6. Locked Closet
LOCKED CLOSET
Kodiak
I’M SWEATY AND stiff from standing in the same place for long minutes. It’s dark in this room, and I’m tired of being stuck behind this curtain. It’s been too long. My hiding place is too good. Maverick is never going to find me.
Just as I think this, the door opens and the light flicks on, sending shadows up the walls.
Maverick’s footfalls are barely audible, but my heightened senses mean I can hear every tiny creak.
I hold my breath, and a bead of perspiration trickles down my spine; anticipation makes my heart race.
I need to take a deep breath to calm myself, but there’s a chance Mav will hear me if I do.
I want to win, but anxiety slithers down my spine, making my skin itch. I always feel like I want to burst out of it when it gets bad—like I want to be outside of my body. I wish my brain would shut off every once in a while.
I don’t think I can handle being stuck here with my thoughts if he moves on to another room without finding me. I missed a goal last night at hockey, and we lost. I can’t stop thinking about what I should have done differently. I feel bad about it, and it’s making me edgy.
I want to be still and silent inside, like Lavender is on the outside.
Just thinking about her usually makes the spinning thoughts calm, but right now, it sends another uncomfortable jolt through me.
I’m done, I decide. I move three inches to the right, causing the floorboard to squeak.
Silence follows for a few agonizing seconds, and finally the curtain shifts to the side, light pouring in. I shield my eyes with my hand.
“Found him!” Maverick yells.
“It’s about time. That took for-freaking-ever,” BJ grumbles from the doorway.
I swipe my arm across my forehead. “You suck at this game, Mav.”
“Whatever. This is boring and I’m hungry. Let’s get a snack.”
I follow Mav down to the kitchen with Lacey and Lovey, the Butterson twins, tagging along, their matching pigtails swinging. Their family and BJ’s are visiting because it’s a holiday. That’s how it’s always been; all of our families get together and celebrate.
Mav peeks around the corner, checking to see if anyone’s looking, before he sneaks into the pantry and grabs a box of cookies and a bag of chips without asking the nanny. He tosses each of us a can of soda.
All of our parents are out for dinner, and that means the nannies get together and watch movies with the little kids while we get the run of the rest of the house.
My mom would be mad if she knew I was eating chips and cookies after nine, but she’s not here right now.
I’ll probably tell her later, though, because I don’t like the way guilt feels.
It gnaws inside my head and makes me restless.
We sneak back upstairs, creeping past Robbie’s room. The door is closed, but we can hear the TV from the hall, and it smells like the inside of a gym bag or a science experiment.
Once we’re safely back in Maverick’s room, Lovey and Lacey cram themselves into the single beanbag chair and BJ sprawls on the couch. Maverick stretches out on his bed, and I take the gaming chair on the floor.
We pass around the cookies first, cracking sodas and munching on sugary treats. We polish them off in less than two minutes. Well, the twins are still nibbling theirs, but the rest are gone.
“Where are Lavender and River?” I ask, passing BJ the bag of chips.
“Probably watching a movie with the littles,” Mav says, swiping through pictures on his phone.
“So you found them?” I press. That prickling feeling under my skin spreads, blanketing me.
“Yeah. I found River where he always hides.”
In his room, under his covers. He only plays because we force him to and because Lavender likes hide-and-seek, even though she always picks the most obvious places to hide.
“And Lavender was with him?”
“Huh?” Maverick looks up from the screen.
“Lavender was with River?” I repeat. “You found her too?”
“No, but she always hides under the bed, so there was no point in checking.” He rolls his eyes, annoyed with his siblings’ predictability.
“Right.” I can’t swallow. My throat is suddenly all locked up. My palms sweat, and my hands ache. I push out of the chair and head for the door.
“Where you goin’?” Mav asks.
“Just to check.” I pad down the hall to River’s room, but he’s not in there. I check under the bed, in case Lav fell asleep while she was hiding. It’s happened before.
I move on to the next room and knock on the door before I peek inside. Lavender’s room is peaceful chaos. Her artwork is tacked all over the walls, and her sewing machine sits in the corner, a pile of fabric on the table beside it.
Lavender is beyond talented. Everything she feels she puts on canvas and paper or binds together with a needle and thread.
But she’s not here, and that horrible itch under my skin grows until I want to claw myself out of my own body.
I run down the hall, taking the stairs too fast and sliding down the last few on my butt.
I sprint to the media room, grip the doorjamb, and scan the seats and mats laid out on the floor where all the littles are.
My baby sister, Aspen, is curled up facing the movie screen, but her eyes are closed.
My younger brother, Dakota, is right beside her.
River is sitting in the front row, but there’s no Lavender.
I spin around and head for one of the other places I might find her—the art room.
I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the overwhelming visual stimuli before I flick on the light.
Every surface is covered in her ideas. Her thoughts are laid out in vibrant colors, pretty paintings, and designs that swirl and blend together.
She told me once it’s what she feels like inside most of the time, but usually darker.
I call her name and cross over to the closet because the door is open a crack, but it’s empty too.
Panic makes everything tight, and I try to think about where else she might hide, what her other favorite places are in the house.
I rush back upstairs to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall that looks like it belongs to a princess, and push the door open.
It slams against the wall with a startling thud as I call out, “Lavender, the game’s over. Are you in here?”
A sound so feral, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end comes from the other side of the room. It’s followed by an aggressive slam that makes the closet door rattle on its hinges.
