The Disappearance of Emily H.

by Barrie Summy

  I spend the next three hours spinning a heavy wooden wheel for kids wanting a small free prize.

  “My arms are falling out of their sockets,” I finally complain to my mom as she hands out rubber bracelets.

  “I think Raine’s done enough,” Nancy says. “My son’ll be here in five. He can man the wheel.”

  The drive home is filled with Mom gushing about the street fair and Yielding and community. “This really is a great town, isn’t it?”

  Except for Michael White. And Jennifer and her gang. But especially Michael White. I rub my biceps. “I need a shower and some Advil.”

  She drops me off and heads back downtown. I’m almost at the porch steps when Mrs. Burns comes hurtling across the lawn, all body parts jiggling, eyeballs bulging. Even the sparkle on her shoulder is shaking. I don’t bother to reach for it. Who wants to see the memories of a cranky, old busybody?

  “What shenanigans are you up to now?” she demands.

  “Nothing.” I put a foot on the first step.

  “Who was that boy over here this morning?”

  “What?” The blood in my veins turns cold.

  “He walked around your house, looked through all the windows, then knocked at the back door.” She glares at me. “The door opened, and he went in. Then out came the two of you, arms around each other. You were wrapped in a large coat. And off you went together.” She wags a finger. “Something illegal’s going on.”

  Emily left with Michael?

  In a panic, I race up the porch stairs and into the house.

  Mrs. Burns’s mouth is probably starting a lecture on rudeness. I don’t hang around to find out.

  I change my shoes, grab water, and take off.

  It’s the toughest five-mile run I’ve ever done. Each step feels like I’m in a nightmare, running underwater. Did Michael take Emily to the cabin? I don’t know where else to look.

  At the Motel 6 sign, I veer left off the highway and start climbing the hill. About halfway up, I find his car. A little hope. At least I’m at the right place. I look in. No Emily. A large man’s coat lies on the backseat. Where is she? Is she hurt? Is she alive? Maybe there’s a sparkle inside the car that will tell me what’s going on. I try the doors. Locked.

  I make my way into the woods. When I spot the cabin, I crouch down by a tree at the edge of the clearing and look around. A stack of newspapers next to a cushion next to newspapers next to a cushion forms a checkered path that snakes from the shed to the cabin. It’s almost pretty. The wind picks up, ruffling the newspapers.

  Suddenly Michael appears, backing out of the shed. He’s lugging a plastic drum. When he tips the drum and starts soaking cushions and newspapers, I can smell the gasoline.

  I pull out my phone. No service. I’m afraid to backtrack down the hill to get bars. Michael will see me. Instead, I begin taping.

  When the container is empty, he drops it in the middle of the yard and walks down the hill. To leave? Because the timer’s set for tonight and ready to spark a blaze?

  Where is Emily?

  I stay in the woods, dashing from tree to tree in a wide circle till I reach the cabin. I peer in the windows. No Emily.

  The shed doors are still open. Is she in there? Tied up? Knocked out? Left to burn to death? Already dead?

  I sprint around the cabin and gaze into the shed.

  I stifle a cry. Like an empty sack, Emily’s crumpled in a heap on the floor. Duct tape is wrapped around her hands and ankles and stretches across her mouth. Her eyes are closed.

  I glance over my shoulder. No sign of Michael. Has he left?

  “Emily,” I whisper. “Emily.”

  Her eyes flutter open, then go wide, wide like saucers. She shakes her head and makes high-pitched squealing noises.

  There’s a scuffling behind me.

  I turn just as Michael lunges.

  He’s like a truck crashing into me.

  I fall heavily into the shed.

  Pain shoots into my head above my eye.

  The shed doors slam shut.

  I lie there for a minute, blinking. It’s dark. A little light fights its way in through the small window. I don’t let myself think about spiders.

  There’s a loud click outside. We’re locked in.

  My head hurts. I keep blinking. What’s getting in my eye? I raise a hand to my eyebrow, then hold my hand up to the dim stream of light. Blood. There’s a huge gash above my eyebrow. It’s dripping blood into my eye.

