Missing Pieces

by Meredith Tate

  “Oh…cool.”

  “They’re in the bathroom.”

  She beckons me to follow her into the hall. A pile of smoothened pebbles fill a purple basket on the bathroom sink, each one adorned with a word: Love, Honesty, and Fun glare at me from the top.

  “They’re inspiration stones,” Lara says, rubbing Honesty between her fingers, “to bring good energy into our home.”

  “Cool.”

  “You hate them.”

  “I don’t!”

  She tosses the rock back into the collection with a clack. “I want to visit my parents tomorrow, and I want you to come. I haven’t seen them in ages.”

  “Oh, well, um, I was actually planning…uh—” my knee jiggles beneath me “—to stay with Alan this weekend. Toni isn’t feeling good, and he needs help keeping the place clean.”

  It’s a flat lie, but “going to Lornstown with Trace” won’t go any better.

  “Oh…okay.” She scrunches her mouth to the side. “Well, I’ll come too, then. Keep Toni company.”

  I scratch my neck, not meeting her eyes. “I was actually planning on some guy time with my friend, you know? Watch some football, drink some beer…”

  “Won’t Toni be there?”

  “Well, yeah, but she’s really sick, completely bed ridden.”

  Lara crosses her arms. “What does she have?”

  Um…“The stomach flu.”

  “Isn’t that super contagious? Maybe you shouldn’t go. I don’t need you getting sick; we’ve got tons of weddings in the next month.”

  “I know! Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  She squints.

  She doesn’t buy it.

  “Okay, I’m beat. Good night, Lara!” I push past her and shut my door before she can interrogate me further.

  Tomorrow is all that matters.

  Tracy Bailey

  I creep into my dark apartment, creaking the door shut behind me. My brain reels from the evening, clouding my senses.

  So, that’s what it’s like to make out with my best friend: amazing.

  Maybe I’m a shitty, weak person for dooming him to Lornstown, but it was his idea, so it’s okay.

  Right?

  I step into the hall.

  Sam pounces from the darkness. “Boo!”

  I jump back, heart plunging into my throat. He roars with laughter.

  Asshole.

  “You know I hate that, Sam!”

  You insufferable, small-peckered prick. Who the hell gets joy from scaring people?

  I catch my breath, hand over my heart. He slumps over onto me. Lips pressed together, I maneuver out from under his arm.

  “I love you, Tracy Bailey.”

  “I love you, Sam Macey.”

  “You’re back early.”

  “Ditto.”

  I hang my coat. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to have some wild bachelor party, crawling through dive bars with his brother, but still.

  He reeks of liquor. I hold my breath and walk past him.

  “How was your bachelorette party?”

  What?

  Oh, right, my alibi for sitting in the treehouse with Piren. If only he knew…

  “Fun. Toni got wasted.” It’s plausible. “How was your bachelor party?”

  “Awesome.”

  “Good.”

  He saunters toward me, wrapping his muscly arms around my waist. His grip is sweatier and tighter than Piren’s. He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my cheek, and he presses his sweaty lips to my face instead.

  Not in this lifetime, Sam.

  “So…wife-to-be?”

  Silence. Oh, he’s addressing me?

  “Oh. What?”

  He smirks. “Wanna fool around?”

  “Excuse me?” I shove him away.

  “You heard me.” He winks. “Come on, babe, the wedding’s in two weeks. We don’t have to go all the way…”

  He reaches for my breast, but I swat him away.

  Horny bastard.

  “You’re drunk. You know I hate alcohol.”

  “Come on, babe, what do you say?”

  “I say good night, Sam.”

  I yank open my bedroom door, but he rams it shut again.

  “Stop it. I’m going to bed.” I clench my jaw. “Alone.”

  He holds his hand over the door. “What’s the password?”

  “Seriously, move.”

  “You have to say the password.”

  “Fine.” I grit my teeth. “What’s the frigging password?”

  He grabs my hand and presses it to his crotch, hard and bulging. I yank my hand away at light speed and slap him so hard across the face.

