“Because it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe the trees were just sick and they collapsed on their own.”
“Then what about the scratches?”
I groaned. “I don’t know,” I said. “This is dumb, though. Let’s go back.”
Monica shoved her fists in her pockets and stalked out of the woods. I followed at a slower pace, daydreaming about Steven. I wondered if I’d see him on Monday.
I wondered when he’d kiss me again.
When we were almost back to Monica’s house, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Elizabeth,” Monica said shakily, “come here.”
“What?” I jogged over, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze against my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Look.” Monica pointed down at the ground.
There was a knife sticking out of the soil. I squatted down and wrapped my fingers around the handle; it looked like it was made out of ancient wood, or maybe bone. The knife was almost warm to the touch, like someone had been touching it just a few seconds ago. I gasped as I pulled it out of the ground. The blade was easily eight or nine inches long, and it gleamed in the late morning sun.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled. “Look at this.” I passed it to Monica. She grabbed it without hesitating, examining the handle.
“This is bone,” Monica said softly. “It’s old, too. See these?” She pointed toward a small set of etching along the handle. “They’re runes. I remember those from that mythology class last year.”
“Someone probably forgot it,” I said. “Maybe they were using it for hunting, and they dropped it.”
“The blade was buried in the ground,” Monica said. “I don’t think knives just land like that.”
“Maybe this one did,” I replied. I shrugged. “It probably doesn’t mean anything.”
Monica wasn’t listening. She was turning the knife over and over in her hands, staring at it intently. She lifted the blade to her face, holding it inches away from her eyes as she stared at the metal. She even closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, holding the knife to her ear as if to listen.
“What?” I stared at her. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” Monica said. Her voice was toneless. “It just feels weird, somehow.” She patted the handle before looking up at me. “I’m going to work on my paper now,” she said coolly. “I’ll see you later, Elizabeth.”
Before I could reply, my best friend had turned on her heels and started walking back toward her house. I almost ran after her. Something about her behavior was really bothering me. But Monica wasn’t a pushover, and I knew that she’d only be angry with me for demanding to know what was on her mind.
With a sigh, I headed home.
--
I didn’t do very much for the rest of the weekend. It sounds stupid, but I was afraid to leave the house in case Steven called. My parents wouldn’t let me have a smartphone – I only had a phone that could text and call – and I didn’t get reception unless I was at school or at home.
When Monica ignored three of my texts in a row, I figured she was really angry with me. My mom said that she was probably just jealous, but somehow, I didn’t think that was it. Monica had never really been jealous of anyone. If anything, she leaned toward being a bit too arrogant all the time. When we were younger, she’d teased me about not being as smart as she was. She hadn’t done that in years, but I had no reason to believe she was envious of me. She didn’t even like Steven. She thought he was a stupid jock who came from a family of Christian nuts.
On Monday, I was incredibly anxious. Steven had texted once over the weekend to ask what I was doing, but then he hadn’t replied, and I’d spent over twenty minutes wandering around the house and trying to get better reception. Plus, I still hadn’t heard from Monica. That was really unusual. We normally didn’t go more than twelve hours without speaking to each other.
‘She’s really angry with me,’ I realized sadly as I walked into living room and sat at my usual chair by the window. ‘I hope she gets over this.’ I sat there, drafting an apology in my head…although I wasn’t sure that I actually wanted to apologize, considering I hadn’t done anything wrong.
When the bell rang, Monica still wasn’t in her seat.
She didn’t show up to any of her classes that day. By the time school was over, I was a nervous wreck. I practically ran home and texted her, asking if she was okay. I kept trying to tell myself that she was probably just sick. Maybe that’s why she had acted so weird over the weekend.
By the end of the day on Tuesday, I still hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t texted, called, or showed up to school. I even waited outside the building after class was over to see if she’d make an appearance.
Steven and Andrea were walking out together just as I was trying to figure out what to do.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” Steven said. He gave me a half-grin and tossed his blond hair. “What’s up?”
I shrugged. “I think Monica’s sick or something,” I said. “She hasn’t been here in two days.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Andrea said. “That’s so awful. Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said in exasperation. “I’m thinking about going over to her house.”
“Want me to come?” Steven offered. Andrea glared at him.
“No,” I said, glancing at Andrea. “I think I should go alone.”
Andrea relaxed. “Well, nice to see you, Elizabeth.” She smiled. “Have a blessed day.” She skipped off, swinging her bag from side to side.
When Andrea was out of earshot, Steven stepped closer. He smiled again.
“You look great today,” he said. He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
I blushed. “Okay.”
Steven gave me one last smile before loping after Andrea. In the few seconds he’d been near me, my heart had started to thump and pound. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, half-wishing I’d taken his invitation to accompany me over to Monica’s.
When I reached Monica’s house, I shivered. Brian and Jamie’s Subaru was back in the driveway, and I could hear the sounds of Thelonius Monk playing inside. I hesitated for a second, then reached out and rapped my fist on the door.
