Chapter Seven

 

Chloe

 

Dad drove on long after the sun had set, tracing a winding path through the mountains and the Mojave desert and then onto the interstate through Nevada. Las Vegas swept by, radioactive in the darkness, and sometime after that came Utah.

And beyond brief pauses for gas, he didn’t stop.

Mom hadn’t said a word to me since we left Santa Lucina, and Dad only occasionally looked back at me in the rearview mirror. I’d taken to ignoring them both, and eventually just pillowed my head on my bag and stared out the window. The white-noise drone of the tires lulled me, pulling my eyes closed as the hours crept along, until I finally drifted off to sleep.

The first thing I saw was water.

I wanted to flail, to scream as I plummeted into it, but the ocean just closed over my head, swallowing the sky and the clouds. Water engulfed me as an invisible force propelled me down, driving me onward till the sea surrounded me completely.

And then it slowed. Stopped. Spreading my arms, I hovered in the water, at a loss to know how deep I’d fallen. The current wrapped around me then, and my skin tingled as it carried me gently through the endless blue twilight.

But I wasn’t frightened anymore.

I paused, struck by the realization. The fear I’d felt at first hitting the water had vanished, and now I just knew I was safe. Even under the water, even without any air, I wasn’t in any danger at all.

Because I belonged there.

Confusion filled me at the thought, which was impossible and yet true.

I was where I was supposed to be.

On the heels of that understanding came hurt. An ache in my chest that didn’t seem to want to go away. I was where I was supposed to be, yet I wasn’t. I was leaving, even as I floated in the infinite deep, because this wasn’t reality.

This was just a dream.

My eyes opened. The world was dark. The only light came from the pale orange-red glow of the dash and the twin beams of the headlights on the empty stretch of road. Dad was still driving, while in the passenger seat, Mom slept with her head pillowed on her curled arm.

Air escaped me. Tears stung my eyes and in my chest, I could still feel an ache like someone had stabbed me in my sleep, and everything I had was bleeding out through the wound. My body was tense, and as I twisted in the seat to look out the rear window, I felt like invisible threads extended from my skin, over the mountains all the way to the sea, each of them growing thinner and weaker the farther Dad drove.

And if they snapped, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

Swallowing, I turned back to the front, and my hands wrapped around my elbows to hug my middle. It was ridiculous, getting so upset over a dream. But it had felt so real, and the sense of the water around me had seemed so right…

So beautifully, wonderfully right…

In my chest, the ache grew worse and I bit my lip, trying to keep myself together. I needed to go back. Not because my parents were moving, or because I’d always wanted to visit the ocean. But because I had to.

The alternative made me feel like screaming.

I looked at Dad, willing him to stop. He and Mom seemed committed to driving back to Reidsburg at top speed, and given the time on the dashboard clock, they didn’t intend to stop at all.

But I couldn’t handle that. I needed to leave.

And Dad just kept driving.

Minutes trickled by, while the miles stretched like rubber bands on the verge of breaking. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

And then the lights of a city came into view. Barely holding back a gasp, I glanced to Dad again.

Reaching over, he nudged Mom. With a sharp breath, she woke, and then a grimace twisted her face and she gave an uncomfortable groan.

“Drive?” he asked, his voice strangely tight.

Mom swallowed, and then she shook her head. “Not doing well,” she murmured. “Medicine wearing off. I… I can watch.”

My brow furrowed, but he just nodded and kept driving while Mom leaned back against the window again. The highway continued on through the sleeping town, and our car followed it.

I wanted to cry.

And then, at the final exit, he steered the car onto the off-ramp.

Relief hit me and I gasped with the force of it. Turning at a lonely stoplight at the end of the exit ramp, he sent the sedan toward a tiny building nearly lost in the darkness. A red vacancy sign glowed beneath the dim and flickering letters of the word ‘Motel’, the only indication of the place’s identity. By the front door, he pulled to a stop and then climbed out.

I looked at Mom and then at the darkness around us. I could run. Just make a break for it right now. I knew she wasn’t feeling well, and honestly, taking advantage of that was probably a crappy thing to do to my own mother. But I really, really needed to leave.

Dad returned, a room key in his hand. Getting back in, he glanced to Mom and then started the car again. By the last door in the row of narrow, brown doors, he pulled over. Only three other cars shared the dark parking lot with us, and above the sidewalk running alongside the motel, half of the rusting light fixtures were missing bulbs.

