The Rules for Disappearing

by Ashley Elston

  “So who are the suits protecting us from? Sanchez?” I ask.

  “Not him, personally. The Feds have men watching him back home. It’s probably someone who works for him. Or someone who works for the cartel in Mexico. They have as much riding on your silence as Sanchez does,” he answers.

  I stare out into the darkness, wishing there was some way to go back and forget everything I learned. “So if they know I can testify, they may come after me even harder to shut me up.”

  Dad pulls me in close, hugging me hard. “They’ve been trying to make a case with the drug smuggling and money laundering, but they’re not having much luck without Price. I’ve been through the books a thousand times, and I can’t find anything. I told them Price was a paranoid bastard. Didn’t trust computers. Didn’t trust anybody.” He beats on the step with his fist. “Price had to keep a set of books, something that tracks where the money goes. A list of dummy accounts or fake fronts. Bank account numbers. Overseas transfers. It’s too complicated not to have a record of that. There has to be a paper trail somewhere. But I can’t find it. The Feds tore the office apart and even his house. They found nothing.”

  The ledgers! I flash back to the night at Mr. Price’s house. My head starts spinning. “Dad, there was something about ledgers. Sanchez and Price were arguing about it.”

  “I knew it! Did you see them? Do you know where they are?”

  “No.” I feel helpless.

  He pulls my face up to meet his. “Are you sure? This is really important.”

  His expression is freaking me out even more. “No. That Sanchez guy kept screaming, ‘Where are the ledgers?’ at Mr. Price. But he wouldn’t tell him.”

  “Promise me, Sissy, if you remember anything about where the ledgers are, you have to tell me right away. Come to me first, okay?”

  I take two quick breaths. “Is that what you were talking about on the phone in the laundry room the other night? The ledgers?”

  He drops his hands. “Were you listening to me?”

  I nod. “I saw you go in. I went around back.”

  He leans against the step.

  “Dad, who were you talking to?”

  Dad pulls me in close. “No. You shouldn’t have been listening. You let me worry about this.” He leans back. “Just promise you’ll tell me if you remember anything at all. No matter how small it is.”

  “Are you trying to find the ledgers so you can turn them over to Sanchez? Because that’s what it sounded like.”

  He looks pissed. And guilty, so I know I’m right. “You have no idea how ruthless these people are. I’m scared to death every day that something will happen to you or Teeny.” He looks away from me. “The Feds and their case are not my problem. He killed Price’s son, for God’s sake. This man is an animal. All I care about is this family, and I know the Feds can’t protect us. The man I was on the phone with called me first. I was at work.” Dad bangs his hand against the railing of the steps. “They know where we are. They’ve always known where we are. He said he’d let us go if I hand over any evidence the Feds could use against them. Said if I told the Feds, he’d know and he’d kill us all.”

  I feel dizzy. “Why do they think we have any evidence to turn over?” I ask, my voice cracking.

  Dad’s shoulders slump and all of a sudden he looks old. And tired. “I don’t know. That’s what’s been driving me crazy ever since we got to Natchitoches. The man on the phone is convinced you know where the ledgers are. I keep telling him you don’t remember anything, but he doesn’t believe me. But I’ll promise you this—if I did have any evidence, I wouldn’t give it to the Feds. I’d use it as leverage to get this bastard to leave my family alone.”

  I slump back against the stair railing and can’t breathe. I feel like I’m falling. Dad shakes me and hits me on the back until I’m finally able to suck in some oxygen. His worried face looms over mine, and it’s a few minutes before I’m able to speak.

  “Oh my God, Dad, I think I know what he’s talking about.” I take a few deep gulps of air and say, “That man—Sanchez—he did see me. After he shot Brandon, he must have heard me cry out or something, because all of a sudden he was there. Standing over me. With the gun in his hand.”

  These new memories come rushing in as fast as the ones last night. And just like that—I’m back in that room. Brandon is dead. And I know I’m next. It’s quiet, so I hold my breath, praying he won’t find me. I hear footsteps—they echo off the hardwood floor—and I brace myself for what’s coming. And pray it doesn’t hurt.

