24
Wyatt
I was about halfway back to Mrs. Greenwood’s house when it hit me. There was a girl in a tower out in the middle of nowhere, trapped. No one but me knew she was there. How was I sure she wasn’t a figment of my imagination? Maybe it was all a dream, born of my own loneliness, my need to be a hero to make up for everything that had happened. Maybe I’d crashed through the ice and pulled myself out.
Maybe I was lying on the ground, dying of hypothermia, and the girl was merely a vision.
A beautiful vision. I remembered her blond hair, her lacy dress, her skin, a shade of white I had never seen before, almost transparent. Was it because she had never seen sun, or was she an angel?
And how was it, if she was real, she’d been looking out her window at the exact moment I’d fallen through the ice? Was it because she was so lonely she looked out her window all the time, seeing nothing? I knew what it was to be lonely, but she had been alone far longer.
I pulled in to Mrs. Greenwood’s driveway, got out of the car, and started toward the house. Then, I remembered the hinges. I decided to tell Mrs. Greenwood I hadn’t been able to get them, that I needed to go back tomorrow.
Because, of course, another possibility had occurred to me, that Rachel was Mrs. Greenwood’s granddaughter, that somehow, Danielle had had a baby, then disappeared. Maybe she was so scared of her mother she hadn’t told her. How cool would it be to reunite them?
I looked for the hinges on the seat, then realized they were in my pocket. When I drew them out, I saw, attached to the bag, a long, golden hair.
She was real.
But I couldn’t tell anyone, least of all Mrs. Greenwood, about Rachel, not until I was sure who she was. I needed to find out.
Besides, even though I’d only known her a day, I thought I was falling in love with her.