“And it makes no sense, but I keep seeing a number. It has a six in it. Maybe a two.” I sighed. “That’s not exactly right, but I don’t know anymore.”
He looks up. “Is it like a room number? Like in a hotel, or could it be part of an address?” Mr. Lester leaned forward, ready to Sherlock Holmes the shit out of this problem.
“I’m not sure. It’s just the numbers in my head. Over and over. That’s it. That’s all I saw.” I threw up my hands. “I don’t even know if it means anything. Like you said, it might just be a nightmare, or worries about the end of the school year.” I snuck a quick glance at him to see his reaction. It’d been my experience that people were more likely to believe me when I questioned what I was saying. If I did it, then they didn’t have to. They would be free to believe. People don’t trust others who are too certain. “I told myself it was nothing more than a weird dream, but then it kept happening, and I felt like I had to tell someone, you know?” I let my voice catch, as if I was overcome with emotion. “What if she needs help, and I didn’t do anything?”
“You were right to come and share what you experienced.” He sat up straighter. “You know you can always talk to me. About anything.”
“I thought about going to the police, but they wouldn’t believe me.” I waved my hands in a limp manner. “I mean, I don’t really know anything. The cops might assume I was making it up for attention or something.” I paused. My past history lay between us. He knew exactly what I was thinking. You make up one injured war vet parent, and no one ever forgets. I needed him to believe me. “Or maybe they’d think the reason I knew anything was because I did something to her.”
Mr. Lester patted my hand. He was shifting into action mode. Guidance counselors so rarely get to feel like superheroes. “You leave this with me. I’ll talk to some people. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows you weren’t involved. If you were, you’d have no reason to come forward. Besides, I know you, kiddo. You’d never hurt anyone.”
I blinked away an image of Paige cowering in a basement, tied up and terrified. She wasn’t hurt. She was fine. I didn’t need to imagine something horrible. I wiped my nose and sniffed. I had an airtight alibi for when she went missing, but I wouldn’t mention it now. I’d let that come out later, when people had more questions. “Thanks, Mr. Lester. I appreciate you didn’t call me crazy.”
He tapped me softly on the tip of my nose. “You’re not crazy, Skye. This is likely just a dream, but better to check it out just to be sure.”
I stood slowly. “I should get to class. Thanks again for helping.”
Mr. Lester beamed. I felt a stab of guilt. I almost wished he wouldn’t be so nice. If the truth came out, he’d be disgusted with me.
He scribbled his name on one of the pink late passes and handed it to me. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for. I’ve got it under control.”
I paused in the door. “You’ll tell me what you find out, won’t you?”
“I sure will, Skye.”
In the end, I wouldn’t need him to tell me. Once the ball got rolling, things happened pretty quickly.
Eight
The news that the police had found Paige’s car was everywhere by Monday evening. It was parked in the long-term garage at the County Regional Airport. More important, it was also clear that she hadn’t gone anywhere willingly. Instead of sleeping, I’d spent most of the night trolling around different social media sites looking at what everyone was saying. Theories were multiplying faster than I could keep up. People decided that a stalker had taken her, or she’d been sold into an underage prostitution ring, and a few were floating the idea that aliens had sucked her into a spaceship. It was easier to read about hypothetical Paige than lie there picturing her tied up, blood crusted on her forehead, her eyes wide with fear.
The next morning a group of Paige’s friends clustered together hugging and crying by her locker. No one knew any real details, but that didn’t stop anyone from speculating about what happened to her.
I paused by the bulletin board so I could listen in, faking an interest in the notices: a sign up for the senior party being organized by the Parent Action Committee, a flyer for a bake sale fundraiser for the band, and a reminder that if people didn’t order their cap and gown by the end of the week, they wouldn’t be allowed to participate in graduation.
“I heard the police are sure she was forced out of the car,” Lindsey whispered. “Someone took her.”
“What was she even doing at the airport?” Lucy shook her head as if she were annoyed.
“Like she told you everything?” Lindsey sniffed. No doubt Lindsey hated Lucy acting like she was the center of this drama, when as Paige’s official BFF, that role belonged to her.
“I’m just saying, I thought she was grounded, so she would have gone directly home after school,” Lucy explained.
“The kidnappers probably made her drive out there,” Lindsey said.
“Are the police totally sure she didn’t just take off?” Lucy asked.
Lindsey’s nose twitched in annoyance. “The police said there were signs of a struggle, and besides, if she’d taken a flight, there would be a record. No one gets on a plane without picture ID anymore. My mom said because of renovations to the parking lot, the surveillance cameras are disconnected, so there’s no way to see what happened.”
“How would someone know that?”
Lindsey shrugged. “Anyone who worked at the airport would know, or the construction guys, or even someone who flew a lot likely could have noticed.”
“Maybe your mom took her,” Dougie Winsor suggested. “Could be she was afraid Paige was going to steal your prom queen title, so she decided to take her out.”
His comments lay flat and dead between everyone. I shifted by the bulletin board, taking a step closer to them, not wanting to miss a word.
“That’s not remotely funny,” Lindsey finally spit, breaking the silence. “Paige is in serious danger, and you’re making lame jokes.” Her eyes filled with tears, and the other girls closed ranks around her, patting her back, shooting death stares at Dougie.
He held up a hand in surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to lighten shit up. Everyone’s so serious.”
“It is serious. Maybe you should keep your lame-ass jokes to yourself.” Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me or my mom of something like that, even as a joke.”
“Look,” Greyson said, playing the peacemaker, “everyone has to know if something happened to Paige, it’s because of her dad.”