by Sophie Davis
By the tenth puzzle, my resolve was beginning to waver. Was it too much to ask for a folded page? Or big stars surrounding underlined words that read: THIS ONE?
One hundred puzzles into my quest—there were a thousand total—I had a massive headache and was seriously considering the vodka still left in the kitchen from the other night. As a compromise, I struck a deal with myself: get through five hundred puzzles, and then I could take a coffee break. Or maybe a vodka break. Screw propriety.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go that far.
The only boxes with numbers in puzzle 324 were the ones already provided to get you started. And not only that, someone—presumably Lark—had used a yellow highlighter to highlight one of the columns from top to bottom.
In my head, angels sang the Hallelujah chorus. Beyond excited, I actually did a little dance to celebrate. Lark kept tossing up the pitches, and I kept hitting home runs.
Then, reality hit. To ascertain any sort of meaning or code, I’d actually have to solve the puzzle.
Well, shit.
“You can do this, Raven,” I gave myself a pep talk. “It’s sudoku, not rocket science.”
An hour later, I was pretty sure rocket science was easier. Eager for a distraction, I checked my phone for missed calls from Darrell. Nothing.
I checked the ringer volume to make sure it was on high and called my voicemail to make sure everything was working properly. I wanted to be absolutely certain nothing would get in the way of hearing from Darrell. Everything appeared to be in working order.
Because procrastination was likely to be my major if I ever went to college, I made a coffee run. The Starbucks barista gave me an odd look when I ordered two extra shots of expresso in my macchiato.
“That sort of day?” he asked knowingly.
“You have no idea,” I said.
The caffeine made me jittery but focused. Forty minutes after returning to The Pines, I was semi-convinced I’d completed the puzzled correctly. All the boxes were filled in, with no repeat numbers. That meant I’d done it correctly…right?
Triumphant, I retrieved the notepad where I’d been keeping track of all the clues. Under a crude drawing of the butterfly pendant that I’d found in the backseat of my car, I wrote down the nine-digit sequence corresponding with the highlighted boxes: 862439715.
The thrill over finding the string of numbers died quickly.
“Now what?” I asked the notepad. “What do I do with these numbers?”
As always, the possibilities were endless, and I couldn’t muster the energy to list my guesses.
Disappearing into Lark’s life was supposed to make me less stressed, yet here I was, a heart attack waiting to happen. If only I had just one concrete answer. That’s all I really wanted right now. Was that so much to ask of the universe?
Be careful what you wish for, Raven. Sometimes the truth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
As if on cue, my cell phone rang. Startled, I leapt off the bed. The lid popped off of my to-go coffee cup, and hot liquid sloshed over my hand, the notepad, and the puzzle book. To make matters worse, I proceeded to drop all three. Helplessly, I watched as the rest of my drink soaked into the carpet fibers.
Muttering obscenities worthy of a midshipman, I reached for the phone. “Hello?” I said, not bothering to check the display to see who was on the other end.
“Ms. Ferragamo? It’s Darrell Mantz. From The Pines,” he added unnecessarily. “Is everything okay? You sound…troubled.”
“Hi, Darrell. Yes, everything is okay. I just spilled something.” Using my shirt as a towel, I attempted to dry my wet skin.
“I spoke with the manager and explained the circumstances. He is happy to let you view the surveillance tape.”
“Oh…really? That’d be so great. Can I come down now?” Suddenly a little spilled coffee didn’t seem so important.
“If it’s not too much trouble, it would most convenient if you came by when I’m on duty again. Would that be okay, Miss?”
“Um…I guess so,” I replied, deflating a little.
“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Darrell said, sounding like he truly meant it. “If you were the resident, having someone else show you the tapes would not be a problem, but….” Darrell trailed off, leaving me to read between the lines.
Darrell must have told his manager that the resident wanted to see the tapes. The white lie meant he was risking his job for me.
“It’s not a problem at all. I understand completely. Thank you so much, Darrell. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it, Miss. Of course, I mean that literally.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. “Not a problem.”
Hanging up the phone, I did another happy dance. Even though I had to wait longer than I wanted to, the mysterious intruder wasn’t going to be a mystery for much longer.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LARK
I DID IT. I actually freaking did it.
I’m out. I’m free.
I cannot believe that I escaped. I cannot believe that I am sitting here with soft, cheerful chatter around me; peppermint aroma wafting from the piping-hot mug in front of me; strands of white lights twinkling off the lush wreaths with their bright-red bows; the smiling people with their shopping bags and enthusiasm.
It’s all so…normal. And for once, normal is exciting. While my whole world has been turned upside down, everyone else has gone about their business in a series of unremarkable days. Though the thought saddens me, being dropped right in the center of one of these unremarkable days is comforting. It means I can get back to my life. I can build a new life. I can do anything.
Because I. Am. Free.
CHAPTER TWENTY
RAVEN
ONLY TWO MINUTES of my life were more awkward than those right after I kissed Asher: the ones we spent staring at each other in the vestibule of the Gibson Street building a day later.