I couldn’t believe they were stopping here.

Without bothering to get out any bags, Dad left the car and headed for the room, while Mom just took a deep breath and then shoved the door open. Bracing herself on the car roof, she paused and looked back at me.

“Come on,” she ordered.

I took my backpack and got out. Waving a hand at the door, she waited for me to go ahead of her, never taking her eyes off me.

Fighting back a grimace, I went.

The room was dank, that was the first impression. And beyond that, it didn’t get much better. Thin comforters in faded Southwestern patterns covered the two queen-sized beds, and a boxy television sat on a wooden table so chipped and scratched, it looked a heartbeat from collapsing into matchsticks. A salmon-colored lamp stood on the nightstand between the two beds, along with an alarm clock blinking the wrong time. At the far end of the room, a mirror hung over the sink, reflecting the hideous space back at us, while a door waited beside it, giving access to what I could only assume was the bathroom.

Mom shut the door behind me, and then walked to the bed and sat down with a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. Dad emerged from the bathroom, not looking much better than her. Tiredly, he took the chair from the corner and dragged it over by the door.

“You sure?” he asked Mom.

She nodded, pushing away from the bed and crossing to the chair, where she sat down. Dad scrubbed his hand across his face and then started toward the bed, when he caught sight of me staring at them both.

He hesitated. “There might be thieves,” he told me, a note of discomfort in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. They’d never been this paranoid when we’d stayed at any of the spots they chose for vacations. But now, Mom was squarely between me and the door, and both she and Dad were watching me like hawks.

Though given how much I wanted to race out the door right then…

But that wasn’t the point. They were standing watch on me, for goodness sake, and claiming it was because there might be thieves.

Would it have killed them to just tell the truth?

“Why are we here?” I asked, not bothering to keep the disgust from my voice.

“Because it’s cheap and we’re not staying long,” Dad responded, his tone harder. Leaving Mom by the door, he took my backpack from me and set it on the bed farthest from the exit. “So get some sleep. We’re leaving at sunrise.”

He regarded me, waiting. I crossed the room and snagged my backpack from the bed. Eyeing them, I walked into the bathroom.

I could hear them begin talking the moment I closed the door, though their voices were too low for me to make out the words. But they sounded agitated.

A scowl twisted my face. Still holding my bag, I leaned back against the door.

How was I going to get out of here?

I closed my eyes. My chest ached with my distance from where I knew I had to be, and even without any windows to help me get my bearings, I felt like I could lift my hand to point and know I was aiming directly at the closest part of the ocean.

Which was nuts.

But no more so than the rest of this.

I let out a breath and looked down. If I didn’t put on my pajamas, they’d know I meant to leave as soon as possible – though, honestly, they were probably aware of that anyway. They were watching the door.

Rolling my head to the side, I looked in the direction of the motel room. Did they know about this? About how I was feeling? Was that why they were acting even more freakish than usual?

The ache grew. But if they knew, they’d understand. They’d get why I needed to go back. They’d support me.

Unless there was something truly horrible out there…

I pushed the thought away. I knew what I’d felt when I’d fallen off the boat. What I’d felt in that dream. I’d been safe. Under the water… but safe.

And now I just needed to go back.

I glanced down at the bag again. Pajamas would slow me down. Mean I had to change clothes before I left.

But again, I couldn’t give them more of a tip-off to my plans than they already had.

Feeling sick, I drew out my pajamas. With a deep breath to steady me, I forced myself to get dressed for bed.

They were watching the bathroom when I came back out.

“Goodnight,” I told them flatly.

They echoed the word, their voices cautious. Ignoring them, I pulled back the thin comforter and the vaguely humid-feeling sheets, and then climbed beneath them.

Dad got into the other bed. Leaning over, he switched off the bedside lamp.

Darkness swallowed the room. By the door, Mom shifted around on the chair, resulting in a faint metallic squeak.

And then everything was still.

Loss and distance pressing on my chest till it hurt to breathe, I closed my eyes and tried not to sob.

“You think she’s… you know?”

The whisper cut through the water surrounding me, pulling me away from the deep and the calm. My brow furrowed as I tried to hang onto the dream.

It didn’t do any good. The ocean faded. The cloying sheets of the motel bed returned.

“I’m not sure,” Dad replied, his voice quiet.

Mom made a worried noise. “We need to get going.”

