by Daka Hermon
“Hey, watch the face,” a voice cries. “Chill out! It’s just me.”
“Lyric?!”
He lowers his arms from where he’s covering his head. I don’t know whether to hug or choke him. “Man, what are you doing here?”
Nia slaps his arm. “You scared me to death. You’re talking to a ghost.” She extends her arms and walks stiffly in a circle. “Boooo.”
Lyric tilts his head to the side and studies her. “That’s more zombie-like, but I get where you’re going.”
Quincy scrambles to his feet, stumbling over the furniture.
“What happened?” Nia gestures to the broken table.
“Zee,” says Lyric with a heavy sigh. “Mrs. Murphy said he tried to leave last night. He kept talking about stopping something. Apparently, it was a rough night.”
“Is she okay?” I ask.
Lyric nods. “Yeah. She needed to run to the store to get stuff for Zee and asked if I’d hang here until she got back. Zee’s in his room resting. I was cleaning up some, then thought I’d go check on him but y’all showed up.”
Lyric sweeps the trash into a dustpan. Half-hidden under the broken leaves is a harmonica. He picks it up and shakes off the dirt. Small pieces of newspaper and tape are still stuck to one dented side. It’s Zee’s welcome home gift.
Lyric swallows hard and his hand clenches around the harmonica.
Nia steps forward. “Lyric—”
“It’s cool. I can fix it or get him another one,” he says.
The harmonica may have come from a thrift store, but it cost something. Lyric doesn’t have extra money to waste. He saved up a long time for that gift and now it’s busted.
I look around the room again and this overwhelming need to run and hide hits me with such force I have to catch my breath. I take a step toward the door, putting a little more distance between me and Zee’s room. Why did he want to leave so badly? Where was he going?
“Did you hear about Shae?” Nia asks.
Lyric nods. “Yeah, it’s all over my police scanner.”
Wait, what? “You have a police scanner?”
Lyric shrugs. “It was my dad’s. It helped him know things.”
“What kind of things?” I ask.
Nia snaps her fingers at us. “Focus, please. The news said Shae was at a dance camp that’s two hours away, but she was at the party with us. What’s up with that?”
“It’s not possible,” says Lyric. “She couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“Maybe she’s with Carla,” Quincy says.
Lyric’s eyebrows rise. “Carla? Why would Shae be with her? And what’s up with the backpack?”
Quincy tugs on the straps. “Uh … I have stuff for Carla.”
“Carla disappeared, too.” The words tumble from my mouth. “She’s gone.”
Lyric’s jaw drops. “Nuh-uh. Like ran off or missing missing?”
Quincy’s eyes are so wide they’ve combined. He’s a cyclops.
“Which one?” Lyric asks him. “Ran off or missing missing?”
Quincy stares blindly. We’ve lost him.
“Missing missing.” It’s easier if I answer.
“Go ahead and freak out. I already did.” Nia slumps against the overturned couch.
“Whoa. I mean, whoa.” Lyric bites his thumbnail. “Carla? And this stuff about Shae … Dude.”
“There’s something else.” I swallow hard. “We were talking at my place … Did you have a nightmare last night? Hear a freaky voice?”
His blue eyes widen. “Man, yeah! It was bad. Something was like stalking me and saying weird stuff. Might not ever sleep again. And when I woke up that scary feeling was still there.” He touches his chest. “Like inside me.”
“We had the same dream.” Nia tugs at her braids. “And I feel different, too. Not right.”
Quincy nods. “Me too.”
“What’s going on?” asks Nia.
Their eyes lock on me. Whoa. Hold up. “Why is everybody lookin’ at me?”
“What do we do?” Lyric asks.
“Run. Hide.” Quincy eases toward the door.
“I kinda agree with Quincy.” I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.
“No, you don’t,” says Nia.
“I don’t?” I ask.
Lyric crosses his arms and stares at me intensely. “You always have a plan. You’re our official unofficial leader. Lead.”