  I clear my head, bringing myself back to the present. God, I was terrified. I knew I was dead—there was no way he would let me live—not after what he did to Brandon.

  “Sissy, calm down. Think. You have to tell me what you remember.” Dad is shaking me, probably harder than he realizes, and I put my hand on his to make him stop.

  “I lied to him. And now he believes me and that’s why he’s after me.” I break down and sob against Dad’s chest. He holds me close, stroking my back.

  “You’re not making sense, Sissy. Tell me what happened.”

  I hiccup and use his shirt to wipe my eyes. “He didn’t say anything at first. He pointed the gun at me, and I just blurted out, ‘I know where the ledgers are!’ He must have believed me, because he lowered the gun and asked where they were.”

  Dad leans back and asks, “Do you? Know where they are?”

  “No!” I’m crying again. “I just said that so he wouldn’t kill me. I knew that’s what he wanted, so that’s the first thing that came out of my mouth. Then we heard the sirens. He just looked at me kind of funny for a few seconds, then ran off.”

  Dad brings me back into the house and rubs his hands across my back in a calming rhythmic motion and says, “I’m so glad you said what you did. That’s probably the only reason he didn’t kill you that night, and the only reason you’re still alive today. He needs the ledgers more than he needed you dead.”

  “Maybe we should tell the suits.” I’m shaking. This is so much worse than I expected.

  “Sissy, if I thought that would make us safe, I’d have gone to them the minute that man called the factory.” He waits a moment before continuing. “He knew every town we’d been to and every name we used. We’re going to keep this to ourselves until I can figure something out. If you remember anything else—come to me immediately. This is the only way.”

  I lay my head on his shoulder, and he holds me while the tears pour out.

  RULES FOR DISAPPEARING

  BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:

  There’s a time to cut and run. There’s a time to stay and fight. The most important time is to know when to make this decision.

  THE nightmare was horrible last night. It’s worse because now I know it’s real. Now the colors are more vivid. The noises are louder, the dark is darker, the fear is stronger.

  In our tiny bathroom, I stare at my reflection. I look like death. My eyes are puffy and red, and my nose is stopped up. I sound as terrible as I look. It’s been almost a week since I’ve left the house. I haven’t gone to school. I haven’t gone to Pearl’s. I haven’t gotten dressed.

  I wet a washrag and hold the cold cloth to my eyes. I barely sleep anymore, instead I try to remember every detail of that night at Brandon’s house. Some parts are still blurry. Every time I feel like I’m getting close, my thoughts scatter. I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something.

  Teeny won’t go to school either. She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she’s scared if she leaves me at home like this, I won’t be here when she gets back. And she’s sunk back into that same horrible quiet shell, just like when we first got here.

  I’ve single-handedly ruined this family.

  I’m starting to think I didn’t tell Sanchez I knew where the ledgers were just to save my ass. So I have a new plan: find the ledgers. And that plan rests solely on my stupid friggin’ memory. The ledgers are the key, but where are they? Every time I think
about it I get this pattern in my head. Different shapes—all fitted together. I have that feeling like it’s on the tip of my tongue but I can’t pull it up. I’m determined to find them, and when I do, Dad and I will have to figure out what to do with them. We just have to make sure we have some guarantee that this is over.

  I break it to Teeny that we’re going back to school this morning. I must really look bad, because she doesn’t complain.

  She gets onto her bus just as mine pulls up behind it. I step inside, and Teeny’s right: it totally sucks riding the stinky bus to school. I take a seat in the back and resist crying again. A few freshmen look at me, and I want to growl at them.

  The bus stops in front of school, expelling us along with a cloud of smoke. I’m second-guessing my decision to come back to school, but I can’t feel sorry for myself any longer. The pity party is over.

