EIGHTEEN
Lost
Their afternoon of trying to summon spirits hadn’t led them any closer to finding Gemma, but it had left Marcy with a nasty sunburn that she kept complaining about at work the next day.
“I hope your sister appreciates what I did for her,” Marcy muttered.
She sat at the desk, resting her head against the cool laminate. Her arms were spread out, looking beet-red against the light color of the faux-wood, and she’d hardly moved since she’d come in this morning.
While Marcy was busy doing nothing, Harper went through the books that had been left in the drop box last night, scanning them back into the system.
“I’m sure she does,” Harper said. “As soon as we find her, I’ll tell her of your heroism in battling the sun. Gemma will be thoroughly impressed and eternally grateful.”
“If it didn’t hurt so much for me to lift my arms right now, I would totally be flicking you off,” Marcy told her.
Instead of replying to that, Harper grabbed the stack of books she’d just scanned, and headed back to the shelves to put them away. If there had been a lot, she would’ve used the cart, but there weren’t that many and they were mostly children’s books, so they were lighter anyway.
“Are you and Alex planning on doing anything tonight?” Marcy asked, raising her voice to be heard as Harper walked away.
“Um, I don’t know.”
She crouched down in front of the kids’ shelves. They were lower, so little kids had easier access to them. The books had been left in a bit of a mess, since they’d left quickly last night and neither Marcy nor Harper had straightened them up.
Harper started organizing them, putting them in the right order and uprighting the books that had slumped or were shoved in the wrong way.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Marcy called from behind Harper.
“That’s what I mean,” she replied tersely.
Harper’s enthusiasm was waning. Everything they had done, all the phone calls, all the searching, it hadn’t led them any closer to finding Gemma. And not only did they not know where she was, they weren’t even completely certain what she was.
Yes, Alex had a hunch that Gemma was a siren, and Harper was inclined to think there was something to that, but she didn’t even know what that meant. In her spare time, Harper was still looking up everything she could on sirens and mythology in general, but she hadn’t found anything particularly helpful.
In fact, most of the information she’d read would contradict information she’d read earlier. A lot of the texts seemed to assume that the sirens were already dead, having been killed when a ship sailed past without stopping to hear the siren song.
None of it made sense, and none of it brought her any closer to Gemma. In the end, everything she’d done felt like busywork. The hard truth was that she wasn’t helping her sister, and she had no idea how to.
“So, what?” Marcy asked. “Are you just giving up, then?”
“Of course I’m not giving up.” Harper roughly shoved a book onto the shelf. “I’ll never give up.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Marcy asked.
“Why do you even care?” Harper snapped.
Her legs ached from the way she’d been crouching, so she stood and turned back to face the desk. The bookcases in the kids’ section only came up to Harper’s waist, and she stared over them at Marcy, who blinked at Harper from behind thick-rimmed glasses.
“You’re my friend,” Marcy said, sounding surprised by Harper’s tone. “She’s your sister. I want to help.”
“So your plan to help is to bitch about everything we do all the time?” Harper asked. “Because that’s all I ever see you doing.”
“What’s your problem?” Marcy sat up straighter. “I know I’m not the greatest in these situations, but at least I’m trying to help. I’m doing the best I can.”
“So am I, Marcy!” Harper yelled. The few library patrons turned to look at her, but she didn’t care. “I’m trying and I’m trying, and it doesn’t matter! I’m not doing anything to help anybody!”
“I am sorry that you can’t find her,” Marcy said. “I truly am. But it’s not my fault.”
“I know!” Harper started shouting again, then softened. “I’m sick of all this.” She let out a deep breath to fight back a sob. “I just want to know that she’s okay. I want her to come home.”
The fight had gone out of her, and she leaned back against the shelf behind her. She fought back tears, and wiped at the few that managed to fall.
“I feel like this is the time I’m supposed to come over and hug you,” Marcy said from where she sat behind the desk. “But I’m not really the hugging type. Plus, the sunburn.”
“It’s okay.” Harper sniffled and forced a smile at her. “I think I just needed to let off some steam.”
A couple of patrons were still staring suspiciously at her, so Harper offered them an apologetic smile.