I study my sneakers. I might have been the leader in the past, but we’ve never faced anything like this. How am I supposed to figure out why all this strange stuff is happening? Anyway, that was the old me, the pre-Mom-death me. Things are different now. I’m different now.
“Justin, we have to figure out what’s happening and find Carla and Shae. What if we’re next? I’m not down with disappearing,” says Nia.
My shoulders slump. “Okay, look, since we’re already here, we might as well talk to Zee. He said some strange stuff yesterday and he was really upset. Maybe he knows something.”
Lyric’s bushy eyebrows bounce up his forehead. “Like he’s involved? Zee? How? Why? No way.”
“Well …” Nia fidgets with a button on her shirt. “It did sorta sound like he was threatening us.”
Even after everything that went down yesterday, I don’t wanna believe Zee would hurt anybody; he’s my friend. Well, he used to be. “Any other ideas?” Please. Someone. Anything?
Nia’s lips screw from left to right. She taps her chin. Quincy stares at the wall.
Lyric scratches the side of his head. “I got nothing.”
“Me either,” says Nia.
Great. No help. I march down the hall. “Let’s hurry before Mrs. Murphy gets back.”
We stop outside Zee’s room. Nia gasps and points at the locks on the door. “Ooooooh.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I saw the locks,” says Lyric.
Quincy glances down the hall like he’s about to make a break for it. “I’ll wait outside.”
Nia grabs his arm. “We should stay together.”
“I wish Carla was here,” he whispers, his voice trembling.
“That’s why we need to talk to Zee,” I say. “To see if he knows how to help find her.” I place my ear against the door and listen for a sound that screams DO NOT ENTER, but I only hear my loud breathing.
Nia’s warm breath tickles the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “What are you waiting for?”
Personal boundaries—none. We need to discuss that later.
My tongue skims across my dry lips as my numb fingers release the dead bolts. Click. Click. Click. With a slight push, the door glides open with a loud whine. Cold air whooshes from the room and chills my skin. I’m hit with the strong smell of fresh paint and markers.
“Whoaaaaaa,” says Lyric.
The bedroom walls used to be filled with Zee’s cool artwork—drawings of superheroes and robots. Now the paintings are covered with large splashes of black paint, numbers, and strange symbols. The movie posters, life-size creature standees, and action figures are gone. His desk, bookshelf, and television are missing. Instead there’s a twin mattress on the floor with a mountain of tangled blankets.
The only light comes from the bulb hanging from the ceiling and the rays of sunlight that have wrestled past the paint-splattered blinds.
A whimper breaks the stunned silence. My gaze flies across the room to the huddled figure rocking back and forth in a corner. Markers, paper, paintbrushes, and other art supplies are scattered around him. Zee stares at a wall as if hypnotized.
“He’s been in here alone like this?” whispers Lyric. “This room … it’s like his prison. This ain’t right.”
Nia nudges me toward Zee. “Go talk to him.”
I dig my heels into the floor. “Why me?”
Nia pokes me. I spin around and grab her finger. She tugs. I tug harder and glare at her. She growls. Stare off.
Lyric swats his hands at us. “Dude, can you two stop?! We
need to hurry. Mrs. Murphy could be back any minute.”
“We’ll all go,” Nia says.
Good idea. We shuffle into the room as one, like we’re stuck together with Velcro. We tremble. It could be from the cold, but my vote is that it’s from fear.
“Zee.” My voice cracks. “We, uh, want to ask you about yesterday.”
No response.
“Carla and Shae are missing,” I tell him.
Still nothing.
“Zee.” Lyric holds up the broken harmonica. “Look, man. Don’t worry about this. I’ll get you a new one.” He hesitantly lifts it to his mouth and plays a little tune. The sound is so spookily off-key, I flinch.
Lyric stops playing and stares at the instrument for a long moment. “You can keep this one for now, just in case you want to start practicing,” he says to Zee.
Nia squeezes my hand as Lyric slides the harmonica across the scuffed hardwood floor. It lands near Zee’s leg but he still doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at a drawing of a big insect-like creature. Its head is grotesquely large and its face is covered with red eyes—no nose, no mouth. Zee has drawn thin arms with scales extending from the body and its hands are sharp claws. The wings protruding from its back are black with spikes. It looks horrifying and creepily realistic.
