by R. L. Stine
He scowled some more. “Lame. Try again.”
“Look. Maybe Nikki just . . . needed some space,” I said. I shifted into reverse and started to back down the driveway. “You two have been all over each other. Maybe she was suffocating. Maybe she just needed to breathe.”
“Wow. You suck at this,” he said.
“I suck at what?”
“At cheering me up.”
“Since when is that my job?” I could feel myself losing it. “Robby, we have a lot more important things to worry about than why Nikki lied about being home. Like our sister. Remember our sister? She’s either lost or kidnapped or in hiding or out of her mind or dead or . . . or . . .” I was breathing too hard to continue.
“Okay, okay,” Robbie said softly. “You’re right. Of course.” He turned away from me and stared at the raindrops sliding down the passenger window.
We drove home in silence, with the only sound the soft, steady scrape and squeak of the windshield wipers.
I dropped Robby home, then drove to the grocery store. The store was crowded—I guess people were stocking up for barbecues.
I was distracted. The fluorescent glare of the overhead lights made me feel as if I were maneuvering my cart through a fog. I kept checking my phone, seeing if there was a message from Mom or Robby that they had heard from Dad back at the lodge.
The only message was from my friend Sophie, asking if I was back and did I want to come over and watch some movies or something on Netflix and order a pizza.
“Yes, I do,” I murmured aloud. Something normal. Something to maybe keep me from wondering about Marissa for at least a few hours.
The checkout line was long. I grabbed a magazine off the rack to occupy my mind. But suddenly, a cold feeling gripped me. I felt a chill at the back of my neck.
Someone is watching me.
It was more than a feeling. It was as if I could feel someone’s eyes on my skin.
I swung around, nearly knocking over the woman in line behind me. I saw quick movement a few aisles behind me. Someone darting out of sight?
I realized my heart was pounding. Was I imagining the whole thing? My mind was in such a total state of tension.
No. I had the cold tingling on my skin again. I turned back. No one there.
“Hey, miss—it’s your turn,” the woman behind me said, annoyed.
One last glance. No one there. I spun away and began to load my groceries onto the conveyor.
The rain had nearly stopped when I pulled up the driveway with a trunk full of groceries. To my surprise, Robby came hurrying out the kitchen door to help me carry them in. This was not like Robby at all. As I said before, he’s allergic to helping out with pretty much anything. Maybe he felt guilty for the way he talked to me earlier in the car.
“How’s Mom? Did you hear from Dad?” I asked, fumbling with the bags.
“Mom is a little better,” he reported. “She’s still in her room, but she isn’t crying or anything.”
He held the door open for me with his shoulder and I squeezed past him, my arms full. “And Dad? Did he call?”
“Yeah. But the news isn’t really good.”
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his bags to the kitchen counter. “There’s still no sign of Marissa anywhere. And no clues, Dad said. The police are giving up their helicopter search.”
I stopped to think. “That could be good news, you know. It means they didn’t find her body at the bottom of the cliff.” I pictured poor Taylor, her body crushed on the rocks, her pale face so still and empty.
Would I ever wipe her glassy stare from my mind?
“Yeah. Dad said the police are calling it a missing persons case,” Robby said. He followed me back out to the car to retrieve the rest of the groceries.
I sighed. “How did Dad sound?”
“Mom talked to him. I didn’t.” He lifted out a light bag with bread and cereal boxes and left the heavy bag for me.
“Did he say he was coming home?” I asked.
Robby shook his head. “I think he’s staying out there another day or two. You know. Just in case something turns up.”
Marissa, where are you? Are you going to turn up?
I slammed the car trunk shut. A few drops of rain, swept down from the tree leaves, splashed my forehead. The cold made my skin tingle, and I shivered, more from my thoughts than from the water.
Sophie and I always have a good, giggling time together. She’s seventeen like me, but she looks twelve. She’s so short and skinny, and the big round-framed glasses she wears somehow make her face look babyish, and she has a little bit of a cartoon voice.
She’s an awesome friend, and she lives three blocks from me, and we like the same movies and TV shows, and guys. I think Sophie disapproves a little of all the guys I’ve been with. But she’s happy to take the overflow. Ha.
I feel guilty to admit it, given what has happened, but I always—since at least fourth grade—wished that Sophie was my sister instead of Marissa.
The rain had stopped. I pulled on Marissa’s old red raincoat and walked to Sophie’s house. The air felt cool and wet, refreshing on my hot face, and the lawns all sparkled under a bright half-moon. Two boys raced by on bikes, sending up splashes of water from deep puddles left by the rain. Somewhere down the block, two dogs were taking turns barking at each other, an intense conversation.
Normal life.
Sophie greeted me at the door with a story about a guy in our class who keeps texting her hi but then never responding after that.
I wanted to laugh about it and listen to her stories in her little cartoon voice, and tell stories of my own. But I realized as soon as the two of us were sprawled on pillows on the floor of her den that I couldn’t have a normal night. There was no way I could just keep my story inside, push it away. I had to tell Sophie about Marissa and the nightmare at the lodge.
She listened openmouthed, her dark eyes bulging behind her big eyeglasses. And when I finished, she threw her arms around my shoulders and held me in a tight hug.
