back porch—”
“I woke up there like a half hour ago. That’s all I know.”
“Whoa,” Dex said, running a hand through his unruly hair, “so you remember . . . nothing? Just like—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Tommy Cray.”
“Dex . . .”
“Come on, Penny. This isn’t normal!”
“I know,” I said, letting out a ragged sigh. I walked over to a white wrought-iron chair by the window, and Dex took the one next to me. He still had his phone in his hand, and he sent a quick text to Cindy before looking back up at me. His mouth moved slightly, like it was threatening to spill over with questions, but instead he watched me, waiting.
“And there’s more,” I said. I got out my own phone and played Dad’s voice mail on speaker.
“Whoa,” Dex said, eyes wide. “Whoa, whoa.”
“You said that already.”
“I mean, that was definitely him. That was Ike.”
“I know. And I think this proves that the email I got before was Dad trying to throw me off the trail. I have no idea why he didn’t sound like himself in that email, but . . . this voice mail was definitely him. And there’s no way he’s in Canada. I think he’s here. He’s close.”
Dex smiled. “And he’s alive.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling, too. “He’s alive.”
“But wait, how does your dad know you were looking into any of this? Do you think he knew you were at the plant last night?”
“I have no idea.”
“And Penny . . . what were you doing at the plant last night? Weren’t we going to go together? It would have been safer that way. . . .”
“I know,” I murmured. Dex was right, of course. And maybe if I’d waited for him, I wouldn’t be missing the last sixteen hours of my life. But aside from the irritation of me screwing up, there was something else in Dex’s expression. He was hurt that I’d left him behind.
The shameful energy that had coursed through my whole body as I pedaled to the plant the day before was all gone, but the lingering feeling remained. In trying to find answers and prove I wasn’t like my dad—hurting whoever I wanted to get what I wanted—I had, again, hurt someone. Dex.
I searched for the words to explain what had compelled me to do something so stupid, but I couldn’t think of anything that would excuse my actions. All I had were excuses, and what good were they now?
A memory flashed, suddenly and unwelcome, into my mind. Dad and Julie in the back room of Vinny’s Bar, arms wrapped around each other, faces flushed. Dad had turned to me, caught red-handed, and instead of offering an explanation—or an excuse—he’d asked me what I was doing there.
Maybe his response hadn’t been callousness, I thought now. Maybe the reason Dad never gave me an explanation about that night was because he didn’t have one, or at least not a good one. Maybe he knew explanations and excuses weren’t enough, no matter how badly I thought I wanted them. . . .
Dex was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for my own explanation. But I was saved by the jangling bell above the door of Sweet Street. Cindy ran into the store, followed by an irritated-looking Sheriff Harper.
“Oh, Penny!” Cindy exclaimed. She wrapped me up in a hug, just as fierce as Dex’s. “Where have you been? We looked everywhere, we were so worried—”
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I said. I looked up at the sheriff’s stern face and knew there was no point in delaying the truth. “I went to see if my dad might be hiding out in the old plant.”
“What made you think he might be there?” the sheriff asked. His pale eyes peered into mine, not blinking. I thought about the pictures Dex and I had found of the sheriff at the crater site, and all the questions they raised. I had no idea how wrapped up he was in all of this; all I knew was he wanted to pin Bryan’s and Cassidy’s murders on my dad.
“I had a hunch,” I replied, avoiding looking over at Dex. It occurred to me that Dex might have told the sheriff everything in the hours I’d been gone—though he might not have, so it was probably best to keep my answers vague.
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “We searched the plant for you and found nothing. Where did you go after that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” I lowered my eyes, hoping the sheriff would think I was traumatized, not being evasive. “I don’t remember anything.” I put my hands over my eyes and shook my shoulders a little bit for emphasis. Acting was definitely not in my skill set, but it helped that, technically, I was telling the truth.
As I rocked back and forth a little, Cindy quickly pulled me into another hug.
The sheriff wasn’t so sympathetic. “Nothing at all?”
I shook my head, thankful that Cindy’s hair now hid the better part of my face. “No.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” the sheriff said.
Cindy flew back from me then, rounding on the sheriff with fire in her eyes. “Bud, the poor girl is clearly shook up. We’re lucky that she’s back, that she’s safe.”
Sheriff Harper wasn’t at all fazed by Cindy’s anger. He crossed his arms. “You’re right, Cindy, we’re all lucky she’s safe. And that’s what she is, too—lucky.” He turned to look at me. “We have a killer out there—a killer of teenagers, you’ll recall—and you’re running around all night on your own? You’re lucky you’re not dead. You’re also lucky I don’t arrest you right now for impeding an investigation. It’s not your job to follow hunches. Your only job is to stay out of our way and let us know immediately if you hear from Ike.”
Again, I carefully avoided looking in Dex’s direction. There was no way I was turning Dad’s voice mail over to the sheriff.
“Do. You. Understand. Me?” the sheriff asked, eyes boring into mine.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice clear as a bell. “I understand.”
The sheriff stared at me a few moments longer before turning to Cindy. “Cindy, if you’ll come back to the station with me, I have a few more things to go over with you.”
Cindy nodded, and I could tell that after the sheriff’s stern talking-to, her concern for me was also cooling into something like anger.
“Both of you go back home and wait for me there,” she said.
“But, Mom, the store’s still open—”
“Now, Dex.” And without turning back, Cindy followed the sheriff from the store.
“Man,” Dex said as soon as they were gone, “that was tense.”
“Yeah.”
“Nice bit of acting, by the way. I almost thought you were going to cry. But Mom totally bought it, at least.” He drew in a big breath, running his hands over his eyes as if he’d been up all night. It occurred to me that maybe he had been. “So,” he said, “I take it we’re ignoring Harper—and your dad? We’re going to keep looking into this?”
I looked down at my phone, still warm in my hands. How could I do nothing? It was my dad out there. And it was the last sixteen hours of my life that were missing. It was possible, I thought, that the “right” and the “wrong” thing to do from here weren’t superclear, and that I wouldn’t know until after the fact whether I was saving the day—or screwing everything up.
I looked up at Dex. “Oh, we’re definitely going to keep looking into this.”
As the words came out of my mouth, I’d never felt more like my father’s daughter.