Echoes

by Marissa Lete

  When I reach the driveway, disappointment hits me. The car is gone. My chance of finding answers is lost.

  I turn back to the house, shivering as a cold breeze blows across the yard. I want to go back inside and turn every square inch of the house upside down to find more information, but instead, I just stand there, trying to catch my breath.

  For the rest of the night, I toss and turn, questions running through my head. Was the person in that house Maverick? And if he was, what was he doing there? Why was the house foreclosed, and where do they live now? Around 4, I come to the decision that attempting to sleep is futile, so I flip my bedroom light on and pull out my laptop to do some research.

  I start by typing the name “Maverick Schall” into the search bar. In seconds, a list of various people with the same name pops up and I begin to scroll. Unfortunately, as I click on each link and scan through, I don’t find anything that stands out. Most of the people listed are from different states or aren’t close to my age.

  I type in “Annie Schall” next, and the first link that comes up takes me to an obituary for Annie Elizabeth Schall, who passed away on April 19th of this year.

  My eyes drift down the page.

  Annie Elizabeth Schall, 49, passed away Sunday morning at her home in Shorewick.

  In honoring her wishes, no services will be held.

  Annie was born in Shorewick, the daughter of Eliott William Schall and Angela Rose Schall. Annie worked at Lakefield Elementary as a Kindergarten teacher for 23 years until retiring in January of this year.

  Surviving is her son, Maverick Schall.

  I swallow hard.

  Maverick’s mom passed away. The same woman I’d heard an echo of that first night we’d moved into our new house. I want to feel sad at the knowledge of her passing, but because I can’t remember her, I can’t seem to feel anything other than confusion.

  And that’s it. Nothing else. No other family, no cause of death, no information about where Maverick is now. It isn’t helpful at all, but it does strike me as odd that Annie was so young when she passed. And no cause of death is listed.

  Now I have more solid proof that Maverick really exists, and yet, I’m no closer to finding him. It’s relieving to know that I’m most likely not hearing things that didn’t happen, but at the same time, it’s unnerving.

  Because why can’t I remember him?

  Chapter 16

  The entire next week I can barely focus on anything but the echoes around me. Everywhere I go, I listen, hoping for more information about Maverick. Nothing comes up, as usual, but I stay on edge, just in case.

  At school, Grace still won’t have anything to do with me. I watch her sitting at the lunch table with Andy or walking through the hallways holding his hand. She looks so happy, like she’s thriving without me, and I’m beginning to believe that I really was holding her back.

  Then, on Friday night, an unexpected echo appears in my house while I’m reading a book downstairs. The front door opens, followed by the sounds of multiple feet walking into the kitchen.

  “Welcome to my house. I’d offer to give you a tour, but it’s nothing compared to yours,” I hear my echo saying.

  “At least it’s homey. My place feels like an empty castle,” Grace’s echo replies from the same direction. I turn my head, interested. I remember this day, the first time Grace had come over to my house. I’d been to her house once already to hang out, and I’d invited her to mine a few days later.

  “Laura, is that you?” my mom’s echo calls out from her office.

  “It is!” my own replies.

  “How was your day? How did the—” Mom’s voice moves into the kitchen, then stops in the doorway. “Oh hello there! What’s your name?” I remember, now, being a tad annoyed by Mom’s enthusiasm at meeting Grace. She acted like Grace was the first friend I’d ever brought over to hang out. And I mean, she was, but I didn’t want it to seem like that.

  “I’m Grace.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you!” Mom exclaims. They’d shaken hands, I remember.

  “Sorry I didn’t call. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if we hang out here tonight?” my echo says.

  “Of course not! You’re welcome any time. Seriously,” Mom’s echo replies. I roll my eyes, picturing Mom’s giddy smile as she said the words. I remember the moment of this echo, and yet, I have no memory of any of the echoes of Maverick. If I can remember this small encounter with Grace and my Mom from a year ago, why can’t I remember him? Maybe the story I’d told the ice cream girl wasn’t far from the truth: maybe I do have amnesia. Me, my parents, and the workers at Louise’s. All at the same time.

