Chapter 5

Alice

By the time I reach the party house, dark clouds have rolled in. Little slivers of light outline the clouds in shimmering gold.

The old me would've photographed it, capturing the strands of golden light, the way they twist through the gray. Photography used to be something I did with my dad. He bought me my first disposable camera, then a point-and-click, then my Canon.

It's not about the tool, it's about your mind. It's about the story you want to tell, he always said. Photography's a multisensory experience.

I haven't taken any pictures since the night my family went missing. At first the cops took my camera as evidence, but when they didn't find anything and returned it to me, I just put it in a box in my closet, along with my mom's laptop, which they also returned.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I arrive, climbing off my bike and nudging the kickstand into place. It's my grandma calling. Again. And I still don't know what to say.

Mel says you're not happy, she'd said the last time we spoke. Why don't you come live with me in Florida? You can start a new school in the New Year. Focus on your future. Graduating. Dating. Just being a normal seventeen-year-old.

Did you know the day after tomorrow is called overmorrow? I can't even figure out what I'll be doing overmorrow, let alone next month.

But I have an idea. I text Runy, asking for his sister's number. I'm not sure I want to talk to a true-crime podcaster about my story, but I know I want that option.

Runy sends through Chloe's details. I try to psych myself up to call her, to tell my story, but immediately lose my nerve. I shove my phone back in my pocket and look up at the house, the frost-tipped grass, the tall, whispering trees. My breath hits the air in little white puffs. Killer's Grove is at my back, and yet I feel its pull, the darkness like ink soaking into my body.

My chest twists, and suddenly my vision blurs. Water rushes in my ears, rain pummeling my face, my arms. I hear a shout from very far away. Male. Fear like ice fills my veins. My heart is beating too fast. My breaths are too shallow. And then I'm shivering, my teeth cracking together.

"Alice?" Maya's brother, Dash, is standing on the porch, looking at me with a baffled expression on his face. "Are you coming in? You've been standing there, like, forever."

"Oh." Words float elusively, just out of reach. There's no water and, except for the sweat prickling under my sweater, I'm not wet.

"I ... was on my phone." I hold up my phone as proof.

It was nothing, I tell myself. Nothing.

But even I know the lies we tell ourselves are the most dangerous.

I follow Dash inside. He's wearing yellow rubber gloves, cleaning up a disgusting, gloopy pink mess on the floor.

"Maya rope you in, too?" He flashes me a smile, one eyebrow arched.

I return his smile shyly. Dash is hot. And older. And I'm not the type of girl guys notice. They tend to be surprised when they talk to me, like where had I been hiding?

"Um, no, I'm just picking up something I forgot last night."

"Well if she does, make sure she pays you. You think I'm doing this shit for free?" He holds up a spray bottle. "You know how she can be. All for one and one for herself."

I hide a smile. Maya can be a little ... self-serving. But only because she's saving money for college. That's why she charges for entry to her parties. And to be fair, nobody else has access to these empty houses.

"I think she's upstairs," Dash says.

I thank him and head for the stairs.

"Maya?"

I peek in the bathroom, but don't see my purse. I check each bedroom, but don't find her. I'm about to head downstairs when my cell phone vibrates.

"Hello?"

There's a heavy exhalation on the other end. A breathy whisper, something ominous and low layered over static. Chills scatter down the back of my neck. This isn't the first call like this I've gotten. They started a few months ago, as if someone from another world is trying to reach me.

I move to the bedroom window and split the blinds, my gaze moving left, then right, sweeping over the field and landing at the shadowy tree line of Killer's Grove.

"Hello?" I say again. "Who's this?"

I run down the stairs, throw the door open, and launch myself outside. The street's empty, not a person around.

Static crackles and then a faint whisper. My name. Alice. The voice is soft, female. Familiar.

"Mom?" I whisper.

Behind me, footsteps crunch over gravel. Dash has followed me outside, yellow gloves still on. He lifts his arms, questioning.

I press my ear harder to the phone. "Hello?"

There's a sound, very faint, like music. A peppery sense of urgency swells inside me. My skin prickles. I feel like I'm being watched, except nobody's around.

And then again. Alice. Tears spring into my eyes ... not safe.

I open my mouth, but then there's a click as the connection is severed.

Disappointment curdles in my stomach. I stare at my phone, urging it to ring again. But it doesn't.

"Everything okay?" Dash asks.

"I—I . . . ," I stammer. "Yeah. Wrong number."

I'm not sure why I lie, what I'm hiding. But I feel like I shouldn't tell anybody about this. They'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I am.