“Come in!”
Nervously, I pushed the door open. Monica’s mother, Jamie, was lying on the couch and holding a giant glass of red wine.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she slurred, “I didn’t know you were coming over. Monica’s…not here.”
I frowned and stepped forward. Inside, the music was so loud that I had to strain to hear Jamie’s whispery voice.
“I know,” I said, feeling stupid. “She’s not in school, either. Is she okay? Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie replied. She took a long sip of wine. “I figured she went out to see David for a few days.”
I narrowed my eyes and perched myself in an overstuffed armchair next to the couch.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Jamie shrugged. She sat up and brushed her ash-blonde hair out of her eyes. Jamie looked almost exactly like her daughter – petite, intelligent, and peevish. Both Jamie and Monica had the same sharp brown eyes and puckered mouth.
“I don’t know,” Jamie repeated. She set the glass of wine down on the coffee table – an old steamer trunk laying on its side. “I thought maybe she was with David.”
“You said that already.” I frowned. “I’m really worried about her. She hasn’t been answering my texts.”
Jamie shrugged again. “Well, I’m sure she’s fine,” she said. “She’s an adult now.”
“She’s fifteen,” I replied, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. Something about Jamie’s sloppy, drunken behavior was really alarming, but I didn’t want to piss her off.
“Well, she’s basically an adult,” Jamie said.
“She can’t even drive! How do you think she got to Vermont?”
�
��David probably came here and picked her up.” Jamie hiccupped, then reached for the wine glass. The glass was dirty and smudged with fingerprints. Based on the warm, yeasty smell of the living room, I had a feeling that Jamie had been drinking for most of the day.
“Is Brian here?”
Jamie shrugged. She lay back on the couch, closing her eyes and humming along with the frenetic, rhythmic jazz.
“Is Brian here?”
Jamie shrugged again. With a sigh, I walked into the kitchen and down the hall. The door to his study was closed. I knocked with trepidation.
“Yeah?”
I pushed open the door.
Brian was sitting at his desk, wearing spectacles. His dark hair was unkempt, and there was paperwork spread in front of him. Jimmy Buffett was playing, but at least he wasn’t drunk, too.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” Brian said. He frowned. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah,” I said. “I was just wondering where Monica was. I’m worried about her. She hasn’t been in school, and she’s not answering her texts.”
“She’s probably off with that boyfriend,” Bran said. He cleared his throat. “When did you last see her?”
“Saturday morning.”
“It’s only Tuesday,” Brian said in a calm manner that infuriated me. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She’s never done this before,” I protested hotly. “She would always, always tell me where she was going!”
“Well, maybe she decided not to this time,” Brian said. He looked down at the papers in his lap and shuffled them. “It wouldn’t be that usual, would it?”
“It’s just not like her,” I said. “I mean, come on. Has she ever run away?”
“I don’t think so,” Brian said. “But there’s a first time for everything. She’s a young adult, Elizabeth. She’s smart and independent. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I gaped. “I…” I trailed off, biting my lip.
“What?”
“You’re her father,” I said desperately. “Aren’t you worried? It’s cold out there! She could be hurt, or lost. Or sick!”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Brian repeated. “Now if you don’t mind, I really need to get back to work.”
My heart slowed to a dull thud in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked them back, tilting my head to the ceiling so I wouldn’t cry in front of Monica’s father.
“I’m just scared,” I said softly. “I have a bad feeling about this. I really don’t think she’s okay. I think we should call the police.”
Brian narrowed his eyes and glared. For the first time, I saw a menacing look come over his craggy features. “I’m certainly not doing that,” he said. “Those ignorant pigs don’t give a shit about people like us.”
“But Monica! Something could really be wrong! I–”
“Elizabeth, enough!” Brian thundered. “Get out!”
I backed away nervously, bumping into the door and yelping in surprise. Brian glared at me until I walked out of his office. The door slammed shut behind me, and I shuddered.
In the living room, Jamie was passed out on the couch. I paused when I got to the front door. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t leave without checking Monica’s room and making sure she wasn’t actually home.
My heart was in my throat as I climbed the creaky stairs. Thankfully, the blasting jazz drowned out my footsteps, but I didn’t take a deep breath until I got to the landing. Upstairs felt quiet and oddly cold compared to the living room. I snuck along the hall. Monica’s door was at the end of the hall.
Being inside her room was painful. The bed was messily made, and it smelled like the pear-vanilla perfume Monica used to wear in junior high. I glanced around. Her cell phone charger was still plugged in beside the bed, but I saw that her purse was gone. Her backpack was still there, along with all of her books and her laptop.
My heart plunged when I saw the computer. It was then that I knew something horrible had happened. Monica would never leave the house without her computer; she took it everywhere. She’d even taken it to a baseball game on a field trip from school the year before.