  “We aren’t married; you don’t touch me!”

  He sneers, holding his hand to his reddening cheek.

  “Not yet,” he growls. “We aren’t married yet. But soon enough. Go to bed. Soon as we’re married, I don’t want this bullshit.”

  Don’t worry, Sam.

  I slam my bedroom door.

  After tomorrow, you won’t get any bullshit from me anymore.

  Piren Allston

  I bolt up at the crack of dawn and speed through my morning routine, whistling to myself in the shower. I throw two changes of clothes in a backpack and zip into the hall.

  “I love you, Piren Allston,” Lara mumbles, emerging from her bedroom cave.

  I prance through the kitchen, rehashing last night’s beautiful details in my head.

  “Hey!” She stomps toward me. “I said I love you, Piren Allston!”

  “I love you, Lara Goodren!” It comes out sarcastic, but I don’t bother to correct myself.

  “You’re happy this morning.” She crosses her arms. “What’s so great about seeing Alan and Toni?”

  “Can’t talk. Gotta run!” I peck her on the cheek and race out the door before she can protest.

  I park in a vacant lot several miles away and pull out my cellphone map to plot our course. Lornstown is clearly marked, encircled with a bright red line labeled “KEEP OUT.”

  Ironically, venturing a visit to Lornstown is punishable by Banishment there permanently. No one goes unless they’re Banished…or choose to run away.

  We’ll travel to the last stop on the train, switch buses twice, then plod a mile or so by foot. There’s no direct public transportation to the cut-off town.

  I can’t risk anyone seeing my car parked overnight at the train station, so I leave it in the vacant lot and board the bus. I tug a red baseball cap over my head, covering my identifying blond hair.

  This is it.

  I’m at the station twenty-minutes early, but Trace beat me here. She sits cross-legged on a bench in the back of the station, with sunglasses over her eyes and a black wool hat—completely wrong for the summer—hiding her distinguishable curly hair. It’s a strong disguise, but I’d recognize my best friend anywhere.

  My heart lurches when I see her, and I quicken my pace. She beams, but keeps her hands in her lap. A balloon swells inside me with each step. I sit down on the bench, leaving several feet of space between us.

  For the first time ever, I have twenty-four hours with Trace. Just Trace.

  “Hey, stranger,” she says slightly louder than a whisper. “Ready to write the story Fangs and Fat Head go to Lornstown?”

  “Should have written it a long time ago.”

  She smiles into her hand, her cheeks blushing rosy.

  People amble by on their way to the tracks. Each time a new person passes, my pulse races until I mentally confirm it’s a stranger.

  Two minutes.

  My leg jitters as my furiously blinking eyes scan the station. Trace inhales short, uneven breaths, tapping her fingers along the bench. I slide my hand over and brush hers. She recoils, but I catch the hint of a smile on her face.

  After a damn eternity, a harsh whistle blows, announcing our train’s arrival.

  We climb aboard, and Trace clambers to the back, claiming seats far from prying eyes.

 
; I plop down two seats away, leaving an empty seat between us. My hands grow sweaty in my lap. The conductor inspects our tickets, then returns to his place at the front.

  The train whistle screams, and we’re off.

  We glance up and down the aisle, peeking into every nearby row of seats, but see no familiar faces. I close my eyes and release the heavy breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  We’re safe.

  Strangers will see us together and assume we’re Partners. Just a perfectly acceptable couple, riding the train. Nothing unusual to see here, folks!

  I slide into the empty seat between us, and Trace lights up.

  “Candy?” She pours some chocolate drops into my hand. “I stole it from Sam’s stash.”

  I can’t stop smiling. I feel like I’m going to explode out of my skin.

  This is the best day of my life.

  “Where’d you tell Lara you were going?” she asks.

  “Alan’s.” I toss the candy into my mouth. “Where’d you tell Sam?”

  She grins. “I’m so glad you asked. The drunken idiot was passed out in his own piss when I woke up. I stepped over him on my way out.”