  “I appreciate it,” Grace’s echo says. She’d tested Mom’s offer many, many times since that day. For the past year, we’d hung out at my house every couple of days. I’ve been so focused on solving the Maverick dilemma that I haven’t noticed how strange the past few weeks have felt without her. A part of me wishes I could be friends with her again, that none of this crazy drama had ever happened.

  The echo moves into the living room, and a wave of nostalgia comes over me as I listen, remembering the conversation like a weird, extended deja vu. We talked about our classes, about how much we hated our super-strict gym teacher Ms. Miller, and about the various books and TV shows we shared interest in. But then, something comes up that I don’t remember ever talking about.

  “Who is it?” I hear Grace’s echo ask.

  “Who’s what?” my echo replies.

  “The person who keeps texting you! Who is it?” Grace asks again.

  “I—it’s no one. Just a friend,” my echo replies.

  “You mean to tell me that someone who’s ‘just a friend’ is texting you every ten seconds?”

  “He’s not texting me every ten seconds,” my echo tells her.

  “Oh, so it’s a he?”

  “He is not important.”

  “So that’s why you grin like a little kid with candy every time you see his name light up on your screen? Maverick? Did I read it correctly?” Grace asks mischievously.

  “I do not.”

  “You do. I want details, friend,” she replies, serious. I can picture her knowing smirk, the glint in her eye as she said the words. I know exactly how she would look at me while saying this, but only because I know her so well, not from my own memory.

  “There are no details. We just… kinda went on a few dates, is all.”

  “A few dates? Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend, Laura?”

  “He’s not—”

  “I need to see pictures of this mysterious man I knew nothing about,” Grace’s voice cuts off mine. I need to see pictures too. I hear my echo sigh, then a brief pause.

  “Here.”

  Grace’s echo gasps. “Oh, hello! Oh my gosh, he’s hot, Laura. Where did you even find him?”

  “He lives across the street. He came by the night we moved here, and then we kept running into each other.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” my echo replies. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Grace’s echo sighs, then launches into full-on story mode, telling every last detail about Andy and their complicated history. I remember this part of the conversation, where I first learned that Grace and Andy had been together, but had broken up a few weeks prior. But I don’t remember the part about Maverick, as usual. It’s as if the entire night still happened the same way in both my memory and the echo, but everything involving Maverick is just gone.

  I sigh, knowing that there’s nothing I can do about it. I decide that the next time I talk to Grace, if I ever do, I’ll have to ask her if she knows anything about Maverick, though I have a hunch that she won’t.

  Later that night, as I’m finally getting ready to go to bed, my phone rings unexpectedly, startling me. I reach for it and to my surprise, Grace’s name is displayed across the screen. I stare at it for a minute, confused. It’s close to midnight, which seems like a strange
time for Grace to be calling.

  I take a deep breath and pick up the phone. “Hello?” I say tentatively, part of me hoping it’s just an accidental call and the other part hoping she actually wants to talk.

  “Laura?” Grace’s voice is strained, and by the sound of it, I can immediately tell that something’s wrong.

  “What’s going on?” It seems weird to be talking directly to her after all these weeks of being avoided.

  “Laura, I’m so dumb,” she says, her voice shaking through the phone. She lets out a muffled sob.

  “Is everything okay?”

  There’s a long pause before she replies. “I’m such an idiot. I should have listened to you. I’m so, so sorry,” she chokes out.

  “Grace, it’s okay. Tell me what’s happening.”

  Grace hesitates, then her words tumble out between sobs. “I went to this party with Andy tonight. Everything was fine at first. And then—then Dana showed up. She started calling me names and making fun of me. Others started doing it, too. Andy—he—” she pauses, sucking in a shaky breath. “He just sat there. Let them say all these things to me. So I ran to the bathroom to calm down, and when I came back they were sitting there, kissing.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

  I close my eyes, regretting ever wishing for this moment. I hate hearing Grace like this.

