by Daka Hermon
“Sweet Dreams?” I ask. “Was it Sweet Dreams? This is important.”
“Maybe! Now move. I don’t wanna talk anymore!” Rodrigo says.
I release the door. It slams shut. Locks slide into place. Click. Click. Click. Three dead bolts just like Zee’s room. The sound rings in my ears.
“Why would Hyde come here?” Nia asks.
My chest tightens. I tug the puzzle piece from my pocket and hold it tight.
“Justin?” Nia says.
“We should go.” I need to move, to think. Rodrigo dropped several bombs on us and my mind is scrambled.
We hurry down the porch steps. At the end of the driveway we stop next to our bikes.
“Dude, what’s going on?” Lyric grabs his head like it might explode off his neck. “Hyde was acting strange yesterday, asking all those questions, but—”
“He brought that ice cream cart to Zee’s welcome home party,” says Nia. She has a tight grip on Quincy, who looks like a strong breeze might carry him away. “Why would he be after any of us?”
“Justin?” Lyric covers his mouth as if he’s afraid of the words he’s about to speak. “Shae was not Shae? What if Hyde is not Hyde? What if Hyde is the monster?”
I stare at him. So many thoughts swirl in my head, but I can’t grasp just one. We could definitely be dealing with something supernatural and powerful. Quincy places his hand over the mark on his wrist. The waves of fear flowing off him are almost painful. He could disappear. So could Lyric. Nia.
I can’t lose anyone else. Quincy jumps and spins around.
“What is it?” Lyric asks, on high alert.
Quincy swallows hard. “Uh … nothing. I thought I saw something.”
“You okay?” Nia asks him.
He looks seriously creeped out. It does feel like we’re being watched, but I don’t see anything odd—houses, cars, trees … normal stuff.
Quincy rotates his shoulder; the motion causes the backpack to slip off his arms. It hits the ground.
“Hey, why don’t you let me carry that for you?” Lyric reaches for the backpack, but Quincy quickly snatches it away.
“No. I got it,” he says and tugs it back on.
Lyric side-eyes me. “No problem. Thought it looked heavy.”
What’s with Quincy and that backpack?
“Justin, what do we do now?” Nia asks.
The question echoes in my head. They watch me, their expressions a mixture of expectation and fear.
“Let’s go.” I pick up my bike and jump on.
“Where?” Lyric asks as they scramble for their bikes, too.
We need to figure this out. My eyes are focused on the road ahead. “To find Hyde.”
We ride around town for almost two hours, hoping to spot Hyde’s truck, but no luck. He wasn’t at the Sweet Dreams shop. Nia tried searching for him on her phone, but couldn’t find any information for “Hyde Miller.” He could be anywhere.
“Stop. I need to stop,” Quincy says, panting. He’s slumped over his handlebars.
“I could take five, too.” Lyric’s face is red from the heat.
We’re on the sidewalk in front of a small strip mall. It’s packed with customers shopping at the food mart.
“I’m tired.” Quincy collapses onto the ground. “We’re never gonna find Hyde.”
Nia sits on the curb and fans herself with her hand. We’re all sweaty and smelly. “Maybe it’s time to ask for some help.”
“From who?” My skin is so hot it feels like it’s on fire.
“I could call my mom and dad,” Nia says. “Or maybe you can talk to Victoria. She’s smart. She might—”
“We don’t know anything. Nothing that’s not …” I sigh. “Nothing that doesn’t sound weird. Hyde is our one lead. He may have the answers, then we can ask for help.”
Lyric nods. “Agree. We need to know more first.”
“So, what now? We’ve been riding around forever. We don’t know where Hyde is,” Nia says.
I look longingly at the hole-in-the-wall bakery across the street. The sweet scent of freshly baked pastries drifts past me. My stomach growls, reminding me I never ate breakfast. Dropping that bowl of cereal in my kitchen this morning feels like forever ago.
“Should we split up?” I ask. “We’d—?”
“No way. In scary movies that never ends well,” says Lyric.
