Chapter 20
Rick didn’t drive directly to Nika’s. He dropped off Martina, then spent a few minutes navigating twisty streets before he tucked his van into an unmarked dirt road and waited.
If they had followed him, he wanted to know.
While he waited, he stripped out of his disguise, then texted Nika to see if she could sneak out safely and meet him a few blocks away.
She sent him a dropped pin of where she was waiting, because she’d already snuck out ten minutes ago.
Rick couldn’t help but smile. Of course she was ten steps ahead.
When he didn’t see anyone after five minutes, Rick maneuvered the Beast back onto the street, driving carefully to where Nika was waiting. She’d had an idea similar to Rick’s—her disguise consisted of jeans and a hoodie, her hair tucked under a ball cap.
She hopped into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and buckled up. Her smile was bright, and Rick decided that all of his effort to get to her was worth it. “Thanks for picking me up.”
Rick signaled and pulled back into traffic. “I’m all for adventure.”
Nika placed her phone in the cup holder. “I put in the address to Allison’s dad’s place. We should be good to go.” She wasn’t paying attention to her phone but was busy examining the Beast with avid eyes. She peered into the back, opened the glove box, and finally settled on the eight-track player.
Rick watched her, amused. She reminded him of a squirrel searching for nuts. “By all means, help yourself.”
Nika’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as she grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”
Rick nodded slowly. “The nosiest.”
“It’s just—” She peered at the ceiling with wonder. “I’ve always wanted to look inside your van.”
Rick couldn’t hide his surprise. “You have?”
Nika blinked at him. “Of course. Rick, you have a fur-covered van. There’s a disco ball. My ride, when I can take it from my dad, is a Subaru.”
“Everyone here has a Subaru,” Rick said. “They’re solid cars.”
“I know, but that’s what I mean. Everyone has one. No one else has this.” She took in the Beast with a dreamy expression.
They pulled up to a stoplight, and Rick took a moment to get a thorough look at her. “You really like it, don’t you?”
“I love it.” She pointed at the eight-track. “What’s that?”
“According to my uncle, that is the best sound system the 1980s had to offer. I’m pretty sure he only says that because he never bothered to replace it. Don’t ask me where he got the eight-tracks.”
Nika sifted through the box of tapes. “Was your uncle even alive in the eighties?”
“He was not,” Rick said. “He’s my mom’s younger brother. The Beast is our version of a family heirloom.” He nodded toward the box. “You can put a tape in.”
Nika lit up. “I can?” She didn’t wait for an answer, flipping through the selection again before plucking one out. “This one, I think. I like their hair. And makeup.” She showed Rick the plastic cassette reading Motley Crüe Shout at the Devil.
“Solid choice. You just need to put it in there.” He waved at the spot with his right hand, leaving her to it.
A robotic voice was informing them of the evil of all of man’s sins as they hit the highway, heading toward Sprucedale and Allison Haysmith.
—
Allison’s father lived in a two-story house in the middle of a quiet street in one of Sprucedale’s nicer neighborhoods.
Lawns were manicured, the fall decorations were tasteful, and the only vans Rick could see were minivans.
The Beast always stuck out like a sore thumb, but here it would practically shout, We don’t belong, and we’re up to no good.
Rick pulled up to a sidewalk and parked, grimacing at Allison’s house.
“What is it?” Nika asked.
Rick sighed. “Just thinking how we’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t try to get my van towed or call the HOA to report us or something.”
Nika peered at the street as if seeing it for the first time. “Huh. Well, fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.”
Rick stared at her, eyes wide.
She turned, catching the surprise on his face. “What?”
“I’m just not sure I’ve ever heard you say fuck before.”
Nika shrugged. “It’s just something my dad says all the time. We don’t have a family motto, but if I ever design our crest, I’m putting that on there.” She looked at him closely. “Does it upset you? You’re friends with Martina, so I assumed salty language was okay.”
“No, not upset.” He was weirdly into it. There was something about Nika Page uttering profanity that made him happy. “I fully support it. Be as salty as you want. Outsalt the sea.”
“Okay, good. I mean, I wasn’t going to change how I speak, but if you were the kind of person who told women how they were allowed to talk, I probably wouldn’t hang out with you.”
