Six Months Later (22 page)

We sit in the parking lot behind the school, waiting for Mags to show up. My parents, for once, will be out too late to notice my absence.

We keep the radio low and read through the sections in my books that cover hypnosis. I highlight a section and hand it over to Adam.

“Okay, here’s the bit on imagery.
It’s often helpful to use imagery in a sequence to bring people into a hypnotic state
.”

He frowns. “What imagery?”

“I can’t tell you. There are case studies in the back, but it’s not something I can rehearse. If I think about it from your point of view, it won’t work on me. Keep a steady, soothing tone.”

“I don’t like this, Chlo. This is like
The
Idiot’s Guide to Psychology
. Enough people have messed with your head already.”

“It’s fine,” I say, but of course it’s not fine. It’s an insane idea born out of pure desperation. As tense as I am right now, it’d be a miracle if a trained hypnotist could put me under, let alone a couple of amateurs with a textbook. But we have to try.

Adam’s face makes it clear he doesn’t agree. “It’s dangerous, Chlo. We don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, well, clearly neither did Dr. Kirkpatrick. They obviously killed her for a reason, and I’m thinking a botched attempt at cover-up is probably said reason.”

He trails a hand down my cheek. “I just want you to think about this. There’s a lot that could go wrong.”

“I’ve done nothing but think about this.” I sigh. “I’m done thinking. We’re doing this, Adam. We have to. It’s simple. You’re going to lead me through some relaxing imagery and count backward and gently lead me through the night at Blake’s house.”

His jaw goes tight. “And what if you do remember? Are you ready to remember everything that might have happened that night?”

“Yes, everything! Why would you—oh. Oh.”

Everything
that
might
have
happened
starts to sound a lot like
sex
things
that
might
have
happened
.

My stomach does an ugly barrel roll. I take a breath and press my lips together. Could I forget something like that? I think about Blake’s familiarity in my room, the way he’d tossed our books aside like there were better things to do.

No, I wouldn’t have done that with him. But a devil’s voice reminds me that not so long ago, I would have done
anything
for Blake Tanner. And I’m just kidding myself if I try to pretend that anything wouldn’t have potentially included sex.

I turn to Adam, biting my lip. “Were we…serious? Blake and me?”

Adam shakes his head slowly, looking pained. “Don’t make me go there.”

“Are you saying this because you don’t know or because you don’t want to talk about it?” I ask.

“Both, if you want the truth,” he says.

I scoot away from him. “Because it would change the way you feel about me, right? Because you were fine and dandy with the whole fake dating gig right up until you had to think of me as leftovers.”

“First off, you’re nobody’s leftovers. Second, until that day at the tutoring center, I had no idea Blake being with you was actually his dad’s sick new way to keep a thumb on you.”

“What, you thought he was
sincere
? Why on earth would someone like Blake date
me
?”

Adam’s eyes are narrowed, his voice too loud. “I don’t know, Chloe, maybe because he’s met you?”

The compliment doesn’t faze me. Maybe because as far as I remember, I haven’t had sex with anyone. So yeah, I’m a little preoccupied with the fear of it happening with somebody who was getting paid by the hour.

Maggie taps on his window, and we both look up. I climb out of the car, trying to look nonchalant. “Where’s your truck?”

“I walked. I was t-too paranoid someone would see it,” she says. Her brow is furrowed in a way that tells me she doesn’t buy my glib attitude. She can tell I’m upset.

Adam heads in first, and Maggie snags my sleeve at the door. “What’s wrong?”

I take a long breath. “How about what isn’t? It’s a shorter list.”

***

An hour later, Maggie bites her lip and looks around the silent study hall room. “Okay, this isn’t working, and I’m nerved out. When d-does the cleaning crew get here?”

“They don’t come on weekends. We’re fine,” Adam says.

She’s been edgy since we got here. Maybe the school wasn’t the best idea, but we need privacy and I figured being in the place where it all started might jog my memory.

I open my eyes and shift in the chair, my gaze going to the window beside me. It’s creepy thinking about the last time I looked at that rectangle of glass. If I fall asleep now, will I wake up to flowers?

Adam adjusts his coat behind me, and I frown up at him. “I’m sorry. I thought it would work faster.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m probably not doing it right.”

“Me either,” Mags adds.

I shake out my shoulders and clear my throat. “Let’s go again. I just need to be a little more receptive.”

Maggie gives me an appraising look, one that tells me she’s pretty sure I’m not going to be receptive to anything even remotely like what they’re doing. She exchanges a look with Adam that makes it pretty clear it’s a shared opinion.

