Is this about Cam? I said, and Detective Knox nodded and he goes, Have you seen or spoken to him since Monday night? I said, No, and he said, Cameron hasn’t contacted you at all? I said, No. And he goes by Cam—nobody calls him Cameron. He nodded and smiled, like he genuinely appreciated me telling him, then he goes, Do you have any idea where Cam is, Thea? I said, No, and he said, You don’t have any idea where he could be? I go, No, I have no idea. But is it true that if you don’t find someone in the first twenty-four hours, you probably won’t ever find them? It just came out, and Knox balked, then he tilted his head side to side, yes and no. He goes, In child abduction cases, yes, but Cam’s not a child; he’s of legal age. And as far as we know, he hasn’t been kidnapped.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at my feet, and Knox waited before he said anything. Then he goes, Thea, I’m sorry to have to ask you so many personal questions, but how long have you two been dating, you and Cam? I could feel Knox shoot Cheesy a look, like, whatever he was hearing in this room, it went no further. Knox wasn’t asking Cheesy, either, he was telling him; confidential. I said, Since the beginning of school, last year, and he goes, Did you know each other before then? And I said, No, and he said, So you never spoke before that? No, I said, and he goes, Never saw each other around? I go, No, I’d never seen him before that, and he goes, It’s not a very big school. Big enough, I said, and he’s new. Knox said, His mother told me they moved here from California, and I nodded yes.
Then he said, Cam’s a senior? And I nodded yes, and he goes, What year are you? I go, Sophomore. He goes, And how did you two meet? So I told him, I said, He was my geometry tutor, and Knox goes, I’m told he’s some sort of math whiz, is that right? And I said, Yeah, that’s what Cam keeps telling me, too. Knox smiled, and he said, So Cam was your tutor, and then you started dating? I said, We were friends, then we started going out, and he smiled, trying to put me at ease, I think.
Then he goes, Does Cam have many friends in school? I said, Cam gets along with everybody, and the cop goes, What about you? And I go, Me? I can’t stand anybody, I said, and he smiled. Opposites attract, he said. Guess so, I said, shrugging. So there was no one Cam had any fights with, no one who had any grudges? And I said, No. No one. I told you, he got along with everyone. Knox goes, And Cameron—Cam, sorry—he never talked about running away? I go, All the time, but not without me, then he kind of perked up and he goes, So you two talked about running away together? I said, We talked about traveling together, all over the world. That’s not running away, that’s running to, I said. And where did you talk about going, running to? Knox asked, grabbing the back of the plastic bucket chair in front of him with both hands. Everywhere, I said, shrugging again, because that was private, you know? I didn’t have to tell him that.
Last bell for sixth period rang, and I was going to be late, so I looked at him like, Anything else? Knox shook his head no and said, Why don’t I walk you out? I nodded okay, and he followed me out of the office. There was no one in the hall by the time we walked out, then he looked at me and said, One more question. Did anything unusual happen that day, when you last saw him? No, I said, not that I can think of, and he said, You two didn’t have a fight that night? I almost said it, too. I almost said, Cam’s a hacker, not a fighter, but I didn’t.
I said, No. I mean, we’ve had fights, but who doesn’t?, and he nodded, like he agreed with me. I go, But why did you think we had a fight? I just had to ask, he said, pulling out his card and handing it to me. Please call me if you need anything, or if you think of anything? Okay, I said, and then Knox said, Thank you, and he turned toward the doors.
That afternoon, after school, I just kept staring at his card, the whole way home—second time I found myself taking the bus home, feeling…so alone, you know? I mean, I couldn’t get any homework done, I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t do anything. I just sat at my desk, staring at Hubble all night—our notebook, that’s what we call it, Hubble.
Cam gave it to me for Christmas. It’s got this thick, beautiful paper, and it’s oversized, it’s perfect, and we share it. Like I take one page, and he takes the opposite page, and we swap, back and forth. But I take the left side, because Cam’s left-handed, so he has to write upside down, otherwise. Because it’s spiral, he’d have to write over the spiral, you know what I mean? The reason we call it Hubble is because, well, after he gave it to me, Cam said, What should we call it? And I said, You mean give the notebook a name? What, like Betty? And Cam goes, No. I mean, yes: not Betty, but something. Because notebook seems so… impersonal, you know?
