Chapter 7

Alice

I enter the code, letting myself into the gated development where Mel and Jack's house is. My breath comes in ragged little gasps, and not just from my crazed bike ride over here. I don't know what to think about that backpack.

I didn't get a very good look at it. Maya had immediately scooped it up and turned to leave. We kind of fought about it. I wanted to keep it, but Maya wanted to turn it in to the police. She said it's evidence. I said if it's Ella's backpack, it's mine. Maya said we didn't know it was Ella's, so it wasn't mine. Maya won. Like always. She took the backpack and drove off.

Maya's bossier than I am. Or maybe she's just more confident, I don't know. She doesn't care what people think, and she does things I would never dare to. Maybe that's what she likes about Jinx. She's got that no-fucks attitude about her, too.

I didn't wait around for the police to show up. I figure they know where to find me. They never had a problem last time.

I walk my bike up the road to Mel and Jack's house. It's set in a bend of the lake, a huge, ten-thousand-square-foot, modern monstrosity. So big that my house could probably fit in one corner.

They own other houses, too. A hunting estate in Connecticut, a beach house in the Hamptons. But I've never been to them.

I lock my bike in the side shed and walk up the front driveway. The old me would've thought living here was so cool. I used to love the movie room, wine cellar, fitness room, infinity pool, and private beach. This me, the new me, hates it. All the emptiness, what Mel calls minimalism , and those windows, there're so many of them—sometimes I feel like I'm on display. Mostly I hide out in my room. Alone.

I fumble in my backpack for my key. Last summer, a local woman was murdered, her body found floating in the reeds in the lake. Black Lake's pretty small, and we don't get a lot of crime. Underage drinking and DUIs, that sort of thing. But a murder, and then That Night, everybody's freaked out. Now people lock their doors, check their cars, make sure their Ring videos are on.

I overheard Jack telling Mel that houses in his new gated development over by Killer's Grove are selling like crazy. Even the slogan taps into people's fear: Put your family's safety first.

I unlock the door and step inside. From the massive, two-story entry I can see straight through to the kitchen, stainless steel on shiny white, out to the lake. Everywhere are clean lines, white and steel interior with little splashes of color.

"Alice, is that you?" Mel's voice floats from down the hallway.

I don't answer. Ever since That Night, I've found it hard to speak up. The words die in my throat, like it's too weak to carry the weight of my breath. I try to sneak straight up to my room, but she calls out to me again.

"Alice?"

I sigh and turn around. I find my aunt in the home gym, surrounded by a Peloton with a large monitor, a range of workout machines, a full set of weights. She's on a yoga mat in handstand scorpion pose. She's reached total Zen. Her ice-blonde, pixie-cut hair is perfectly tousled. She got it cut the same time as I did. It suits her. Brings attention to her sharp cheekbones, her big, flashing dark eyes. My four-year-old cousin, Finn, is sprawled on another mat playing on his iPad.

"Hello, sweetheart. How'd studying go?" Mel drops into downward dog and smiles warmly up at me.

Mel is all about mental health, mindfulness, wellness. I guess on the surface, she looks pretty chill, but I know a medicine cabinet full of benzos and sleepeasies that says differently.

"Fine."

Finn's face lights up when he sees me, his arms reaching out for a hug.

I squeeze him tight, kissing his neck until he giggles. "Alice!"

I low-key hate my name. At best, it makes people think I'm some lost girl falling down a rabbit hole. At worst, I mean, it has lice in it. Gross.

"I'm playing Minecraft !" Finn exclaims earnestly. "I made a roller coaster!"

"Dope. You're super good at Minecraft , Finn."

Mel peers at me, her eyes seeing too much. "Are you okay?"

We don't talk about it, Mel and me. I never planned for it to be that way, it just sort of happened. After the car accident, when she brought me here from the hospital, it was too hard to be around her, to see the agony frozen on her face. It hurt to see the mirror of my pain reflected in hers. The scent of her grief, so raw, like torn leaves and lightning strikes, was too much for me to take.

She only asked once and then never again. Now it's this thing stuck between us.

"I'm fine," I say.

Mel sinks onto the floor gracefully, spine straight, legs crossed. "You look tired."

That's the second time someone's said that to me today.

"So do you," I say. And she does. She looks pale and drawn, dark circles sketched beneath her eyes.

A stab of alarm jolts through me. Sometimes I worry she'll get sick again, like she did when she was pregnant. Like she did after my family disappeared.

Peripartum cardiomyopathy. A weak heart caused by pregnancy. She's fine now. She has a pacemaker, she's careful about her health. Mom told me once it was why Mel treats her body like a temple. Yoga. The home gym. The organic foods. She wants to make sure she stays alive. For Finn.

But I still worry. That she'll leave me. That I'll be all alone again.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about me, I'm fine." She smiles; unfolds her long, lean frame; and comes to give me a hug, rubbing my shoulder blades in small, reassuring circles. I feel myself stiffen. I want her comfort and I don't. It's like glass under my skin.

Her arm falls to her side, and she does that thing where she consciously centers her breathing, draws energy from the earth or whatever.

