Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
If the circumstances were different, there’s no way my mom or Paige would buy the sleepover story Margot and I feed them. After nine months of tucking myself away in a tower of my own creation, the fact that I’m voluntarily leaving should be a red flag.
When Margot and I tell the pair that we’re spending the night at Nora’s to get away from all the stress for a while, they look more relieved than anything.
A bit of a surprise on my mom’s part, but mostly the two were so busy planning what to say on the news tomorrow morning, they barely glanced up.
But if we can pull this off, my mom and Paige won’t need to go on the news, pleading with the public for help in finding Jasper. If we pull this off, we’ll walk him through the front door ourselves.
Even if we weren’t about to waltz into those woods with a half-cocked rescue plan, I’d have found some way to get out of the house tonight. Before I fell asleep last night, I swore I heard a voice echoing down the halls. A soft, low voice. A little boy asking where he was.
I know it was Jasper. I know what it means. Whatever is happening to those kids, it’s started. A three-year countdown has lit up above his head.
And Finn’s countdown edges closer to a zero I can’t see. It may have already passed.
Margot and I head out the door after dinner—takeout we all picked at—with full backpacks.
Instead of toiletries and pajamas, the bags are full of dark pants, dark jackets, and the hiking boots we both got for Christmas a few years back.
My boots have only been worn a few times, but the tough fabric on Margot’s is peeling.
Margot frowns as we head down the steps and onto the grassy lawn. Her indecision is as strong as mine.
“What if they’re not in that building?”
If they’re not in the building, all the hope I’ve let myself build up will come crashing down.
We’ll be back to zero, with no chance of climbing back up.
I’ve created this false narrative of cracking open this mystery.
Finding Jasper. Bringing back the metaphorical dead.
But if there really is nothing to find, I’ll be as powerless as I’ve always been.
Forever on an icy embankment, unable to save my best friend, incapable of doing anything but waiting to be saved.
“I don’t know,” I say. Our plan is to meet Nora out front; she’ll drive us down the street, up a few blocks, around to where the creek curves so we don’t have to add a freezing swim to our already treacherous evening. We’ll leave the car and wind through the woods and back onto our property.
I pause at the end of the driveway, glancing down at the curb. The property line.
Unthinking, I turn back around, and call out, “Finn?”
Silence hangs all around me, painful even if I knew it was coming.
“It’s not too late to save him,” Margot says softly.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to Nora if he’s…” I stop, unable to say the words aloud.
If he’s really, truly dead.
Eventually, Margot says, “No more bullshit, Jo.”
“Margot—”
“Uh-huh.” She faces me, hands on her hips. “I’ve held my tongue for the last nine months, but Jasper is gone, our house is full of non-ghosts, and we’re about to break more than a few laws, so I’m done playing nice.”
There’s no stopping Margot once she gets going, but even knowing that, I can’t help the desperate urge to shut her off.
To shove her from whatever path she’s careening down.
Margot knows me better than anyone left in this world, meaning her judgments and observations carry more weight than I would always like them to.
And I’m really not in the mood for a truth bomb.
“I know that losing Harper broke you,” she says, and part of me appreciates her lack of sugarcoating. “That you decided to shove your heart into a box and lock it up so tight, even you forgot where the key was.”
I want to rebuke her, but she’s not wrong. I hadn’t realized she was paying attention.
“You may not want to admit it, Jo, but I saw the way Finn looked at you. And the way you looked at him.” She shrugs.
I’m grateful she’s too caught up in her own words to notice the blush rising to my cheeks.
“I know it’s scary. Or maybe I don’t really know why it’s scary for you, but I am old enough to understand how fucking terrifying it is to let another person see you.
But is there really any other choice? Is locking yourself away better than never being seen again? ”
The backs of my eyes burn, and I blink the tears back, furious at them, at myself, at the very earth for continuing to spin through space.
“You’re allowed to hope he’s okay for reasons other than Nora. You’re allowed to want it for you,” Margot says.
Before I get the chance to reply, which I’m not sure I’m even capable of, Nora’s little Volkswagen bug, pastel blue with the little flower still attached to the antenna, turns onto our street.
Fingers slip into mine. Margot. I meet her eyes, and she gives me a reassuring smile.
“Ready for this?” she asks.
“Not even a little bit,” I say.
—
No one speaks as we drive; the anxiety of being in a vehicle combined with what we are about to do is enough to make me vibrate. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek until my mouth tastes like metal.
I have no clue where we’re going, but Nora does, pulling off the road that gets thinner and more overgrown the deeper into the darkness we go. We’re probably the first car to cross the rickety bridge over the creek in years.
We’re driving in to avoid having to swim back—more specifically, to avoid having to swim back with four rescued teenagers in tow. Who knows what condition they’ll be in if we can find them, let alone get them past the fence.