“What about you? Are you any better?”

“No.” Annoyance mixed with the worry in her tone. “It was too long.” She paused. “You?”

Dad didn’t answer.

“Bill?” she pressed.

“I’m okay.” The bed rustled as he rose, and then the springs gave a sharp squeak. It sounded like he’d sat back down.

“No, you’re not,” Mom countered.

He made a shushing noise. I kept my eyes closed and focused on making my breathing as even as possible.

“I can still drive,” he insisted quietly. “Linda, I mean it. I’ll get us home.”

Mom didn’t say anything. A moment passed. The front door opened and then closed.

She sighed and got up, the chair giving the same metallic complaints as she moved.

“Chloe?” she called.

I opened my eyes. Standing by the foot of the bed, she was watching me.

She looked pale. Drained. And she was studying my face like she was searching for something.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you doing okay?” She almost sounded concerned.

“Fine.”

She paused. “We just want what’s best for you, sweetheart.”

I didn’t say anything.

For a heartbeat longer, she hesitated, and then she returned to her chair.

My brow furrowed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

She closed her eyes and drew a breath as though she was fighting off nausea.

“Mom?”

“You heard me.”

I paused. Not taking my eyes from her, I reached into my bag and got out my jeans. Beneath the covers, I pulled them on and then grabbed my shirt, doing the same.

She exhaled sharply.

“Mom, you don’t seem–”

Rising to her feet, she bolted toward the bathroom. I stared after her, and then winced at the sound of retching coming past the door. Feeling vaguely sick myself, I turned my face to the rest of the motel room.

The empty motel room.

My hands grabbed my backpack before I’d even finished registering the thought, and my legs scrambled to escape the blankets. My feet jammed themselves into my shoes, and in only a second, I was at the front door.

And then my conscience caught me. Mom was sick. Really sick, for no reason I could see. Something could be seriously wrong with her.

I trembled, the dream still clinging to me and the feeling of threads stretching to the ocean pulling at my skin like fishhooks.

If I didn’t go now, I’d probably never have another chance. They’d probably never give me one.

It was now or never.

I twitched aside the curtain and peeked out the window.

Dad was by the car. Leaning on the car. He looked nearly as sick as Mom.

I yanked open the door and took off running.

“Chloe!” he shouted.

My shoes pounded on the concrete as I dashed across the parking lot. The motel office flashed past, and then came the street, and I cast a quick look over my shoulder, checking his distance from me.

He was in the car. He was coming.

The empty road was behind me in a moment, delivering me into the abandoned lot across from the motel. Weeds and broken asphalt filled the space, and the pale light of the coming sunrise touched everything with hazy pink. A chain-link fence bordered the property, with scrub-grass fields beyond. Fighting for more speed, I ran for them both.

Metal scraped as his sedan jumped the curb and bounded onto the lot behind me.

Gasping, I ducked low and darted through a gap in the fence.

Tires screeched and I heard a car door slam. I kept running. Hidden holes threatened to trip my feet, and the grass was slippery with morning dew, soaking my tennis shoes. But there were houses ahead, squat and mostly identical, and houses meant roads and hidden corners and places he’d have a harder time reaching me.

I heard the chain links rattle. I struggled to run faster.

“Chloe, you get back here this minute!”

Like that was going to happen.

I reached the backyard fence of the nearest house. Grabbing the top, I hoisted myself over and dropped to the wet grass.

“Chloe, please!”

One hand bracing me on the fence, I looked back. He was still running, though much more slowly than I’d expected. Pain twisted his face and his feet stumbled with every few steps.

Worry flickered through me, but there wasn’t any time.

He’d just force me to come back with him.

And the mere thought of that made it hard to breathe.

Pushing off the fence, I ran for the gap between the house and its neighbor. A simple latch secured the gate, letting me out almost immediately, and then I was at the next street. Little gray houses lined the road, without much more than flower pots or the occasional forgotten toy to differentiate them. The street turned ahead of me, leading farther into town, and I dashed along it.

Exhilaration pounded through me. I was going to make it. I’d find a bus station, use the debit card in my bag to get a ticket, and then I’d be on the road to the ocean.

Even if this was all completely insane.

The thought was distracting and I shook my head, driving it away. I’d felt better when I was on the water. Better than I felt now and better than I’d ever felt in my life. I remembered that. I knew that. I just needed to find my way back to the ocean by Santa Lucina, and then I’d figure everything else out.