“This was a bad idea,” I say. “Let’s—”
Zee leaps to his feet and turns to face us. We scramble back, slamming into the wall with a loud group thud.
He stalks across the room. He’s even paler than yesterday and the scars on his arms stand out even more.
“Justin,” says Nia shakily. “Look at his wrist.”
There’s a swirl pattern, slightly bigger than a quarter.
“That’s the mark. That’s what Carla had on her arm,” Quincy says.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Zee?”
Tears trickle down his cheeks. He holds out a photo. His fingers are stained from the black and red markers.
The picture was taken after a baseball game two years ago. Zee was on my team and we won first place in the tournament. He’s holding the trophy. My arm is around his neck as I playfully have him in a headlock.
That was one of my last good memories. A month later I learned my mom was sick. Zee had my back like always. He spent more time at my house than his own. He helped me deal with everything and even took care of my mom on the days I couldn’t, when it was too hard for me to see her so sick.
Lyric and Nia were there for me, too, but it was different. They wanted to cheer me up, make me feel better. They promised it would all be okay, but Zee didn’t. He didn’t say much at all. He let me freak out. He listened when I needed to talk and some nights he sat silently watching while me, my mom, and Victoria worked on our puzzles.
Then he disappeared, and a week later Mom died. I lost them both. I stare at the photo. We’re both so different now.
“I couldn’t do it,” he says.
My eyes fly back to his face. For a brief moment, I see my friend. All of him.
He extends his fist. His thin arm trembles. I hesitantly bump his knuckles with mine. “Zee, I don’t understand. Do what?”
“Play. I said I would … but I couldn’t …” A shade falls over his eyes and his nostrils flare. He hits his head with his fist. “I—I—I didn’t do my part.” A knot bulges in his throat as if the words are stuck. “Want to help. Want to help.” He growls. “I didn’t mean it. Bad place. Had to leave. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
And just like that, he’s gone. Lost again. My heart burns a hole through my chest.
I nudge Nia back toward the door.
“Zee, what happened to Carla and Shae?” Lyric asks.
“Are we in danger?” Nia asks. “What does that mark mean?”
She tries to get around me, but I hold her back.
Zee walks back toward his weird wall. “I went up the hill, the hill was muddy, stomped my toe and made it bloody. Out of the darkness, no more light, the Seeker comes to steal your life. Yesterday you sealed your fate, by playing what it loves to hate. Once you’re tagged, then you’ll know. The mark appears, it’s your time to go. Now you’re in the final count. It’s closer to the set amount. Once it reaches its final goal, with the power that it stole, it will win and now can roam. Our world becomes its seeking home.”
That’s it. We’re out! I shove everyone into the hallway. As I close the door, Lyric’s hand shoots out. “Wait. What’s he doing?”
Zee grabs a large black marker off the floor and draws five stick figures on the wall. He’s an awesome artist, but this looks like something a toddler would draw.
His motion is jerky and frantic. He writes names above each figure. Carla. Quincy. Nia. Lyric. Justin. Then with a giant X, he crosses out each person.
Quincy makes a sound—a combo of a screech, moan, and laugh. Is that a hit list?
Nia gasps. “What—”
“Game over, Justin,” Zee says. “It’s my fault it came. Now you’ll pay. Now you’ll pay. Now you’ll pay.” He waves the marker around wildly. “You’re here, you’re not, to that place you’ll go. You disappear and only fear you’ll know.”
I’m yanked from the room. Quincy slams the door.
Lyric locks the deadbolts. “What was that? He—”
BAM. THUD. The bedroom door shakes like he’s slamming himself against it. The doorknob turns.
Quincy races down the hallway faster than the Flash.
BAM! THUD! BAM! THUD!
Nia trips over her feet as she backs away. “What’s he doing?”
BAM! BAM!
I gulp. “Trying to break through the door.”
Wood around the doorframe splinters.