Then we stood there awkwardly. Both of us had tears in our eyes, and neither of us knew what to say next. But then Sophie’s black Lab, Monroe, burst into the room, jumped up on me, and knocked me backward. I landed on my back on one of the big pillows on the floor, and the dog loomed over me and began licking my face.
“Stop! Stop!” I cried, laughing. Sophie pulled the dog away, but Monroe had succeeded in changing the mood.
We ordered a pizza and watched a funny old comedy on Netflix with Cameron Diaz and Ben Stiller, and we talked and laughed as if everything was okay, as if my family wasn’t ruined, and my life wasn’t crumbling.
We had a lot of fun, the way Sophie and I always do.
And nothing frightening happened to me until I walked home.
Thirty-Five
“Call me as soon as you hear something,” Sophie called from the front door as I made my way down her driveway. “I’ve got all my fingers crossed that she’s okay.”
“Thanks,” I shouted. I jumped around a wide puddle in the asphalt driveway. It had rained again while I was inside, and the air and the lawns and the whole world seemed to gleam and tingle in the dewy freshness.
The half-moon floated high in the sky, and it lit the roofs of houses all down the block. The windows were mostly dark. It was after midnight. But the houses seemed to shimmer in the still-wet air, and for a moment, I felt as if I were on a movie set. The whole scene couldn’t be real.
It made me feel almost giddy. I guess I was on an emotional roller coaster—sad and frightened because of Marissa, happy because of my fun night with Sophie. I felt alert and alive, as if I could see every blade of grass clearly, every star in the sky.
That feeling ended abruptly when I heard the first footstep behind me.
A soft splash, actually.
I stopped and listened. Silence now. I figured the wind had blown something down from the trees, something that splashed onto the sidewal
k behind me.
But as I started to walk again, I heard a scrape and a soft thud that could only be a shoe on concrete.
I spun around and peered into the pool of darkness behind me.
No one there?
The tall trees cast deep shadows. I turned back, stepping into the dim yellow light of a streetlamp as I crossed the street.
My muscles were all tensed now. I realized I was clenching my jaw. I tried to step silently so I could hear the footsteps behind me clearly.
And yes, there they were. Running footsteps, picking up speed as I reached the other side of the street and began to trot.
But I wasn’t fast enough. And a hand grabbed my shoulder roughly. And spun me around.
I screamed.
Then cut the scream short as I recognized my pursuer.
“Doug! What are you doing?” I cried.
His eyes went wide, and then he blinked several times, as if he was having trouble focusing. “Marissa—” he murmured.
I smelled beer on his breath. “Huh? Doug?” I said. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to keep his balance. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was wild and tangled. He shook his head. “Sorry, Harmony. I thought—”
He took an unsteady step back. “The red raincoat. I . . . thought you were Marissa.”
“Oh, God,” I murmured. I’d totally forgotten I was wearing my sister’s raincoat. “Wow. Sorry, Doug.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just shocked. You know. I thought—”
I had a sudden thought. “Hey, Doug—were you in the supermarket this afternoon? Were you . . . watching me?”
He shrugged and lowered his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe. I didn’t think you saw me.”
“Why, Doug?” I asked. “Why were you following me? For news about Marissa? We . . . haven’t heard from her.”
I peered into his eyes, trying to read his mind. “I don’t get it. Doug, what are you doing out here?”
He shrugged. Again, I got a whiff of the beer on his breath. “Just took a walk. You know. The rain stopped and I was bored, so . . .” His voice trailed off.
“We’re all messed up about Marissa,” I said. “The state police gave up their search. They say it’s a missing persons case now. My dad is still out there.” My voice caught in my throat. “It . . . it’s just so hard not knowing if she’s dead or alive.”
Doug locked his eyes on mine. “She’s alive,” he said.
I gasped. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“She’s alive, Harmony.” He rocked unsteadily, then caught his balance.
I stared back at him, chills running down my back. “Doug—what are you saying? How do you know?”
He fumbled in his pocket and tugged out his phone. He raised it close to his face and, squinting hard at the screen, pushed the keyboard with his thumb. “Here. Look,” he said finally. “Look. It’s a text message. It’s from Marissa’s phone.”
“Are you serious?” I grabbed it out of his hand. I pulled the phone close to my face, and my hand trembled as I read the message, all in caps, just like the one in the note I found back at the lodge:
DON’T TRY TO FIND ME
Thirty-Six
The next day, Robby and I took Mom on a walk around the neighborhood. We had to get her out of the house. She had spent so much time in her room, not eating, not sleeping.
“She’s aged ten years,” I told Robby. “Look at her eyes. They’re dead. And her hair. She barely brushes it.”
“Dad has to get back here,” Robby said. “What can you and I do?”
“Well, get her out of the house, for one thing.”
It took a lot of convincing just to get her to take a short walk. “I don’t want anyone to see me,” she said. “I don’t want to run into one of the neighbors and have to chat.”
“I’ll do all the chatting. I promise,” I said.