Even if I had no idea why I had to be there or, at the moment, where I was actually going.

My feet faltered and I stumbled, barely stopping myself from falling. Regaining my balance, I kept running, though slower than before. Street signs passed, each of them useless since I had no idea where I was headed, and the neighborhood felt like it would never end.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Running away in a city whose name I didn’t even know, for reasons that made no logical sense, all in the hope of getting back across hundreds of miles to where I’d been yesterday.

But I had to. The idea of doing anything else just set my heart racing with panic again.

The neighborhood opened out onto a city street with shops that were still closed from the night before. But on the corner, a bus was paused, its doors open for the handful of people waiting to climb onboard.

I glanced around, not seeing my dad or his car anywhere, and then ran for the bus stop. The driver gave me a funny look as I clambered inside and fumbled the requisite cash from my bag, but I just smiled, hoping he wouldn’t ask me anything.

At a seat several rows from the front, I sat down. Reaching back into my bag, I pulled out my phone. There was a good chance my parents would call the cops. I couldn’t see why they wouldn’t. But maybe, if I was fast, I could find the main bus station and make it out of town before they sent the police to find me.

Tapping the screen, I brought up the web browser and then typed in a search.

A smile tugged my lip as the results appeared. The local, intercity bus station wasn’t far from here. And there was a bus departing westward soon.

I looked to the road again, checking the street signs that had suddenly become so much less useless than before. Minutes passed until the intersection I needed came into view, and quickly, I yanked the cord to request the driver to stop.

It felt like his gaze tracked me the whole way off the bus.

The station was a tiny brick building only a single story high. A garbage bin blocked one of the doors, and the other bore a handwritten sign demanding that I close it tightly for the sake of the air conditioning. Eyeing the place dubiously, I walked inside.

There weren’t any cops. Only a few people occupied the cramped waiting room. I crossed the tile floor to the ticket counter and bought a one-way trip to Santa Lucina, knowing that even if the debit card transaction would tell my parents where I was going, it wasn’t like they weren’t going to be able to predict that anyway. Clutching my ticket, I headed for a seat, and then froze as the intercom buzzed, announcing boarding for the bus.

A thrill ran through me. This could actually work. It was psychotic, and in no way made any sense whatsoever… but it could work.

Feeling ridiculous, but somehow unable to find it in myself to care, I followed the other passengers out the door.

After we passed the desert, I felt better, and by the time the bus pulled into the station, almost every trace of the panic that’d gripped me the day before had gone. The insistent drumming of the need to come back here had vanished from my mind, leaving me with a sense of rightness that was unnerving in its strength and made no sense at all.

I’d known I’d always loved the ocean, but this was taking it a bit far.

And I was really starting to suspect I might be insane.

Stepping from the bus into the cool midnight air of Santa Lucina, I tried to ignore the thought as I looked around the station. Other passengers climbed out behind me, heading for the compartments beneath the bus to gather their belongings. Heat from the exhaust cut through the salt on the wind, and drove me a few steps away from the enormous vehicle.

And then I saw Baylie.

I’d called her a couple hours ago to let her know I was coming. It seemed the smart thing to do, seeing as how I didn’t have a ride, or even much of an idea how to get around town. But as I spotted her standing with Peter in the waiting area, I wondered if I shouldn’t have tried to think of another plan. She looked upset.

And he looked pissed.

Bracing myself, I hefted my backpack and walked over to them.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”

“Young lady,” Peter started. “What were you thinking?”

I swallowed.

“We’ve called your parents and left a message,” he continued. “I’m sure they’ll be on the way back here – again – as soon as they receive it.”

I gave a chagrinned nod. That was probably true, assuming they hadn’t just left for the coast the moment my dad got back to the motel, anyway.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

“I’m sorry?” I tried awkwardly. “Look, I know this is bad, I just…”

I trailed off. I didn’t know what to tell him. I had to come back here. I didn’t even feel like I’d had a choice in the matter. And now, although the sense of fishhooks nearly dragging me back had faded, the thought of leaving again instantly made them start to return.

But of course, that would just sound immature. Or, more truthfully, psychotic.

He sighed. “Come on, it’s late. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Moving past us, he walked toward the parking lot.

I glanced to Baylie. She didn’t meet my eyes as she followed Peter.

