Chapter 2
Thankfully, the cracks in those corners of the screen weren’t quite as thick. It only took a couple tries before it rang.
“My mom has been—” I choked slightly on the word “taken” and instead said, “Going out in her bathrobe lately.”
What the heck? I hadn’t meant to say that. An icy chill passed over my skin, raising goose bumps.
“Miss . . . ?” The operator slowly asked, “Are you safe?”
She probably thought I was trying to talk in code or something. Was I? I honestly didn’t know. I felt like I was losing it.
“Yes, I’m fine!” I tried again. “But my mom—” My throat closed unexpectedly on the words “was kidnapped,” and instead, I said, “Didn’t even finish putting her makeup on!”
What?
Was that what I’d intended to tell her? My head was full of fog and a strange buzzing. No, I wouldn’t have called 911 for something stupid like that . . .
Think, Brynn.
Pacing across the kitchen floor as the operator spoke, I glanced at the back door, still cracked open and letting in gusts of icy winter air, and it all came back.
Mom was taken. I’m forgetting—I can’t forget!
“Ma’am,” the operator repeated in a harsher tone. “If this is a prank call—”
“No! No.” I swallowed hard. Why couldn’t I get the words out? “My mom is . . . ”
Wheezing, I forgot about the call for a second as I gasped for air.
“Do you need us to send an ambulance?” the operator prompted when I didn’t speak.
“No, she’s—” I caught myself before I said some other stupid observation that didn’t make sense. Racking my brain for a word I could actually say, I coughed two more times before I was able to yell unexpectedly, “Gone!”
I let out a breath of relief that I’d finally found a word my mouth would accept.
“Has she been missing twenty-four hours?” the dispatcher asked.
“No, she just left.”
“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, honey.” The dispatcher’s voice grew less formal and more empathetic. “Do you have parental supervision from another adult or do I need to send a unit over?”
“Oh . . . No, um, I’m a grown-up.” I winced at the word choice. It sounded like something a little kid would say. “I mean, I’m eighteen.” Awkwardly, I added, “Thanks, uh . . . I gotta go.”
I hung up as she started to say something else.
That was a dead end.
My fingers pushed the speed dial for Dad next without thinking. He’d know what to do.
“Brynn?” His normally cheerful voice sounded distant. “How come you’re calling me at work? My shift doesn’t end for another fifteen minutes. What’s wrong?”
Once again, I opened my mouth to say, “They took Mom!” but I choked before saying, “I just called the cops!” instead.
“What?” His voice sounded closer now, worried.
I tried to take a deep breath and breathe through the panic. What had I said on the phone that had finally worked?
“Mom is gone!” I croaked, sucking in a deep breath. “Dad, she was—” I felt my throat close up and stopped myself.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
But I couldn’t explain without that increasingly familiar sensation of word vomit rising up, so in the end, I had to settle for a vague, “Something’s wrong!”
“She probably just went to the grocery store.” Dad’s tone had shifted to slightly annoyed. “Brynn, I’ve gotta get back to work. My shift isn’t over yet.”
He wasn’t taking me seriously. I couldn’t blame him.
“Dad, I saw her leave, and . . . ” I swiped angrily at the tears trying to fall. Once again, my mouth refused to cooperate. “I can’t explain,” I finally said. “But she didn’t go to the grocery store. And she’s not coming back.”
After shushing someone on the other end of the line, Dad sounded louder this time, like he’d gone into another room. “What do you mean, not coming back?” He was finally paying attention.
“I mean . . . ” I started to say, “She was taken by two creepy aliens or something,” but in a split second I forgot about my strange observational word vomit, and my mouth yelled something totally different. “My books are coming to life!”
Technically true, but not helpful right now.
Silence on the other end. “Brynn, can we talk about this when I get home?”
Letting out a guttural sound, I hit the red button to end the call and slammed the phone down on the table.
Then I groaned and wanted to kick myself as I carefully picked it back up.
The impact had made the initial cracks grow and spread across the phone.
Only a small corner along the bottom was still unscathed.
The plastic covering on the kitchen chair creaked as I sank down into it.
What had the mossy one said before they left? When you agreed no one could know, it was binding.
No one could know.
Binding.
No one else could know.
But I still did.
I refused to forget.
Though even now, there was a part of me that still tried to reason it away, to tell me I’d imagined the whole thing. It made me dig in my heels further. I would not forget what I’d seen. Even if, for reasons I didn’t understand, I couldn’t seem to physically tell anyone.