“We could try the lake imagery again. That was nice.” My voice sounds unconvincing. Even to me.

“Maybe Adam is right. We could g-go to the police,” Maggie says.

“We’ve been over this,” I say. “I need that box. I wouldn’t have hidden it if it wasn’t seriously important.” Their silence seems to agree with me, so I push my hair behind my ears. “We have to do this.”

Adam nods and scoots closer, reaching for my hand. I feel the roughness of his fingertips against my palm. A flash of him walking down the stairs at school rushes back at me.
Halfway
down
the
stairs,
he
turns
over
his
shoulder, giving me a smile that makes my insides curl warmly.

I gasp and squeeze his hand harder. “Wait. I know what I need. I need you to touch me.”

He smiles a little wickedly, and I smack his arm, flushing to the roots of my hair. “Not like that. I mean—”

“You’ve remembered things when I touch you,” he says, filling in my awkward silence.

“Yes. That.” I turn to Maggie, willing my cheeks to cool down. “That’s how I remembered that night at Blake’s. When you held my hands to help me up, it all came back to me.”

“How?” Maggie asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit, lacing my fingers with Adam’s. “Maybe it’s because of my connections with you.”

“Would that b-be stronger than the drugs?”

“It can be,” Adam says softly, and I squeeze his hand, too overwhelmed to voice my own opinion. The truth is, my connection with both of them might be the strongest thing I know. Maybe the strongest thing I’ll ever know.

“Okay, we’ll d-do it again. Holding your hands,” Mags says.

She scoots her chair closer to me. Her hand is small and cool, and Adam’s is wide and warm. They are absolute opposites, and they both fit me just right.

“Close your eyes,” Maggie says.

Something in me struggles, still afraid of what will be waiting when I open my eyes. Most of all, I fear the truth of the six months I can’t remember. Knowing there will be pieces I wish I could forget.

No. This is not me. I jump off bridges. I pull fire alarms. I don’t have a place in me for this kind of fear. I push it back, tamp it down, and focus on Maggie’s words.

“Should we start with the lake?” she asks, voice gentle.

I feel the rising panic as the unknown draws closer. I think of the person I’ve been. Of the things I might have done and said. And then I feel the welcome softness of Adam’s lips against my temple. It’s featherlight, nothing like the heat and pressure he usually delivers.

I feel his lips near my ear, then a soft whisper. “We find what we find. And we move on.”

“We leave it in the past,” Maggie whispers.

I let out a sigh, one that comes from the deepest parts of my soul. Maggie starts to count, and they both hold me tight. Finally, I begin to let go.

***

I look around the blurred edges of this memory, down at my black sweater and jeans. At the wet snow clinging to my boots. Something dark peeks out from my curled fingers.

“I’m holding the box,” I say, but my voice comes out somewhere else. I’m here but not here. Watching it like a bad movie, where the color is distorted by static.

I move through the yard, my steps pushing through the snow to the wet grass underneath. A familiar house stands across the yard, the back steps covered in snow.

“I’m at Maggie’s house.”

I walk away from the house, my feet slipping through the slushy backyard. Am I going home? No. Not home.

I know where I’m going. Around the compost pile and down to the base of the tree. I drop to my knees and wipe the snow away with my bare hands. My fingers burn and ache from the cold. There’s a shovel in the tree, but I don’t use it. I just rip the loose chunks of dirt away until I see the metal rectangle.

The Not Treasure Box.

“I found it.”

I wrangle it out and wrench it open. Bracelets and bookmarks and coded letters in Maggie’s writing and mine. Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I put the new plastic box inside, pulling the latch open to look at the contents.

Four syringes rest side by side in the bottom. I snap the lid shut and tuck the container beneath an old Tinker Bell T-shirt. Then it all goes back into the ground. I scoop mounds of half-frozen dirt back over the hole, stomping it down with my feet. The snow turns the dirt to mud, but it’s good enough. It will have to be.

“Are you still at Maggie’s house?”
The voice is nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Yes.” My own voice is still crisp and clear in that other place. “I’m leaving now.”

I find my car parked crookedly two streets over. I turn the key in the ignition with shaking hands and slip-slide my way back to the main road.

Lights flash overhead, green and red. I don’t know if I stopped. I don’t even know if I was supposed to. I’m on autopilot with no destination, turning blindly from one street to the next. This is crazy. I have to stop this.

I pick up my phone, dialing the only number I can think of.

