by Sara Shepard
I let you down, Mom, Seneca thought miserably. Again.
She waded through the rest of the album, looking at pictures she hadn’t inspected in years—even yesterday, she’d quit a few pages in, the photos just too sad. In the last few pages, Collette, Seneca’s dad, and baby Seneca—now three years old—were standing on a beach. Collette and Seneca wore matching polka-dot bikinis. Seneca’s father was digging a hole. There was sand all over their knees, and they were grinning.
Seneca twisted her mouth. This picture wasn’t that different from the picture she’d seen of Candace Lord’s family when she’d interrogated Candace’s parents. Like them, her family looked so happy. So carefree. Like nothing bad could ever happen to them.
She turned the page; there were more pictures of what looked like this same beach vacation. A trip to a mini-golf course. Seneca and her dad flying a kite. And then her favorite photo, a picture of her mother wearing a pretty sundress and an innocent smile, holding a sticky, almost-too-big Seneca on her hip. She sighed at it, touching her mother’s face. She was about to turn the page when something in the photo stopped her. She and her mom were standing in front of a tree that looked…familiar.
She pulled the photo closer, studying it hard, her mind flicking through thousands of images. The tree had a perfect square burned into its trunk. Hadn’t she seen a tree just like that somewhere recently?
She blinked hard, and then the answer appeared. Wait. There was a tree just like this one in the front yard of the house where Brett had been imprisoned.
Her nerves started to snap. The picture also showed a part of the house—and sure enough, it was the same reddish color as Brett’s, though the paint seemed brighter, newer. On the porch were a big pot of sunflowers…and a set of wind chimes. Seneca would bet a million bucks they were the wind chimes she’d seen this past week.
What the hell was going on?
Seneca heard her father padding through the kitchen, probably on his way to get a snack before he went back to the TV room and watched yet another episode of Law & Order.
She bounded down the stairs. Her dad was in the TV room, devouring a bowl of peanut-butter-cup ice cream. When he saw her, a guilty look crossed his face. “I know. It’s terrible for me. But it just looked so good.”
“Dad.” When Seneca stepped into the light, her dad’s jovial expression faded into something more guarded. She thrust the photo album toward him, pointing at the picture of the tree. “Where was this?”
Her father reached for his glasses on the side table. “Oh. We took a vacation on the Jersey Shore. I think the town was called Halcyon.”
Seneca’s mind went numb for a few seconds. The word Halcyon gonged in her ears like a church bell.
She looked up at her dad. “H-how old was I?”
“Maybe two? Three? It was our only beach trip. After that, we went camping. You were too little to remember.”
“And what were we doing on this street?” She tapped the background.
“I think that’s the street where we were staying. Yep, that was the place we rented.” Mr. Frazier pointed to a blue house on the adjacent page. “Kinda dumpy, but we had fun.” He squinted at her. “Why?”
All kinds of sparks went off in her brain. She did the math. She was nineteen now. Sixteen years ago, when she was three, was the summer of 2002. That was the very same year Brett was kidnapped. She gripped the side of the armchair, feeling woozy.
“Honey?” her dad cocked his head. “What is it?”
Seneca opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. This wasn’t possible…and yet it made sense. The street where Brett had been imprisoned had resonated with her in ways that felt subconscious, suppressed. Those wind chimes, that tree. Suddenly, something Aerin said popped in her brain. She’d heard something beeping outside her window—maybe a dump truck, maybe a bulldozer, maybe a garbage truck. When Seneca was standing outside the house where Elizabeth had kidnapped Brett, she’d noticed a large dirt pile next door. Bulldozers had sat unattended when she’d been there, but in the daytime, they could have made beep, beep, beep sounds.
Could that have been what Aerin heard?
I’ll give you a hint. It’s somewhere you’ve been before.
No. That was ridiculous. Just because her and Brett’s paths had crossed years ago didn’t mean Brett had hidden Aerin in Halcyon now. Why would Brett have chosen to hide just steps from a house that made him miserable? Unless, of course, he was a glutton for punishment—which Seneca could see. On the other hand, maybe it was a big coincidence.
