4. Emma
FOUR
Emma
The four of us marched down the sidewalk in loose formation, filling the air with the swish of jackets and the steady rhythm of our shoes on the concrete.
Carol walked beside me, linking arms. Deva and Beth took point up front, calling out commentary on shop window displays and the general sorry state of the town’s benches, as if any of us spend a long time sitting on benches in Mystic Hollow.
I kept scanning the dark corners, half expecting Alice to step out from between the worn brick buildings with an apology already forming on her lips.
Not that she’d even do that if she were to spot us right now.
She hated being the center of attention, I imagined even when she was missing.
I wasn’t sure what I’d say to her if we did find her, only that I’d probably make a fool of myself by crying and saying something dumb.
Then, out of nowhere, a monster of a truck barreled down Oak Street, headlights blazing.
It hunched behind a tiny green Honda like a cheetah after an unusually angry turtle.
The older woman driving the Honda gripped the wheel in a death stare, like it was taking all her energy just to focus on driving her car.
The truck’s horn blared through the air, louder than the bells at the old church on Park Street, and I swear I saw the bumper close in.
I braced out of habit, half-expecting the whole block to erupt in broken glass.
At the last second, he swerved and honked, flashing his high beams. He probably meant to scare the poor woman, maybe get her to pull over so he could wave his idiot flag in her face.
Beth muttered, “What a tool,” and Deva just glared. But I felt that little spark inside me, the part that had gotten me into trouble more than once, the one I was supposed to keep under tight control. It was always there, hungry for a little justice.
So I let it out, just a whisper. Not cruel, just proportionate. Karma. My powers.
A heartbeat later, the truck’s four tires exploded one after the other.
It sounded like firecrackers on the Fourth of July, but instead of screams, there was the loud, horrible scrape of metal as the guy tried to keep driving.
Every time the wheels spun, the rims ground the asphalt and belched sparks.
Watching that idiot pull his truck to the curb while the green Honda sped away like an escapee from Alcatraz? That was the kind of thing I lived for.
We had to pass close by him. The driver jumped onto the sidewalk, staring down at the shredded rubber in complete shock. He called the truck a string of names, every one of them creative and disgusting.
That’s when it happened. He looked up to curse the sky, and a pigeon—only in Mystic Hollow would a pigeon be this accurate—dropped a steaming, gooey gift right into his open mouth.
He clapped both hands over his face, gagging. Beth doubled over, giggling so hard she nearly lost a shoe. Carol laughed like she’d been holding it back all week, and Deva’s whole face glowed.
I just stood there, arms folded, my own giggles bursting out like popcorn in hot oil. After the miserable week I’d had, it felt better than winning a free cake.
We composed ourselves eventually. At least, enough to keep walking without tripping over each other.
The theater was just a block up, all old-school neon and chipped poster frames, looking basically the same as when I was a kid.
Its sign promised “MOVIES SO GOOD IT HURTS” and I wasn’t sure if that was meant to be comforting or a warning.
The line of ticket buyers already stretched out the door, thick with teenagers and older couples.
We took our place at the end. A woman strutted up right past every single person waiting, not even slowing down.
She wore high heels that could double as weapons and carried a white leather purse the size of a suitcase.
Her perfume clouded the air behind her. She glared at the teenagers who tried to protest, daring them to say anything, and instead of moving to the back like a decent human being, she planted herself near the very front, slipping behind a couple people, and looked at her phone.
The man behind her, who had a stroller and two small kids, muttered something about “manners being dead,” but Ms. Stiletto ignored him and kept tapping away.
I caught Deva’s eye. She looked way too pleased. “Go on,” she whispered, “make it interesting.”
Carol grinned like a five-year-old at Christmas. Even Beth wasn’t hiding her curiosity. Who was I to deny them?
I nudged that magic again, gentle but insistent.
There was a tiny shuffle behind us, like the sidewalk itself was making space, and suddenly the second ticket window rolled up its blinds.
A young guy leaned on the counter, waving for people to come over.
The change swept the whole line. Everyone except our line-cutter, and the people ahead of her, peeled away, leaving her completely alone on her spot on the sidewalk.
She glared, but that only made the emptiness worse.
As we shuffled forward in the new speedy line, I looked back.
The woman stood in front of the other ticket counter, growing more and more agitated as the clerk was on the phone.
She kept sighing, rolling her eyes, even stamping her foot at one point.
Every time the window clerk at her line finished with someone, another one of ours had already seen three customers.