  Beside me, Emily’s making frustrated grunts. She kicks me, then shakes her bound arms and legs.

  I pull myself slowly to my knees, a hand on the ground to stay steady. I work on pulling the tape off Emily’s hands, stopping every so often to wipe the blood from my eye.

  When her hands are free, Emily holds the edge of the tape covering her mouth, closes her eyes and rips. She squeals. “That really hurts,” she whimpers, pressing fingers against her lips.

  Under her hoodie, Emily wriggles until she gets her T-shirt off and hands it to me. “Hold this against your eyebrow.”

  With the light from my phone, I grab a shovel and a hoe from the other side of the shed. Emily finishes untaping her feet.

  I give the shovel to Emily, and we start whacking at the doors. When nothing gives, we wedge the tools in the gap where the doors meet, trying to pry them open.

  They don’t budge.

  Huffing and puffing, Emily leans on the long handle of the shovel. “This isn’t working.”

  With the metal end of the hoe, I smash the window. “I want to see what’s going on outside.”

  Carefully, I stick my head through the opening.

  Michael stands inches away, staring at me.

  I jump back, like I was shocked, and a jagged piece of glass scrapes into my neck.

  “Let us out.” My voice trembles.

  “Yeah, right.” He walks away, wiping his hands on his jeans.

  The panic in me bubbles and expands until it threatens to blow off my head. I go back to attacking the doors with the hoe.

  When Emily doesn’t help, I shine the phone light in her face. She’s sniffing.

  Then I smell it, too.

  Smoke.

  Long, slender blue flames stretch up the back wall.

  Michael didn’t wait for tonight and the bonfire.

  Emily jumps next to me, like somehow together we can fight the fire beast. We can’t.

  The flames turn from pretty blue to angry orange and red. The fire crackles louder and louder. The temperature in the shed is rising fast.

  Hot smoke billows and swoops down my throat and into my lungs.

  Emily dives for the floor and pulls me down with her. “Stay below the fumes and cover your mouth.” She pulls up on the bottom of her hoodie.

  I slap her T-shirt over my mouth.

  The flames on the back wall curl up to the roof. If we don’t get out soon, we’ll be burned alive.

  I cough. My eyes sting. I wipe sweat from my forehead.

  “We’re going to die,” Emily whispers. “From carbon monoxide poisoning or from the flames.”

  Really? This is it? No more moves with my mother? No more Levi? No more running? No first kiss? No prom? No more sparkles?

  Sparkles.

  I take a breath from near the floor, hold it, then stand and poke my head out the window.

  A combination lock is threaded through the door handles.

  I drop down. Breathe in. Hold it. Stand.

  I stick my head and arm through the window, stretching for the lock. My fingers bump it. There’s a faint sparkle. I tap it with my fingertips, rolling it along my fingers to my palm. I close my hand and my eyes.

  I need this memory. More than I’ve needed any memory before. More than I’ve needed anything in my entire life.

  Numbers leap into my mind.

  33-7-41.

  The combination to open the lock.

  “Breathe, Raine,” Emily says hoarsely from the ground.

  I fall
to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Emily asks.

  “Opening the lock,” I choke out, then breathe and stagger to my feet.

  I squeeze my head and arm through the window again.

  The wind gusts, and flames suddenly dance across the yard on the path of cushions and newspapers.

  On my tiptoes, I stretch my arm, reaching, reaching for the lock.

  33-7-41.

  There’s a roaring crash as a wall falls behind us. Burning debris flies through the air.

  The back of my knee flares in heat. I scream.

  Emily smothers the flames on my leg with her hoodie.

  My fingers strain for the dial.

  And get it. The lock’s hot.

  I twist it to thirty-three, spin it left past seven, then turn it all the way around to seven again.

  The fire rages and moans. It wants us. I can’t smell anymore. Every breath hurts. Every cough hurts. I’m dizzy.

  Right to forty-one.