“Go!” I shove Nia and Lyric down the hallway. We dash out of the house, leap off the porch, and race down the driveway. On the sidewalk, we skid to a halt next to Quincy, who is doubled over with his arms wrapped around his middle. Panting, Lyric and Nia collapse on the lawn while I stand, ready to escape if Zee pulls a jailbreak and those locks don’t hold.
Lyric wipes an arm across his damp forehead. “Did that just happen? Was he gonna hurt us? And what was he saying? It was like he was threatening us with some bad rap lyrics. He did the same thing at his party.”
I don’t know how to answer any of those questions. Crossing out our names like that and trying to break down the door …
“Po … po … police.” Quincy gasps for air.
“They don’t care about the truth.” Lyric’s jaw clenches. “Remember what they did to my dad?”
Two years ago, Mr. Rivers, Lyric’s dad, was hanging with some friends outside a convenience store. There was an argument and the police were called. Mr. Rivers was accused of resisting arrest and hitting a police officer. According to Lyric’s dad, it was an accident. He was actually trying to break up the fight, and the officer got in the way. No one believed him, and Lyric’s family didn’t have extra money for a good lawyer. Mr. Rivers was sentenced to three years in prison.
“No police.” Lyric’s bright eyes plead with me to back him up.
“What would we say to them anyway? Our unstable friend is threatening us with some spooky stuff and drawing creepy artwork on his wall?” I ask with a little nod at Lyric. He mimics my movement. It’s all good.
Nia fans herself with her long braids. “Okay, that does sound unbelievable and I don’t want Zee to get into trouble.”
“I feel ya, but it’s kinda hard to be all ‘Team Zee’ right now,” Lyric says.
Caw! Caw! Those stupid crows are back, circling above like we’re dead meat they’re about to feast on. Their wings slap at the air as they land on the roof. Their shadows glide over us, like they’re tagging us with their creepiness. That odd sensation I had earlier is back, only stronger. It’s not just the birds that are hovering, it’s something else. Something I can’t describe.
“Bad luck,” I mutter with a shudder.
Lyric stands and brushes the grass off his jeans. “What are you talking
about?”
“So much bad stuff happened yesterday. I—”
“Owww!” Quincy cries and grabs his arm. He stares down at his wrist.
“What? What’s wrong?” Nia asks.
“It burns.”
A swirl pattern appears on his skin. I suck in a loud breath.
Quincy hops around, swinging his arm. “It hurts!”
Nia grabs him. “Hold still. Let us see it.”
I tug at my hair and spin around. “Oh man, oh man …” A mark. A mark.
“We saw that on Zee,” Lyric says, pointing at Quincy’s trembling arm. “What’s going on?”
“Carla had a mark like that, too, before she disappeared,” Nia explains faintly.
“Once you’re tagged, then you’ll know. The mark appears, it’s your time to go,” I repeat Zee’s words.
Lyric frowns, then his jaw drops. “You think …” He looks at Quincy’s arm. “We’re … He … Oh man!”
“What’s happening?” Quincy jerks his arm back. “What does this mean?”
“Justin, you’re scaring me,” Nia says.
I’m scaring myself. Suddenly every moment from Zee’s party flashes through my mind. The memories shift and snap together like puzzle pieces. He wasn’t talking nonsense. Those strange riddles were a threat and a warning.
“Okay, okay. Time out!” Lyric says, forming a “T” with his hands. “I need somebody to break this down for me. Are you saying that mark means we’re gonna disappear? Carla was first and now it’s gonna be Quincy?”
“I don’t wanna disappear,” he cries. “What did I do?”
“We’re not guilty of anything.” Lyric folds his arms.
I rub my aching temples. “It doesn’t make any sense, but something is happening. And Zee made it seem like we’re all involved.”
“Are you thinking someone is after us?” Nia asks.
Lyric paces. “Like who? Why?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Lyric releases a growl of frustration. “So we just wait and see if Quincy disappears and if we get tagged?”
“Where would I go?” Quincy shifts his backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Would I be with Carla and Shae?”