  “I know you probably hate me. I was a jerk, I know that. I just… I need help,” she cries.

  I think about it, about how I’m still mad at her for treating me the way she did, and how I’m worried that this will happen again. But then I think of the echo I heard earlier, and remember all the fun times we’d shared. I can’t just throw it all away, not when she’s one of my only good friends. “Where are you?”

  “Jet’s Warehouse,” Grace replies sheepishly. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “I snuck out, my parents don’t know I’m here. I need to get back home, but Andy was my ride.”

  I sigh, looking at the clock just as it strikes midnight. “I’ll be there in a little bit,” I tell her, then hang up the phone. My parents are fast asleep and I consider waking them to tell them where I’m going, but decide against it. I should be back within the hour, and it’s probably not the best time for me to be explaining the whole situation with Grace to them, either.

  As I drive through the cold, black night, I try to think of how I should deal with Grace. Can I really just put everything she did behind me and be friends with her again? If she gets back with Andy eventually, I don’t want to go into this circle again.

  And what about Leo? How will his confession of love change the dynamic of our friend group? Will we ever really be a group again?

  I’m so lost in thought that I miss the turn into the abandoned industrial park. I snap into focus, watching my GPS as it recalculates the route. When it finishes, I see on the map that the road ahead of me comes to a dead-end where I can U-turn. I follow its direction, making a three-point turn at the end, then drive back toward the turn I missed. I’m not far from the turn when in front of me, my headlights reflect off something metal, the object growing larger as I get closer to it. My stomach drops. There, parked sideways across the middle of the road, blocking my path, is a car.

  My stomach falls even lower as I recognize it.

  The Suburban.

  Chapter 17

  Panic takes over as I slam on the brakes, my car jolting to a stop about twenty feet away from the Suburban. My heart pounds in my chest, and I hesitate there for a moment, sizing up the gap between the back end of the Suburban and the ditch on the side of the road. I’m not sure if I can get past it without getting my car stuck, but with the dead-end behind me and a steep hill along the other side of the road, my options are pretty slim. I’m not about to sit and wait for a friendly reunion with the guy who had chased me.

  I hit the gas and swerve to the left, holding tightly onto the string of hope that I can make it out of this. A loud grinding noise hits the air as I pass the Suburban, its back bumper scraping against the side of my car. My side mirror collides, too, and gets ripped off. But I’m free. I made it past the car.

  I press the gas pedal to the floor, watching my rearview mirror as the Suburban turns, racing after me. I make a hard right turn onto the road that leads into the industrial park and it follows, tires screeching.

  I speed into the industrial park, taking in my surroundings. It’s big, a maze of disintegrating buildings and parking lots overgrown with weeds taking up about a square mile. My GPS tells me to go left to get to Jet’s Warehouse, but I’m not about to lead the Suburban there. I move in the opposite direction and zigzag through the streets like I’d done on foot when I was chased downtown, hoping that I’ll lose the Suburban. It follows closely, but after a few twists and turns, it starts to lose some ground.

  When I make a sharp turn onto a side street, I spot an alley between two buildings that looks just big enough to fit my small sedan, but not the Suburban chasing me. I turn down it, and while I check my rearview mirror to see if the Suburban can follow, I almost miss the giant chain link fence blocking my path. Luckily, I spot it just in time and slam on the brakes, my tires squealing as my car slides toward it, then collides, stopping abruptly. Behind me, I see headlights shining into the alley, and I curse. I’ve trapped myself.

  I pull the handle on my car’s door, but it only opens a few inches before it hits the wall of the building next to me. There’s no way I can fit through the space, so I roll the window down, squeezing my body upwards through the gap. I climb over the hood of my car, rushing to the fence. I put my hands on it, shaking to determine its structural capacity, but I realize that there’s no way my car could generate enough force to knock it down, not without backing up to the start of the alley and then speeding up again. I shake it again, panicking. It’s got a gate, but it’s padlocked shut.

