She twists in the seat, not responding.
I repeat the offer, only this time I make it a statement instead of an offer, so she will just accept it already. “Stop biking. I’ll drive you over there tonight to get your things. And then whenever you need a ride. At least until we figure this out. Okay?”
“Are you going to try the nap?” she asks, and I think that means she’s agreed.
She asked me if I believed the universe could talk to us, and the truth is, I do think it’s something. The fact that we both received the signal and it linked us together; the fact that she came to my house and recognized a photo. All of it means this was not chance, but purpose.
I think it’s this: The signal isn’t the message. It’s the sign. A clue, from my brother maybe, trapped somewhere beyond this world, telling me where to go. And right now, it’s telling me to follow Kennedy Jones on her mission, and somewhere along the way, it’s going to lead me to the next sign, or the next, and we will find him.
Now.
Wait, no.
Now. For real.
Okay, my texts to Nolan are not the most eloquent. Not that his are any better.
Here, he wrote five minutes ago.
I mean, at the corner, he amended in the next text.
I’d just spent the last five minutes making sure Joe was really sleeping, and not just staring at the ceiling in the dark. Joe didn’t come home until after dinner, when I was crashing—a nap in preparation for tonight. When he knocked on my bedroom door—to apologize for being late, got caught up, etc, etc—I tried my best to look like I hadn’t just been sleeping.
I must’ve failed, because he frowned and asked if I was feeling okay.
I’ve been watching the clock since then. Joe didn’t go to bed until just after midnight, when the house was dark and quiet. I gave him twenty extra minutes.
When I opened his bedroom door to check on him, he didn’t move.
It was time.
Without my bike, the routine feels off. I’m more on-edge than usual, sneaking out in the middle of the night. Once I’m outside, I make a dash for the corner of the street, where Nolan said he’d be waiting.
The overhead light inside his car turns on as I pull open the passenger door, and he squints. “Hey,” he says.
“Geez, find the creepiest spot on the street, why don’t you.”
He rolls his eyes, and it looks like he just woke up. Like he’s only half focused, and it turns him softer at the edges. “Better than having someone call the cops on me because some beat-up car is parked under a streetlight outside their house.”
“Okay, okay,” I say as he drives off.
“Hey,” he says, nudging me in the shoulder with one hand while he drives. “Breathe, Kennedy.”
I smile at him, at the slow grin that forms as his eyes adjust to the dark again.
* * *
—
The street is quiet at night, winding through forest and farmland, no sidewalk on either edge. “I can’t believe you bike this in the dark,” Nolan mumbles.
The shoulder of the road is pretty narrow, dropping off to a grassy ditch, but from this angle it looks worse than it is. “Barely anyone ever drives this way at night.”
“That doesn’t make it any better,” he says, tightening his hold on the wheel.
This time, he slows down early enough to turn into my driveway on the first pass. “Turn off the headlights,” I tell him when he pulls off the road.
“What? No way. I’d really rather not end up wrapped around some tree.”
“Just go slow. I don’t want someone to call Joe and tell him someone’s here.”
“It’s almost one in the morning, and this is your property, right?” He looks my way and lets out a sigh. “When we’re closer to the house and I’m sure I can see, I will, okay?”
I hold my breath until we reach the roundabout in front of the house and he flicks the lights off. The house is a shadow in the night, with the moon hidden behind clouds. We exit the car as quietly as we can, which isn’t really quiet at all with the rocks and dirt kicking up in our wake.
I’ve got my flashlight with me, like usual, and keep it aimed low to the ground so no one will notice unless they’re already here. My bike is still hidden underneath the porch, and I mumble a thanks to whatever higher power was looking out for it while the prospective buyers were here.
Nolan is not nearly as good at stealth mode as he thinks, closing his car door too firmly, stepping too loudly, kicking at a pebble with every other step. “Shh,” I remind him.
“What?” he says.
I gesture to his feet, to the ground. The problem is sort of…all of him. He makes an impression. He leaves a mark. I give up and continue on, hoping for the best.
At the shed around back, the door squeaks when I push it open.
“I thought we were coming for your bike,” he whispers.
“While we’re here, I might as well check the new data,” I say, stepping inside.
Nolan flips the switch on the side of the wall, on impulse, but I flip it off again. “Trust me,” I whisper, thinking of Marco and Lydia and Sutton, who’ve been spending a lot of time out there.
Instead I turn on the computer screen, which illuminates us in the dark. Nolan’s face glows an eerie yellow, and his eyes keep darting around the room. “What is this place?” he whispers.
“A computer shed. That used to be a storage shed. That used to be a stable.”
“I see,” he says, like that makes perfect sense.
I download all the data we can get, storing it on my flash drive, then gesture to the box of Elliot’s things, left behind from when Lydia was in here. “Can we bring that with us, too?” I ask. I want to take advantage of the fact that we have a car. I want to spend some time looking through everything.
“Sure.” Nolan scoops it up, then pauses at the door, and I realize he’s waiting for me. Or he’s waiting for the flashlight.
“Just a sec.” I finish up, shut everything down, and follow him back outside, illuminating his path with my flashlight. I shine the light under the porch and wheel the bike out, walking it back to his car.
He pops the trunk, and I see a baseball bat wedged in the corner, along with his gear. He pushes it to the side, making room for Elliot’s things, then takes out a couple of bungee cords to secure my bike.
“Ready?” he asks as he closes the trunk.
But I stare up at the house, then back at Nolan’s car. “There are a few more things I want to grab. In the house.”
He pauses before nodding once.
“You don’t have to come in,” I add.
“I’ve already been in there,” he says, and I narrow my eyes at him over my shoulder. I knew he had been at my house, not in my house.
“I know, I’m sorry.” He puts his hands up, surrendering.
“Okay, well. I left handprints all over the back window of your car to freak you out,” I say, since we’re in the confessing spirit.
“I sort of figured,” he says, and even in the dark, I can tell he’s grinning.
He follows me around back, but he pauses at Elliot’s window, like he’s considering changing his mind. I’m expecting him to tell me he’ll wait for me out front, when he finally climbs in after me. He doesn’t move from Elliot’s room at first, once we’re inside. It’s different in the dark, I get that. Instead, he stands across the room from me, a shadow in the dark house.
“Come on,” I say.
“I can’t see.”
“Sorry. No lights, or someone will notice.”
“Are you trying to freak me out again?”
I cross the room and grab his hand, pulling him behind me, his dry palm pressed against mine, fingers locking, like it’s nothing. I’m thankful for the dark as we walk, tethered together. And I’m thankful for his hand, which at the moment is for me and not him. The scent of paint, the stairway before me—the shadow house is here.
My free hand grips the banister, and I hear nothing—no breathing behind me. Nolan knows what happened here, too. He must. His steps follow mine, in grave silence.
At the top of the stairs, I finally turn on the flashlight, shining it back and forth. To the right is the loft area. To the left, the room for storage, with the boxes of Elliot’s things. My eyes meet Nolan’s. “Do you think this will all fit in your car?”
* * *
—
The backseat is full of Elliot’s boxes—if Elliot won’t talk to me, maybe I can still decipher his intentions, his thoughts. Maybe there will be a note about the program on December fourth. Maybe I can figure out how he knew the kid on Nolan’s wall. There must be answers in here somewhere.