“I don’t want to be alone if … if …” Quincy says. His shoulders are slumped from the weight of the backpack. He rocks back and forth and hums to himself. The motion reminds me of Zee in his bedroom.
Nia gasps and points at Quincy.
He jumps. “What?”
“That tune you’re humming …” she says. “I hear it, too. It sounds like—”
“The spooky ice cream music! It’s from Hyde’s truck.” Guess my Dumbo ears are good for something.
Lyric’s eyes widen. “Which direction?”
We all slowly spin around. The music grows louder.
“Eat ice cream and play. Eat ice cream and play. I scream, you scream. Eat ice cream and play.” That strange jingle plays and repeats. Those high-pitched kid voices singing never stops being creepy.
“There!” Nia says.
Hyde’s truck drives down the street, past the strip mall. He turns a corner.
“Let’s go!” I jump on my bike as the others scramble to climb on theirs.
The chase is on. We dodge angry traffic as we race after the truck, weaving between cars. We cut across lawns and parking lots and swerve around buildings. Slow-moving pedestrians are not shy about voicing their annoyance.
My legs burn. I’ve never ridden this fast in my life. Wind whistles past me. My surroundings are a blur.
“Where is he going?” Nia shouts.
Hyde is heading out of town, the opposite direction of our neighborhood.
“We can’t lose him,” Lyric yells as he speeds up. I’m right there with him. Nia and Quincy are close behind. We continue our chase.
The music stops. Hyde turns left. Oh no. I recognize this area, this street. Hillcrest. My mom is buried at the cemetery on Hillcrest. Like this situation isn’t messed up enough already.
My feet slip off my bike pedals and I swerve, almost crashing into Lyric before I regain my balance. I tighten my grip on the handlebars and concentrate on my breathing.
I haven’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. My sister, Victoria, thinks visiting would be good for me. She’s wrong. I said goodbye once, I don’t want to do it every week or month. It shredded me to pieces the first time.
We race past Forest Hills Cemetery. It’s a strange name because there are very few trees and the land is flat as a pancake.
Nia swings around me. Her bike is on my right, closer to the cemetery. Lyric positions his bike on my left. I’m boxed in. Protected.
I concentrate on pedaling down the too-quiet street. I will not remember burying my mom on a sunny, hot day in June. I will not remember that her grave is near a bench and cracked stone angel. I will not remember how nauseatingly sweet the flowers smelled near her coffin.
I will not remember that Mrs. Murphy stood beside me and held my hand as she cried. She loved my mom, but I think she was crying for Zee, too. Maybe she wondered if he was dead.
I will not remember thinking I might have to go to another funeral for Zee.
I will not remember walking away as they lowered the coffin and the feeling of my heart scattering in pieces across the ground.
I. Will. Not.
It’s not until we clear the cemetery that I can breathe again. We ride two more blocks. Hyde’s truck turns onto a private dirt road.
“Wait!” Lyric says.
We all skid to a stop. Black marks streak across the street.
“Why are we stopping?” I pant out.
Lyric wipes his hand over his sweaty, flushed face. “We need to recover and do a little surveillance. We have to figure out what we’re walking into.”
“Good idea
.” Nia slumps over her handlebars.
Quincy nods, too exhausted to speak.
We rest a few minutes then slowly pedal down the street. We stop near the driveway we saw Hyde enter: 307 Hillcrest.
It’s a junkyard. We park our bikes on the sidewalk and stare at the large “NO TRESPASSING” and “KEEP OUT” signs on the chain-link fence surrounding the property.
“Uh, this is troubling,” says Nia. “You think he lives here?”
“It’s probably his evil lair where he hides the bad stuff he doesn’t want anyone to find,” Lyric says.
Nia and I share a look. Yeah, that’s not the answer anyone wants to hear. Ever.
The front lawn, more weeds than grass, is covered with old appliances, dingy furniture, and broken electronics. Cars with corroded paint, shredded tires, and smashed headlights and windows form a hazardous maze.