  The lock pops open. I shove it through the door handles. It hits the ground.

  Emily slumps against me.

  I pull her by her armpits. Then, with the weight of both our bodies, I crash into the hot doors. They fall open.

  I drag Emily out and across the clearing.

  We collapse onto the dirt.

  There’s a sharp rap on the door before a hospital worker walks in with a meal tray.

  My mom’s asleep in the chair next to my bed. Her arms are flung out like she’s flying, and her bangs are damp and stuck to her forehead. She looks like a little kid.

  “Breakfast.” The worker sets the tray on the stand next to my bed.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Our voices nudge my mom awake.

  “Were you here all night?” I ask her.

  She stands and stretches. “Yeah.”

  I didn’t expect that, and it makes me feel safe, like I’m wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. “Want some?” I wave at the tray.

  “Just the coffee.” She reaches for the mug.

  I’m surprisingly hungry and start shoveling in rubbery scrambled eggs and limp slices of bacon.

  Watching me with serious eyes, my mom sips her coffee.

  I drain my carton of milk, then set my fork on the empty plate. “I wonder if I’m getting out today or tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. The doctor stopped by earlier.” My mom places her mug on a corner of the tray, then wheels the small table against the wall. She perches on the side of my bed. “We need to talk, Raine.”

  She usually avoids heavy, emotional conversations. I chew on my bottom lip.

  “You kept some really big secrets.” She pauses. “It’s one thing not to tell me when a project is due or that you bombed a test. But this”—her eyes well up with tears—“was way, way beyond that. This was so dangerous that it’s amazing things didn’t go very wrong. You and Emily could easily have—” She buries her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. “I’m really sorry. We didn’t know how dangerous it was going to get. That Michael would get Emily. That he’d lock us in the shed and set it on fire.”

  She looks at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Emily?”

  “Emily was worried you’d go to the police. Then Michael would find out she was still around and he’d get Tasha. That’s why Emily left our house with him. He said it was either her or Tasha.”

  She waits for me to continue.

  “I just promised…,” I trail off lamely.

  “There are some promises you can’t make,” my mom says softly. “You have to say no when you’re asked.”

  I nod. It’s the best I can do because my throat is so tight, it’s trapping the words.

  She grabs hold of me and hugs me hard. We’re both crying, my hot tears streaming down her neck, her hot tears streaming down mine.

  “You have to have faith in me, Raine,” she chokes out. “I’m really doing my best to be here for you. To make Yielding the fresh start you deserve. Sure, I’ll make mistakes. You’ll make mistakes, too. Your grandmother would’ve made mistakes. But I have your best interests at heart. I’m coming from a place of love. That’s what you have to trust.”

  I cry harder. She cries harder. We hang on to each other, crying for all the scary things that could’ve gone wrong but didn’t, and for all the wonderful things that are going right.

  Finally we pull apart. We wipe our eyes and blow our noses with tissues from the box on my nightstand.

  “So we agree we’re going to talk more?” my mom asks, her hands on my shoulders. “And hang out together more?”

  I nod.

  “You okay if I go into work for a while? We’re having a move-in special at one of the apartments this weekend, and it’ll be a zoo.”

  “Sure.”

  She turns at the door. “A boy stopped by the house to ask about you.”

  I go still, waiting for the name.

  “Lou? Drew? The coffee shop guy.”

  “Hugh?” I say.

  “That’s the one.”

  —

  “The worst thing about Yielding Hospital is the Internet connection,” I say in answer to Shirlee’s question. “Although the mystery lunch today was suspicious. Might’ve been worm. Or lizard skin.”

  “Yuck.” Shirlee sets her laptop bag on the floor. “Is Emily still here?”

  “No. She already got discharged because she has less of a heat rash on her face.”

  “Did she go home with her family?” Shirlee asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I cannot even imagine that reunion.”

  “There was a lot of hugging and crying,” I say. “Emily’s mom couldn’t stop touching her. Her dad, who doesn’t seem like a very happy guy, was literally grinning from ear to ear.”