“Don’t tell me you’re stuck on number twenty-nine,” Adam says by way of greeting.

I try to keep my voice normal. “Can you meet me?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong? You don’t sound right.”

“Chloe, are you ready to come back now?”

“Yes.”

The faraway voice begins to count. It pulls me away from the cold and the snow, tugging me closer to the sound. Then it is right there with me. Only inches from my ears.

I am back.

I hear the soft drone of the radiator and the shuffle of Adam’s boots against the floor. It’s okay. Everything is okay this time.

“I know where I hid the drugs,” I say.

I open my eyes.

I’m facing the window I saw the first time I woke up. This time there’s a man standing in the snow beyond the glass. He’s tall, graying, and either he can read lips or he has mutant hearing. Because the smile on his face tells me he knows what I said.

“Adam?”

The terror must be as clear on my face as it is in my voice. Adam swears softly under his breath. His back is to the window, but he knows who’s out there. I’m sure of it.

Daniel Tanner.

Out of nowhere, Adam lunges out of his chair, hands reaching for us. His chair knocks backward, and I hear him whisper even as he hooks his fingers in my shirt. “Run!”

I jerk back, shocked, and he kicks at the chair, like he’s tangled up in the legs. I can’t do anything but stare, my mind reeling to catch up. He fumbles for my sleeve, but Maggie yanks me free, dragging me toward the door.

Daniel is watching us. Adam nods and waves him toward the cafeteria before reaching for me again.

“You’re not going to get out of here until you tell me where they are!” Adam yells, but the sharp edge in his voice doesn’t match the worry in his face.

My face feels hot, my jaw too tight. This can’t be happening. He can’t have fooled me for this long. But he told me to run. I heard that. I’m sure I did.

Something flings past me. Maggie’s thrown a chair. It hits Adam in the shoulder, and I don’t know if she’s acting or if he’s acting. I don’t know what’s happening, but I run. We rush into the hallway and around a corner with Adam right on our heels.

He grabs both of us by the shoulder, hauling us back easily. I take a breath, feeling a scream build, but then Adam’s hand is over my mouth and his cheek is pressed to the side of my face.

His voice is low. “I’ll keep him off your trail, but you have to get out fast.”

Relief floods my senses. I nod and curl my fingers around his wrist as he pulls his hand away.

“H-how? Where w-will we go?” Maggie asks.

“Get the drugs and go to the police.” Adam holds my gaze. “You can do this.”

Distantly, I hear a scraping squeak. The cafeteria door squealing open. Daniel’s inside.

“Okay, I need you to hit me and run,” Adam says.

My head feels loose and fuzzy, like static is buzzing through my brain “No! We can’t just leave you.”

“Yes, you can. Use the back door in the library then cut away from the school. Now, hit me.”

I shake my head. “Adam—”

I see something flying by my face and then I hear the sickening smack of flesh against flesh. Adam’s jaw whips back, and I cry out as I see blood bloom on his lip. Maggie pulls her fist into her open hand, rubbing her knuckles as red blotches rise on her cheeks.

“Maggie!” I cry.

“Good hit,” Adam says.

I hear footsteps in a nearby hall. The sound sends ice up my spine. I turn to Adam, feeling my heart spiraling into my throat. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave him.

He reaches for me, his fingers warm against my cheek. “Be safe,” he says softly. And then he slaps his open hand against a locker. The crashing makes me jump. “Stop, you little bitch!”

We race back down the hallway, hearing the distant mutter of footsteps and then male voices in the front of the cafeteria. We cut across the back instead, passing the stairs where we eat lunch, and then the school office. We file into the library, wide-eyed and panting.

It’s darker than dark in here. The smell of aging books and new highlighters tickles my nose.

Mags volunteers in the library, so she knows it like the back of her hand, thank God. She slides along the south wall, and I follow her, spotting the muted red glow of the emergency exit at the end of a narrow row of shelves.

The door is old and wooden, a relic of a school with a limited remodeling budget. I twist the knob and push hard. Nothing. I twist again, grunting with the effort.

Maggie’s hand clamps like a vise into my shoulder. I’m about to yelp when I hear footsteps thundering toward the library.

I freeze in place, afraid to release the handle. Afraid to breathe.

“They’re probably at the front by now.” It’s Adam. I’m sure of it.

“You’d better be right, Reed.”

The footsteps move past, and the grip on my shoulder loosens. I take a single shuddering breath, and Maggie presses her hands to the door as well. Our eyes meet and we share a slow nod.