"I know exactly what we need." Her eyes light up. "We'll get massages! And a facial. It'll be so relax—"

"Rain check?" I cut her off. The backpack, seeing my dead dad, my conversation with my grandma, these thoughts are pressing down on me, too heavy to share. "I have to study. Thanks, though!"

I run up the stairs to my room. My bedroom is a lace and white monstrosity that Mel decorated after I moved in. She obviously has no idea who I really am, because I'm more a blackout blinds, chill-out lights kind of girl.

My long-haired gray tabby cat is asleep on my bed. Alfie is basically the only thing I have from my old life besides clothes. Alfie and a box of stuff the cops returned to me months later, after they lost hope of ever finding my family.

I change my socks—freshly washed socks are best for not bunching—and run a hand over Alfie's soft fur. He makes that funny prr-meow cats do when they're startled awake, then stands, arches his back, and glares at me. Alfie's kind of a dick, actually. But I love him.

I watch him walk away, feeling like I'm floating, untethered, belonging nowhere. I shake myself and stand, scoop Alfie up, and give him a kiss despite his protests. "Come on, Alfie, let's get you some food."

He follows me back downstairs to the kitchen, where I pull a can of cat food from the designer walk-in pantry. The whole kitchen is high-end, high-tech: a ginormous chef's fridge with a wine fridge, a luxury espresso machine, a Gaggenau oven, which apparently is lusted over by designers around the world but means nothing to me.

I snap the lid off the cat food and empty it into Alfie's dish. While he eats, I browse Snapchat on my phone, post a picture of Alfie eating. My fingers play over the scar tissue on my forearm as I scroll. I take a few deep breaths. That's what Dr. Pam always says to do to calm myself, to smooth out the sadness. Breathe.

But breathing doesn't always work when your chest is filled with cement.

Mel and Finn come into the kitchen, and she starts frying some venison sausage and eggs for lunch, my uncle's favorite. The smell makes my stomach twist with nausea. Eggs gross me out. Did you know Alfred Hitchcock was scared of eggs? Blood is jolly, red, he said, but egg yolk is yellow, revolting. I totally agree.

Jack enters then, immaculately dressed in a collarless shirt and navy Gucci blazer. He's dressed down for him, but obviously on his way to work. What is it with grown-ups always working on Sundays? Jack kisses me on the cheek. He's tall, lean, muscled, his red hair lightly gelled. Jack and my mom were fraternal twins. Sometimes he looks so much like her, even though he's a guy, it actually hurts. It's his eyes, I think, a vivid dark blue.

Jack checks his Rolex. He's always in a hurry, one of those guys who thinks you can only be successful if your day is planned down to the minute. He hates waste.

"You look nice." I point at his tie. "Business on Sunday?"

"No rest for the wicked," he says with a grin. "I'm doing a site visit to check on some new construction."

Mel turns to him, frowning. "You're working today? You said we'd spend time together as a family."

Jack's nostrils flare as he sits at the table, the only sign he's annoyed. "It's unavoidable. I'm meeting Nick on-site."

Mayor Nick Greene is the reason Jack gets planning permission so fast. My dad was friends with him in high school. Dad liked to joke that introducing Jack to Nick was what opened all the doors for him. Apparently, in politics and real estate, money makes things happen. They'd go hunting together, golfed together, played poker together. Until my dad died. Now it's just Jack and Nick.

Mel sets a plate in front of Jack, maybe a little too hard, then turns and leaves the room.

Jack and I exchange a look. It's unlike Mel to act out.

"Some days are still hard for her," Jack finally says.

I stare at him. It's the for her that really gets me. But Jack, clueless like always, doesn't seem to realize what a dick he sounds like saying that to me.

"I think she's still figuring out how to cope. You know for a long time, she used to go back to your house? She'd just sit there, like maybe one day they'd come home. I think she still goes there sometimes."

Mel returns to the kitchen, her face once again serene. She begins putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Finn hugs Jack, then pokes him in the belly, making Jack laugh.

An ugly stab of jealousy twists in my stomach, tangling with the nausea from the eggy smell. And then a heavy thud of sadness. They may have their problems, but they're still a family.

We were robbed of this. My family and I.

I slip upstairs, eager to escape. Keeping my ears open, I sneak into Mel and Jack's bedroom. It's decorated in soft grays and cool whites with huge windows overlooking the lake. I go into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet, tip a few of Mel's Ativan into my palm. I feel better just knowing I have them. That there's backup.

I hurry upstairs to my bedroom and shut the door.

An icy breeze is cutting across my room, sending loose chills that shiver down the back of my neck. I swallow hard and wrench my curtains open.

But my window is closed.

I stare outside at the breeze ruffling the black lake, the trees dancing like a marionette, the dark clouds scuttling through the sky.

Somewhere down on the beach, a shadow dips and spins, disappearing as fast as a blink. My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel sweaty and shaky all at once.

I close my eyes, mind again flashing to that backpack. What does it mean?

When I open my eyes, there's nothing there. Just the empty beach, a sweep of storm-dulled sand, a gnarled tree stump.

But my breath has gone raspy in my chest. It feels like something is wrong. Like something very bad is about to happen. Again.