  “Is Emily coming back to Yielding Middle?”

  I shake my head. “They’re moving. Her dad got a job with the same company my mom works for. But in Albany.”

  “Maybe that’s better for her,” Shirlee says. “She’ll get a chance to start over.”

  It’s probably true for Emily, but not for me. I’m glad to be staying in the same house and going to the same school. I’m maxed out on starting over.

  Shirlee leans close, scrutinizing my face. “Your rash doesn’t look too bad.”

  “Underneath this cream, my face is shiny and red. There’s a line of blisters across my forehead. It’s not pretty.” I point at my eyebrow. “Stitches.”

  “Will it all heal okay?”

  “That’s what the doctor promised.” With three fingers, I show a Scout’s honor.

  “And Emily’s obviously in good shape?”

  “Yeah, although she got more smoke inhalation than me and blew out her mucous membranes. She sounds like a wounded animal when she snores. That’s how her dad described it.”

  Shirlee laughs. “Your mom said you hurt your knee, too?”

  I nod. “The back of my knee is actually burned, to the point I can’t bend it. I’m not looking forward to telling the coach I’m out for the rest of the season.”

  “Torie’s going to tell him at practice tomorrow.”

  I push the button that makes the bed sit up. “So what happened at the bonfire with Jennifer?”

  “She was wearing new clothes, tons of makeup, telling everyone to leave room for her”—Shirlee makes air quotation marks—“ ‘high school’ boyfriend to sit next to her. When he didn’t show up, she texted. And texted and texted.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “She texted me. I texted you. Neither one of us got replies. It went on like that for a while.”

  I make a sorry face. “I didn’t get your texts till it was too late.”

  “It’s fine. I just never answered her.”

  “You never answered?” I repeat.

  “Nope.” Shirlee gives a satisfied smile. “Eventually, she made up a big lie and said Michael really wanted to be at the bonfire with her, but had to go back to the doc
tor’s because he was in so much pain and it turned out his ankle was badly broken not just sprained.” Shirlee mimics Jennifer talking fast with no spaces between words.

  “I wonder what she’ll be like in school this week.”

  “Bad.” Shirlee sighs. “I’m sure she’ll leave you alone. The whole school knows how you found Emily and how you two helped catch the arsonist. She’ll try to convince everyone that the arsonist’s a different Michael White.” Shirlee gives a short laugh. “But there’s no reason for her to stop picking on me.”

  “We’ll give her a reason.” I slowly swing my legs over the side of the bed. “The Internet’s better in the lounge.”

  Shirlee hangs out with me for the rest of the afternoon, and we put together a YouTube video about Jennifer. The title? “The Mean Girl’s Going Down.” We find online photos of Jennifer, Alyssa, Danielle, and Michael. The opening’s a close-up photo of Jennifer, followed by fingers tapping on a phone. We upload all her texts. We show how desperate she is for Michael to like her. But how she winds up alone. And how she’s really alone, because after Michael’s photo, we put handcuffs and then the juvenile hall in Albany. We follow all this with the mean texts about Alyssa and Danielle in a segment called “Oops. Mean Girl Trash-Talks Her Friends.” Of course we set the video to great music. Voilà.

  We upload our work of art to YouTube with privacy settings. At this point, only Jennifer, Shirlee, and I can view the video.

  “How should we let her know about this?” I ask.

  “Text her? Email? Facebook message?” Shirlee shrugs.

  In the end, we use all of the above to give Jennifer the YouTube link and a message saying the next time she bugs either Shirlee or me, we’re taking off the privacy setting.

  Shirlee’s mom texts that she’s in the parking lot.

  Shirlee gives me a light hug. “You’re the bravest person I know. I can’t imagine how scary it must’ve been in the shed.”

  “It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me,” I admit. “But I also think Emily and I got lucky. Like with that hiker calling nine-one-one about the fire. With the shed combusting after we got out. With not getting hit by any of the stuff flying out of the shed.” I shudder. “That whole scenario could’ve been so bad.”