No one could know.
The words came back to me again.
Impossible.
They couldn’t control what I said. This was just some weird mental block I needed to work through.
Right?
Though I tried to view the problem from all sides and possibilities, none made sense.
I was pacing the kitchen—all four steps across the yellowed vinyl floor and back—when Dad burst through the front door about twenty minutes later.
“Brynn?” he called, appearing in the kitchen doorway, still wearing his heavy winter coat.
He pulled the crochet hat I’d made him off his head, revealing a large balding spot surrounded by graying hair.
His glasses had fogged up from the shift in temperature, and he paused to wipe the condensation off before putting them back on.
With his vision cleared, he found me standing there and frowned. “Explain yourself. Is this some sort of joke? Did your mother put you up to this?”
Though he still sounded doubtful, I caught a worried twitch of his brows, like he might actually believe me.
Something in my own expression made him soften. “I don’t know what happened to worry you, kiddo, but I promise Mom isn’t gone.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” I managed to say through gritted teeth, because they’d started to chatter. I wrapped my arms around myself to stop the shivering that was turning into shaking.
Dad grabbed me and pulled me into a hug, pressing my face against his rough woolen jacket. “Shh,” he murmured, though I wasn’t actually crying. I was too numb for that. “I’m sure there’s some explanation and this is just a misunderstanding—”
A crinkling sound came from the door as someone shoved an envelope beneath it.
Dad snatched it up.
A real mailman would’ve used the front door mail slot. I whipped the back door open.
“Hey!” I yelled at the figure in a dark blue coat moving away from our house.
The guy who turned around had a mustache, a mailbag, and normal rounded ears. He gave me a confused look as he pulled one of his headphones out. It was Raines.
“What is this?” Dad asked behind me, and his shift in tone caught my attention.
“Never mind,” I snapped at Raines. Apparently, he needed some training. I shut the door in his face.
Dad had grown quiet. A typed letter printed on a weird cream parchment paper trembled in his hands.
I stepped around to read over his shoulder.
Dear Harold, Brynn, Rissa, and Olive,
I’ve met a pilot and am moving to Fiji.
Please don’t come looking for me.
I love you,
Maeve Donovan
That didn’t sound like Mom at all.
She always signed her notes just “Mom,” not her full name, for one thing. And that was probably the least unusual thing about the entire note.
Those creeps who took Mom must’ve sent it. Was Raines in on it? It didn’t matter. Dad would know it was fake.
Pulling out his cell phone, Dad dialed Mom’s number. I fully expected him to get her voicemail, but it didn’t even get that far before we both heard a ringing coming from the kitchen counter.
Her phone lay there, buzzing in its bright red case, next to the novelty salt and pepper shakers shaped like Santa and Mrs. Claus.
More evidence that the note was false. Because who in their right mind would leave their phone behind?
The paper trembled in Dad’s hands.
Soft crinkling filled the room as he balled it up in his fist.
Dad’s head bowed.
Did he actually believe Mom was gone?
I opened my mouth to say, “That’s not real. Mom didn’t write that,” only to once again choke and say, “That’s really high-quality paper!”
He barely noticed my odd behavior. My jaw dropped.
Sure, I like to share random facts in a normal situation, but not at a time like this. C’mon, Dad!
Staring down at the crumpled ball in his hand, he whispered, “I need a minute.”
He shuffled into the short hallway toward the bedroom across from the one I shared with my sisters, closing the door behind him with a sharp click.
I clenched my fists.
He finally believed that Mom was gone, but he had the details all wrong!
I stood there, blinking at the old fridge, barely seeing the photos, grocery list, and other items hanging from Mom’s exotic-bird magnets.
With half an idea forming, I grabbed the grocery list off the fridge and turned it over, searching for a pen.
I found one in the junk drawer. Dropping into a kitchen chair, I flipped the page over to write on the blank side: Mom was kidnapped!
I added three exclamation points.
There! It worked!
I jumped up, knocking the chair over in my hurry to rap on Dad’s bedroom door.
When Dad opened it, red-eyed, I held up my note.
“We need bananas and cereal,” he read out loud, then met my eyes, squinting. “Brynn . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t think about groceries right now.”
My lips parted.
As he closed the door in my face, I frowned and turned the paper over. Sure enough, it was a repeat of the grocery list on the front.
I gripped the pen.