“Nic?”
I relaxed at the sound of Tyler’s voice. “Up here,” I said. “Did you find her?”
“No. You?”
I shook my head as he crouched beside me, watching her house.
It was another twenty minutes before Daniel came back from the other direction. “I lost her,” he said, reaching out one hand as if grasping a ghost. “Got as far as the river, and then I lost her.”
“She’ll be back,” Tyler said.
“Go,” I said to Daniel. “Go home to Laura.”
Daniel checked his watch and frowned. “Call me when she comes back.” He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as he walked away.
“You, too,” I said to Tyler. “Go home. I’ll watch for her.”
“Nah,” he said, sitting beside me on top of the hill. “I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
WE STAYED THERE UNTIL sunup, but she didn’t come back.
Back in my kitchen, I made a pot of coffee while Tyler paced. “Fuck. Fuck,” he said.
I stared out the window, biting my nail. That feeling like static, like something thrumming, pressing down on us, was thick in the air—the feeling that something was about to happen. And we were waiting for it. Sirens, the police, a phone call from her, just something. I started a fire, threw the pictures into the flames, watched as they bubbled and curled, willing them to disappear faster. When nothing had happened by the time Daniel stopped by on his way to work, I started to think that maybe it wouldn’t.
“Anything?” Daniel asked.
“She’s not back,” I said. “What did you tell Laura?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Never got the chance. When I didn’t come home, she left. Probably went to stay at her sister’s. God. Now she’s giving me the silent treatment.”
“Just tell her you stayed here,” I said.
“And what was so wrong with you that I had to stay here?” he asked.
I sighed. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Goddammit,” he said, running his hand through his hair. Then he cursed repeatedly under his breath, gripped the edge of the table, breathing deeply, getting himself under control. “We need to talk to Dad.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“You need to be careful,” he said, and I understood. I couldn’t let it become something Dad fixated on, couldn’t let him get lost in it, couldn’t let him work himself up about this. I had to graze the surface, come at it from the side, ask him about it in pieces.
“Go to work,” I said. “Both of you. Everything’s normal. Everything’s fine. Only call if you know something.”
I watched Annaleise’s empty apartment until noon. Watched as her mother knocked on the door and knocked again. Watched as she took a key from her pocket and let herself inside. Until she came back out, standing in the entrance, her phone in her hand, staring at the ground. I watched until the very moment she realized her daughter was gone.
* * *
MY BODY WAS ON edge the entire car ride to Grand Pines, my muscles twitching with too much energy, even though I hadn’t slept since the day before. I couldn’t feel my feet; they tingled with heaviness.
I gave my name at the entrance and was escorted by a young male aide to Dad’s empty room.
“He wanders,” the aide said. “Probably out in the courtyard. It’s a beautiful day. Hear we’re getting some nasty storms tomorrow, though.” He was leaning against the window beside me, and I saw him looking me over in the reflection. His gaze flicked down to my hand. “Hi,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Andrew. I work here.” His eyes were blue, and he was probably younger than I was, and he had a nice smile that probably had the same effect everywhere.
“Nicolette,” I said. “I live in Philadelphia, actually.”
“Shame,” he said. “You in town for a while?”
“No,” I said. I pointed out the window. “There.” Dad was reading a book on a bench near the edge of the courtyard, his elbows resting on his brown pants, like he was deep in thought, searching the words for more meaning. “Thanks for your help, Andrew.” I forced myself to flash him a smile as I left the room.
Out in the courtyard, a few women sat around a café table with lunch in Styrofoam boxes. Two men were playing chess. A few people were pacing in what appeared to be slow, endless circles around the perimeter. I settled in beside my father on the bench. “Hi, Dad,” I said.
He pulled his face out of the book, glancing in my direction.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“Nabokov,” he said, showing me the cover. “For next semester.”
He wasn’t here. But he wasn’t far.
I cleared my throat, watching him from the corner of my eye. “Yesterday,” I said, “you told me you saw my friend Corinne. A long time ago. On the back porch.”
“Did I tell you that? I don’t remember that.” He ran his thumb over the page edges, fanning them slowly.
“Yes,” I said. “I was just wondering . . . I was just wondering if you knew how she got there.”
He didn’t answer, his head still in the book. But his eyes weren’t moving across the lines; they were staring, his mind elsewhere. “I was drinking too much,” he said.
“I know you were. It’s okay.”
“I mean, I went to get you. I got a call. About you. My daughter and some stunt on the Ferris wheel. I said I couldn’t come. But I did. I got mad, and I got in the car, and I drove, because it was all escalating, and it had finally come to this.” He put the book down and squeezed his eyes. “You were pushing more and more because I never stopped you. I never did. So I got in the car. I was going to be a dad.”
I started shaking my head because I didn’t like where this was going. And it was too much. Too direct. Nowhere to hide for either of us.
“So I got to that bend before the caverns, and I thought: This isn’t how to be a dad. Driving drunk. This isn’t how. So I pulled over. I just . . . pulled over.”
“Where, Dad?” It came out as a choked whisper.
“Just before the caverns, there’s this access road, a dead end. I pulled in and I parked.” He looked over at me. “Don’t cry, doll. I wasn’t in a good state. I needed some air. I just needed some air.”
He needed to stop.
“I had the windows rolled down—I just needed to sleep it off.” He folded his hands in his lap, his fingers drumming against his knuckles. “I heard people yelling . . .”
I had to know. It was time. “Dad,” I said. “What did you do?”
I felt his body tense, parts of him twitch. “What do you mean?” He looked around, narrowing his eyes. “This place is a rabbit hole,” he said.
And Corinne was the rabbit. We followed her down, down, down, and she left us here.
Then, to me: “I don’t like it here. You need to go. I want you to go now. Nic, you need to leave.”
I stood, the air too heavy, his words like static. My memories, spinning and blurring like our pictures, like our ghosts. I couldn’t look him in the eye when I left.
* * *
TYLER’S TRUCK WAS IN my driveway, but he wasn’t in the house. I found him around back, sitting on the edge of the porch, his feet on the grass. “Anything?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Did you see your dad?”
I sat beside him. Pulled my knees up, dipped my head down so I could see only the blades of grass under my shadow. “I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand that picture. It doesn’t make sense. He said he was driving near the caverns. He said he was there. But that’s all he said. That’s all.” Tyler reached out, took my hand. “Did you lie to me?”
“I don’t lie to you, Nic,” he said.
“But . . . what do you think happened to Corinne?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I imagined her on this porch, inches away—her hair falling out of a blanket, the shadow hovering near the edge of the frame.
He cut his eyes to me, held tighter to my hand. “Don’t you see? I don’t care what happened to her.”
“Well. It’s time to start caring.” I took a deep breath. “There are pictures, and she’s dead. So tell me. Tell me what happened.”