Chapter 33

Alice

I don't go back to school the rest of the week.

I can't face Maya or Jinx or Runy. I can't face the Christmas sweaters and the jingly music and the excited vibe of anticipation everybody will have. Only a few more days and school will be out for Christmas vacation, but so what? Maybe that means something for everybody else, but not me.

Every day I head to Killer's Grove. I can't forget the look on poor Detective Lambert's face when she saw that picture with Ella and me, Isla flashing the heart symbol in the background.

I can still feel the moment. How I couldn't breathe. Like I'd forgotten how to. I've lost my family, but she's lost her daughter.

So I wander the frozen forest, looking for Isla, looking for Theo, for my dad. But the ghosts that haunt me are silent.

I don't believe in ghosts, but my mom did. She was always superstitious. It's not the dead you should be scared of, it's the living, she used to say. But I think bad things can imprint on the air, like a stamp on paper. Even when the thing that made the impression is gone, you can still feel it, the sensation of it. At least I can.

They aren't real, I know that. Isla, Theo, my dad. They're all dead, reflections of my own guilt, my own grief. I guess I just hope that if I can find out what happened to my family, maybe they'll disappear. Maybe I won't be a freak.

I can't move on until then. And why should I? What would you do if your whole family just disappeared? If you knew in your bones that they were dead, but you couldn't prove it? You have two choices when something like that happens: move on or find them. And I'm going to find them. Even if doing so means I learn something horrible.

Back at Mel and Jack's, I pull the folded piece of notebook paper listing my evidence out of my pocket. Something wrinkled and dark flutters to the floor. I scoop it up. It's the petal I found in the hall last week, crunchy and broken, barely recognizable now. I rub my fingers together, and it crumbles to ash, scattering at my feet.

I flatten the paper on my bed, letting my eyes trail down my list. The photos of my mom, which I burned but still exist in my mind, Theo Moriarty's uncashed paycheck, the numbers on the bottom.

I saw them together, my mom and Theo.

It was a warm fall day, and I was late for Ella's soccer game. I'd gotten distracted taking pictures of the trees as their leaves started to change. I cut through town, desperate not to be late, when I saw her.

She was knocking on the door to an unfamiliar house. Black Lake is pretty small, and I'd never seen her there, so I stopped my bike and watched as she snuck into the backyard. Then I followed.

I saw the way he looked at her, his lips, the way he pressed them to her hand, how she said his name, Theo , a breathy sigh. I lifted my camera, snapped a picture.

I didn't even go to Ella's soccer game that day. I was so angry. I looked at that picture over and over. I veered from fury to fear. I eventually deleted it, not wanting proof of what I'd seen, then raged because I'd deleted it. I lashed out. At her. At Ella. Even my dad. I never got to explain. Never got to tell her the truth behind my anger.

I think the things that really shape us are the things we don't say, not the things we do. Not the lies but the truths we hide, buried between the letters in our words.

I'm hungry, so I take a break and go downstairs, make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. The house is too quiet, too empty. Mel's taken Finn on a Christmas train ride, and Jack's working. As usual. I take my sandwich upstairs. Alfie immediately jumps onto the bed, nose twitching. I throw him a piece of melted cheese, but he turns his nose up, tail flicking.

My phone pings, an email from school notifying me I have math homework.

It gives me an idea. I wipe my greasy fingers on my jeans and pull out Mom's laptop. I checked everywhere except her email.

I sit cross-legged on the floor, laptop open, and navigate to Gmail. Alfie strolls over, batting at my necklace. I push him away, distracted, exasperated. Mom's account has been logged out. I don't know the password. I try sunshinefamily , then Ella's birthday, then mine and my dad's, but they don't work, either. Gmail notifies me I have one more attempt before it locks me out.

I think for a second, then remember something my dad showed me once when I forgot the password to my online bank account. I open Chrome's settings and go into the password manager. I scroll through the different applications and find my mom's Google account and click the eye, revealing her password.

Harpers1!

I type it into Gmail, and I'm in.

A lot of Mom's emails from last year have been read, but any since July, when the cops gave the laptop back, are bolded. Most are junk. Reduce inflammation with this magic cream nonsense. But one isn't junk. And it was sent just a few days ago.

The email is from Black Lake Credit Union. It says Final Notice in the subject line. I click into it.

Turns out a payment is due for a safe-deposit box my mom took out right before she disappeared.

I'm staring at the laptop with my mouth literally hanging open when I hear Isla's voice. "She was hiding things."

"From who?"

"You know who."

"Dad?"

"They're dead because of you."