Even knowing all that, I’m doubtful as Margot and I exit the car and follow Nora into the trees, three flashlight beams cutting through the black night.
“You do know where you’re going, right?” Margot calls, voicing my concerns.
“For the fourth time,” Nora replies, a few feet ahead, “yes. Unless you’d like to take over?”
Margot looks my way, but I can’t make out her expression in the dark. I can barely see more than a foot in front of my face.
“There should be a clearing up ahead. It hugs the creek. From there, we follow the path back to the power plant.”
Sure enough, after only a few more minutes of stumbling through the dark, we break through the tree line into a sparser area, the bubbling creek a few yards down.
“Oh, thank god,” Nora says.
“I knew it,” Margot says.
“Hey, I got us here,” Nora says.
Margot rolls her shoulders, gripping her backpack straps tight. “We’re all going to get arrested,” she says.
“Positive thinking, Margot,” Nora says.
“I think being arrested is the best-case scenario,” I say.
“And worst case, we join Finn, Sloane, and Aisha’s TV schedule rotation,” Margot says. A tiny laugh slips out of me, aching as it comes.
“TV rotation?” Nora asks.
“Yeah, they take the good TV really seriously,” I say. “If you so much as glance at the remote when Sloane is watching The Great British Baking Show, you’re toast. No pun intended.”
Margot brings her hands together in a soft clap. “All right, let’s do this,” she says.
I give her a level look. “For the record, you are not doing anything.”
Margot’s eyes narrow. “Pardon?”
“You,” I say, “are on watch. I doubt anyone’s out here, but if they are, I’d really like to know about it before they’re on us. Even if there’s nothing in this building, we’re trespassing. Unless you want to have to call Mom and Paige from the police station.”
Margot opens her mouth to protest, but I don’t give her the chance. “I’m not losing anyone else. Least of all you.”
Her objections fizzle in front of my eyes, like she’s running through the same slideshow I am. The kitchen table, with only Margot, Paige, and my mom around it. School supplies for one instead of three.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll be your damn lookout.”
—
The plan, albeit simple and probably not entirely thought out, relies on Margot as our eyes. We snagged Jasper’s camouflage walkie-talkies, leaving one with Margot, the other with Nora and me. If we draw any attention, Margot gives us the cue to get the hell out.
Meanwhile, Nora and I find a weak spot in the fence to slip through. If we’re lucky, the old chain link is feeble enough to be pried apart. If we’re luckier, we’ll find exactly what we’re looking for.
And if we do find them? a voice murmurs in the back of my head.
If we find them, I don’t know how to save them. If there’s anything left to be saved. I feel like I’ve been blindfolded, navigating with only the slivers of light peeking through the top of the fabric.
The three of us halt before the clearing that leads to the fence—only Nora has been out here before, having explored plenty as a kid. Around us, the crickets chirp incessantly.
“You sure you’re up for this?” I ask Margot, who eyes the trees warily.
“Nice vote of confidence, Jo,” Margot says. I scoff.
There is a chance I’ll walk in and never walk out. That I’ve effectively signed death warrants for Nora and Margot by bringing them here. That we’re stepping into a house of horrors with no clue what is waiting, no way to stop it, and no way out.
Nora sidles up beside me, looping her arm through mine. She gives me a reassuring smile.
“We can do this,” she says, looking between me and Margot. “And maybe we’re wrong. Maybe there’s nothing here.”
That maybe isn’t reassuring, but it hangs between us all.
—
Walking away from Margot goes against all reason. Every instinct urges me back, like my body senses the danger and wills me to protect my sister.
But I don’t turn back. I pick my way through the black woods, holding onto the hem of Nora’s shirt. This close to the fence, we aren’t risking the flashlights in case there is something inside, so we’re risking broken ankles instead.
Through the gaps in the trees, I can see patches of fence, mostly blocked by the massive, towering trees. A few are so tall, their thick branches dangle across the fence.
With enough moonlight to see by, Nora pulls her backpack off and unzips it. I’m not sure what I was expecting her to pull out, but a giant set of bolt cutters is definitely not it.
“Do I even want to know where you got those?” I ask.
Nora flashes me a wicked grin. “A girl is allowed a few secrets.”
With that, we approach the fence, sticking close to the trees. When we reach the fence, we have to squeeze through hanging branches thick with leaves.
Nora bends down, and I don’t bother asking if she actually knows how to use the tool in her hands.
It’s clear she does as she slices through the links with ease.
Once she’s satisfied, she shoves the bolt cutters back into her bag and waves me over.
Together, we pry the pieces of fence to the side.
The torn metal pricks painfully at my fingers, but if Nora isn’t stopping, I’m not either.
When we have a hole big enough to squeeze through, we wipe our rust-covered fingers on our pants.
“You better be right about what’s in here, Jo,” Nora says, and ducks through the hole in the fence.