A grimace twisting my face, I trailed after them.

The car ride back was silent, and when we reached the mansion, most of the house was dark. Leaving the car parked in the circle drive, Peter led the way inside. A single light was on in the kitchen, and the sound of someone setting a dish into the sink carried down the long hall.

“Goodnight,” Peter said to us both as we came in.

“Yeah,” Baylie said. She headed upstairs.

I hesitated. “Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Um, thanks for letting me come back here.”

He gave me a patient look. “Of course. Now get some sleep.”

I nodded and then followed Baylie. In the guest room, she was already climbing into her bed. I paused by the doorway, watching her.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked quietly.

She stopped moving. A heartbeat passed.

“No, I’m…” She shook her head, as if at a loss for words. “You really scared me. Taking off like that, getting on a bus back here. You could have been hurt.”

“I know. I wasn’t–”

“Why’d you do it?”

I didn’t respond.

“Chloe?”

“I guess I just… freaked out. Mom and Dad were acting so weird – more than normal, I mean. They guarded the motel room door and watched me all night, even when I was asleep. And they told me they’ve decided to move to Salina, to stop ‘bad influences’.”

Her incredulity became confusion. “Wait. Me?”

I nodded.

“But now they’re going to think I’m even more terrible.”

“They think everything’s terrible.”

“Chloe!”

“I’m sorry, alright? I don’t know what else to say.”

I turned away, my gaze coming to rest on the darkness beyond the window. Light from the porch lamp covered the backyard, though the glow ended shy of the steps leading to the beach below.

“So now what are you going to do?” Baylie asked.

Shivering at the sudden compulsion to leave the house and head for the beach, I pulled my attention back to her. “Sleep? Peter’s right. They’ll be here to get me again soon.”

“Yeah,” she agreed distractedly. “But when they do… don’t take off again, okay? I mean, maybe they’ll calm down and decide not to move, if you give them a bit.”

I regarded her dryly.

“Please?” she pressed. “I just… you scared me. Moving a couple hours away is one thing, and yeah, that’d suck. But I really don’t want you to end up on the streets getting hurt or whatever.”

There was something almost desperate in her voice. My brow furrowed.

She looked away. “There was a girl kidnapped around here last night.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Homeless girl. Our age, though. She was hanging out with her friends by the pier, went to the restroom and never came back. But… one of Diane’s friends is a reporter. The cops asked the news not to say anything yet, but she told Diane that they found blood at the scene. And it’s just…” Baylie grimaced. “I know you’re fine. You’re here, you’re fine, and I’m probably being ridiculous. But with that happening and with you out there on your own… I got worried.”

I hesitated. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She nodded.

“And when they come back, I’ll…” I shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of fishhooks sinking into my skin again. “I’ll do my best not to take off.”

“Thank you.”

She gave me a small smile and then climbed into bed.

With an answering smile that really felt more like a grimace, I headed to my side of the room. I didn’t know what else to tell her. Given the speed at which my parents apparently traveled, they’d probably be here within the hour. And no matter how much I didn’t want to break my word to Baylie, if Mom and Dad tried to take me back with them, I didn’t know if I’d be able to go.

The flutter of panic still lingering in my chest might not let me leave.

With a sickened feeling twisting my stomach, I changed into my pajamas and got into bed.

The sun pried my eyes open and for a moment, I lay in the bed staring up at the skylight, trying to hold onto the calm of my dreams. White clouds drifted past the narrow view overhead, and occasionally a seagull would sweep by, the bird’s passage so fast I only registered it once it was gone.

My parents would probably be here today.

If they weren’t already.

The thought frayed the last tendrils of my calm, making me scowl and setting my heart to racing again. Pulling my gaze from the blue sky, I shoved the blankets away and swung my legs over the side of the mattress. My backpack yielded up a pair of shorts and a shirt and, working desperately to keep my mind from dwelling on the realities the day would bring, I quickly changed into the clothes.

In the next bed, Baylie shifted beneath her blankets and opened her eyes.

“Morning,” she said, her voice scratchy from sleep.

“Hey.”

She drew a breath and then pushed the blankets back. “Sleep good?”

I shrugged. I’d spent the night not-drowning beneath miles of ocean, same as every other time I’d fallen asleep recently. It’d been wonderful and I’d never wanted to wake up.

And I hoped recurring dreams weren’t a sign of madness too.

