Suddenly a look of concern passed over Jo’s face. She grabbed a pen and paper off of Josie’s desk and scribbled something quickly, holding the note up just as the image began to blur.
“Don’t go out—” Josie read out loud, trying to decipher the letters through the rippling mirror.
But that was all she saw. The portal was closed.
NINETEEN
4:02 A.M.
“DON’T GO OUT?” JOSIE REPEATED. CRAP, WHAT had the rest of the note said? Don’t go out . . . Alone? After curfew?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. Josie spun around and assessed Jo’s room. She squinted against the light reflecting off the crisp, white walls. Yikes, why was it always so bright in there? She scanned the room, searching for the light switch, but didn’t find anything.
No light switch? That was weird. There had to be a dozen recessed lights in the ceiling, illuminating every inch of the bedroom. How could there not be a switch to turn them off?
Maybe it was one of those electronic remote-control systems. Fancy. She wished Jo had mentioned it, but whatever. It wasn’t like she was going to get much sleep in the next twenty-four hours anyway.
Twenty-four hours. For an entire day this was all hers. The room, the life, the boyfriend. Josie’s eyes drifted to Jo’s closet. And the clothes!
Josie knew it was shallow, but it was like living a Cinderella makeover scene in a movie when Josie threw open Jo’s closet, exposing the largest wardrobe she’d ever seen. Meticulously organized: shirts, blouses, jackets, skirts, pants, dresses—each arranged by color from left to right.
The shelves above had been custom built as shallow cubbyholes, each holding a single pair of shoes. Heels, sandals, flats, boots—they were all separated by type and color. Well, that was certainly something she and Jo did not have in common: no one would ever accuse Josie of being OCD. Hell, maybe Jo would organize her room while she was there? Bonus!
Josie started to flip through hangers. She had to find the perfect outfit for today. Something that would be very “Jo.”
One hour and a dozen outfit changes later, Josie settled on the perfect look. A wispy baby-doll dress in a lemon-yellow floral print. It was romantic, whimsical, and brought out the light gold of Josie’s hair in a way none of her dark T-shirts ever had. She added textured ecru tights and tan ankle booties with a bow on the back, and spun around in the mirror.
Perfect.
It was almost five o’clock by the time Josie carefully laid the yellow dress on the back of Jo’s boudoir chair and finished hanging up the rest of the discarded outfits. She hadn’t slept in almost two days and the intensity of the overhead lighting was starting to give her a dull headache. A fruitless search for some kind of media remote only uncovered a half dozen sleep masks in Jo’s nightstand. Crap. She didn’t want to sleep, per se, but she at least wanted to close her eyes for half an hour before she had to head downstairs and start her masquerade.
Oh well; at least she had a sleep mask. That would black out the incessant lights. Josie sat down on the edge of Jo’s bed and pulled the largest mask out of the nightstand drawer.
That’s when she saw it.
Movement in the window.
Josie stared into the darkness of what would have been the backyard at Josie’s house. Inky, impenetrable darkness. The lights from the room made no inroad into the blackness of the night. It was as if the dark swallowed up the light. A black hole from which nothing escaped.
Yet as Josie stared out into the void, she saw it again: an image flashed in the window.
It was just a split second, like a snippet of a film strip that appeared from nowhere and disappeared into the darkness, but Josie was staring right at it this time. She could see the color—brown with traces of black and gray—and the outline of a head with a long beak framed in the window.
Then a shriek tore through the silence. A cross between a bird and grinding metal, the scream was like nails on a chalkboard and it set all the hairs on the back of Josie’s neck standing straight up. Though unnerving, it was not unfamiliar. She’d heard that sound before, in the dead of night back home.
The shrill cry faded as whatever made it disappeared into the night. A bird, most likely. Like the owl Josie thought she saw in the kitchen window the night her mom had the horrible nightmare. Harmless and normal, Josie told herself.
Weird that she didn’t see it clearly as it sailed past her window. Just that single flash of a beak, so instantaneous if she hadn’t been looking right at it, she would have thought it was a trick of the light. Surely the glow from her window would have illuminated the entire bird?
Why are you stressing about this? Josie had enough to worry about that day. It was just a bird. Nothing out of the ordinary. Get some sleep.
But she still pulled the blinds closed before she crawled into bed.
TWENTY
6:01 A.M.