“Sorry about my outburst, folks,” she told them, and straightened up. “It won’t happen again. You can go back to your browsing.”
She crouched down to pick up the books she’d left on the floor, the ones she still had left to put away. She’d honestly meant to pick them up and go about her work, but as soon as she was safely hidden behind the shelves, it hit her.
Gemma might never come back, and even if she did, Harper had no idea if Gemma would even still be her sister. No matter what happened from here on out, the little sister Harper had always known and loved was gone. And nothing Harper could do would bring her back.
She put one hand over her mouth to keep quiet as tears spilled down her cheeks, and she put her other hand on the shelf to steady herself. Her whole body shook as she cried, but she managed to stay relatively silent.
“Hello?” a voice said behind her.
She turned her head to the side, hiding her face as best she could from whoever stood behind her.
“Um, Marcy’s at the desk,” Harper said, swallowing back tears. “If you need help finding a book, check with her.”
“Harper, I don’t need help finding a book,” he said. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Daniel.
“Daniel.” She turned away from him and rushed to wipe her face as inconspicuously as possible. “Of course you would come here now.” He didn’t need to see her all snot-nosed and sobbing.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She sniffled, grabbed the books, and stood up, realizing that she probably looked the best she could hope for, and turned to face him. “What can I do for you?”
“Were you crying?” he asked, his voice warm with concern.
She lowered her eyes, refusing to look up at him, but she could feel his eyes searching her. He moved even closer to her, so he was mere inches away, but Harper just hugged the books to her chest and stared down at her feet.
“I’m working, Daniel, so if you don’t need anything from me, I should probably get back to it,” she said.
“I know you’re working, and I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important,” Daniel said. “Can you take, like, five minutes to go somewhere and talk with me?”
On her list of wants, being with Daniel right now only came second to finding Gemma. What Harper really wanted to do was go someplace dark and quiet with him, to give in to the warmth of his voice and the strength of his arms. To have him hold her and kiss her until she couldn’t feel anything but him, until she’d forgotten about the ache inside, all the pain she felt about losing her sister and disappointing her family.
And that was exactly why she shook her head. She wanted to use Daniel as an escape, and that wasn’t fair to him or to her. She needed to deal with the mess of her life instead of hiding from it, even if hiding sounded far more pleasant.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harper said.
She wanted to lift her head, to steal a look at his expression, but she settled for looking up from his battered Converse shoes to his torso. He wore a T-shirt today, the dark black lines of his tattoo traveling out from underneath his sleeve down to his elbow.
Ever since he’d helped her at Bernie’s house on Sunday, Harper had a weird urge to trace her fingers along the dark lines of that tattoo. Last night, she’d even dreamt about it.
She and Daniel were lying in a bed, probably the largest bed she’d ever seen. It nearly took up the whole room. The room itself was white. Everything was pure, stark white.
Harper could hear the ocean outside, and she could smell it in the breeze. French doors that presumably led out to the beach were wide open, and sheer curtains billowed in the wind.
Daniel was lying next to her in the bed, shirtless, with the sheets up to his waist. He wasn’t facing her, but instead had his head turned toward the ocean. Harper rested her head on his bare shoulder and ran her fingers along his tattoo, tracing the dark lines that ran along the scars. He said nothing, but Harper sang him a sweet lullaby.
Then she heard her sister’s voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere at all. Gemma simply said, “Wake up,” and then she did. Harper had opened her eyes to find herself lying in her own bed, alone.
Maybe that was why everything was hitting her so hard today. It was as if Gemma were telling her that she was running out of time, and that Harper needed to stop wasting her time on a silly crush and get back to what mattered.
“Harper.” Daniel sighed, frustrated. “We need to talk. It’s about Gemma.”
Her eyes shot up then, and she finally met his gaze. His face was solemn, but there was something hopeful in his eyes, like he might have good news. But really, almost any news about Gemma would be good at this point.
“What about her?” Harper asked. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not exactly.” He reached behind his back and grabbed a rolled-up copy of USA Today that he’d jammed into his back pocket. “But you should take a look at this.”