“There’s his truck.” Lyric points to where it’s parked at the end of the long driveway. It’s next to a small green-and-white house. “Where did he—”
Hyde jumps out the side of his truck, carrying a box. A dog barks. The sound is loud and angry. This is not a small, friendly animal. From where we’re standing, I can’t see it. It must be behind the house.
Hyde walks in that direction, then pauses. “Again? I told you not to come back. You’re wasting your time.”
“Is he talking to the dog?” Maybe it’s not his pet, but a stray or something.
“Go away.” Hyde walks around the house, toward the backyard junk area. He whistles an off-key tune that makes me shiver.
Nia chews on her bottom lip. “I’m scared.”
“Me too,” says Quincy.
“Same,” says Lyric. “But we came here to talk to him … find out what he knows.”
“We can do this. We’ll just ask him some questions and if we don’t like his answers …” I swallow hard. “We’ll get help.”
“If we stick together, we’ll be safe,” Lyric says.
I nod and we walk up the driveway. With each step, I kick up a cloud of blood-red dirt that covers my white sneakers and the bottom of my jeans. Quincy, Lyric, and Nia follow closely behind me and I sense their anxiety—an additional heavy weight on my shoulders.
It suddenly hits me that this may be a very bad idea. Yeah, there’s four of us and one of him, but we don’t know what we’re dealing with. We don’t know how dangerous Hyde is.
“This place is spooky,” says Nia as we approach the house.
The old wooden porch that wraps around the front is slightly tilted like a twisted smile. Two wide windows sit on either side of a black door. Eyes, nose, mouth. It’s a creepy face. The house is alive, staring at me, smirking.
“Hyde?” I call out.
No response.
“Hyde?” My voice is louder this time.
No answer. I don’t really want to stray too far from the house, especially since we heard a dog.
“Maybe he went inside through a back door,” says Nia. “We should knock.”
I climb up the porch steps and knock on the door. “Hyde?” I knock again. Nothing.
Lyric reaches around me and turns the doorknob.
“Don’t—”
With a click, the door creaks open. I freeze, waiting for an alarm to sound or something scary to jump out and grab me.
“Man, why would it just open like that?” Lyric asks.
“We can’t go in there. Close the door,” Nia says.
A growl, deep and angry, rumbles through the air. I spin around and my stomach drops. A large pit bull prowls around the yard toward us. A spiked collar circles its thick neck and a leash trails across the ground. The flabby flesh around its mouth curls as globs of drool roll off its muzzle.
The dog eyes us like we’re its next meal and it’s starved.
“What are we gonna do?” Lyric whispers.
“I have some pepper spray on my key chain.” Nia slowly reaches for her front pocket.
The dog snarls. Nia freezes.
“Don’t move,” I whisper.
With a whimper, Quincy dashes up the stairs. The pit bull leaps forward. Nia screams and leaps onto the porch. We race inside the house. I slam the door as the beast plows against it, barking and growling.
We’re in Hyde’s house.
“Dude—” Lyric says.
“Whatarewegonnado? Whatarewegonnado? Whatarewegonnado?” Nia walks around in a circle.
She’s making me dizzy. Not the best feeling right now. I grab her by the shoulders and give her a little shake. “Nia. Stay with me.”
“Okay, okay.” She stares at me with wide eyes. “Searching for my happy, safe place.” She blinks. Blinks again. “Still searching.”
The pit bull growls and scratches at the door.
I release Nia and run a shaky hand over my face. Think. Think. Think. We gotta get out of here. My head whips around as I search—out of the corner of my eye, I spot something on the scratched-up hardwood floor.
It’s a picture of Zee … his school photo. It’s the same one they used on the news when he disappeared. Zee is wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt. He wanted to wear a superhero shirt for the picture, but Mrs. Murphy wouldn’t let him.
I pick it up.
“Why does Hyde have that?” Nia asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
She swallows hard. “Is this a clue? It proves something, right?”
The dog scratches at the door and whines. I flinch.
“Let’s just leave. I wanna leave,” Quincy says, clutching his backpack to his chest. “We can find Carla and Shae another way.”
I hear a loud creak and spin around. Lyric is looking in a desk drawer he just opened.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask.