He was right. I didn’t even need to think about it, because he was right; we had to call it something. I looked at the page where he’d already written an entry, and it looked upside down to me, even though it was right-side up to him. It made me think about the stars, how Cam always loved to say the amazing thing about looking at the stars is you’re looking into the future and the past at the same time, and how, somewhere up there, in the sky, the Hubble Telescope is taking pictures of things we can’t imagine. What about… I started to speak, and then felt kinda stupid, so I shut my mouth. Tell me, he said, and I said, What about Hubble? Cam balked, hearing that, then he smiled this big, big smile. And his smile said yes: perfect. Then, of course—I mean, I didn’t say it, but I was just like, Ohmygod, I just named our notebook Hubble? That has got to be the geekiest idea I’ve ever had in my entire life.
Anyhow, we’ve been working on it since Christmas, and Hubble’s everything: it’s photos, collage, pencil sketches, ink drawings, inside jokes, our entire universe. Cam even writes these ridiculous formulas—talk about hieroglyphics, don’t ask me if they’re real or he’s screwing around—our video game ideas, our scripts, everything. Everything starts here, goes here, belongs right here. Because it’s our own world, you know? It’s a world just big enough for two, and the day he left—the day he disappeared—god, that’s so hard to say, the day Cam disappeared. Anyhow, that day, for the first time, I couldn’t put anything down. Cam handed Hubble back on Monday afternoon, and it was my turn, left side—except that both sides were these huge blank white pages, and I had this pang in my chest, thinking it might be that way from now on. For the first time, those two blank pages really fucking scared me.
I kept staring at it, completely spaced out, like somehow the notebook would tell me the answer, solve the mystery of my universe, let my boyfriend know I was going to kill him if this was some sort of joke. Because trust me, I’m not laughing, Cam. You hear me? I don’t know if I said that out loud or not, but then I looked up and saw that I’d written it, in our notebook; these big block letters: I’M NOT LAUGHING!!!!!!!!!!!!
SATURDAY, APRIL 2, 2011
(TWO DAYS EARLIER)
10:37 PM
Well, I’m not what you’d call a party girl. I mean, I used to love going to parties, but now, it’s like, binge drinking with jocks just isn’t my scene. Crazy me, right? I mean, it’s like when you’re in junior high, you think a high school party will be so cool, right? Well, hate to break it to you, but watching a bunch of junior and senior girls chugging vodka and Red Bull is so far from cool, you stand there thinking, Is this it? Really? But then, I don’t know, somehow you figure you might as well join them, because the truth is so sad, and that’s exactly what you were trying to avoid with all your daydreaming.
But the thing is, Cam gets invited all the time; every weekend he’s invited to two or three parties, and it’d be rude if he didn’t stop by once in a while. So Saturday night, he wanted me to join him. And when he asked me, on Tuesday or whenever, I said I’d go, thinking, if I’m with him, I can do anything, right? I thought I’d be fine, but by Saturday night, when he picked me up, god, I didn’t want to go. But then again, I did, because Cam wanted me there, with him, and wherever he is, is where I want to be.
Cam said it again, when we got there. He was just like, Thee, try to have a good time, all right? And I was like, That’s what I’m going to do, and I
did, too. I did try. And it was fine, it really was. I talked to a few people, and everyone was cool, but honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing there, standing in somebody’s parents newly redecorated colonial Americana kitchen, drinking Coors or whatever.
Cam can’t see it, but I’m telling you, people still look at me like I’m this pixie thing—on a good day—they don’t get what Cam sees in me, when he could have any girl in school he wanted. Like there are still people who call me Addams, short for Wednesday Addams, because they think I’m so Goth. But the thing is—I mean what annoys me most is that they don’t even know what Goth means. Seriously, they look at my hair, and I’m just like, Dude, it’s a Louise Brooks bob, okay? We’re talking silent-film star and one of the original It Girls, not the Sisters of Mercy. Except I can’t even say that, because they don’t know who Louise Brooks or who the Sisters of Mercy are, drr.
