“Don’t touch anything!” Officer Kendall shouts after me.
And so I fold my hands against myself as I crouch down next to the sweatshirt. Sure enough, there is that stupid hole. It is her sweatshirt. Cassie was here in this cabin and now she’s gone. Someone took her. Made her leave her things behind. Because Cassie loved that sweatshirt and she paid for that bag herself—almost a hundred dollars she’d made scooping a lot of ice cream at Holy Cow. Something else catches my eye then, a couple of inches to the side: pink camouflage. I look closer, and sure enough they are boy-style briefs that say Sleep with Me across the butt. Cassie’s underwear.
I push myself to my feet. Too fast. Way too fast. Fireworks of little lights cascade in front of my eyes. Head rush. But that’s okay. Just a little low blood pressure. The edges of the room aren’t actually stretching thin. The tingle in my hands is all in my head.
“Do you recognize any of it?” Officer Kendall asks. Not a hiccup, not a twitch. Not a stutter. Officer Kendall’s speech is totally even. It’s been even, actually. For how long? He was stuttering before in the car, definitely. And when we first stopped here at these buildings, wasn’t he? But for sure he’s not stuttering now. That’s what was off. That was what was left behind.
I look up from Cassie’s underwear to Jasper’s reflection in the window. No stutter, I think, but am too afraid to say. We are not safe. My heart is beating in my ears. The sound is echoey, like we’re underwater. And now the room is so narrow and dark, like I’m staring down a paper towel tube.
There’s a sound then. Loud. Near the door. A crash? Is that it? Then darkness to my left and then a burning and a tilt and then—
“Wylie? Are you okay?” A voice. I don’t know whose.
I try to open my eyes but they are sealed shut. My mouth is, too. Is my jaw broken? No, it’s just the insides of my mouth pasted together. Water. I need water. But when I move, pain slices through the side of my head. Squinting my eyes open makes it even worse.
It’s dark still. Nighttime, but not pitch black. Pale-gray light comes from the window. Moonlight, maybe. Scratchy fabric under my hands. I’m lying on a couch—dusty, mildewed, lumpy. The cabin, Camp Colestah, Cassie—it all snaps back to me. Her underwear here. Her somewhere else.
“You blacked out.” It’s Jasper. When I push myself up on my elbow, my head sings. Jasper is sitting on the floor a couple of feet away, back against the wall. He’s staring at me. Worried. No, worse than worried. He looks scared. “You hit your head on the side of the bureau.” He points to a big piece of furniture not far from the door. “I tried to grab you, but I didn’t make it in time. Are you okay?”
“I pass out sometimes when I get really stressed,” I say, trying to make it sound like no big deal. “It hasn’t happened in a while. Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“Oh.” He glances down, away. “I don’t think you cut your head or anything.” He points to his own scalp. “I, um, checked. But there’s a big bump.”
My cheeks feel hot thinking of Jasper lifting me onto the couch, his hands inspecting my head. It’s humiliating. And, yes, also sweet.
“Okay, thanks,” I say, wincing through the throbbing in my head as I roll up to sitting. “Wait, where’s the—” I look around. I can’t remember his name. I wonder for a minute how bad I hurt my head. “The police guy.”
“I don’t know,” Jasper says quietly. In the pale light, I see him turn toward the door. “As I was running to you, there was this loud sound behind us. And then the door slammed shut. I guess someone could have maybe grabbed him or—”
“Grabbed him?” The pain in my head is worse with each word. “He’s a police officer.” Like that alone means nothing bad could ever happen to him. Then I remember Officer Kendall’s stutter, how it vanished. I think about telling Jasper this, but I’m afraid saying it aloud will wind me up again. And maybe it was the rush of adrenaline that smoothed out his voice. Officer Kendall could be like me: better in an actual emergency. Except that seems the opposite of likely.
“Maybe they’re so high they didn’t even realize he was a cop?” Jasper offers, but not like he believes that. Frightening, too, that this is our best option: people so high they can’t see straight.
“I think maybe the stuttering was an act,” I say. “Did you notice? He stopped right before we came into the cabin.”
“Are you sure?” Jasper asks, and like he actually thinks maybe I imagined it. I wonder if this is how it is going to be now that I’ve told him about my dad’s call to the police. Will Jasper doubt everything I say? “Why would he do that?”
“I have no idea.”
He’s still looking at me like he’s not buying it. “I think we’ve got a bigger problem at the moment anyway.”
“What?” I swallow over the lump trapped in my throat.
“The door is locked.”