Chapter 3

Alice

I'm a sweaty, panicking mess as Maya drags me from Killer's Grove back to the house. She leaves Runy and Jinx in charge, grabs my coat, and pushes me into her car.

The radio blasts on when she starts the car. I flinch, the noise like a slap. She turns it down and pulls out of the driveway. Silence is thick between us, sticky as saltwater taffy.

The lake whooshes by, Christmas lights dotting the perimeter like a diamond necklace. A papery moon is rising, moonlight catching on the water's surface, turning it white and shivery and drawing the trees in charcoal. Gradually I relax, a weight lifting the farther we get from the party, from the house, from Killer's Grove.

"I'm sorry," Maya says, shooting a side glance at me. "I shouldn't have made you come."

"It's not your fault."

"It's too close to where it happened."

"I wanted to go." It's a lie—Maya knows I didn't want to go—but I don't want her to feel bad.

I tug at my socks, which have twisted in my shoes. The sensation makes my fingernails feel like they're peeling backward.

She glances at me. "What were you chasing, Alice?"

I close my eyes. She didn't see the person standing on the edge of Killer's Grove. I'm not sure I did, either. Like the weird vision of my dad at that party, she's just a figment of my imagination.

"What were you chasing?" Maya asks again.

"I don't know." The lie tastes rusty, like blood. I can tell from the tension in her jaw she doesn't believe me.

My phone beeps, a text from Runy.

Dude. You okay?

I don't reply. After a minute, another text.

My sister Chloe works for a true-crime podcast. She told me you can call anytime if you want to look into what happened that night.

The thought makes me feel sick. I mute my phone.

By the time we reach Maya's house, the Ativan has become a heavy hand pushing down on me. All I want to do is sleep.

Maya lives in a tiny, sixties ranch house about a half a mile from mine. Well, from where I used to live. Now I live at my aunt and uncle's house in a fancy gated development outside town. These days, my house just stands there. Quiet. Dark. Waiting. For what, I don't even know.

Maya moved here a few years ago when her mom's cleaning business took off. Before that, they lived in a trailer. Her mom worked two jobs while her dad didn't work at all. Whenever I came over, I'd hear them, Nancy and Dom, fighting over bills. Dom's kind of a loser, although I'd never tell Maya that.

We sneak in the back. It's Saturday night, and her parents think we've gone to a movie. I used to be jealous of the freedom Maya's parents gave her. Now I think independence is something you want when you're a kid, but then you grow up too fast and you wish you could give it back, regift it like a dusty bottle of wine.

Inside, the house is lit with a string of Christmas lights, flashing green, then red. Maya's older brother's door is closed. I hear Dom snoring down the dark hall. I head straight to the kitchen and grab one of his beers, crack the top, and guzzle half of it.

"Seriously?" Maya hisses. She rolls her eyes and heads to her room.

I finish the beer in great, greedy gulps even though I know I shouldn't. I need to stop drinking, stop taking Ativan with my new antidepressants, stop acting so reckless.

The call with my grandma flashes in my mind again. I push it away. Bury it. I don't want to think about it right now. I just want to forget. Just for tonight, I want to sleep.

Maya's sitting on the edge of her bed, bent over, unstrapping her heels. I feel tension coming off her, anger maybe.

"Is it okay if I stay here?" I ask.

I'm supposed to ask my aunt Mel before I stay at Maya's, but I never do. I don't know why. Sometimes I'm too good at the hate part of love. I want to hurt the people who love me on purpose. My shrink says I'm testing them, seeing if they'll really stick around. Making sure they really love me. It isn't fair, I know. Obviously, I have issues.

"You know it is." I don't have to see Maya's face to know she's annoyed. She thinks I'm not taking care of myself. Maybe I'm not.

I text Mel, then turn my phone off so she can't call me. I sit next to Maya, the metal bedsprings squealing under my weight. I drop my head onto her shoulder, my fingers playing across the scar tissue on my forearm.

"I don't understand what's going on with you, Alice," she says.

I don't know how to tell her. What will she think if she finds out I'm seeing things?

I'm suddenly so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. The silence stretches. I'm whirling and swaying, diving toward sleep, and it's pulling me in.

"You don't have to do this to yourself, you know," Maya says. "They wouldn't want you to."

"I know," I murmur.

And I do know.

I see my dad standing on the other side of that dance floor. He would want me to be happy. They all would.

Maya sighs. I feel my body sliding down to the bed. She lifts my feet, drapes the blanket over me, and then I don't say anything more. I let the warm chemical slumber pull me under.

The next morning, I wake early. Frost prickles the grass in the backyard. A thick mist hangs like a ghost over the street. The sky is gray and the house is freezing, which is probably good because a hangover is chewing at my head.