Anyhow, there we are, crammed into the kitchen with a hundred other bodies, and I look over, and it happens again. It’s not like making time stop, it’s more like the world’s a merry-go-round, but just the two of us, me and Cam. Like the world keeps spinning, but we stand still. So I look over at Cam, thinking, It’s happening—it’s happening again, and there’s this huge smile on his face, and I know exactly what he’s thinking, because we’re thinking the exact same thing. It’s private, and it’s ours, and we’re grinning at each other, thinking the same dirty thought, like there’s no one else in the world.
And then none of it mattered. Everything, all the shit that happened last year, the kids from school, all my old friends, it doesn’t matter what people think, what they do or don’t know about me; none of it matters. Because Cam knows me, and he loves me, and I know him, and I love him more than anything in this whole world. And for a second, like a fraction of a second, the ground disappeared beneath my feet.
THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 2011
(THREE DAYS LATER)
8:22 AM
It’s not just me, okay? Things have been happening all over town, and at first, people thought it was random, but not me. I never thought it was random, and whether I was right or wrong, everything related to Cam, like he was sending me signs. The first sign was Thursday morning, and it was so strong, it felt like a magnet pulling us off the road. Seriously, I was sitting next to the window, with Hubble open in my lap, when the whole bus swerved, knocking me on my side. When I looked up, every head was turned, looking out the left-side window, because someone had driven right through the dividing wall, along the opposite side of the highway. It’s just a tall, orange plastic net, nothing that could hurt anybody, but it had been there as long as I’d been taking the bus.
I had my headphones on, so I don’t know who saw it first, but in two seconds, every kid on the bus was jumping out of their seat, trying to get a look at the gash in the wall, and instantly, each little brain on the bus started trying to solve the crime. Because the strangest thing was, the car’s tire marks went on and on, like they must have crashed right into the horizon, because there was nothing out there, it was this empty field that went on for miles. One look, and you knew it was no accident—someone did it on purpose, and then they just kept right on going.
So there I was, gawking with everyone else, trying to piece it together. I mean, really, who did it, and what would possess them, and where the hell did they go, and most of all, why? And then, on second thought, Why had it never happened before? It was like someone cut a hole in something bigger than the wall, and it was a revelation to all of us, everyone on the highway, every driver slowing down to look, all asking the same question. Who knew you could just get up and do something crazy like that and get away with it? And now that they had, what were the rest of us supposed to do?
You could feel it, too, you know. All morning, you could just feel it, like when teachers talk about barometric pressure or things that affect the moods of kids in their classes, it was like that, like something weighing you down or something just not right. All day, the whole school, every class, no one was screwing around, no one was raising their hands, like we’d all been waiting for that knock on the door. And when it finally came, everyone looked up, and the room was so still that Linda Friske, the office aide, looked spooked, sticking her head in the door, holding up a pink slip like it was a white flag. I knew it was for me: everyone knew it was for me. I’d already grabbed my bag and I was halfway to the door before Mrs. Friske called out my name. She waited, holding open the door, and she nodded as I stepped into the hall, then she headed off in the opposite direction, delivering some other message.
The school office is at the end of the main hall, in clear view of the front entrance, and the sun was shining like a spotlight through those thick double doors. I felt this sense of dread, despite the light, and no one had to say it: I knew there was someone to see me. Even stranger, I knew it wasn’t Detective Knox. I don’t know how; I could just tell it wasn’t him, so I took my time. There was no one else in the hall, and I don’t know how to explain it, but the building felt scared. I swear, even the electric current quit humming—you know that awful buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead, extending in every direction? Well, for once it was quiet.
When I walked in, the secretaries didn’t say anything, not a word. They both just looked at me, and then they quickly looked away, like they knew something and didn’t want me to see it in their eyes. Thea, Principal Cheswick said, stepping out of his office, hearing the front door open. So weird: he never stepped out; he never waited; one of the secretaries always buzzed him first, and you were told to take a seat. So something was definitely wrong, and then he said, Come in, opening his office door for me.