“Okay,” I replied. “You?”

She nodded and grabbed her clothes from her own bag. I turned away, giving her privacy to get dressed.

“I was wondering,” she continued when she was finished. “You want to head into town for some shopping? Maddox got a job at this cool old bookstore I wanted to show you.”

I grinned. Bookstores were a weakness of mine, and the older the better. Over the years, stopping at them had been one of the few bright points on the absurd trips my parents had taken. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Sweet,” she said, smiling.

Tossing her pajamas back into her bag, she headed for the stairs, leaving me to follow.

The smell of breakfast permeated the first floor and the sound of the morning news carried from the end of the hall. Sunlight filled the dining room with the pearlescent glow that only morning possessed, and as we walked into the kitchen, the fresh sea air from the open windows joined the scent of baking.

But standing by the kitchen island, one hand to her mouth and her eyes locked on the countertop television, Diane seemed to see none of it.

I paused, and next to me, Baylie did the same. My gaze went from Diane to the screen, the words and images finally registering. A pair of scanned photographs were placed side-by-side, each of a different teenage girl with reddish-brown hair. Headlines about kidnappings played across the bottom of the screen, as well as a ticker displaying snippets of commentary from the police. The newscaster was listing off locations the girls had last been seen, one by the pier and the other in a neighborhood near the oceanfront, and asking anyone with information to call the hotline below.

“They could be sisters,” Baylie whispered.

Diane jumped at the sound and then clicked off the television before turning around. “Girls. You’re up.”

She sounded breathless, and looked it too. Swallowing, she scanned her kitchen as though trying to remember what she’d been doing. “You want breakfast?”

“There’s another girl missing?” Baylie asked.

Diane hesitated. “Yes.”

“Was it like the last one? Did it look like she’d been hurt?”

“How did you–”

“I heard you and Peter in the front room last night, talking about what your reporter friend said.”

Diane grimaced. “Marlene called half an hour ago. She wanted Peter to ask the commissioner to speak with her. But… yes. They think it’s the same people who took the last girl.”

Baylie looked away.

Drawing a breath, Diane headed for the oven. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes out for anything suspicious,” she said, her assured tone sounding more than a bit forced, “and hope the police find some leads. But in the meantime… breakfast.”

Retrieving a tray of scones, she set about transferring them to a cooling rack with a determination like she was restoring order to the world by that action alone. Beside me, Baylie looked like her appetite had long since fled, and I didn’t feel far behind. But with the food presented to us, and Diane’s almost adamant expression urging us on, we forced ourselves to eat.

Diane hovered nearby the entire time, as if worried someone would come into the kitchen to steal us away.

“You still want to go shopping?” I whispered to Baylie as Diane walked over to the sink with our empty plates.

“What?” Diane interrupted, turning back to us before Baylie could respond.

Baylie winced. “We were thinking of going to the bookstore where Maddox works.”

Diane’s gaze slid toward the black screen of the television, and something in her expression made me wonder what else Marlene had told her.

Baylie didn’t seem to notice it, though. “We’ll be careful,” she insisted. “Please, Diane? We’ll drive straight there and back again. He just told me about it yesterday, and I wanted to show Chloe the place before she had to head home.”

Still looking hesitant, Diane set the plates in the sink.

“Have my parents called?” I asked into the silence. Whether or not Diane agreed to let us go, if they were only a few miles away, it’d all be a moot point.

“No, not yet.”

My brow furrowed. “Really?”

“I’d feel better if you girls stayed here,” Diane continued instead of answering.

“It’s just a short trip,” Baylie argued. “We’ll bring Daisy, I’ve got pepper spray, and we won’t talk to anyone but Maddox.” She paused. “Please, Diane? This freaks me out too. Really. But we’ll be super careful and if we stay here hiding all day, it’s just going to drive me nuts.”

“I–”

Diane looked over as Noah walked into the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said, and then he paused as if he’d picked up on the tension in the room. “Everything okay?”

“You can go if you take Noah with you,” Diane said to Baylie.

Noah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Huh?”

“Diane, we’ll–” Baylie started.

“It’s that or you stay home.”

Baylie turned away, grimacing.

“What’s going on?” Noah asked cautiously.

“Chloe and I were planning to head over to the bookshop where Maddox works,” Baylie explained. “But–”

“There was another kidnapping,” Diane cut in. “And not to be anti-feminist or something, but I’d really prefer it if the girls weren’t out there alone. So would you go with them?”