Believing he’d be in class, I returned home from The Pines after a quick nap. Waking up at five in the morning had finally taken its toll on me, and I’d dozed off after getting off the phone with Darrell. Apparently my timing was off because Asher exited his apartment at the exact moment I entered the building. Mind suddenly blank, I simply stared. I felt my lips part, as if to say something, but my brain wasn’t on the same page.
He was evidently no better prepared for the encounter, because he simply stared back. The silence that followed was absolute and awkward and harder to break than…well, a diamond.
It was like living out one of those scenes from the movies, where the two main characters stand motionless while the world moves in fast forward around them. Both of our lips moved silently at various times, as if to speak words that wouldn’t come. The tension in the air was thick, making the small space feel even more crowded.
Asher regained his composure first. “Look, Raven, about last night…,” he began.
Wow, those words, with that tone, are definitely not what a girl wants to hear, I thought.
“Don’t, Asher. Please don’t. I think we both can agree it was a mistake. So, can we also agree to never mention it again?” While I made my plea, I concentrated my gaze on my toenails, which were painted a cotton-candy blue. When Asher didn’t answer right away, I dared a quick, hopeful glance up at him through my lashes.
“It’s just that…well, I’m…,” he started again, evidently still unsure how to finish a sentence.
“Older?” I suggested helpfully, giving Asher an easy out. Truthfully, there were a million reasons why the kiss had been a mistake. My ego just didn’t need for them to be enumerated.
“Yeah, there’s that,” Asher agreed, nodding jerkily. He looked directly at me, but seemed to be staring through me. “It’s just, well…it’s complicated, Raven. I like you. I like you a lot, actually.”
“But just as a friend?” I said dryly, channeling my inner bitch.
“Yes, as a friend. But, well, you and me…,” he
pointed back and forth between us with an index finger. “It’s just not appropriate. I’m sorry,” Asher replied.
Inappropriate? I thought. What a strange choice of words.
Without thinking, I crossed my arms over my chest, as if to protect my heart. It was the standard defensive pose known the world over. Even though I was well aware that the kiss had been a colossal mistake, Asher’s words still stung. And yes, my feelings were hurt. No girl wants to hear that she isn’t kissable.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Asher. I kissed you,” I said with a large dose of attitude. “So, I guess I’m the one who’s sorry. The ‘inappropriate’ kiss won’t happen again.” I made air quotes, mocking him and feeling only marginally bad about my juvenile behavior.
As I started for the stairs, I could feel my cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Asher stepped in front of the staircase, blocking my escape. Undeterred, I turned sideways and tried to squeeze by him.
Asher wasn’t having it. He touched my arm, holding on until I finally met his gaze. “You’re right, let’s just pretend it never happened, okay? It’s already forgotten in my mind.”
A tidal wave of relief overshadowed the twinge of rejection. This was what I wanted, after all; to blot it from my memory with a big ink stain.
Asher cleared his throat, waiting to see if I would respond. When I didn’t say anything, he rushed on. “So, um, want to grab something to eat? And you can bring me up to speed on the Lark hunt? It’s been almost forty-eight hours since I last talked to you.”
“I think you need to go back to math school, buddy. There are only twenty-four hours in a day.”
Asher looked at me quizzically, and then shook his head, as if to clear it. “Classes are kicking my ass. My sense of time is all screwed up.”
After a brief hesitation, I took the olive branch. I’d missed Asher in our day apart. And learning that someone had been in Lark’s apartment yesterday made me realize I needed him. Before, his overprotective nature had seemed silly, a bit over the top. Now? Between sketchy Larry and the unidentified trespasser, I was beginning to see that searching for Lark might be dangerous. Clues and puzzles aside, this was no game. And Lark might not be the only one at risk.
“Food would be great,” I said, forcing a smile. “And in Lark news, I do have something to tell you. Fair warning, though…you’re not going to like it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Asher replied. “Come on, let’s do Mexican tonight.”
On the walk to Café Poca Cosa, a restaurant Asher said he’d been dying to try, I filled him in on both the prowler and the sudoku clue. I was slightly surprised that Asher didn’t whip out his cell phone and dial 911 before I finished my story. Instead, he became quiet and introspective.
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Darrell, the front-desk guy, got permission to show me the surveillance tapes. So, really, I think this might be a good thing. This guy could be the break we need. He might even know where Lark is.”
“That’s unlikely, if he was going through her apartment,” Asher pointed out. “He was probably looking for her or some indication on her whereabouts—which would mean he’s just as clueless as we are.”
“I guess that’s true,” I relented. “But he knows about the apartment, which is something. She rented it under a false name, Asher. Her parents don’t know about it. Blake doesn’t know about it. Her friends don’t know about it. I just…I don’t…it’s just a feeling I have; a feeling that this guy knows something that will be useful to us.”
“Maybe. Probably not, though,” Asher said with a shrug, obviously unconvinced. “Regardless, how do you plan on finding him? Even if you can see his face in the tapes, that won’t tell you who he is.”
“True. But maybe we could, like, hire a guy to run facial recognition, or whatever.”