Cheswick didn’t close the door, but he lowered his voice, telling me there was an agent there who needed to talk to me about Cam. Then, in this voice, like he was trying to stay calm, he goes, FBI, and I looked him in the eye. He has a few questions for you, Thea. You can have a lawyer present or I can go in there with you, whichever you prefer, he said. And if I didn’t know any better, deep down, I knew Cheesy was scared. I recommend an attorney, but that will be a few hours, and you’ll have to wait here, in the office, he said. And I shook my head no. I said, If you can come in with me, that’s fine, and he nodded gravely. So we walked down the hall, and when he opened the conference room door for me, there was a man, standing at the end of the room, in front of the blackboard, with his hands clasped.
And the way he looked at me, it’s like he knew me or he’d seen me before, but I didn’t know him. And I felt like I should remember him, but I didn’t—I’d never seen this guy in my life—really strange. So we walked in, and Cheesy goes, Thea, this is Special Agent Foley, and the man looked at me and said the same thing: Hello, Theadora, I’m Special Agent Foley, FBI. He took out his badge, showed it to me, and then he said, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? Where’s Detective Knox? I said, looking around, and he goes, Detective Knox, yes, I’m told you spoke. But the FBI will be taking over the case from here, he said, and I swear his voice, it—it slithered. The guy had this snake voice, I’m not kidding.
Not only that, he did this thing, it was like—ugh… he claps his hands, then he presses his thumbs together, and then he slowly gyrates thumb against thumb, ’round and ’round—so disgusting! Like he’s jerking his thumbs off—I’m sorry, but it’s true. Seriously, I don’t know if he’s into little boys or girls or animals or what, but there was something so wrong about this guy. Twisted. And he looked at me like he could read my mind or something, so I couldn’t even look at him. Then he goes, Please, pointing one hand at the chair. Sit, Theadora.
Just as we stepped into the conference room and sat down, one of the secretaries knocked on the door, and Cheesy got up to answer. He leaned out, and said, Would you two excuse me for a few minutes? Behind me, I could hear a woman’s voice whisper. Then Cheesy said, It’s Superintendent Phelps. I need to take this call, and then I’ll be right back. The FBI guy smiled, folding his hands, and said, Of cou
rse. Take your time, principal, and the door closed. And then the guy just stared at me, smiling. Twenty seconds of that was about all I could take, because there was something really creepy about him, before I said, Go ahead and ask me whatever you want. He said, Wouldn’t you like a lawyer or some advocate present? No, I said, no lawyers, and he smiled like he understood what I was saying. Well, the problem is—one of many problems is, I should say, that you’re a minor, Theadora. I said, You bring in a lawyer, and I will never ever talk to you. The guy looked at me for a moment, didn’t blink, and then, suddenly, he relaxed and said, Of course.
All right, Theadora, he said, and he removed a computer and pointed the camera toward me while he pressed an audio program, recording our conversation while the video’s lens stayed focused on me. Again, he moved so quickly, it almost felt like he knew everything I was going to say, before I said a word. This is Special Agent Foley; it’s 8:37 a.m. on Thursday, April 7, 2011, and I am interviewing Theadora Denny, who has stated in no uncertain terms that she will not speak on record if a lawyer is present. Is that correct, Theadora? he asked, and it’s so weird, feeling yourself being recorded that way, knowing other people are going to watch this tape, hold you to it. Yes, I said, that’s correct. If you a bring a lawyer in here, I won’t say one word. Good, Foley said, and please, sit down, Theadora. And I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes, watching me pull out a chair and take a seat. In that case, I will record our conversation for the purposes of our investigation, as it will not be admissible in any court of law, and I said, Fine. So, he said, given the circumstances, we will proceed with the interview and expect Principal Cheswick to return to the room at any time. The way he looked at me, though, I’m telling you, there was something not right about this guy, and not just his hands. His suit, too.
Ghost Time Page 4