  “You didn’t tell him you were going away overnight?” I shove her arm. “Possibly forever?”

  “Left a note on the table. He’d flip if I didn’t, and then blow up my phone with stalker texts all night.”

  I click my tongue. “‘Bounce’ still has a temper, huh? Didn’t he outgrow that crap after high school?”

  “You’d think, but sadly my Partner is a twelve-year-old. I wrote that I’m sleeping over V and Oliver’s. He’ll never think to call and check; he hates my sister. He’ll never admit it, but I know he does.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Maybe when he wakes up and cleans up after himself, he’ll see the note.”

  “You landed a winner.”

  “Oh, I know.” She drops another candy into her mouth. “And get this. He tried to fuck me last night…”

  I raise my brows.

  “…but I slapped him.”

  “Ha!” I jab her leg. “Good. You’re too good for that loser.”

  “Hey, I’ve always thought that. But you know what they say, ‘One-hundred-percent accuracy! We know best!’” She mocks a near-perfect impression of Clarence.

  She meets my eyes. I love her eyes.

  “No, they don’t…” I squeeze her hand. “They don’t know best…”

  How anyone could Partner me with Lara before Trace is insane.

  I have to keep reminding myself that before yesterday, we hadn’t seen each other in almost two years. We might as well be eight again, embarking on another adventure together.

  Trace rests her head on my shoulder. “What do you think it’s like?” She tiptoes her fingers up and down my leg. “Lornstown.”

  “I guess we’re gonna find out, right?”

  “I mean, do you think it’s as bad as the horror stories?”

  “Erm…I hope not?”

  “Maybe it’s not so bad?” Her statement comes out like a question. “Maybe the stories are blown out of proportion?”

  “Maybe.” My leg jiggles against the seat in front of us.

  “Miserable, mopey people everywhere? That’s like our high school. Can’t be worse than that, right?”

  My knee progresses to full-blown bouncing. “What’s the scariest Lornstown story you ever heard?”

  “Hmm…” She scrunches her mouth to the side. “The ‘murder a minute’ thing is pretty scary. But I’m not sure how possible that is, or the whole town would be dead.”

  “I’ve heard they’ve got lots of creepy diseases.”

  Trace nods. “My dad calls them sex diseases.”

  “Well, remind me not to bone any locals.”

  “Noted.”

  Her hair tickles my face. I lean in and kiss her cheek.

  “Piren, there’s one thing.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t wanna see any kids. We see them coming; we walk the other way. Okay?”

  “Okay…why?”

  “I can’t…handle…sick kids. It’s too sad.” She shudders. “I mean, I don’t want to sound like an ass, but I just…can’t take it. All the scars and deformities and stuff they have there. Okay?”

  I press my forehead to hers. “Okay.”

  She laces her fingers with mine. Fields and houses zip by as we chug along, closer and closer to our potential new home.

  I close my eyes, fighting back the growing nausea in my stomach.

  What if Lornstown is really as bad as everyone says? Can I doom myself to life with only pariahs and criminals for company? Can I be happy knowing all my friends and family back home hate me and think I’m a horrible person? Can I handle calling Mason and my parents to inform them they’ll never see me again? Can I commit to being Banished and never look back?

  Trace leans her warm body into me, her chest rising and falling as she breathes. Her hair smells like honey and mint. She consumes my senses, roping me in.

  I can. I can commit to that life.

  Tracy Bailey

  One long train ride and two buses later, we’re trekking through grass as tall as my waist. It brushes up against my shins, making them itch like hell, but I don’t care.

  We swing our entwined hands as we walk. My heart’s all feathery inside, like it could float right out of my body and up to the sky. It reminds me of that light-headed dizziness after all those frigging tequila shots, as if my best friend manages to intoxicate me merely with his presence. I can’t look at him without beaming, like some swoony, lovesick kid—Oh God, I’m becoming Veronica!—but I relish it.