With a dubious look, Asher laughed. “And how do you intend to find ‘a guy’?” he asked. “I doubt people with that sort of tech in their homes advertise on mainstream sites.” The amusement faded away, a stern expression taking root. “What if this guy actually had something to do with Lark’s disappearance? Don’t you think he’d be careful enough to hide his face? Didn’t the neighbor lady say he was wearing a hat? Don’t you think—”
I cut him off, his pessimism grating on my nerves. “Stop poking holes in my theories, okay?” I snapped. “I’m not naïve, I get it—it’s a long shot. But, so far, all I have are a bunch of stupid clues that lead nowhere. The most concrete evidence I’ve found was that envelope addressed to Blake, and I mailed it to him without reading the contents; which, in hindsight, was probably stupid.”
Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop. Twin creases formed between his brows. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate. You’re right—this mystery guy could lead us to Lark. But you’re also right that this whole situation is getting dicey. I know Lark said the police couldn’t help, but I know a guy at the FBI. He’s old friends with my dad. We can trust him.”
“Wouldn’t help,” I said softly. “She said they wouldn’t help.”
“I trust this guy, Raven,” Asher replied.
“I want to see the tapes first,” I said stubbornly.
Asher sighed. “Fine. But—”
Irritation bubbled to the surface once more, and I jerked my hand free from him. “No ‘but’s, Asher.” With that, I started walking. “I want to see those tapes. I need to know who was in Lark’s apartment,” I called over my shoulder.
Our disagreement didn’t help to lessen the kiss-related tension that remained between us. We spoke little on the rest of the walk, except to agree that takeout would be better than dining at the restaurant. Instead of returning to Gibson Street with our food, however, Asher suggested going to The Pines. He seemed eager to go over all the clues, including the newest one I’d found.
A part of me really regretted telling Asher about the surveillance tapes. And the intruder, for that matter. I should have known he wouldn’t take it well, I thought. And I should have known that he’d want to involve the authorities. Baseball Hat guy had altered the situation, and maybe it was time to call in the professionals.
Tapes first, then you can decide about Asher’s FBI guy, I told myself.
A niggling sensation in the back of my mind made me wonder if, by not involving the authorities, I was risking Lark’s life. The longer it took me to locate her, the less likely it was that I’d find her alive and unharmed.
The police cannot help you…. They wouldn’t help me, either. They are paid too well.
“I hope you’re right, Lark,” I said aloud, using the lines from her letter as encouragement that I was making the right call. “Because if not, we’re both in big trouble.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LARK
WHAT THE HELL is happening? I don’t understand. Why am I here? How did I get back here? What happened? What happened?
Was it all just a dream? Is it possible that my desire to leave was so acute that my mind invented the escape? Did I just have a two day hallucination?
What is real? I just woke up in my bed, back in my cell. My journal is on the nightstand, right where I always leave it. I can see the Burberry tote hanging in my closet, right where it’s been since I arrived.
What the fuck is happening? I feel like I’m losing it. Was any of it real? Was he real?
Holy crap—it’s almost three thirty in the afternoon. I never sleep this late. They never let me sleep this late. They always send people to check on me, make sure I’m not whittling a spear out of my bedposts. You’d think that—
Wait a second. If he’s real, he should be on duty right now; two in the afternoon until two in the morning is his shift. If he exists, he should be here. I’m going to look.
HE’S HERE. HE’S real. And if he’s real, that probably means everything else was, too. So what the hell happened?
The last thing I remember, I was sitting in the warmth of that little coffee shop, relish
ing in my freedom. Planning my next move. Thinking up ways to get to D.C. To get to Blake. To start the next stage of my life.
I considered calling my parents. But I don’t want to return to my old life. In a way, my captors had helped sever the hold my parents had over me. For those brief, blissful moments in the café, I’d felt more alive than ever. Having that snatched away was like a punch to the gut. It was as though I’d been given a taste of my greatest desire, and then told I would never be allowed another bite.
Am I in purgatory? Had they killed me, left me here as a ghost to haunt this terrible place and the people who’d abducted me? I’ve watched enough horror movies to know that the spirits of people who die in tragic or violent ways are trapped in the place where they met their demise. At least, until a heroine and her medium come along to set them free.
Except…I can’t be dead. Dead people don’t eat. They don’t interact with everyone around them. I’d interacted with the barista at the coffee shop. I can’t be a ghost. But I do feel like I’m living out a scene from American Horror Story. The one where the daughter runs outside, through the gate, and out to the sidewalk. As soon as she sets foot off the property, she ends up back in the kitchen. Is that what has happened to me? Did I step out of bounds? Is that why I am back in this cell? Will I ever be free?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RAVEN
AT ASHER’S INSISTENCE, we spread out all the clues on Lark’s living-room floor when we got back to The Pines. It looked like the contents of a junk drawer in the house of a particularly eclectic hoarder.
As if by magic, the moment we sat down and began to discuss these clues, our disagreement over when to involve the authorities seemed to be ancient history. Just like the kiss, Asher was content to pretend it never happened. It was like someone had hit rewind, and we were back to two days ago, recording over the scenes that neither of us wanted in the final cut of our friendship.