Seeming a bit uncomfortable, Noah looked between us all and then shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Diane went back to the sink and turned on the water.

Noah eyed her skeptically and then glanced to me and Baylie. “You, uh, want to head out now?”

Baylie nodded and rose from her seat by the kitchen island. Not knowing what to say, I followed her and Noah out of the room. It only took a moment for me and Baylie to run upstairs and grab our things, and then we were on our way.

The store was just opening as Noah pulled the car to a stop, and the streets were mostly empty. In the park across the road, a few people sat finishing their morning coffee or talking on their cell phones. The bright sunlight made the shops along the street seem lively and inviting, and cool shadows beneath the store awnings added to the appeal. Leaving Baylie to tie Daisy’s leash to a bike rack, I headed eagerly for the bookstore, happily noting the books propped on display stands in the window or, in one case, partially covered by the cat sleeping in front of it.

A ding rang out as Noah pulled open the door, and behind the counter, Maddox glanced up.

“Hey there,” he called, smiling.

“Hi,” Baylie said. She slipped past me to walk toward him.

I trailed after her, my eyes scanning the shelves.

There was something magical about places filled with books. An energy to being surrounded by so many words and ideas that whispered with each other and shouted at each other, that agreed and disagreed and contradicted each other. The combination created a pressure, a weight of presence that hinted at all the opinions and thoughts that made up the world, and that would take so much more than a lifetime to fully appreciate.

In a strange way, it bore a small similarity to the sea.

I wandered farther into the store, leaving Noah and Baylie chatting with Maddox by the register. Used books and new books alike crowded the shelves, and tables filled the space between the rows. I wound deeper into the store, skimming my gaze across the titles and covers and enjoying the fact that, besides one other store employee putting away books nearby, the early hour meant I was alone.

“Um… can I help you find something?”

I turned. One arm cradling a stack of books from his shelving cart, the employee eyed me questioningly.

“No thanks,” I said, smiling. The guy looked like the staple of great bookstores everywhere: a pale-skinned, grad student type with messy hair and a rumpled tartan shirt who probably spent more time on books than personal grooming.

“Okay, well just let me know if you need anything.”

I nodded and then went back to the books. A hardback lying sideways on the shelf caught my eye and, grinning, I picked it up to put it in its proper place.

A shadow moved at the corner of my eye. I glanced toward it.

Something slammed into my head.

Red light and stars burst across my vision and then the sharp-edged shelves hit me, sending heat rushing down my face. The world tilted and the ground came next, and pain shot through my shoulder as it took the brunt of the impact with the thinly carpeted concrete.

A shadow fell between me and the glaring store lights, resolving into messy hair and brilliant blue eyes. Meaty flesh clamped over my mouth, pressing down on my lips and nose and choking out any chance of a scream. The other hand grabbed me, wrenching me up from the floor, and then a tartan-clad arm wrapped me, crushing my chest. I tried to break the grip, to move my arms and grab at his face or tear at his hair, but nothing was responding correctly and the blackened blur of my vision was devouring everything.

“Hey!”

Baylie’s shout was followed by an agonized scream, and suddenly the grip on me vanished. I plummeted down, hitting the ground hard enough to make the darkness swirl. Footsteps thudded past me, and more shouts came, while the ringing in my ears tried to smother everything in a rush of pain and white noise.

“Chloe? Chloe!”

Fabric pressed to the side of my face and instinctively, I jerked away. The blackness went to gray, and through the clouds, I saw Noah crouched beside me.

“Chloe, can you hear me?”

I opened my mouth to speak, and choked.

“Baylie’s calling 911,” he said. “EMTs will be here soon. Just stay still.”

Noah looked up at something, and I tried to follow his gaze. By the stockroom door, Maddox appeared, his face flushed from running and his expression furious.

“Got away,” he growled.

For a moment, he met Noah’s eyes, saying nothing and through the fog, I couldn’t read the exchange. But then Noah blinked and looked back down at me.

“Stay with me, okay?” he urged. “Just hang on.”

I shivered. The ringing in my ears was getting louder, and blackness was creeping back across my gaze.

And everything hurt. God help me, everything hurt.

Blackness swelled. Weights pulled at my eyelids as the ringing grew louder, drowning the sound of Noah calling my name and dragging me down till darkness took the pain away.