It was a warm summer day, a few puffy white clouds high overhead, a soft breeze shaking the tree leaves. The kind of day that could make a person feel happy, if her sister wasn’t missing and her family wasn’t in shreds over it.
We made Mom walk five or six blocks. Robby and I tried to keep a conversation going, but it was pretty awkward. Mrs. Miller in the house on the corner waved from her front window, but we didn’t run into anyone, and Mom didn’t have to do any chatting.
When we got back to the house, the phone was ringing. Robby picked it up in the kitchen. I got Mom some cold water from the fridge.
Robby talked for a few minutes. He had his back turned, and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I leaned on the kitchen counter and waited for him to finish.
When he hung up, he turned to me. “Was that Nikki?” I asked.
He scowled at me. “Why would Nikki call on the landline? She’d call my phone.”
“So who was that?” I asked.
“The police.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t good news.”
I gasped. “What do you mean?”
“They have Doug’s phone. They tried to trace the cell tower that text message came from.”
“And?”
“And they couldn’t trace it. They don’t have a clue where it came from.”
I sighed. “And they can’t tell if Marissa really was the one who sent it?”
“Yeah. It says it was sent from her phone. But that doesn’t really mean anything.”
We stared at each other. The hum from the refrigerator suddenly grew louder. “Should we tell Mom?” I said finally. I glanced to the kitchen door. Mom was in the den. I knew she couldn’t hear us.
“We didn’t tell her about the text message, remember?” Robby said, leaning back against the cabinets. “We didn’t want to upset her . . . without knowing . . .”
“We still don’t know anything,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m seriously worried about Mom. She seemed so weak and fragile on our walk. She was always the strong one in the family.”
“You can’t blame her,” he said.
“I’m not blaming her. I—”
“I’m totally messed up, too,” he admitted. “We all are, right? It’s not like we can wake up one morning and say we can have a normal day today. A day without thinking nonstop about Marissa.”
“I’m going to call Dad,” I said. “I really think he needs to get home. For Mom.”
Robby bumped me out of the way and pulled open the fridge. “What is there to eat? I’m totally starving.”
I bumped him back. “Go get a bucket of chicken,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to go grocery shopping again.”
“Okay. I can get into that.” He closed the fridge door. “Do you want regular or extra crispy?”
“Your choice,” I said. “And don’t forget the gravy for the mashed potatoes!”
He made a face at me. “I only did that one time, Harmony. So give me a break.”
I laughed. It was one of the first normal conversations we’d had since before the wedding.
I told Mom we were having KFC for lunch. Then I walked down the hall to my room and closed my door. I sat down on the edge of my bed and raised my phone.
My good moment with Robby quickly faded from my memory, and I had a heavy feeling in my stomach as I prepared to call Dad. Dread. Total dread. It can make you feel heavy and cold.
The phone rang before I could dial, and I saw that it was a FaceTime call. I clicked accept and a second later stared at the face of my dad.
“Huh? I was just going to call you,” I said.
“Well, I wanted to check in,” he replied, “and see your face.”
Of course, FaceTime makes everyone look weird because the camera is so close up. It’s like a selfie, kind of distorted. But I could see that Dad looked tired. He hadn’t shaved so he had a stubble of black beard over his cheeks with patches of gray. His eyes were only half open, as if he didn’t have the energy to open them all the way.
“What’s happening there, Harmony?” he asked.
“How is your mother doing?”
“Not great,” I said. “That’s why I was going to call you. I think—”
The picture wobbled, then faded. A burst of static made me lower the phone. “Dad? Are you there?”
His face reappeared. I could hear the hum of voices in the background, someone shouting, and some kind of music playing.
“You disappeared for a second,” I said. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the lobby,” he said. “The Wi-Fi in my room is ridiculous.” He jiggled his phone, and I could see the front desk of the lodge behind him.
“The police couldn’t trace that text message,” he said.
“Yes. They called here. Do you believe Marissa really sent it to Doug?”
He sighed. I could see his eyes begin to water. “I . . . I don’t know what to believe, Harmony. I just don’t. And I don’t really know why I’m still here. I’m not doing any good. I mean, I’m not helping to find Marissa.”
“Maybe you should come home, Dad,” I said. “Maybe—”
And then I stopped, and a startled cry escaped my mouth.
Behind Dad in the lobby . . . I saw her. I saw the dark hair first and a blur of a face. Dad’s phone slid to the right, and I saw her clearly. Right behind him.
Marissa.
Yes. Marissa. She was standing right behind him. On the screen, it looked as if she could rest her chin on the shoulder of Dad’s polo shirt.
Marissa. She was there.
If only I could find the words. If only I could overcome my shock and speak. Cry out. Shout to Dad. Do something.
“Dad—” I finally choked out. Marissa stared over Dad’s shoulder, as if she could see me. She gazed into the phone. I could see her so clearly.
“Dad—” I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t make a sound.
“Dad—turn around!” I finally screamed. “Turn around! Hurry!”
Part Five
Thirty-Seven
Of course, by the time Dad turned around during our FaceTime talk, she had vanished. There was no one standing behind him.
“Dad—I saw her so clearly,” I said, my voice trembling, my chest tight with emotion. “It was Marissa. I’m not crazy.”
