Chapter 16

Alice

"Did Ella have the backpack with her the night your family disappeared?" Detective Lambert asks me.

"Yeah. We both did. We were supposed to spend the night at my aunt and uncle's. My family, we always stayed there on Christmas Eve. It was like a tradition. But I had a sore throat, and Ella didn't want to stay without me."

"So you weren't supposed to go home that night?"

"No. My parents were kind of arguing about it, and then my dad said we'd all leave, that he'd bring us back in the morning."

A frown pins her mouth down. "Bring you back? Just you and Ella? Did he not plan on staying?"

"I don't know." I pause. "Actually, now that I think about it, my parents didn't pack a bag. Maybe they weren't planning on staying? But that doesn't make sense. We always stayed on Christmas Eve."

"Did you tell anybody this? After the accident?"

I think for a second. "I don't know, it didn't seem important."

"What happened to your backpack?"

"The police gave it back to me. They looked through it and stuff, but there was nothing inside, really. Just clothes, my toothbrush." I shrug.

She taps the handle of her cane, deep in thought. I flinch at the sound. She stops, sets the cane against the bed.

"You found my sister's backpack with a body. What does it mean?" I ask. "Did this person kill my family?"

"The truth is, I don't know what any of it means yet. It's still too early to say. But I will investigate if there's a connection."

"They're dead, aren't they?" I stare at a damp spot on my jeans. My throat feels clogged with tears, like I've swallowed marbles.

"I ..." She hesitates, and in that hesitation I hear everything I don't want to hear. "I don't know."

I suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired, the Ativan wrapping itself around me. My arms and legs are floaty, weightless as a feather. My brain has gone gluey.

She's just another cop, just like the other ones, empty words and broken promises. This unknowing will never end.

Detective Lambert massages her knuckles into her left leg. "The police report says you were with someone. A little girl."

I stare at her, open-mouthed. After the accident, I told the detective about the girl who'd been in the car with me. He thought I was just dreaming.

"I guess she wasn't really there."

"You guess?"

"I mean ... the detective said there was no evidence anybody else had been there. And no reason why a kid would've been there. And nobody believed me."

"I believe you, Alice. Will you tell me everything you remember?"

"It's kind of fuzzy," I admit. "When I woke up, it was snowing. The car was on its side. The first thing I remember is the pain. My arm was broken, and my head was bleeding. And then I heard this beeping sound. Kinda like when a fire alarm battery's dying, you know?"

"That chirping?"

"Yeah. I thought something was wrong with the car. I was going to get out, but she told me to stay quiet. I think I passed out after that."

I jump up and cross to my window, shove the curtain open wider. Outside, I can just see the lake. Snow hurries past, making it look like it's steaming. The bare boughs of the trees outside my window are stark against the white-gray sky. My reflection is pale, dark circles under my eyes.

"I know what you're thinking, that I just dreamed her. Maybe I did." I shake my head. "The next time I woke up, she told me to run, and I did."

The tears I've been holding back spill over, scalding my cheeks, an ugly gray guilt blooming in my chest. I brace myself for it. Everything happens for a reason or It'll get easier or some other stupid platitude people always say. They're all bullshit. It doesn't get easier.

But Detective Lambert doesn't say any of them. She uses her cane to stand and crosses the room so she's directly in front of me. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love. I promise you, Alice, I will do everything in my power to find your family."

I study her face. I see a map of pain there. And something else, a kind of stoicism, an iron will to just keep going, to not collapse into sadness. She's the type to move forward, never back. I wish I could do the same.

Maybe she isn't like the other detectives after all.

"You lost someone, too." It's a statement, not a question.

She nods. "My daughter."

"Is that why you see the shrink?"

She smiles sadly. "Yes."

The look of resigned guilt on her face says she blames herself.

You know all about guilt, don't you, Alice?

My head snaps up at the sound of the voice. But there's nobody except the detective and me here.

One thing I've learned is that guilt and grief are just flip sides of the same coin. And here's the ugly truth: they make you into a different person. When my family was here, I was part of a whole. I could be selfish and it didn't really matter. They propped me up, made up for my weaknesses.

Now I'm just me. Alone. And it feels harsher and brighter at the same time, like everything I do matters now because I don't have anybody to back me up. I'm more aware of people now. More sensitive to their pain. I've always been sensitive—to loud sounds and bright lights, to strange textures and strong tastes—but now I have a deeper understanding of emotions, too.

Right now, for example, I can feel the detective's pain, bulky and black. The scent of it comes off her in hot waves, smelling bitter and wild, like burned coffee and split wood. The scent of her sadness is wild and green, like dying grass. I want to photograph her, to capture the lines of it in her face, her eyes.

Detective Lambert sits again on the mattress. "I lost her last year. Sunday was the anniversary."

"Close to when my family disappeared."

Something tight and surprised flickers over her face. "I suppose so."

