I am creeping up Johnson’s driveway. It’s so quiet here. No kids crying. No loud music. No tires screeching. No doors banging. Nobody’s on their porches smoking. And there aren’t any cats either. Isn’t that funny? No cats anywhere.
This neighborhood feels dead.
I glance back. Josh is sitting in the car, stewing. He’s such a rule follower—he’s like you in that way. But it’s fine with me. He doesn’t know what I have planned. It’s better this way.
There are no fences in the Heights, not metal, not wood, nothing; it’s like they think nothing bad can happen here.
Johnson’s huge white house has those pillar things in front. I even spotted a tennis court by the side yard. It’s like a goddamn palace. I need to get closer. Take a good look inside.
The whole house is lit up—every room—like they don’t have to worry about an electric bill. I can’t see in, though, not yet. The front windows are shielded behind the long, closed velvet curtains. Killer curtains. Some things are creepy, straight up, and velvet curtains are one of those things.
My flip-flops are too noisy, clapping on the wet cement. I slip them off, look back at Josh. He’s watching. Looks scared. The house lights shine from behind me, stretching my shadow toward his car, like it wants me to get back in.
I creep down the driveway. It’s cold and wet, but smooth. Not a single pebble. I bet they sweep it. Which is classic. Only messed-up people sweep their driveways.
I’m even with the house now. The driveway runs along the side. Johnson’s bright yellow car is parked in the back. Through the side window, I can see a girl with long, blond hair, holding a bowl of popcorn: Johnson’s sister, looks like.
My purse swings from my shoulder. The gun is growling inside. It’s hungry. I know you wouldn’t want me to use it, not even if Johnson killed you. But if he has your phone, if he’s done something to you, I swear, I won’t be able to stop myself.
At Johnson’s yellow car, I peer inside. I’m thinking he’d leave the phone in the car. I try the door. It opens. That’s how safe this neighborhood is. People leave their car doors open. I slide down into the black leather seat. The car still smells new. It’s cleaner than Josh’s car, but not as clean as your truck. There’s a soda can next to the driver’s seat, a baseball jersey shoved in the back. And a black hat with a yellow Go on the front. I pick it up. That’s funny. It’s the same hat that Michael has. Must have bought it at the same store. It matches his car.
I check the glove compartment. He’s so organized, which surprises me. Registration and insurance in this pouch, ready to give to cops. Nothing else. There’s no phone.
I glance back at the house. It looks like someone’s moving around in the far room. I slide out of the car. Leave the door cracked open. Because they’ll be able to hear a car door slamming shut.
Are his parents home? Don’t see any other cars.
My feet press into the moist grass. The room has a bunch of books. I can see that from my angle. Maybe a study?
I creep across the lawn. My feet are getting cold.
Dave Johnson is sitting at the desk. In front of a computer screen. I reach into my bag. Pull out my phone. If your phone is on, it’ll ring.
I call your number.
It’s not on speakerphone, but the first ring is loud in the quiet of the yard. My heart thrums. Johnson doesn’t move. He’s just staring at the screen.
Come on, I urge.
The second ring.
He jerks. Does he hear it ringing on my end? No, he’s reaching in a desk. He’s pulling out a phone. It’s a black iPhone. It’s the one I gave you. He’s looking down at it. He turns it off. I look down at my screen. It goes to voicemail.
Motherfucker.
I dive my hand into my purse, pull out the gun, click off the safety. It’s shaking in my hand. It’s up to me now. Nobody else is going to do anything. But I’m scared.
Put the gun down, baby.
It’s you. Are you here? Are you watching? I have to do it. You don’t understand. He took you from me.
And then something hits me. I’m falling into the grass. The gun flies through the air and lands a few feet away.
Josh is pressing his body into mine. Days-old funk floats off of him. “What the fuck, Jessie?” he hisses in my ear.
“He has the phone. He has the phone. Josh, he has the phone.” I can’t stop repeating it. I’m all jittery with adrenaline. I can’t believe I was right all along, that Johnson did something to you and nobody believed me but I was right, I was right. “He hurt Chris, maybe he killed him, and he’s going to get away with it, Josh. Guys like that always get away with it.”
“Shhh.” He covers my mouth. He’s pushing me into the wet grass. I had no idea he was so strong. “Jessie. We need to leave. Now. The police are on their way.”
He’s talking to me like I’m a crazy person, but I was right all along.
I nod, planning to dive for the gun. But he’s faster than me.
He grabs it. I look up at the den. Johnson’s still staring at his computer. He has no idea how close I came. And now, there’s a picture on the screen. Holy shit. It’s a picture of you in a blue T-shirt and black shorts. That’s what you were wearing on the day you disappeared!
I roar with anger and run to the den, smash my hands on the window.
Johnson leaps from the chair. He turns and stares at me. His bright blue eyes are on fire.
“You fucker!” I scream.
Josh grabs my arm. And we run.