Seneca shut her eyes. In Brett’s world, there were no coincidences.
But why had he chosen her house to hide in? Was there a bigger connection here, something she didn’t yet get? And had he seen Seneca’s family, maybe, when they’d stayed there that same summer he’d been imprisoned? Did he remember her?
She racked her brain for everything Brett and Viola had told them about their time with Elizabeth. They’d had fresh bread. They’d slept in the same bed. They’d been imprisoned in the bedrooms, the basement, and the shed. Then her eyes popped open with another memory Brett had painfully shared. The worst memory, actually. Something he still seemed bitter about.
She pressed a hand to her mouth. No. It was inconceivable. Irrational. But maybe it made all the sense in the world.
She looked at her father again. He’d put the TV on mute and was staring at her with concern, the same concern that had been building in him for a while, the same worry he’d felt for her ever since her mother died but they hadn’t exactly spoken about directly. Her throat felt dry as she tried to speak. “Dad, did anything sort of weird happen when we were on that vacation? Like, with one of the neighbor kids, maybe?”
Her father’s eyes searched her face. Seneca was so afraid he was going to say no, or maybe that he didn’t remember, but then recognition flashed across his features. He looked startled that she’d be asking such a question—that she knew.
He touched her wrists and nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
And then he told her the story Seneca already knew was coming. The story that put all of the hideous, unthinkable pieces together. And when he was done, Seneca knew exactly what Brett was all about. She’d figured him out, after all. Just like he said she would.
THAT SAME EVENING, Maddox sat on a splintered log in the middle of the woods in Dexby and watched as one of his track teammates, Archer, appeared through the bonfire’s flames. “It’s a little warm, hope you don’t care,” he said as he tossed Maddox a can of PBR.
“Thanks, man.” Maddox caught it and rolled the smooth metal between his palms. People laughed all around him. Thumping bass played. The air smelled like bug spray and wet leaves, and a canopy of trees blotted out the view of the full moon.
It was Archer’s annual cross-country season kickoff party, held in the dark woods behind Archer’s house. It felt a little futile to have it this year because Archer and Maddox and so many of the varsity guys here were going off to college and there would be no cross-country practice tomorrow for them, but the younger guys were having fun, playing beer pong on a folding table, looking like assholes as they tried out break-dancing moves, and bragging to the girls about how much food they could put away after a long run. The whole scene reminded Maddox of that reindeer games scene from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, where Rudolph and his pal flirt with the does. The thought made him laugh, and he wanted to text Seneca about it, as it seemed like the kind of thing she’d get a kick out of, too. Until he remembered. She wasn’t texting back. Which worried him. Worried him big-time.
“Hey.”
Maddox turned his head. He thought it might be Madison, who was also at the party, abruptly having quit cheerleading and deciding to “try” cross-country for her senior year. But instead, it was Tara Sykes, who would be a senior this year as well. She settled down on the log next to him, a long-necked bottle of Rolling Rock in her hand. A few strands of her long red-gold hair curled around her ears, and her le
an runner’s legs were crossed at the ankles. “Hey,” he said, holding up his still unopened can to clink. “What’s up?”
“Long time no see.” She touched her bottle to his can, then held up her phone. There was a screensaver of Tara and a couple of the girls on the team grinning after a race, their ponytails slick with sweat. “Mind if we take a selfie? I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Sure,” Maddox said, leaning in. Tara smelled like sugary, girly perfume that probably came in a heart-shaped pink bottle. A totally different species than Seneca.
The flash went off in his eyes. After they both posted the picture on Insta, Tara moved a little closer. “So what have you been up to all summer? I haven’t seen you at any of the group runs.”