It was just a wrong number. Or maybe a prank. I snake my fingers up my coat sleeve to my scars, rubbing them like a worry stone.

I wish suddenly I was a kid again. That I could run to my dad and burrow my face in his chest. Which is weird because I used to always wish I was grown up, that he would let me make my own decisions, and now here I am and all I want is to be small, flying down the slide into my dad's arms.

Back inside the house, Maya emerges from a doorway at the end of the hallway carrying a heavy-looking wooden table chair.

"Hey." She sets the chair down in the living room with a grunt. "I put your purse in my car. Can you help me bring these chairs upstairs?"

I swallow hard, glancing back at the front door. I don't want to, but I can't tell her that. "Sure."

I follow her down the stairs into a half-finished basement crammed full of old furniture and boxes and other miscellaneous junk. It's freezing, like a million degrees colder than upstairs. My breath forms an icy white cloud in front of my face.

It smells weird down here, musty and dark, like the room hasn't been let out to air for a long time. I shiver as I look around. This place is creepy as fuck. Dust and fear fill my throat. I want to get the hell out of here.

The basement is filled with junk, old gym equipment, mildewed cardboard boxes with dusty old newspapers, dried-up old paint cans, a handful of mismatching suitcases. There's a torn, black leather sectional and a coffee table that's like one of those old vintage steamer trunks.

I spot a battered violin, one string twisted and broken, poking out of an open box. I strum it, but it twangs discordantly. I used to play. Before. I wasn't any good, but Ella was. She practiced regularly, faithfully, a high achiever in hobbies and life. Me, I'm quiet, distractible, artistic. You'd think it would be my mom, the artist, who I'd take after, but it's not. I'm more like my father, easily startled, sensitive to pain, to smells and sounds, watchful, always on the outside looking in.

Maya surveys the basement with hands on her hips. "Look at all this crap. They just left it here. Just up and moved out of the country. Somebody needs to Marie Kondo the shit out of it."

She swings around, eyes glowing. "I bet there's some stuff here we could sell. You'd be surprised how much vintage shit goes for on eBay. They'll never miss it."

I bite my lip. Maya always has an angle, a way to make a buck. Ever since she got fired from that sports store last year, she's been looking for ways to make money. She never talks about it, but I know she took the fall for something dodgy her manager was up to.

"Can we just finish up here and go?" I feel a creeping desperation to get out of here, away from the oppressive darkness, the musty smell.

Maya rolls her eyes so hard her eyeballs nearly fall out of her head. "Don't be such a wuss."

"Come on . . ."

"Not all of us have a windfall coming." Maya's tone is barbed, and I flush, hurt.

I hate this about myself, how easily I blush. Did you know humans are the only animals that blush? Or maybe other animals are just better at hiding it.

Maya's my best friend, but sometimes she can be like this, her vibe just kinda off. Okay, so one day I can declare my parents dead and collect their estate or whatever, but what sort of trade-off is that?

She immediately realizes what she's said, and she grabs my hand. "OhmyGodI'msosorry." Her words tumble over each other. "That was a dick thing to say."

"It's okay." I shrug, trying to cover the hurt. "Let's see what we can find here."

We dig through boxes, pulling out random crap like chipped old plates and mugs and sweaters riddled with mothballs. There's a box of dusty stuffed animals and another of ancient chargers, tangled and useless.

"Whoa. Check this out." Maya holds up an old flip clock.

I look at it, doubtful. "Who'd want a crappy old clock?"

"Trust me. This'll be worth something." She throws the flip clock into an empty box and picks up a spotlight of some sort. She finds an outlet and plugs it in. A flash of bright white light fills the room, and suddenly I'm tumbling back there, the car swerving, metal on pavement, the splinter of glass. And then ice-cold air. Boots crunching.

"Alice?"

Maya's voice snaps me back. "Yeah?"

"Do you want this?" She holds the spotlight up.

"No, thanks." My voice comes out rusty.

She throws it into the discard pile and keeps digging. I watch as she finds a vintage record player, some patterned glassware, a couple of old board games. She moves to the old steamer trunk and yanks up the lid, reaching inside. She stares at the item in her hands, her eyes flat, a strange, overly nonchalant look she sometimes gets when she's deep in thought.

"Maya?"

She whirls, losing her grip on the item. It falls to the floor, thuds softly against the hard cement. My gaze drifts to the item she's dropped. It's a small backpack with a large daisy across the back.

I stare at it, my brain reeling, rejecting what I see.

And yet somehow, I know. This is only the beginning. The worst is yet to come.