Rick took his keys out of the ignition and started laughing. “My mom would also chew me a new one if she found out I was trying to pull that shit, unless the person in question was being a bigot or an asshole. That’s if Martina didn’t get to me first.”
“I think I would like your mother,” Nika said.
“Yeah, I think you would.” Rick turned to face Allison’s house. “So how are we going to play this?”
Nika unbuckled her seat belt. “I’ve been thinking about it. Allison Haysmith isn’t stupid. She’s probably not going to buy any half-baked plan we come up with. So I’m just going to tell her the truth.”
“You’re going to ask her if she knows who is trying to kill us?”
Nika blinked at him. “No, that would be bananas. I’m going to tell her what’s going on and ask whether she knows why anyone would kill Bryce, Paxton, and Mr. Stephens. I also want to know why she left school.”
“And if she doesn’t want to tell us?”
“Then we figure out a different plan,” Nika said, opening her door. “So let’s just hope she’s feeling chatty.”
—
They rang the doorbell and waited awkwardly on the front porch.
Even though he knew it made him look shifty, Rick kept staring at the Ring camera, then glancing over his shoulder, and then back at the Ring camera.
He couldn’t explain why he felt so exposed where they were, but he did, even though he knew it was…
well, not paranoia exactly, but something like it.
Paranoia usually meant no one was out to get you, that it was all in your head, and someone was definitely out to get Rick.
He just didn’t think they were on this particular street right now.
Or maybe they were, and that was the problem.
“Stop fidgeting,” Nika whispered.
“I can’t help it.”
Without turning, she reached out and grabbed his hand. Not holding it like she was into him, more like she was trying to get him to stop moving. She didn’t even really properly have his hand, just part of it and his wrist.
But everything in him just sort of…stopped. Like every single cell in his body went, Oh, hey, it’s you, all at once.
And Rick thought about what Martina had said—about dying happy. She’d been joking, kind of. It was more like she wanted to live happy. Or at least, try for the things that would make her happy. Rick wanted to be that way, too.
Nika was probably only doing it to get him to stop looking so guilty or acting so weird, but there was only one way he could think of to find out.
He shifted his hand, sliding his fingers into hers and pressing their palms together.
He squeezed her hand, and he smiled. He was pretty sure he looked just like Nika had looked when she climbed into his van. Dreamy.
It felt fantastic.
On her end, her expression seemed more startled than anything. Eyes wide. Brows slightly furrowed. Mouth parted. He waited to see if she would yank her hand back.
She didn’t.
He wasn’t entirely sure if she would have left her hand in his or not, because right then the door opened, startling them both. They’d temporarily forgotten they were waiting for someone to open the door.
It wasn’t Allison—this woman was older, probably in her late thirties, though Rick couldn’t be sure.
Her long dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail.
She was wearing a tank top, neon-bright against light brown skin, and leggings, like she’d been doing yoga.
She seemed equally surprised to see them, like she’d also temporarily forgotten why she’d opened the door.
Rick had worked backstage in exactly one play—Martina had briefly flirted with drama in middle school, then decided it wasn’t her thing—and it reminded him of the times in dress rehearsal when the actors would forget their lines.
“Can I help you?” the woman finally asked.
Nika seemed to snap back into herself. “Yes! I mean, I hope so. We’re looking for Allison?”
“You are?” Her surprise was evident. Apparently not a lot of people looked for Allison.
“Yes,” Nika said. “We used to go to school with her.”
“Oh,” the woman said, and Rick couldn’t quite read her now. The surprise was still there, but it was wary now. Like maybe she wanted to be happy about it but wasn’t sure she should be.
Rick cleared his throat. “We just wanted to see if she’s okay?
She kind of…disappeared last year and…” He had no idea how to end that sentence.
He’d gone in confident that his brain would think of something by the time he got halfway through with the sentence, but it didn’t.
Sometimes it was very clear to Rick that the human brain was basically made of meat and electricity, and he thought that design might be flawed on a fundamental level.
Nika, luckily, had a much better electric meat sack, because she finished the sentence no problem. “We’ve lost some people. At school recently. It made us think, and well, we got worried that maybe something bad happened to her? We asked around and got her address. I hope that’s okay.”
If Rick had said this, the woman wouldn’t have bought it. He lacked Nika’s wide-eyed earnestness, or at least her facsimile of wide-eyed earnestness. He was starting to suspect that a lot of that was a facade.