Her hand rested on his upper arm. It took Maddox a moment to remember that in his regular life, he was kind of the man. Eight million lifetimes ago, he’d had his eye on Tara Sykes. It seemed obvious that they’d be a couple, both of them the school’s star runners, both of them laid-back and confident and self-motivated. In fact, hadn’t Archer made a comment about Tara the first time he’d met Seneca? And Seneca had made this prissy, disapproving face, which had made Maddox feel so basic for having jocks for friends and thinking about girls. Which had then made him annoyed because Seneca didn’t even know him and how dare she march into his life and start judging?
Of course, his annoyance totally made sense. Of course he’d wanted to impress Seneca. He’d adored her from their very first webchat. He’d wanted her to adore him, too.
But Seneca didn’t love him back. She’d made that very clear; he needed to get that through his head. She’d set him free, returned him to his normal life.
So he turned back to Tara. “I’ve had kind of a crazy summer, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” Her long eyelashes fluttered. “Crazy with parties and stuff? Or getting ready for college? Aren’t you going to Oregon?”
Maddox blinked at her. Did she really not know? After he’d done the interview on Good Morning America, all sorts of randoms in Dexby came up to him, congratulating him. Which felt pretty cool. He appreciated the recognition for what he’d done. It rocked to be seen as something more than just the track star. Though, come to think of it, a lot of kids his age hadn’t really said much about it. Maybe they didn’t watch Good Morning America or read the local papers…or maybe they thought it was kind of weird. Suddenly, he was afraid it might be the latter.
In the flickering firelight, he noticed that Tara was giving him a strange, maybe-I-should-back-away-slowly look. The smell of a citronella candle wafted into his nose. Nearby, a girl happily shrieked, “Get that thing off me!”
Maddox let out an awkward laugh. “Actually, forget it. It’s a really long story.”
He stared into the leaping flames, feeling a thud of disappointment. To be honest, this whole party was a bit of a disappointment….It just wasn’t as fun anymore, or something. Maddox wondered if what had happened with Brett and Seneca and all of them had changed his DNA for good. He couldn’t just shrug it off like a coat and, like, drink beers and play beer pong and break-dance like the other fools were doing. What had happened was going to be with him during every lap around the track, during every party he attended, in his room at Olympic Village, if he ever got there. He looked around at his sheltered, innocent friends. Seneca had asked him to return to this life, but he couldn’t—not entirely. He’d always be different because of what he’d gone through, and what he’d seen.
And let’s face it, he’d always use Seneca as a yardstick for every other girl. Would anyone ever measure up? Did he want anyone to? And shit, if he hadn’t said that thing about Seneca being just like Brett, would she still be talking to him now? If he hadn’t pushed her to tell the cops about Brett’s message, would she now be telling him about her plans?
“Anyway, good to see you,” Tara said, noticing that Maddox’s interest had waned. She rose from the log and squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t call her back. Just stared at his unopened beer. Just moved his finger around the pull tab, debating whether to open it or head home. He could feel his sister watching him across the party, probably ready to lecture him about him dropping the ball with such a hot girl. But when he looked up, Madison’s eyes were round and sympathetic. I know, she seemed to be saying. She’s not Seneca. Madison was worried about Seneca, too.
When his phone in his shorts pocket started vibrating, he figured it was just comments on his Instagram story—Archer and Rory making crude, encouraging remarks about him and Tara with appropriate emojis. But it kept buzzing. And buzzing. And buzzing.
Finally, he pulled it out. It wasn’t his Instagram that was blowing up—it was the app Madison had loaded on his phone two weeks ago, the potential malware and viruses he’d now introduced to his operating system be damned. A small, vibrating dot was leaving the spot it had been anchored to for the past two weeks. Maddox watched as the dot moved down one street, and then another—quickly, so probably in a car versus on foot. Huh. His watch said it was past 2:00 a.m.
As someone cranked the music up even louder, as a girl shouted about how she’d heard there were bears in these woods, as the unopened beer can grew even warmer on Maddox’s lap, he watched the little dot move down one street, then over a bridge. His stomach started to tighten. This wasn’t just a midnight run for snacks—someone was on the move.
