GONE.
“What do you mean Nate is gone?” I yell. “Where did you take him?”
“I’m sorry. NEED told me to put Nate in the back room of the old post office.” Bryan sounds tired. Lost. Confused. As angry and scared as I am. He takes a deep breath and keeps talking. “I like Nate. I didn’t want anything to happen to him, but I figured I had to do what I was told. If I didn’t, someone else who might not like Nate would have, and they know what I—That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I parked across the street and waited to see who would come for Nate. But the snow made it hard to see, and by the time I checked the post office again, he was gone. Someone took him and I don’t know who or where.”
Gone. I lean my forehead against the icy bricks and shiver.
Nate.
I want to scream, but I have to think. Think.
“Where are you now?” I ask.
“I’m driving home. I promised my parents I’d come home.”
“Come to the school. That’s where I’m at.” Getting Nate back is the only thing that matters. Bryan has to know more than he’s saying even if he doesn’t think he knows it. Just one detail that he doesn’t think is important could make a difference.
“Why are you at the school? Is it open?”
“NEED set me up. The police are looking for me. They think I caused Amanda’s death.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“The cops were told . . .” I remember the way everyone doubts everything I say and change course. “Look, it’s complicated. I’ll explain when you get here.”
“I have to go home or my parents will flip and start looking for me. They might even call the police.”
Having the cops looking for Bryan won’t help me.
“Okay. Go home. Check in with your parents, and when they go to bed, come to the school and find me.” My phone says it’s 10:36 p.m. His parents won’t stay up all that much longer, probably. I guess I can stay warm enough until he gets here. When Bryan doesn’t say anything, I add, “Please, Bryan. Nate’s out there somewhere, scared to death, and you’re the reason why.”
Not entirely fair, since Bryan wouldn’t have taken Nate on his own or without the help of Jack, but I don’t care.
“Fine.” He sounds unhappy. Too bad. “But it might be a while. My mom likes to stay up and watch reruns on the weekends.”
“Just promise you’ll come as soon as you can,” I insist, shivering as the wind whips again. The alcove shields me from the worst of it, but my teeth have started to chatter. “And check NEED before you come. See if anything else has happened. Maybe someone will post a picture that will help locate Nate. Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll call or text as soon as I’m on the way. Try to stay warm.”
“Sure.” Then Bryan is gone and only the cold remains.
The roads are bad, and it will take Bryan a while to get home. Then his parents will have to make sure he’s okay, and probably finish watching a show before they go to bed. That means it will be close to midnight at the earliest before Bryan shows up and I can climb into the warmth of his car. And if his mother decides to watch a rerun marathon, it could be a whole lot longer.
I wrap my arms around me and rock back and forth. After several moments, I realize the snow is easing up. The wind just makes it seem like more. Soon the plows will be out clearing the roads. If someone drives by the school and glances this way they’ll see me sitting here and wonder why. I’m going to have to move.
My phone dings. DJ is texting to say good night. I type my response, then gather up my things and head toward the faculty parking lot that’s on the side of the school nearest the field house. Newt’s Café is not far from there. It has to have an oven or something with a heat source. At this point anything warm would be good.
I wonder if Nate is warm wherever he is. Is he scared and thinking of me the way I am of him? Or is he hurt and bleeding and thinking that no one is looking for him and the worst is coming? It isn’t, though. At least not yet. My mother will text me if she gets contacted about a kidney for DJ. The longest that kidneys can last outside the body before transplant is about thirty hours, and less than a day is better. Mom and DJ would have to be contacted if the transplant were going to happen any time soon. And there would have to be a medical team and a hospital ready to perform the procedure. Nate’s parents would also have to approve, and surely they would contact me if they heard something terrible had happened to Nate.
My phone rings and I shield the screen to look at the display. Officer Shepens. Nope. Not answering. On TV shows, cops trace cell phone signals. I’m not sure how accurate that is, but I’m not about to find out the hard way. If he has something important to say—like he knows I didn’t hurt Amanda and he wants to help me take down NEED—he can leave a message. I need to think.
I trudge through the snow as I consider who at this school could be behind NEED. Most of my teachers are about as good with computers as I am. I guess Mr. York might be good enough to create a website like NEED. I’ve never taken a computer science class with him, but a lot of the gaming guys think he’s a genius when it comes to all things programming. But what reason would he have? And really, unless his faded sports coats and out-of-style shirts are a deliberate fashion statement, I doubt the guy has the cash to pull this whole thing off.
Some of the students might have the skills to create and manage the website. Sydney . . . What the hell is his last name? Doesn’t matter. Sydney designed his father’s real estate website last year. Everyone was talking about it, probably because they were also talking about how bad his father is at selling houses. But unless Sydney’s father got a heck of a lot better at his job or they won the lottery, Sydney and his family don’t have the cash to fund all the NEED requests.
So, who does? Principal Dean? I doubt it. And she’s about to retire anyway. Who else? Everyone says Mrs. Hennessey married a guy with money, but it’s hard to imagine our nutrition and health teacher doing anything more evil than adding butter to a recipe.
As far as I can tell, no one is wealthy enough to give away phones and workout gear and hundreds of other “needs” that have been fulfilled. If this is about a personal grudge, that’s a lot of money to spend. And who carries a grudge against an entire school? So it has to be something else. Who would be involved in something more? And what could that something be?
People suck, but I can’t believe it’s someone who has lived and taught here forever. It has to be an outsider. Or at least someone who is newer to the area. Someone chose this town because they wanted to cause problems. Someone . . .
I stop not far from the side entrance of the school as I notice something different about the ground. Footprints. Covered with fresh snow, but not enough to conceal them. They lead from the faculty parking lot to the side entrance. And they’re not that old. They’re filled with only an inch of snow. So are the car tracks in the parking spot where the footprints originate from. There are also another set of prints near where I’m standing. They, too, lead to the side door.
Part of me wants to run so I don’t get caught. The other part wonders if whoever is behind NEED is associated with the school. Did they go inside? Could Nate be in there? School doesn’t start for several days. It would be the perfect hiding spot.
I should wait for Bryan. I should go hide in the Newt Café, but I know there’s something wrong here. The footprints. The car tracks. Something is off.
I walk to the door. The smell hits me.
Gasoline.
My heart hammers as I pull the flashlight out of my backpack. I expect the door to be locked, but still I pull.
It opens and I stumble back. My eyes water as fumes swirl around me. Waves of an oily, noxious smell that I can taste as I breathe. One step inside and I feel suffocated by the odor. The floor glistens where the light touches it. Not just here at the door, but as far as the beam will reach. The entire hallway is coated with gasoline.
One spark. That’s probably all it would take to engulf this place in flames. I have to get out of here—now.
I’m turning back when I hear it.
The wind. I want to believe it’s the wind. Then the sound comes again.
Scraping. A clank of metal. And a whisper that sounds like a voice calling for help.