The Creeping

“Daniel isn’t answering my texts,” Sam says. The parenthesis mark deepens on his brow, and I want to smooth it out with my finger.

“I’m not surprised. He was a zombie version of himself today. All dressed up and polite to the same cops who used to throw him out of town. And then he acted like I was crazy.” I pound my chest. “Me. You should have seen the way they looked at me.” I try to shrug it off. Truth is, I can’t remember a time when people didn’t look at me with a question in their eyes. What makes me popular with my peers unsettles adults. Two little girls go out to play and one comes back, well, it’s hard not to look at the survivor like she’s an exotic species of bee rumored to have wiped out an entire Amazonian village. But this was different. “They were looking at me like people used to look at Daniel. Like, why can’t I just let Jeanie go? No one was asking why now? All this time Daniel has never acted like he thought his dad could be guilty. Why all of a sudden?”

Sam’s hand rests on my knee. “I guess people do weird things when they’re sad.” He sets his chin with a determined air. “We don’t need his help to find Jeanie’s killer.”

“You’re right. We can do it. You and me,” I say, swinging my legs.

Sam’s smile is slow, but it comes. He smooths my hair from my face. “I thought maybe after a whole day to think you might have changed your mind about us.” I know he means boyfriend-girlfriend us and not grave-digging us.

“Us,” I say, trying it out. It sends a little hum of panic down my spine. The good kind, though. Like what you feel with your hand up in class right as your name is called or in the instant you let go of the rope swing at the cove and you’re momentarily airborne before gravity tugs you down. I think Zoey is right: It’s always been Sam. And I was just too blind or stupid to see it.

I wrap my arms around his neck and slide until I’m against him. It’s definitely mint shampoo. I inhale deeply. A tiny groan escapes his lips, and the microwave buzzer sounds.

“To be continued,” I sigh, a little nibble at my conscience. Isn’t saying that always tempting fate? Tempting the monsters to come out of the shadows to bite the living shit out of you? You’d think I’d know better.

As we eat, I can tell Sam’s as desperate as I am to pretend that nothing scary is going on. Each time there’s a pause, he rushes to tell a joke. I guess the silence is too empty and he starts to think about all those missing little kids.

At ten forty-five p.m. I change into black leggings and a black hoodie—because you obviously wear black for grave digging. I climb into Sam’s station wagon after standing all the frames upright on the mantel. At least with my police guard disbanded, we don’t need to worry about them following. Dad’s working late again, although he takes the time to text about how relieved he is that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, now that Jeanie’s killer is behind bars. I stare, dismayed at the impersonal message, and reach across the car to hold Sam’s hand. It’s only hand holding, and yet a thrill shoots like a comet through me, leaving stardust and hope in its wake. What a little fool I am. For a moment I let myself forget that bad things happen, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Jeanie’s abandoned house is even more ominous at night. It’s alive with the sounds of scratching rodents and creaking, rotten eaves. At least I hope that’s what they are.

We sit huddled on the porch’s front steps, waiting for Zoey. After a half hour I’m nearing nuclear with nerves. My phone rattles on the porch beside me, the sound ricocheting up into the cobwebby beams. I fumble for it.

Handling something. See u 2morrow. XO

“What does that mean?” I whisper way too loudly.

Sam’s been drawing pictures in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. He blinks at the cell’s screen. “Maybe she couldn’t leave because her mom is home?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t remember Zoey’s mom, do you? She’d probably supply Zoey with night-vision goggles and a shovel if Zo told her what we’re up to.”

“Maybe she’s helping Caleb with something?”

“Yeah, I guess that could be. Maybe she’s holding him hostage until he tells her what he remembers from that summer?” I don’t say it out loud, but I think her not being here is a message to me. She’s not okay with Sam. I groan loudly. There’s nothing I can do about it now. “Let’s go without her.”

Sam knows better than to ask me anything else about it. He grabs a shovel from his backseat and a huge flashlight he bought at BigBox. We clasp hands and start down the lane.