I lift up my fingers one at a time. One, two, three. We slam into it together, and the door flings loose.

We’re out.

We fly into the parking lot in a full sprint. My feet slide on the asphalt, but it’s Maggie’s gasp that stops me in my tracks.

“What is—” I cut myself off because I see what it is. A black Mustang, engine purring and headlights on. Blake.

I keep my eyes locked on the car, on the dark square of glass that hides Blake’s face from me. My hand searches blindly for Maggie until I find her coat sleeve and pull.

“Run,” I say.

“Where?” Maggie asks, her voice shrill. She’s got a point. High fences and thick brush surrounds the high school lawn. From this side, the only way out is the driveway, which means moving straight into the parking lot. We either take our chances of dodging Daniel again in the school—or we run for it.

“We have to book it,” I say.

Maggie follows me as I half run, half slide into the slick, white lot. Running isn’t going to be possible. Ice-skating would be closer to the truth.

I don’t look up, but I hear Blake’s door open and his feet hitting the ground. “Chloe, stop! Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

I just move faster, ignoring the way my feet slip and the way the cold air burns my lungs. We can do this. We
have
to do this.

Blake is closing in behind us. The sound of his footsteps sends me rushing faster, but every step is a chance to fall. And we can’t afford to fall. I hear a scuffling and turn to see Blake in an awkward stance, his arms stretched wide for balance. I square my shoulders. We’ve got the edge for now.

And that’s when Maggie goes down, hitting the ground knees-first with a cry. I pull her up and look at the road beyond the school. We’re close now. The street and sidewalks are clearer, probably thanks to the last dusting from the salt trucks.

“C’mon,” I say. We head for the road and hear a desperate scrabble of boots on ice. I glance back to see Blake on the ground now, swearing.

I don’t look back again. Not when I hear him limp his way back to the car. Not even when I hear the crunch of his tires on the fresh snow. He’s coming for us.

“Chloe?” Maggie’s voice is small.

All I can do is nod. The sidewalks are better, so we pick up speed. But Blake is right beside us, that big engine growling as he keeps pace with our jogging. I don’t know why he doesn’t stop. I guess he doesn’t need to bother. It’s not like we can outrun him.

Not on the street anyway.

Nudging Maggie, I veer into a yard, cutting toward the narrow space between two of the houses near us.

I hear the whirring of a window rolling down and then Blake’s voice.

“Don’t be stupid, Chloe. My dad called. Just show me where it is and nothing bad happens.”

I ignore him and my burning lungs. We climb a chain-link fence and move diagonally across a snowy backyard. Blake speeds up, no doubt trying to cut us off. We switch directions halfway through the yard and cut through to Beech instead of Maple.

Not that it matters. This isn’t Manhattan. He can loop all the streets in town until he finds us. We’re like rats running in a maze.

Maggie stays close as we head back to the road, trying to stick to the shadows. It’s six blocks to her house, and my boots are soaked through. I can hear Maggie’s teeth chattering. How the hell are we going to get there without him seeing us?

“W-w-why is he staying in the car?” she asks.

“Because he knows he has a better chance of keeping an eye on us.”

“So he’s just waiting t-to tire us out?”

“He doesn’t need to catch us, Mags. He just wants to know where I’m going. Let’s cross here.”

We move quickly and quietly across the street, eyes darting in both directions, but there is nothing. No headlights, no rumbling engines. The quiet is almost enough to convince me that I’ve lost him. We’re in and out of a half dozen lawns, zigging and zagging through the growing blanket of snow.

Sometimes, I hear a car that sounds like his. But it’s not. We’re getting lucky. At Main Street, we finally stop. Maggie braces her hands on her knees while I wipe sweat from my brow.

“We have to keep moving,” I say, too nervous to be standing on this corner.

“The p-police,” she gasps out, nodding left.

“Your house is closer. That’s where the drugs are.”

“You d-didn’t bring me anything, Chlo. I d-don’t have them.”

“The Not Treasure Box,” I say, and it is all she needs.

We start to cross the deserted street and then I hear it. A rumble that settles in my bones in all the wrong ways. For a moment, I think of turning back, of slipping into the shadow of the pine trees.

“Run!” I say.

But it’s too late. The engine speeds up, and I know he’s seen us.

Maggie and I are bolting across, but he’s going to be right on us. It’s a straight shot to her house from here. He’ll know there’s nowhere else we could be going.