I shivered. It felt wrong being in Monica’s room when she wasn’t there – almost like I was invading her privacy. Carefully, I peeked inside her closet. Her suitcase was still there, almost brand-new. She’d bought it right before Mensa camp. A tear dripped down my cheek as I closed the closet door and started down the hall.
My best friend was missing, and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do.
Chapter Four
When I got home, my mom was standing in front of the stove with a huge kettle of marinara sauce. It smelled delicious, but I didn’t have an appetite. When she saw my red, swollen eyes, she cocked her head to the side and frowned.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Something really weird is going on.” I swallowed. There was a bitter, metallic taste in my throat that had been there ever since I’d seen Monica’s empty bedroom.
“What? Something at school?”
“It’s Monica,” I said. “She’s gone.”
“Oh, sweetie. Did her parents decide to take one of those long vacations again?” Mom rolled her eyes.
“No. Jamie and Brian are there. But Monica’s not.”
My mom frowned. She reached for a plastic spatula and stirred the sauce, leaning over the pot and closing her eyes as she inhaled.
“What do you mean, honey?”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “She’s just…gone. Like, she vanished or something.”
Mom glanced up with wide eyes. “Honey, did the two of you have a fight?”
I shook my head. “No!” Running my hands through my hair, I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair. “I don’t know. Her parents are acting like this is totally normal, like she does this all the time.”
“That doesn’t sound like Monica.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Well, honey, maybe there’s some kind of family drama going on.” Mom glanced around – presumably making sure Aidan was nowhere in earshot – and lowered her voice. “You know, honey, your dad and I have always thought that family was a little odd. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Elizabeth.”
I sighed. “She wouldn’t just leave, Mom. She wouldn’t do that, not without talking to me first.”
“Do you think her parents called the police?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t even think they care. When I kept asking Mr. Boer questions, he exploded and told me to leave.”
“I should call downtown,” Mom said. She picked the wireless phone off the hook. “When did you last hear from her?”
My stomach knotted and twisted into a tight bundle of nerves.
“Elizabeth?”
“On Saturday morning.” I looked down at my hands clutched tightly in my lap. “I texted her a couple of times when I got home, but she never replied. And then she wasn’t in school Monday or today.”
My mom’s frown deepened. “And her parents really don’t think anything is wrong?”
“No. It was so weird. It was like they forgot they had a daughter or something.”
Mom nodded. She consulted a list of local numbers by the phone and held the receiver up to her ear.
“Hello, this is Agnes Hartsell,” Mom said briskly. “Can you please send an officer to the house? It’s twenty-two Colonial Avenue.”
I shivered. Part of me was glad that my mother was doing this, but another part of me, a smaller part, was scared. I didn’t like confrontation, and I didn’t like cops. I had no idea what I’d do if they asked why I hadn’t come forward sooner.
When Mom hung up, she looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a game or anything, is it Elizabeth?”
“Oh, my god, no,” I said quickly. “No, Mom. It’s not anything like that. I swear.”
My mom nodded. “That poor girl,” she said softly. She looked at me. “You’re okay, right?”
“What?”
“I mean…” Mom trailed off. “You’re getting older, Elizabeth. Fifteen is around the age when kids start acting out. You’re not doing anything wrong, are you?”
I thought of Steven kissing me in Monica’s backyard and I blushed.
“No,” I said after a long pause. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
I went upstairs and stared down at my math textbook until there was a sharp knock on the door. My heart lurched in my chest as my mom opened the door. I heard a flurry of muffled conversation, then Mom yelled for me to come down.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and went downstairs, trying to look as casual and nonchalant as possible. Mom was standing in the kitchen with two uniformed officers that included Mr. D’Amico, Steven and Andrea’s dad. When he saw me, he nodded.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Mr. D’Amico said. “How are you feeling?”
I sat down in a chair and drummed my fingers nervously on the table. I shrugged.
“Elizabeth, we’ve met before. This is my colleague, Tony.” Mr. D’Amico gestured toward the other cop. “Can you tell us about Monica?”
“Like, what? She’s blonde with brown eyes,” I said. “But you knew that. You have a picture.”
“Does she have any identifying details?”
“Like tattoos?” It was hard not to laugh. “Monica would never get a tattoo.”
“What about birth marks?”
I shrugged. “I think she has a mole, like here,” I pointed to my shoulder. “But I can’t remember which side it’s on.”
Mr. D’Amico wrote something on the notepad. “Anything else? Does she wear glasses, contacts? Has she ever broken a bone?”
“No, I…” A thought wormed its way into my head and I shuddered.
“What, Elizabeth? What did you think of?”
“She only has four toes on her left foot,” I said slowly. “She got in some kind of accident when she was a little kid and had to have the pinky toe amputated.”
“That’s very helpful. Thank you,” Mr. D’Amico said.
I shuddered. I knew why it was useful: it was something they could use to identify her body.
“Tell me about the last time you saw her.”
The Coven Series: Books 1-5 Page 10