Alone.
“Madison,” he called out, standing up, feeling a sizzle of fear. His sister looked up from her conversation, suddenly alert. She hurried over.
“Is it…?” she asked, as though it was written on his forehead in Sharpie.
“Yep.” He set his beer can on the stump. Cracked his knuckles. Slid on his jacket. “Come on.”
After he said his good-byes and jogged with Madison to his car, he watched the dot again. It was still moving…somewhere. Where are you going? he asked it. And what are you going to do next?
SENECA SNUCK OUT stealthily, leaving her father a note, taking the keys. There was no traffic on 95, and she made it to Halcyon in three hours flat. The town was just beginning to wake up: a Jeep with surfboards strapped to the top pulled out of a parking space in front of a coffee shop, a few intrepid power walkers were starting their workouts. Heart in her throat, her eyes burning from the early wake-up call, her knuckles aching from how fiercely she’d gripped the wheel the entire drive, Seneca steered the car onto Philadelphia Avenue.
The rising sun glimmered over the street, making the concrete sparkle. Many of the houses were still dark, and the sidewalk was empty of pedestrians. She held her breath as she drove past Brett’s old house and the familiar tree; the place looked as abandoned and spooky as ever. Then came the lot they were bulldozing: a backhoe was there now, and the hole it had dug seemed bottomless.
She parked at the corner instead of right in front of the cheerful blue house that matched the one in her family photos. She felt like she was being controlled by an invisible set of strings. She needed to do this, no matter the outcome. She needed to know. She didn’t even really feel afraid anymore. More like…vengeful. Angry. Ready.
The floorboards creaked as Seneca stepped up to the front porch. She hesitated at the door—knocking seemed ridiculous. What was Brett going to do, invite her in for some coffee and muffins? Was Brett even here? Even if he had been here with Aerin, that didn’t mean he was here now. And yet, she felt like he was. He’d left her that clue, after all. And all roads led to this street, this place. All questions led to here.
She touched the knob. It turned in her hands, the door swinging open. Seneca stepped back, surprised and unsure. The inside was very dark, but she could make out a set of stairs and a hallway leading to some back rooms. Her throat went dry. Her hands trembled. But she mustered up all the bravery she had and walked in.
The house smelled pleasant, like mint. She could make out framed photos in the hallway and felt a fluffy rug beneath her feet. She listened for sounds—but there were none. Seneca
’s stomach began to twist. Run, a voice in her head screamed. But the possessed animal inside her pressed forward. She was a robot, programmed only to carry out a single task.
Snap.
Seneca froze. The sound had come from the left. Feeling the walls, she realized she’d missed a whole room. She took a step back and peered inside. The light was very dim, but she could just make out couches, chairs, and a TV in the corner. She cocked her head again, her ears ringing with the silence.
“I hope you’re not counting on calling anyone,” a voice called out in the darkness. “I’ve got a device in this house that blocks all cell service.”
A table lamp snapped on in the corner. Brett sat on a leather couch, hands in his lap, his posture straight and erect as though he were a student in the front row of a classroom. His eyes were dark and swirling, but also bemused. A chrome bucket of ice and a bottle of white wine sat in front of him on the coffee table. Next to it were two empty crystal goblets.
Every single one of Seneca’s muscles hardened to stone.
“I have to hand it to you, Seneca.” An eerie smile spread across Brett’s lips. “You figured this out so much sooner than I thought.” He touched the wine bottle. “I think that calls for a celebration. Don’t you?”
BRETT INSPECTED SENECA carefully. He’d seen her just days ago, but, man, had she changed. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair looked unwashed. Brett couldn’t be positive, but it seemed like she might be wearing the same shorts and T-shirt she’d had on in Breezy Sea. Interesting. Brett could just picture her researching, reading, pinpointing, mapping, making lists, looking through photos, asking questions, doing all the Seneca things that brought her to the conclusion she’d come to today. He knew she’d figured it out.