I change my mind and reach for Maggie’s hand. “Let’s double around. We’ll go by the doughnut shop.”`

Blake’s already approaching the intersection when we change directions. The car starts to turn, but he’s going too fast. The tires slip, and I hear the rapid
thud-thud-thud
of antilock brakes kicking in. He tries to swing back to the right, but the Mustang shudders on the slick pavement. The rear fender squirrels to the left. Too far left.

He’s going to hit something.

I jerk Maggie the rest of the way across the street, my fingers curling hard in her jacket. I can see Blake through the windshield, his face pale and tight with fear. And, just like that, he hits. The right front fender slams into a telephone poll. The smash of metal into wood is like a scream.

And then it’s over.

***

All is quiet and still. The only thing moving is the airbag sagging behind the windshield. I hold my breath and watch it, looking for Blake.

“Is everyone all right?”

Maggie and I spring apart in shock, looking up. There’s an older guy looking down at us. He’s still zipping his coat up over his pajamas, so he must have heard the wreck.

“Are you all right?” he repeats. “Did you get hurt?”

“Yes,” I say, pointing at the wreck automatically. “No, we’re fine. It’s—”

The sound of Blake’s door grinding open chokes my words off. I see one of his feet hit the ground outside the car. Then a second one. Maggie’s grip on me tightens.

“Blake? Is that you?”

Someone else has pulled up. She’s got a coat pulled around her and a scarf knotted at her neck. I don’t know her, but she looks like someone’s mom. Behind her, I see the gray minivan she obviously just stepped out of.

“Honey, are you all right?” she asks, gingerly crossing the road.

“I already called the police,” the guy says. We are instantly forgotten as he walks into the street, checking out the front of Blake’s car with a low whistle. “I’ll call for a tow too.”

Blake steps out of the car then, and his gaze doesn’t stay on his rescuers. He looks past the wrecked car and the melting snow and the people who are gathered in close. Instead he looks at me. His eyes go as hard as Maggie’s grip on my arm.

The mom-type touches his sleeve. “Sweetheart, let me call your mom.”

I see the resignation in his eyes. Because he can’t just leave his wrecked car and chase me through town. He’s stuck here with the concerned neighbors and the police who are already en route. And I can’t help but to smirk at him before I turn away.

“Come on,” I say, as I tug Maggie along with me.

“Wait,” she says quietly. “The police.”

I keep walking, and she trails after me, asking again. “Where are you g-going? The police are coming.”

I don’t answer until I’m sure we’re far enough away that no one will hear. “So what, we just run up to them in the middle of an accident scene? They’ll think I’m crazy, Mags. Honestly, until I see these drugs myself, I’m not sure they’ll be wrong.”

I hear the soft wail of a siren from the opposite end of the street. Maggie looks over her shoulder longingly before speeding up to keep pace with me.

Maggie’s yard is empty when we arrive. Neither one of us says a word. Talking about the Not Treasure Box is a little like talking about where we’re going to eat lunch. We just don’t. She grabs a shovel from the shed, and we run to the tree where we’ve spent countless summer afternoons burying sentimental junk or digging it back up.

It was supposed to be a time capsule. We’d created it in the second grade, some notes and a current newspaper, stuff like that. I’d put in my favorite pencil, and Maggie had included a pink plastic ring that she’d worn all year long.

She’d cried all night over that stupid ring. The next morning, I woke up early and trudged through the dew in her yard. I came back with muddy feet and a piece of pink plastic jewelry. It wasn’t technically a time capsule after that. But it was something else. Something good.

The ground is hard like clay beneath my shovel, but it isn’t buried deep. I chip away at the dirt until I feel my shovel strike something hard. This is it.

I wrestle it out, fingering the rusting latches with a sense of déjà vu. I pop it open and touch the black box inside. And then, just like that, the pieces of my lost summer snap back into place.

I remember being here. I remember burying this box and calling Adam. I remember everything before it too. The months slide back into place like a key tumbling in a lock. The afternoons in study group. The evenings with Blake. It’s all there. The hole in my mind is gone. Dr. Kirkpatrick’s hypnosis sessions. New friends. Cup after steaming cup of that damn lemon—

My head snaps up, tears clouding my vision. “The tea. Oh my God, they put the drugs in the tea.”

Maggie just watches me, one hand at her chest.

I leave the box where it is and lean back on my heels, letting out a long breath. It steams around my face and mingles with my tears as I remember my words to Maggie, my voice so awful and superior. I can see her like it was yesterday, back against the lockers and an expression of dark betrayal on her face.