He will come soon.
I move to the window, palming the wall. When he comes, I will listen as he pushes through the door. I will listen as his feet touch the first landing. When he gets to the third landing, I will jump, headfirst, which will snap my neck. And then he cannot keep me. Because I will be free.
I watch.
The sun travels across the sky. My eyes dull. I give the window my back and sink to the floor. On the walls are shadows, a sinister lace of leaves and branches. The patterns shift and change. I rest my head on my knees and doze. When I wake, light fills my eyes from the back window. The sun climbed over the tower while I slept. I push myself up with my hands. My ankle is twice the size of the other, heavy with blood. The calf looks fat too. I use my hands to stand. My ears ring, a tinny hum. Surfacing too fast, getting the bends. The tower walls tilt, and the spray-painted letters lengthen.
The window. I hop hard through the wooze, four hops to get me across the room. If he comes, there’s no rule that says I can’t jump to my death from this window instead of that window. I laugh, weaker even than before, an anemic hysteria that fades to husky sighs. A faint whoosh! from below. Different from the wind in the trees, different from the owl swooping to the ground to snatch a vole in the night. A deliberate, man-made noise: rubber tires skimming through leaves.
I throw my waist against the windowsill and flail my arms.
“STOP!”
A biker flies past. I thrust my torso out of the window and scream as loud as I can: “HELP ME!”
The terrible scraping noise goes on forever. He braked too fast, got thrown from his bike. My heart sinks. I have killed him. Then slow, staggering footsteps. The biker in the tight turquoise shirt printed with Italian logos staggers underneath my window. His helmet sits crooked on his head, leaves are caught in the hairs on his shins, and his elbows are clotted with dirt. He leans forward, his back heaving. When he looks up, his eyes are slices, his mouth is ugly with pain.
“Are you the missing girl?” he gasps.
“Yes,” I whisper.
*
Paula kneels on the ground holding my hand. I didn’t feel her take it.
“Julia?” she says, tentative.
My head rises. “You’ll use your contacts. Speak Spanish. Confirm which one of them is scheduled for surgery?” I say.
“I’ll do my best,” Paula promises.
“Then I’ll tell you what happened to Ana,” I say. “Papademetriou is Greek, right? You’ve heard of the Ionians? They were an ancient Greek tribe.”
“I suppose. Though I don’t see the significance.”
I rest the back of my head against cold stone. “Have you ever heard of the Ionian word zagre?”
SIXTEEN
369 Days After the Woods
Each hour, the rain fell harder. I know because I stayed awake listening.
It stopped as the sun rose. By then the damage was done. The Aberjona River had overflowed. Sewage leached into backyards and playing fields. Water pushed through the foundation of a house on Lake Street and exploded its basement. The new track is permanently damaged, some say. There is talk of a FEMA intervention.
Liv’s front yard is pocked in spots where the ground gives way.
“This isn’t fun anymore. We should go,” Alice says. After a morning spent surveilling Liv’s house, Alice wants to do something more fun on our day off before the holiday.
“There.” I lean wildly around Alice. “Did you see the parlor curtain move?”
“You asked me that before. The house is empty,” Alice says. “Isn’t it possible Liv’s car is in the driveway because they’re out shopping in Mrs. Lapin’s car for their trip?”
The curtains are drawn, and the lights are out, and Liv hasn’t answered my calls, which means we haven’t spoken since Early Christmas. It’s impossible to explain to Alice, but I swear Liv is hiding from me inside.
“Liv is home. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know.”
“She’s not. Look, I’ll prove it to you.” Alice swings open the car door and leaps out, shrugging her coat around her ears.
“Alice!” I hiss. “Come back!”
Alice bops up the walk and straight up the porch stairs, cupping her hands against the stained glass flanking the front door. The threshold falls away creating a gap, and underneath I see a thin line of light.
Alice gives me a thumbs-down.
I roll down the window and call in a whisper that hurts my throat. “Get back here!”
Alice mimes “I can’t hear you!” and hops off the porch, navigating depressions in the lawn and disappearing into Liv’s narrow side yard.
I grumble, unbuckling my seat belt and sliding out of the car. I follow her path between the holes. She stares down at the foundation, where fat paint flakes like butter shavings litter the lawn.