I hang up from Miranda and lean against the hood of the Impala. The junkyard shadows no longer look like mystical creatures. They look like junk, rusted and forgotten.
Wish I were one of them. My stomach clenches in a fist of pain. I try to blame it on the cheeseburger but know it’s plain old fear. Helping Miranda get evidence on King, maybe needing to talk to a few cops, that was one thing. But her new plan—exposing ourselves to anyone on the planet with an Internet connection?
Insanity. Brilliant. Desperate. Brave.
After Miranda broadcasts her suicide countdown, they’ll lock her away in some psych ward, dope her with drugs, give her shock treatment, who knows what?
I crane my neck, searching out the stars above, and zip up my dad’s jacket, a thin barricade against the night chill. In a way, she’s risking far more than I am.
After tonight, our lives will never be the same.
Mom and Janey are safe, I tell myself. That’s what counts. Nothing else matters.
Except…I try to count the stars, turning fuzzy as mist rolls off the mountain behind me. I would have made a wish but there’s…nothing. I think of the future, of anything I could hope or dream or wish for, and all I see is black emptiness. Stretching out forever.
My skin burns with the cold, and I climb back inside my makeshift shelter, curl up in a ball, trying to stay warm, and close my eyes. For the first time in years, my sleep is as empty as the rest of my life. No night terrors, no panicked jerking awake worried I’d missed a call from King, no dreams at all…except maybe one.
I’m not sure if it’s a dream or a fantasy, but Miranda’s with me, for one magic moment. We’re in a field; I’m chasing after her; we’re both laughing, and she turns and reaches her hand to me, letting me catch up. I can’t see her face; she’s wearing a pretty dress that floats in the breeze, but when our hands touch, I swear I feel it in every atom of my body.
Then it’s gone, vanished along with the rest of my hopes and dreams.
• • •
Despite staying up all night, Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this energized. Not just energized—excited. Glad to be alive. The irony was intoxicating in its own warped way.
She uploaded Jesse’s video and added her own story, including reading her suicide note and promising to go through with it if anything happened to Jesse. She debated naming Kerstater, finally decided to take a chance, trust in her gut instinct. Everything she’d found pointed to the man, and if she was wrong…Well, she just had to be right.
Finally, taking a lesson from King, she used the footage to create several teaser videos, all with countdowns to the flash mob.
The other dwarves were a huge help. Clive secreted the footage in several secure sites and set them to run automatically. She didn’t tell him she wanted it that way so she couldn’t chicken out at the last moment. Jesse was risking his life to help her; following through on her own promise was the least she could do for him.
Misscreant covered Clive’s tracks so no one would be able to trace the video streams once they went live. Topaz would be monitoring the feeds so that if anyone blocked one, he could switch to another—a trick he’d learned from Syrian freedom fighters. The others were helping by reaching out to the white-hat cybercommunity as well as hitting all the local Facebook pages and message boards, recruiting members for the flash mob.
Miranda’s fingers flew over the keyboard, one window after another opening and closing, typing furiously as she carried on five conversations at once. Over a hundred responses to the flash mob invite already. And the sun wasn’t even up yet. More replies would follow after people woke up.
She’d timed the flash mob to coincide with the early-bird prize drawing at the car show, thinking if only a few kids showed up, that would still guarantee someone was there to see them, but the way things were going, she need not have worried. Seemed like everyone had had a brush with a cyberbully or knew someone else who’d been impacted—or maybe the clips of Jesse made them curious enough to want to come and see him arrested…She didn’t really care; she just needed warm bodies as witnesses.
The more people watching, the less chance the cops would hurt Jesse when they arrested him.
Once her suicide countdown went live, the police would try to trace her, but it was a weekend, and she was counting on them not being able to get a warrant to commit her to a psych ward until it was too late. After Jesse was safe in custody and they arrested King, it didn’t matter what they did to her.
Her dad had spoken with his FBI friend last night and gave him everything Miranda had found pointing to Kerstater, but it still wasn’t enough evidence to go after him. And he’d told her dad the ATF had joined the manhunt to find Jesse. Which meant it was up to her to expose King.
Her parents would be furious, and she hated hiding anything from them—again—but if her plan saved Jesse from a murder charge, they’d understand. Although she might be grounded for life—not a terrible punishment for someone like her, who couldn’t make it past her own front door.
Feeling giddy, she texted Jesse. She didn’t want to wake him with a call; he was exhausted. Besides, it felt good doing this herself. She owed him that much.
A little lost sleep was small price to pay for taking her life back. Thanks to Jesse.
Needing a break, she stood and stretched, grabbed a quick shower, and changed into her favorite jeans and a crimson pullover she thought Jesse would like. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was about meeting him—would he think she was too pale, too skinny? She tried to do something with her hair. It was long, past her shoulders, since she hadn’t gone out for a real haircut in a year. She had her mom’s bouncy curls, but Miranda’s hair was lighter in color, less ebony, more a reddish brown that she wasn’t sure was pretty or not.
She sank onto her bed, dropping her comb. She had no clue what pretty was. Not anymore. Hopefully not what she saw depicted on TV and in the movies. But not having been with other girls her own age for so long, she worried she was hopelessly out of style.
No time for a makeover now. She went out to the kitchen, thinking she’d surprise everyone by making pancakes. She imagined Jesse walking in with her dad, smiling as he smelled them cooking—he’d be hungry after everything that happened. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her out-of-date clothes or too-long, frizzy curls.
She’d just gotten the ingredients lined up when her mom came out, still in her pajamas and bathrobe, yawning.
“Are they back yet?” Mom asked. Miranda’s dad had left almost an hour ago to pick up Jesse.
“No.” Miranda double-checked her recipe. It was simple enough, but she wanted them to come out perfect. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
Mom ruffled her hair with her fingers, leaving it standing on end. “Your dad and I were up talking most of the night. We think we should call Dr. Patterson, ask her to come here for a session.”
Miranda nodded without really listening. Where was the vanilla? She’d almost forgotten it. “After Jesse’s safe.”
There was a knock on the door. They both looked up. Mom frowned. Had something gone wrong? Dad wouldn’t knock.
Mom walked to the door, checked out the peephole. Miranda watched, suddenly nervous. She reached for the phone, ready to call 911. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“There’s no one there.”
The phone rang. Miranda was so startled she almost dropped it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Ariel. Tell your mom to open the door before someone gets hurt.” It was a man’s voice, one she recognized from Jesse’s recording. King.
Miranda stood frozen, panic turning her blood to ice. She looked up at her mom, but before she could say anything, the door crashed open and a man with a gun burst in. He punched her mom so hard her body flew over the arm of the couch. Then he turned to Miranda.
“Do what I say and I won’t kill her.” He aimed the pistol at her mother, who was sitting up, holding her face in her hands. Blood and mucus poured from her nose.
Miranda dropped the phone. Her breath came fast. Whirling, she searched for a weapon, anything she could use to defend herself and her mom. She lunged for the knife rack but the man caught her in a bear hug, squeezing the breath from her.
Mom struggled to her feet, dazed. The man held the gun to Miranda’s head, pulling her up to her tiptoes.
“We’re going to take a little ride. Do anything stupid and you both die.”