The Vanishing Game (4 page)

“Spend the night if you want.” He pointed at a door down the hall. “That's a second bedroom. The laundry closet is next to it, so feel free to use the dryer for your clothes. And some T-shirts are in the dresser.”

He stood and headed away from me. Over his shoulder he added, “In the meantime, try to get your head together.”

I didn't bother to thank him. Now I realized Noah didn't believe me. Did he think what I'd shown him was a hoax? For a few seconds my confidence that my brother
was still alive wavered like a candle flame in a cold draft. But then I mentally sheltered that hope, unwilling to let Noah's faithless logic extinguish it. Besides, there was one thing I now knew for sure, and it was a bit of information I was very glad to have: Noah hadn't been the one to send me the envelope from Jason December. Since only Noah, Jack, and I knew about that code name, no one else could have sent it. My brother was alive and somewhere in Watertown, because the postmark showed it was sent from here.

Why Jack had faked his death and sent me this clue was baffling. And yet I knew he wouldn't have let me suffer like I'd done these last weeks without a reason. Once I found him, he'd tell me everything.

I woke from a dreamless sleep to see muted morning light, and peered at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly eleven and another overcast day. Lying there relaxed, my mind turned again to my brother. My twin, Jackson Harte, and I were the only children of our mother, Melody. Insisting we'd nearly killed her during childbirth, she'd immediately demanded that the doctor tie her tubes.

Jack and I were both tall and looked a lot alike, except my eyes were blue and his were brown. Coming from a fine-boned, five-foot-three mother, we could only guess about our father. We never knew him and Melody wouldn't talk about him. More than once Jack and I made up stories, always assuming he was tall. During one of our ongoing games of make-believe, we decided he played center for an NBA team.

“Which one do you think he could be?” I asked as we watched the playoffs on TV. I was ten and kept studying the brief glimpses of faces the cameras showed, hoping to find an obvious resemblance to the man who might have contributed to our DNA
.

“Narrow it down,” Jack replied. “It's none of the Hispanic guys. At least not for you because of your blue eyes. My dad might be, though.”

“Hey, brainiac, did you forget we're twins?”

“That doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does!”

“Not if Mom had sex with two different guys on the same day.” He laughed at my expression. “It can happen, sis. I read about it in the newspaper.”

I glanced away to hide my expression. A few minutes later I left the front room and went into our tiny, shabby bedroom. Outside the window dry pellets of snow, hard as salt crystals, hit the panes
.

“Hey,” Jack said, coming into the room. “Five minutes ago you said she probably slept with the whole basketball team, remember?”

“It's not that.” I turned away from the brittle snow to look at him. “What if it's true and we're only half brother and sister?” The idea that Jack and I might not share 100 percent of our DNA was devastating
.

He shook his head. “We didn't get our brains from Melody, right? She couldn't finish a word search to save her life. That had to come from our dad.”

I smiled and nodded in agreement because I desperately wanted to believe that was true. He came over and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Guess what? I have a puzzle for you. Think you can figure out the clues?”

“Of course.”

“It's not going to be easy. No hints this time.”

“I didn't need any last time.”

The memory made me smile to myself and then fight back tears. Jack was the only family member I'd ever loved or cared about. He protected my sanity, the same way I protected his. In the whirlwind childhood of Melody's neglect and her boyfriends' brutality, we gave each other the mutual nurturing an only child would never have had. There wasn't any sibling rivalry between us. Sometimes there were teasing words, but nothing ever meant to cut.

My brother's sudden death had left a huge hole in my life. My grief was intense. Visits with my therapist didn't help, even though he kept assuring me healing took time. What saved me was getting the unexpected envelope from Jason December. I just needed to keep going and figure out where Jack was.

I climbed out of bed and winced because my neck was sore from Noah's chokehold last night. Going into the bathroom, I saw my clothes had been laundered and were neatly folded on top of the hamper. Had Noah washed and dried them out of kindness, or because he didn't like the idea of a pile of soggy stuff left on his bathroom floor? I figured it was the second reason. On top was a new toothbrush, comb, and an envelope with my name on it; cash was inside. Though I should have felt grateful, it left an unpleasant taste
in my mouth. Maybe Noah gave me the money to make sure I got out of his house and didn't bother him again.