The heating kicks on, a low drone. I close my eyes. My head feels like it will float away. And then, abruptly, I'm back there. The dark forest, the yellow headlights beaming into the swirling snow, the cold slap of it against my face. I'm running through the icy forest, branches clawing at my face, snagging on my clothes.

I went back. After I ran away. I never told them that.

"Alice."

My eyes jerk open.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

I hear a scratch at the door and pull it open. Alfie saunters in. He rubs himself against Detective Lambert's legs, purring.

"I can't believe him. He hates everybody. Except me," I add.

She bends to pick him up. He nuzzles her chin. I shake my head. Traitor. She plucks a piece of fur out of her mouth and sets him on the bed. "Were your parents fighting before they disappeared?"

I scowl. "Last year the detectives were, like, obsessed with that. They thought my dad killed my mom. Do you, too?"

"It's often the case, unfortunately," she says honestly, "but it's too early for me to say. Other than rumors, there's no evidence. Of anything." She touches my knee. "I need you to be prepared for whatever I find. I'll follow the evidence, and I will investigate with an open mind, but sometimes the answers we get aren't the ones we want."

I'm a little surprised by her honesty. Usually grown-ups just try to hide things, like teenagers are dumb or something. I take a deep breath. "She was mad at him for what happened at school."

"Getting fired?"

"He wasn't fired . Everybody said that, but he was just suspended. My dad never had a drinking problem . He just drank sometimes . The school was looking into it."

"That must've been hard for you."

"It was embarrassing," I admit. "Everybody was talking about it."

"Did you know why he went to work drunk?"

I look away, face burning. "No."

She changes tack. "Your dad was driving the night they disappeared. Was he drinking?"

"No."

"Were any of the adults fighting? Any arguments you remember?"

"No." Frustration leaks into my voice. "It wasn't like that. It was a family Christmas gathering. We were dancing and laughing. We were happy ."

The detective leans closer, her amber eyes serious. "Alice, can you tell me, from the beginning, what happened that night?"

So I do. I tell her what happened. My version of it, anyway. That's all the truth is. A version you choose to tell.

"... and then I ran into the forest, and that's where that guy found me."

I've started to sweat, my armpits slippery. That phrase sweating like a pig pops into my head, even though it's biologically inaccurate. Pigs are born without sweat glands. They literally can't sweat.

"He found you in the forest?"

"No, I mean"—I shake my head, flustered—"by the side of the road, I think. I don't remember very clearly."

The detective looks at me for a long moment. "But something happened, didn't it? Something you're not telling me."

I stare at her, not sure how to answer. Sometimes we tuck our secrets into that tiny little space between words, the weight of them turning us into liars. Sometimes the truth isn't good for anybody.

"What happened to your family, Alice? Where are they?"

This time, I tell her the truth. "I don't know."

After Detective Lambert leaves my room, I lie down and let the Ativan carry me away. Alfie is on the pillow next to me, his body wrapped around my head, like a hat.

I hear the detective in the hallway, speaking to Mel. I can't tell what they're saying, just their tone. Mel is pissed, getting all overprotective and annoying. I'd bet my left boob she's telling the detective to talk to her hotshot lawyer.

I stare at my ceiling, the smooth white nothingness of it. I didn't really see my dad, I tell myself. It was hypnagogia, like the detective said. I hallucinated while I was drifting off to sleep.

Mel knocks softly. When she enters, she has a large mug of hot chocolate. She sets it on my bedside table, chattering away about Finn and Christmas shopping and what we'll do when my grandma arrives. I sit up, reach for the hot chocolate. I know she really just wants to find out what the detective and I talked about.

I tell her they found a body with Ella's backpack, but it isn't anybody in our family.

"What does it mean?" she asks, her brow furrowed, confused.

"I don't know." I lie back down, roll over so I'm facing the wall.

She rubs my back, her palm hot through my sweater. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

I want her to leave. She's giving off those need me vibes, and I just can't deal. I don't want a different mother; I want my mother. I don't want Mel's stupid home-cooked meals and hot chocolate and lace curtains. I just want my family back.

Finally she leaves, shutting my door with a quiet click. I stare out the window, feeling like someone has carved my insides out. A crow streaks past, a black smudge. It caws angrily. Crows get a bad rap for bringing bad luck, but they're actually, like, supersmart. As smart as a seven-year-old.

I feel like I'm going crazy, my memories bleeding into my nightmares. I think about that creepy, staticky phone call, and I think about seeing my dad at Maya's party and his words to me earlier.

Why haven't you found us, Alice?

I think of my sister's backpack found with that body. How do the pieces fit together?

My grandma is right. I need to get out of Black Lake. I need to try to move on. Until I do, I'll never be anything but a freak. The girl left behind. But something inside me is frozen. I can't leave until I know what happened to my family.

I can't bear the thought of doing a true-crime podcast about my family's disappearance. Of going against Mel and Jack's wishes so publicly. But until I know why they're gone and I'm still here, I'll never be able to move on. I can't move into the future if I don't deal with the past.

Suddenly I know exactly what to do.