"No," I whisper.

"You know I'm right. It's your fault they were fighting."

I think of hearing my parents arguing in their bedroom, cracking my door open as their voices split the night.

It's never been enough for you, has it, Laura? Dad slurred, drunk again. This life we've built. The life we've made as a family. Who is it, Laura? Who are you fucking?

And then my mom's voice. Pete, no!

Crash. The sound of wood splintering.

Did he hit her with the chair? Or push her into it? I'll never know. All I know is the things I heard and what I saw the next morning: the chair shattered into kindling on the floor.

Isla's right. They were fighting because of me. Because even though I deleted the picture, I told Dad I'd seen Mom with Theo Moriarty.

He started sleeping on the couch. They didn't speak, and when they did, it was like feral cats scratching at each other.

Eventually things got better. Within a few weeks, they acted as if everything was fine again. I thought maybe they'd be okay.

Until the day Mom went to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder. She told him she'd slipped on the wet pavement while out drinking with Mel. I knew it was a lie.

Everything was fucked after that.

"You should've kept your mouth shut," Isla says.

She's right. It's better to watch. To listen and observe. To collect information like a chipmunk collects nuts. Because the truth hurts.

Now I swallow my voice. I don't speak up. I learned my lesson the hard way.

Sometimes a lie is the kindest truth you can tell.

"Go away," I tell Isla. And she does.

I write down the name and address of the bank on my notepad. I'm going to find out what my mom kept hidden in that safe-deposit box. But first I need a key.

I check my box of things, rummage through my drawers, my desk, tip out my purse, and look through every pocket. No key. I need to go back to my house. Maybe my mom left a key for her safe-deposit box somewhere there.

A banging comes from downstairs, urgent, demanding. I hurry down the stairs and throw open the door.

On the front porch isn't just one person, but two. My grandma and Jinx.

Both start speaking at the same time.

Blood . . . phone . . . Maya . . . questioning . . .

Their words roll and twist around each other. "Wait, what?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay!" Grandma pulls me tight against her chest. She smells clean, of shampoo and coconut soap, and it's comforting in a way I haven't felt in a long time. "You were talking about blood and then you didn't call me back, and I haven't been able to get through to anybody. I've been so worried!"

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry, Grandma. I lost service when I was talking to you, and then I forgot to call you back."

"But you're okay?" She holds me back, assessing me.

"I'm fine. I promise."

"Okay. Okay, good." She releases a long breath and turns to Jinx. "This young lady is quite insistent that she speak to you immediately."

Jinx strides inside, pacing back and forth in the living room. She runs a hand through her gelled hair. Her eyes are pinched.

I follow her but stand back. Too much is coming off her at once. Anxiety. The scent of burning metal. Fear. Vanilla. Confusion. Rotting vegetables. Sometimes I feel like all my skin has come off, like I have no protection from other people's emotions. Jinx's hit me hard now.

"The police have taken Maya in for questioning!" she blurts.

I feel like she's punched me in the face. "What?"

Jinx's mascara has smudged under her eyes, making them look black and wide, like a crazed raccoon. "Yeah. And I think I know why."

She takes a deep breath, the chains on her choker rattling. "It's why we were fighting on Monday. I was at her house a few days ago and I found something weird. It was a phone but, like, not a smartphone. It was old and cheap. I was curious, so I opened it, and there were these texts to someone called Laura. Your mom. They were horrible. Bullying, abusive texts. I found the phone with this."

She holds up a key chain, an Alice in Wonderland figurine dangling next to a shiny silver key.

I snatch the key chain. "My house key! Why did Maya have it?"

"She took it."

"Wait. Maya stole Alice's key?" Grandma says. "Why?"

"And why was she texting my mom?" I add.

"She said she was trying to scare her. Your mom took something that belonged to her. Maya was looking for it. I don't know what, she wouldn't say, but Maya was afraid your mom would go to the police with it."

I flash back to one afternoon shortly before Mom went missing. Maya and I had been doing homework in my room when Mom came in. Maya had seemed angry and left abruptly. When I followed her down the stairs, I saw Mom and her whispering furiously to each other; then Maya stormed off. When I asked Maya about it later, she brushed it off, said she had her period and was just in a bad mood.

"I told Maya she needed to tell you the truth," Jinx says. "She was going to tell you on Monday after school, but you left, and now the police have taken her to the station."

My grandma and I stare at each other. A cold, sticky feeling is sliding down my neck. Neither of us says what we're thinking out loud.

But Jinx does.

"Do you think Maya had something to do with your family going missing?"