After showering, I wiped the foggy mirror and examined my face. For a second or two as I stood there, I caught a glimpse of the young girl I once was as she hid just behind my reflection. Like a ghostly hologram, Jocey faded in and out, her image overlaid by my slimmed-down face and recent ice-blond highlights. During the last few years I'd spent a lot of time trying to make her vanish, though coming back to Watertown was bound to resurrect her. Once again I was that preteen girl with dishwater hair, a flat chest, and a defensive expression. I'd been so gangly, awkward, and such a late bloomer that I was sometimes still surprised by what I now saw in the mirror.

I grabbed the blow-dryer, working on my hair. It was long and shiny. At age twelve I deeply hated having short hair and made a silent promise to myself that someday it would be long. I never let anyone butcher it again.

Turning off the blow-dryer and refocusing my eyes on the mirror, the old Jocey's image finally faded away. Now, at almost eighteen, I admitted there'd been a plus to my unattractive looks back then. Considering all the men that drifted in and out of Melody's life, if I'd been pretty like my mother I'd likely have gone through much worse stuff than I had. But because all they saw was a tall, scrawny kid that could've passed for a boy, they left me alone. The best of them ignored both me and Jack; the worst had a cruel streak we avoided by becoming invisible.

I smoothed my hair and wished for some clips to pull it back. It would have also been nice to have some lipstick and eye shadow, but even at my worst I was so much prettier than my younger self had ever been.

After dressing, I left the bathroom and walked through Noah's house. I realized he was gone and shoved down hurt feelings. He'd probably skipped out to avoid seeing me. Going into the kitchen, I raided the pantry and ate a bagel. Then I called a taxi, which took twenty minutes to show up. I locked the front door behind me. It had been a mistake to come to Noah for help. My car was still missing, along with everything I needed to get back home, but if I could just find Jack it would be okay. My brother and I had always taken care of each other. Even if he was in trouble, the two of us would work it out together.

I had the driver drop me off in the middle of Watertown and spent the afternoon visiting places where Jack and I had gone as kids. This included a couple of computer and game stores, our favorite fast food places, and the Flower Memorial Library that I'd once loved. I didn't learn anything new, but it helped me feel less anxious, as if I were getting closer. Eventually I ended up at an Internet café and paid to check my e-mail for anything from Jack. I was soon disappointed. After that I searched the web for an hour, checking out his favorite forums. No sign of him.

There was nothing left but to take the loathsome next step. I started the long walk to Keyes Avenue. It was time to face the one place I'd been avoiding.

Nearing twilight, I wandered down familiar streets leading into the older neighborhood. To the west the troubled sky was an odd shade of brownish purple. It reminded me of a growing bruise. Opposite, in the east, distant rain clouds hung like layered scarves of dark gray. A new storm might be coming to town, though whether it would bring another downpour like last night, I couldn't be sure.

As if drawn by a magnet, my feet led me back to Seale House. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, I studied the oversize house that dominated the neighborhood. It had steps going up to massive double doors, and a front of pink stone that turned terra-cotta in the lowering light. Shadows deepened on the porch, dimming the glass panels in the doors and obscuring the windows. For a second there seemed to be a silvery movement behind one darkened pane. I told myself it was just the reflection of a passing cloud.

The house that had once looked so beautiful on the outside was nearly ruined, charred black on the east side. I couldn't help but stare at it with a thrill of miserable pleasure like the one I felt two years ago after learning that Melody, my vicious mother, had finally partied herself to death.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds, wanting to block it out. Yet even with my eyes closed the house stayed, seared onto my retinas as if it had the power to give off UV rays. Once again I was twelve years old.

We moved up the pebbled cement walkway. A sound like a contented sigh escaped me as I looked at the grand house in front of us. I heard Jack's teasing voice just low enough for the social worker to miss his words. “You're in love.”

I didn't bother to tear my gaze away from the large porch and pink stone that shimmered pale in the direct afternoon rays
.

“So are you,” I whispered back, knowing what he was thinking because I could hear it in his voice. We were both hopeful that foster care wouldn't be so bad after all. In fact, maybe it was going to be great
.

He shrugged, turning playful. “Think we've died and gone to heaven?”

We reached the porch steps before I could answer
.