“We know something is up with Hyde. He rolled up on Rodrigo and asked all those questions. Now we find that picture of Zee … It’s too suspicious.” Lyric opens more drawers and rummages around.
“I thought the plan was to ask him some questions?” Nia tugs at her long braids.
“We might as well do a little investigating before he finds out we’re here.” Lyric peeks inside a large chest sitting next to the desk. “If we hurry we can be in and out before he knows anything.”
I fold my hands behind my head and pace across the room. This is so messed up.
“Look for secret hiding places,” says Lyric.
“Butch!” Hyde whistles loudly enough to be heard through the front door. “Come here, boy.”
I hear the dog whimper, then the pounding of his paws as he runs across the porch toward the back of the house.
“Hurry!” says Lyric.
I leap into action. I run to a picture hanging crookedly on the wall. It’s an old photo of a boy, possibly Hyde, when he was younger. His arm is around a small girl. There is a crack in the glass so I can’t tell what she looks like. I peek behind the dusty frame. Nothing. I check a dirty floor vent. Nothing.
“This is so wrong, so wrong,” Nia mutters. “We are gonna get in so much trouble.”
She lifts cushions and runs her hands down the inside of the couch. She takes her hands out of the couch and shakes off clumps of brown pet hair and gray lint. “Yuck, yuck, yuck.”
Quincy sticks his hand in a large vase, then checks a trash can. Empty. Lyric digs around in a potted plant. Just a dead fern. This is not going well.
I weave around the mismatched furniture and walk toward a tall bookshelf. Worn books are messily stacked on the shelves and look like they could topple at any moment. As I get closer, a cool breeze hits my face. The room is warm and I’m not near the window. That air has to be coming from somewhere.
I peer behind the bookshelf. Instead of a wall, I spot a door. “Uh, you guys. I think I found something.”
They rush over.
“What is it?” Nia asks.
“There’s a door back here.”
“A hidden room! Dude, this is straight gangsta. Something important is definitely in there,�
�� says Lyric.
“Help me move it,” I say. Nia and I shove one side, while Lyric and Quincy pull from the other end. Books rain down as the bookshelf screeches across the hardwood floor, revealing the door built into the wall.
“How do we get in?” I turn the knob. “It’s locked. We need a key.”
Lyric scoffs. “Please. Any kid with the right knowledge and”—he runs his hands through his hair and removes a small paperclip-like thing—“the right tools can pick this lock.”
“Wow,” says Quincy.
Nia’s jaw drops. “Do you keep that in your hair?”
“My dad says you gotta be prepared at all times.” Lyric gets to work.
Nia and I gawk at each other. Only Lyric.
Within seconds, Lyric has popped the lock. He moves to open the door and I grab his arm. “Wait.” I lick my dry lips. “We don’t know what’s in there. What if—”
“We have to check it out,” he says. “It might have the info we need to prove how scary and shady Hyde is.”
“This could stop him from hurting any more kids and save us,” says Nia.
“Okay, but we stick together.” I release Lyric. He pushes open the door. The echoing screech as it scrapes across the floor sets off an attack of goose bumps.
A stale, musty smell rides the blast of cold air that whooshes out of the room. I stare into the dark space, and after a little nudge from Nia, ease forward. Quincy hovers in the doorway. One foot in the hidden room and the other in the living room.
I run my hand along the inside of the wall until I find a light switch. Electricity crackles through several bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
Nia and Lyric gasp. I hear Quincy gulp.
It’s like we stepped into a police investigation room. One entire wall is covered with photos of kids. Names, ages, and dates are written under each picture; it reminds me of the family tree assignment I completed for my history class, only this is super disturbing.
I stumble closer on stiff legs. My eyes scan the faces. AnnaBelle Lee, age nine, disappeared from a school playground. Cameron Jones, age twelve, last seen at a zoo. Brian Kim, eight, went missing at a skateboard park. Tasha Wilkens, eleven, disappeared from a bowling alley. Oh man. Shae’s up there, too.
“It’s a freakin’ missing wall,” Lyric says.