I slide across the hardwood floor and try to turn the knob, but it’s jammed or locked or something because I can’t get it to turn. “Lavender? It’s Kodiak. I think the door is stuck. I’m gonna get it open, okay?”
She wails from the other side, sounding more animal than human. I don’t want to think about how long she’s been stuck in there. Lavender hates the dark; she’s afraid of the things she can’t see. Ever since she was taken three years ago at a carnival. A lot of things changed after that night.
Lavender isn’t just quiet anymore, she’s something else—missing, even though she’s here. She doesn’t really remember what happened, but dark and small spaces make her nervous. And sometimes she has bad dreams that make her look tired.
I keep trying to turn the knob, but it won’t budge.
Once my baby sister locked herself in the bathroom, and I had to figure out how to get her out.
I run into the bathroom and yank open the vanity drawer, searching for something I can use to pick the lock.
I find a safety pin and prick myself trying to straighten it out.
My hands are shaking, and the door keeps rattling, like Lavender’s slamming herself against it.
I try to jam the pin into the tiny hole, but it’s hard with how slippery my hands are.
I finally manage to slide it in, and I hear and feel the faint click and release.
I turn the knob and Lavender tumbles out, knocking me down. We land on the floor with a thud and an oof.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I repeat, sitting up and rearranging her stiff, shaking form. She curls into a tiny ball, her entire body convulsing with silent sobs.
Her hands are fists, and I can’t see her face.
Her auburn hair is a wild, tangled mess.
I try to smooth it with my palm, like I’ve seen my mom do with my baby sister when she’s upset.
I register the wetness in my lap, the smell of urine and something metallic.
I wrap my arms around her and rock her, telling her she’s safe—reassuring myself as much as her.
Lavender is nine.
I’ve known her my entire life.
She is my secret best friend.
We’re the same but different.
We’re connected by invisible threads. I always seem to know when she’s sad or scared. But no one really understands, so we don’t try to explain. I feel sick with guilt that she was stuck in that closet with the monsters in her head.
Her panic is so big, it fills the room and seeps into me too. I rock with her, trying to make it better with my words, but that’s not fixing it.
I shift so I can tip her head up and ask her to look at me, like my mom does when I have a hard time settling my bad thoughts.
Her eyes are wild, distant, and filled with fear.
Tearstains streak down her cheeks, her lids puffy and red from crying.
But that’s not the part that scares me the most. It’s the streaks of blood on her cheeks and across her forehead.
It’s the teeth marks that have cut through the skin in her bottom lip and the fresh blood seeping from the wound, trickling slowly down her chin.
Dread wells inside me. I’m terrified they won’t let us all hang out together anymore because of this, scared they’re going to take her away from me, scared she’s locked inside her head forever and I’m never going to get my friend back—that she’ll be here, but totally gone now.
But I lock all the panic and the fears down in the box in my mind, like my therapist tells me to, because right now, Lavender needs me to be stronger than my fear. I take her blood- and tear-streaked face between my palms, wishing I knew if the cut on her lip was the only place she’s hurt.
“Lavender, look at me. I’m right here,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.” I repeat it until her gaze slowly meets mine.
Her whole body shakes every time she drags in a shallow breath.
“I’m right here,” I reassure her.
“I-I-I,” she stammers.
Lavender’s words sometimes get stuck, like a beat skipping. It used to happen to me, but I outgrew it.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “I know you were scared. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner.
I can help, though.” When I was really little and the worry got too big, my mom would always make it better.
She said it was a distraction from the monster living in my head, and that when I didn’t give the monster attention, it got smaller, and then it wasn’t as scary anymore.
So I do the same thing for Lavender, hoping I can make her monster small again.
She’s too upset to talk, though, and I can’t do it the way my mom would, so I improvise.
I take her small hand in my clammy one. “Can you open for me?” My voice shakes with nerves.
She uncurls her fist. She’s dug her nails into her skin so hard, there are weeping, crescent-shaped cuts spanning her palm.
Before she can see it, I press her hand against my chest and keep my own on top. The blood soaks through my cotton shirt. It’s black, though, so it will disappear.
“Do you feel it?” I whisper, not needing to explain. She understands what I’m asking: Does she feel how fast my heart is beating? How scared I am too?
She gives me one jerky nod.
“Your fear is my fear,” I say, just like my mom does when my heart is beating out of control and the panic takes over. “I feel what you feel.”
Lavender blinks at me, eyes watery. She starts to bite her lip but flinches.
“It’s okay. It’s a little split. It’ll be fine.
” It might be a lie, but I don’t want to feed her monster.
“We just breathe it out, okay? We just breathe.” And that’s exactly what we do; we breathe until my heart isn’t racing anymore and she’s not shaking like she’s inside her own personal earthquake.
I want to clean up all the blood on her hands and her face, but if she sees the damage, it’s probably going to make the panic come back.
So we sit and breathe. With every inhale, I draw a figure eight on her back, and then repeat it on the exhale.
It helps distract me from the panic, so I hope it helps Lavender too.
My legs lose their feeling.
My heart slows until all I want to do is sleep.
Calm. Calm. Calm.
Lavender sways into me. Her hand grows lax over my heart and slips down, landing in her lap. I always sleep for ages after the panic monster has been tromping around in my head. I lean against the wall, legs asleep and neck already cricked, but I don’t want to disturb Lavender.
So I wait for our parents to come home.
And I fall asleep too, because anxiety and fear are exhausting.