  It doesn’t take long for Catherine to spot me. She, like Pearl, has been calling the house every day, but I’ve brushed them off, telling them my entire family got the flu. She grabs my hand and pulls me to the nearest bathroom.

  “Oh, hell no.” She digs through her bag. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not walking into school looking like Mrs. Frump’s ugly half sister.” She gets out a brush, a clip, and a bottle of hair gel and lines them up on the counter next to the sink. She then unloads a fully stocked makeup bag. “Especially if you and Ethan are over.”

  “How’d you know?” I shouldn’t be in here with her—no one is safe around me—but it feels so nice to have a normal moment.

  “Ethan told Will. Will told me.”

  “What did Ethan say?” I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself. The sooner I get over him, the better off everyone will be.

  Catherine manages to kick my short hair up in the back and pulls the front part to one side in the clip. “Will wants to rent a limo for the Mardi Gras Ball. He asked Ethan last week if y’all wanted to go with us. Ethan said it wasn’t working out between y’all. And then you disappeared.”

  Even now, he’s still protecting me.

  Catherine keeps working on me, and I get the full face treatment with the makeup, finishing up with a little gloss. She eyes my clothes and shakes her head in disgust. “It’s like you’re trying to wear the ugliest shit out there.”

  She pulls the hoodie over my head and has to fix my hair again. “Here, shove this in that big-ass bag of yours.”

  She digs in her bag and pulls out a soft, black, V-neck sweater. “Put this on.”

  She also grabs a red-and-black scarf and puts it around my neck, forming it into a low hanging loose knot.

  She stands back to survey her work. “Much better. So what happened with Ethan?”

  “It’s all my fault. I freaked. Everything was kinda moving fast, ya know?”

  Catherine looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Do you like him?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not that simple.” God, if it were only that simple.

  “Yes. It is.” She holds up her hand when she sees I’m about to protest. “I don’t mean to get all up in your business. If you don’t want to be with Ethan, fine. But I’m not going to let you walk into this school looking like some bag lady.”

  I turn and look in the mirror. Unbelievable. And what’s even crazier is I feel better. The makeover was like a slap in the face. No more poor, pitiful me moaning and groaning about how sucky my life is. I want a regular life. I want my family safe. I want to be with Ethan. I want to stop running. I even want to stay in this crazy-ass town. And Catherine is right: Mrs. Frump’s ugly half sister is not going to be able to accomplish that.

  But the old me will.

  We both look at the door when it opens. It’s the girl with pink stripey hair, and I get a funny feeling. Like déjà vu or something, but I usually only catch her when she’s leaving. I never see her when she first gets here.

  The girl throws all her stuff down on the floor and starts picking at the wall. I glance at Catherine in the mirror. Catherine mouths the word loser and shakes her head. The girl goes about her business, unconcerned that the two of us are watching her. She wiggles a brick out of the wall. It’s slow going, and I can’t tear my eyes off of her. The brick wall blurs and the pattern makes me dizzy. My mouth gets dry.

  Once the brick is loose, she balances it in one hand while shoving a plastic bag into the hole. She turns back and looks at us for the first time.

  “If my stash disappears, bet your ass I’ll come after you,” she says.

  Catherine turns around with her hand on her hip. “If I really wanted your stash, I’d have taken it years ago. Everyone knows that’s where you hide it.”

  I lean against the wall near the sink and feel my knees get weak. I stare at the girl as she shoves the brick back into place. But that’s not all I’m seeing. Price’s image is superimposed on top of hers. I can see him…shoving something into the stone wall behind his desk.

  The bell rings and the girl flees the bathroom.

  “What a freak.” Catherine stuffs her things back into her bag. She turns to me and her expression changes. “Are you okay?”

  I’m close to sliding to the ground, but I manage to hold myself upright. I don’t want to fall apart in front of her.

  “Yeah, fine. Not feeling a hundred percent yet,” I manage to squeak out.

  Catherine’s face scrunches up. “You look pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I nod. “I’ll see you in class.”