“What?” She dropped the books she’d been holding on top of the bookshelf and snatched the paper from him before he could explain further.
The cover story was about some politician being caught in a tawdry affair with a celebrity, and the smaller features on the bottom half were about the economy and how people were planning to spend Independence Day this upcoming weekend.
“What does this have to do with Gemma?” Harper demanded.
“It’s not—here, just give it to me.”
Daniel took the paper from her and laid it out on top of the bookshelf. He opened it to the third page and smoothed out the crinkles as best he could before pointing to a small column on the side of the page.
“Boys Don’t Die” was the headline, with a subhead reading “Why the Media Doesn’t Care When Boys Are Killed.”
“This is about sexism in the media?” Harper scoffed, and looked at Daniel.
“Will you just keep reading?” Daniel asked.
She stared at him uncertainly before turning her attention back to the paper. As soon as she started reading, she saw the connection, but didn’t completely understand how it would help find Gemma.
The reporter had picked up on the dead boys in Capri and wrote a little about the brutal murders of four teenage boys. But the story wasn’t about the murders so much as why nobody was covering them.
Even Harper had to agree that the story had been largely ignored. Other than a few local reporters, she hadn’t seen much in the way of media. Which seemed odd, especially since they were labeling it as the work of a serial killer.
The article went on to name several high-profile murder cases that all involved beautiful young women, then speculated why this case, which consisted of multiple murders, garnered so little attention. The writer of the article clearly thought there was some kind of gender bias involved.
Harper was just about to ask Daniel why he wanted her to read this when she realized the answer was in the last few paragraphs.
The murders no longer appear isolated in Maryland. Just yesterday, in a small seaside community 45 minutes south of Myrtle Beach, a young man was found murdered in much the same fashion as the previous victims in Capri.
Thirty-three-year-old Jason Way was found with his chest cavity ripped open in an alleyway outside a busy restaurant. Despite the heinous nature of the crime, no witnesses have come forward as having heard or seen anything.
With this fifth murder of a young man, perhaps the media will start giving these serial killings the coverage they deserve. So far, however, that seems unlikely. Local authorities in South Carolina are hesitant to connect this murder with the previous ones in Maryland.
Jason Way also has a long history of domestic violence, sexual harassment, and a rape conviction, so retribution from previous victims hasn’t been ruled out, a representative for the police force has said.
For now, mothers need to watch out for their sons, because it seems that nobody else is going to.
“Oh, my gosh,” Harper said, exhaling shakily after she finished reading. “That’s them, isn’t it? This has to be the sirens.”
Daniel nodded. “I think so. I mean, that guy sounds like he might have been a douche, so it could be some kind of copycat killing. But it’s worth checking out, at least.”
“When is this paper from?” Harper flipped to the front with shaking hands to check the date.
“It’s from today,” Daniel answered.
“So that guy, he was really killed yesterday?” Harper pushed her bangs back from her forehead and tried to think, but her mind was racing too fast. “They might still be there. Gemma might be there. How far away is it?”
“Myrtle Beach is about a ten-and-a-half-hour drive from here,” Daniel said. “So a little over eleven hours, if we hurry.”
“Do you know what town that was?” Harper looked back at the paper, scanning the article to see if it had named the exact town where the body had been found.
“I Googled it on my phone before I came here,” Daniel said. “It’s right on the coast. We should have no problem finding it.”
“Good.” Harper nodded, then she realized what he had said. “You’re coming with?”
“Well, duh,” Daniel said, like it should be obvious. “I saw what those sirens are capable of. There’s no way I’m letting you go up against them alone.”
She wanted to argue with him, but he had a point. She needed all the help she could get if she wanted to rescue Gemma.
She smiled gratefully at him, but that was all she had time for. They needed to hurry if they wanted to catch the sirens before they moved on.
“I’m taking off, Marcy,” Harper said as she walked toward the front door.
“Wait!” Marcy stood up, and when Harper turned back to her, she saw Marcy holding her purse outstretched toward her. “You probably need your car keys and stuff.”
Harper ran back and grabbed her purse. “Thanks, Marce. And sorry about earlier.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Marcy shrugged it off. “Just go get her. And be careful.”