  We’ve started a new adventure story called “Fat Head and Fangs Go to Lornstown.” I add a sentence, then he adds another, weaving a twisted tale of shenanigans. If they have pens and paper in Lornstown, this one’s going in the anthology.

  We tackle the mangy trail step by step, stumbling every few feet over rocks and debris. Protruding tree roots trip us as we trudge along. Every time one of us flounders over the terrain, we break down in paralyzing laughter.

  I try to keep Piren laughing so we don’t ruminate. With each step, a pit grows in my stomach. Neither of us mentions Lornstown, and I won’t be the one to start, because it makes my stomach cramp. I have no idea what to expect. I’ve heard the stories, but never seen a picture; I mean, the Banished can’t exactly come home to show slides.

  In all my wildest, craziest dreams of where my life would lead, I never once thought I’d end up in Lornstown. Why would I? You get your Partner, you love your Partner, and unless you’re a horrible person, you marry your Partner and stay with them forever. It’s simple.

  Maybe in an alternate universe, I’d be Partnered with Piren. I’d be home with Veronica right now, gleefully comparing wedding notes and trying on poufy dresses. I’d be normal. It’s a nice delusion, but it’s a pipe dream. Lornstown or not, I have Piren now, and I’ll take what I can get.

  We hike past abandoned barns and dried farm land, surrounded by seas of tall, grassy plains. Neglected corn fields line the road, overgrown with weeds. The summer breeze blows a faded barn door to our left; it swings and thuds against the side of a paint-chipped silo. I inhale the smooth scent of wheat and grass, savoring the aroma.

  “I’d say this is our boldest adventure yet,” Piren says.

  “Agreed.”

  “How will we know when we’re there? Do you think it’s marked? Will they send out the welcoming committee?”

  “Oh, a parade, I’m sure.” I squeeze his hand. “Are you sure we’re going the right direction?”

  “Yes! No faith in your best friend.”

  “Well, that’s what you said two years ago, when you totally butchered directions to the café.”

  “Hey, now, I checked the map this time.”

  The further we walk, the more decrepit the buildings and farm houses become. Some have holes the size of boulders in their roofs. Maybe this was once a functional farming town,
but I’m guessing the inhabitants dissipated to distance themselves from Lornstown.

  The breeze whispers through the wheat fields around us. To my right, a thick oak tree splits into two hefty trunks.

  That would be a perfect treehouse tree. Maybe this won’t be so bad…

  As the sky dampens with evening dew, we approach a vast wooden wall, stretching at least twenty feet high. It sprawls left to right, as far as the eye can see. We cautiously step closer, tightening our grip on each other’s hands. Yellow posts marked with warnings dapple the ground.

  Forbidden—Do Not Cross Boundary Line

  Perched atop a dandelion-infested hill, a rickety wooden archway divides the wall, creating a slim opening barely wide enough to pass through. The arch boasts a two-foot wooden sign with white painted lettering.

  Lornstown

  Population 28,151

  “Population’s smaller than I thought,” I say. “Also, I was expecting guards, but I guess the town itself is deterrent enough.”

  Piren fidgets. “So…this is it?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Do we…go under it?”

  I take a deep breath. Everything behind the wall, beyond that arch, is Lornstown. This is it—passing through the barrier into the forbidden world. A living horror movie awaits on the other side.

  I unlink from Piren’s grasp and step toward it.

  “No.” He grabs my arm. “Together.”

  Heart thudding in my chest, I take my best friend’s hand.

  “You ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Holding my breath, I squeeze him tight, and we step under the arch.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but nothing does.

  A sprawling hillside presents itself to us, draped in the darkening shroud of night. My shoulders tighten as my body prickles into hyper-vigilance.

  We’re in criminal territory now. Someone could come out and stab us at any moment.

  Piren’s face drains of all color. His eyes flick side to side, scanning the hill. My arms grow ridged, clamped tight at my sides. Below our feet stretches a dirt road, leading down the mound, probably to the village. I squint ahead, but thickening nighttime darkness blinds me. Piren clicks his cellphone, emitting a dull light.