  Catherine leaves the bathroom only after looking back at me a few times first. The second the door shuts, I hit the floor.

  Oh. My. God. I know where the ledgers are.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on that night. I start at Brandon’s house, combining all the pieces I’ve recalled over the last week. After I search upstairs, I step inside Mr. Price’s office. He’s facing the back wall, shoving some thin books inside a small hole, then picks up a stone from his desk and stuffs it into the wall.

  Just as the stone slides into place, I hear footsteps and jump behind the couch.

  I open my eyes and stare at the bathroom wall where the girl stuffed her drugs.

  The ledgers are probably still in the wall in Mr. Price’s office.

  I sprint out of the bathroom and quickly get to homeroom before the second bell rings. I need time to think, to plan. I slide into a desk in the back, and Ben moves to sit near me.

  “I hear you broke poor Landry’s heart.” And then he bursts out laughing.

  I hold up a hand. I’m so done with this. “Quit being an asshole. Whatever it is you’ve got against Ethan, drop it. Or don’t. I don’t really give a shit. Just leave me out of it. And leave me out of your little games with Emma. It’s getting old.”

  Ben’s eyes get big. He’s trying to stutter something out, but nothing makes it past his lips. I glance behind him to the minions watching. “Did you get all that?”

  They look shocked, too.

  Good.

  I turn back to Ben. “About the project. We can get together either tomorrow night or Thursday at Pearl’s. You pick. I’ll have the packet.” I couldn’t care less about this, but I’ve got a plan brewing and I’m hoping in the end we can stay here. At some point, I’ll have to salvage what’s left of senior year. And hopefully there’s something between Ethan and me that can be salvaged, too.

  Ben shakes his head and goes back to the seat he was originally sitting in.

  I’m on fire. I can’t tell Dad I know where they are. He’d never let me go with him. And then, what if the ledgers aren’t in there anymore? No, Dad needs to stay with Mom and Teeny. I got us into this, so I’ll get us out.

  RULES FOR DISAPPEARING

  BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:

  Avoid conflict at all costs. Even if that means letting some bitchy cheerleader get the best of you.

  TEENY heads straight to the kitchen when we get to Pearl’s. It feels really
good to be back. Grabbing a phone book and the cordless phone, I pick a booth close to the front. It’s pretty dead this early in the afternoon, so I figure I have a little time to start putting my plan together before we get too busy.

  How will I get to Scottsdale? Car, bus, or plane? I call the bus station and the airport to find out how much a ticket back home will be, and how long it will take to get there.

  Okay, first problem: no airport or bus station in Natchitoches. I have to get to Shreveport. And then I would have to get back here from Shreveport if, I mean when, I recovered the ledgers.

  Second problem: Greyhound doesn’t require an ID to buy a ticket, but the airlines do. Showing an ID is the sticky part. I don’t have a driver’s license, but I do have a state-issued ID in Avery Preston’s name. I told the suits I lost it when they yanked us out of Florida. I’m a little nervous about using the ID even though a plane would be tons faster. Do the airlines run the name and ID through some system? Will it flag someone in the marshal’s office?

  It’ll take forever to get there by bus. More than a day. I drum my pen on the table and go through my options. I don’t have a car. I can’t take the station wagon because I have no intention of telling my parents what I’m doing. I hoped to leave on Friday and possibly be back by Monday with ledgers in hand. This is a very ambitious plan, but it’s balls to the wall time.

  Pearl spots me in the booth when she comes out of the kitchen. I give a ridiculous little wave, and she scrunches her forehead. I’m sure she’s wondering why I’m sitting here. She finally walks back to the kitchen.

  Third problem: Either by bus or plane, a ticket round trip is over three hundred dollars. I have maybe a hundred and twenty-five in my bag—that includes the paycheck Pearl just gave me. I’m really regretting the splurge on that jacket. I can get some money from Dad, and maybe ask Pearl for an advance on my next check. That won’t leave much for when I’m there. I could call Elle or Laura once I get there, but that is a last resort.