  Behind me, I hear a set of footsteps moving toward me.

  I grab onto the chain link fence, pulling myself upwards. I’ve got no other choice, so I climb, throwing a leg over the top, then lowering myself back to the ground.

  The second my feet touch the cement, someone makes contact with the fence. I don’t look back, don’t even hesitate, I just break into a sprint. After a hundred yards or so, I can see the end of the alley up ahead where it runs into the adjacent road. When I’m a hundred feet away, headlights appear in front of me and the Suburban comes screeching to a halt across the gap, blocking my route of escape. I skid to a stop, trying to think quickly, trying to find a way out of this. But I’m not fast enough. The footsteps behind me close in and the door of the Suburban opens, another figure making its way out into the dark alley.

  Before I can prepare to defend myself, a body collides with mine and an arm slides around my neck. A hand grabs one of my arms and forces it behind my back. I reach with my other hand, trying to rip the hands away from my body, but I’m weak in comparison. I let out a scream.

  “Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you,” a gruff male voice breathes into my ear. “You’re not getting away this time.”

  “Hold her there,” another voice calls from the direction of the Suburban. My captor tightens his hold on me, pushing me towards one of the buildings until I’m up against it, my cheek pressed against the cold, rough brick. I struggle, trying to kick or pull or bite, but every time I move, my captor’s grip around my neck tightens.

  “Give it up,” he says, holding me firmly in place, the skin on my cheek burning. I’m breathing hard, and I stop moving for a moment before I lift my leg and kick backward, hard. My foot makes contact with his knee and he loosens his grip for a second as he tries to find his balance. I seize the moment, throwing all of my strength into movement, breaking free from his grasp. I try to slip away, but before I can take three steps, a hand lands on my head, grabbing a fistful of hair. I scream as he tugs, pulling me down to the ground. I land on my knees and he grabs my arm again, forcing my body lower. My cheek collides with the ground this time, and n
o matter how much I kick my legs and struggle, I can’t seem to escape the force holding me down.

  As I’m laying there held captive, I hear footsteps coming up behind us.

  “Grab her—” my captor begins to say, but cuts off. Just then, the weight holding me down lifts. I roll over, scrambling to my feet. There’s another figure a few feet away, struggling against the man who had been holding me down. I watch them for a second, tangled in a battle of strength.

  “Run!” one of the figures calls and I snap into action, turning my head around. Over by the Suburban, a person is lying on the ground, still. Someone’s helping me. I can escape. I turn toward the chain-link fence where my car still sits, headlights glowing faintly through the alley, and I’ve only taken about three strides towards it before I realize something.

  That voice.

  I recognize it.

  I stop in my tracks, whipping around to look back at the fight. Both of the men are covered in dark clothing and the alley is dimly lit, so I can’t tell which one is my rescuer. I watch as the taller of the two takes a swing at the other, fist colliding with jaw. He falls to his knees and the other guy shoves him to the ground and lands a kick right to his head. The man on the ground goes still.

  I watch silently as the man still standing pauses for a moment, his chest heaving in exhaustion. Then his head lifts in my direction, and my heart skips a beat.

  “You should leave. Now,” he says, and my heart completely stops. I know that voice. It’s the voice from the echoes. Maverick.

  I stare at him through the dark. I can make out his figure, tall and lean, but I can’t see any of his facial features. He stares back at me, unmoving. After a few seconds, he takes one step toward me and instinctively I mirror him, taking a step back.

  Is this Maverick? The boy I’ve been hearing echoes of, the boy I’d supposedly fallen in love with but have no memory of? The boy who’d been erased from my life somehow? I’m both desperate to know and terrified of the answers. I’m not sure what to do, so I just stand there, feeling a cool breeze blow through the alley.