I check the clock on the wall: I have an appointment with my shrink in an hour.

I stagger out of bed, desperate to water my dehydrated brain. Maya's still asleep, sprawled on the camp bed on the floor. A soft snore bubbles from her mouth. Her feet hang off the end. I should've let her take the bed.

I step over Maya and look around for my purse. I have a moment of panic before I remember I left it in the bathroom at the house party last night.

Shit. My new antidepressants are in there. Panic fills my chest, followed by a thump of dread. I'll have to go back later.

I grab my phone and take it into the bathroom. As soon as I turn it on, notifications light the screen. Mostly from Mel.

Mel has only ever been Mel, not Aunt Mel. Same with Jack, even though he's my mom's brother. I'm not sure why; they just never asked us to call them aunt or uncle.

Living with them is so different from what my life was like with my family. Our house was always warm, filled with light and noise and mess. Mel and Jack's house is supermodern and super-stylish with too much glass and too much order. They have money. Lots of it. Jack's a property developer—he owns half the land around Black Lake—and Mel runs a successful yoga studio.

I scan Mel's texts and then shoot her a quick reply.

Soz, studying trig last night and forgot to turn phone back on. Don't worry, I won't forget shrink this morning. Will be back to yours after.

That's another thing I never do: call Mel and Jack's house home . Home is my house, the house where my family and I lived. Even though I haven't been back since they disappeared.

In the bathroom, I guzzle cold water straight from the tap, then shower and dress in clothes I keep at Maya's. I leave my shaggy bob to air dry, then rifle through the medicine cabinet, looking for anything, Xanax, Valium, Ativan. But there's nothing there.

When I yank the door open, Nancy is standing there. She's wearing full makeup already, dressed in a navy pantsuit, her dark hair in a neat french braid. Gold jewelry at her ears and neck glows against her smooth skin. Ready for work, even on a Sunday.

I slide past, shooting her a nervous smile. Crap. I hope she didn't hear me going through the medicine cabinet. She grabs me for a big hug. Nancy is all motion, all action. She loves big and laughs big.

"Hey, Sweet Pea." Nancy has called me that since I was five. "Want some cereal?"

"Yes, please."

I sit at the kitchen table as she pulls out a box of Cheerios and shakes some into a bowl. Outside the window, a deer steps through the front yard. It leaves tiny footprints in the frosted grass, each foot placed tentatively in front of the other. I watch the deer. It seems so alone, as lonely and abandoned as I am.

Nancy slides the bowl and a carton of milk onto the table.

"Thanks," I say.

Nancy pours hot water over a mug of Nespresso, and the smell of coffee fills the room. She sits across from me, and for a moment her face drops and she looks tired. Usually Nancy is so vibrant, so alive. Mom always called her a fireball. But lately—maybe since last year—she's seemed, I don't know, haggard? Stressed? Maya says she works a lot now that her cleaning company is growing.

"Your aunt called last night," she says.

"Sorry." I rub a hand over my bleary eyes. "She's so neurotic."

Nancy lifts one eyebrow.

"I know, I know." I'm such a bitch. Mel's literally the opposite of neurotic. She's calm and levelheaded, warm and protective. She's been nothing but good to me. "I'll call her back."

"I told her you were studying."

"Thanks." I don't meet her eyes. I'm guessing she doesn't know Maya steals the keys to the vacation homes her company cleans, throwing parties she charges entry for every weekend.

"When's the last time you slept, Alice?" Nancy asks. "Like, really slept. You look exhausted. Is everything okay?"

I know what she's seeing, because I can feel it. My eyes are fat and bloated, more red than white. My brain is fuzzy, like I'm underwater.

"I'm not sleeping great," I admit. "The anniversary ..."

I let the sentence trail off, looking out the window at thin rays of sun trying to burn off the fog. I think about telling her I've been seeing my dad lately. That last night I chased a figment of my imagination into Killer's Grove.

But I'd just sound crazy, so I don't say anything. I don't want people to think I'm more of a freak than they already do.

She reaches across the table, squeezes my hand. "Tough times never last. Tough people do."

"I have a friend whose sister works for a true-crime podcast. I was thinking, maybe I should let them interview me, you know, for the anniversary? Maybe it would, like, renew interest, get new leads."

"Are you going to do it?"

Mel warned me from the very beginning not to talk to the media.

They will ruin you. Ruin us, she'd said. Nothing will be off-limits for them.

"Do you think I should?" I ask Nancy.

Nancy sips her coffee. "I think you need to take care of yourself. Get a good night's sleep. Focus on your future.

"The past"—she shakes her head—"sometimes all it does is weigh you down."