She was locked into some sort of personal purgatory, and I almost pitied her for a split second.
Then I caught Deva’s giggle and lost any chance of regaining my moral high ground.
When we made it to the window, the clerk, a red-haired boy who looked to be about twelve years old and probably still did algebra homework, paused and adjusted his glasses. “You guys together?”
“Yes,” Beth said. “But we’re actually looking for someone who was working here two nights ago. It’s, well, it’s important.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Connor! You’re up!”
From out of nowhere, a thin, sharp-cheeked kid who reminded me a little of Travis in his early teens bounded over. Connor Reed, according to his name badge. He wore the assistant manager lanyard with visible pride and had a stack of movie trivia pins crowding his jacket.
He wiped buttery fingerprints on his khakis. “How can I help?”
Before anyone else could speak, the Queen of Cutting Lines finally reached the front of her own line. She slammed her hands on the counter, practically hissing. “It is about time! I have somewhere to be!”
Connor didn’t even turn to look in her direction. “Sorry, closing this window for a minute to help these ladies. You can wait in the other line if you’d like.” His words landed like a slap, and to her credit, the woman just glared at him, stunned, before staring furiously at us.
The boy motioned for us to step over to where the woman was standing, so we could have our conversation there, before instructing the kid at that window to head to make popcorn.
For a moment, I wondered if she’d explode into a pile of little, angry atoms. She didn’t, but she did stomp off, heels chirping across the tile as she joined the back of the moving line, and we shifted into her spot while the other line kept moving.
Just with Ms. Rude at the end of the line.
Karma. Sometimes it really was beautiful.
I turned back to Connor, who seemed immune to the commotion. “We’re looking for someone who might have come to a movie here. Two nights ago. Her name is Alice. She’s small, long auburn hair, usually alone or with her boyfriend Henry, who looks like a programmer because he is one. Kind of quiet?”
He nodded immediately. “Yeah, I know who you mean. Alice. She’s in here all the time. Usually gets a popcorn, medium, and a Twix. Sometimes she’ll get two Twix if it’s a Wednesday. Always sits in Row D, Seat 8.”
That matched what Henry told me about her having a specific routine. “Did she come in alone that night?”
“Yes. I remember because she was the only solo person for that showing. Everyone else came in a group or couple. She bought her snacks and was gone before the end of the credits. I didn’t see her talk to anybody. She watched the movie for maybe an hour, then left.”
“There was nothing… off about her?”
His expression was thoughtful. “You know, now that I think about it, she seemed a little off? Jumpy. But she always looks nervous, so maybe that’s just her baseline, and I just noticed it more that night because of the type of film she watched.”
Deva leaned across the counter, bangles chiming. “Was it a scary movie?”
Connor shook his head. “No, it’s not that.
It’s more… Well, you should just see for yourselves.
Look, I work here, I see every film, and I’m telling you this one messes with your head.
I’ve never seen anything like it. The director is supposed to be the next Kubrick, and there’s all these messages hidden in the scenes.
It’s so good, I started seeing things in a totally new way.
People leave, and they’re quiet for like five minutes, then they start talking about how they want to change everything.
Like their job or their life. I’m not kidding.
You’ll see. If your friend was having a weird day, maybe the movie just hit her differently? ”
He shrugged, but his eyes shone with movie-nerd passion. “Best popcorn with extra butter for the full experience, and candy makes it even better. Trust me.”
I looked at the ladies.
“Let’s do it,” Beth said, then more quietly. “Maybe it could lead us to figuring out what led her to disappearing.
It was worth a shot.
Connor helped us get our tickets, and suddenly we were on our way to watching some kind of life-changing movie. Whatever that might be.
We thanked him, and he scurried off to reopen the other window. The angry blonde woman had finally reached the front again, only to watch Connor flip the “Closed” sign as he left. Her face nearly glowed red. Beth covered her mouth to hide a cackle.
Inside the theater, the carpet still smelled like gum and butter and everything else that got ground in by generations of restless feet.
I paid for tickets and snacks, letting Beth and Carol argue over Milk Duds versus Raisinettes until Deva settled it by ordering half the candy stand and a giant bucket of popcorn.
It all seemed silly, maybe, to think a movie could trigger someone to run off or have some kind of epiphany that would lead to vanishing, but the more I chewed on it, the less ridiculous it seemed.
Especially with Alice, who lived half in her head anyway.
People underestimated art’s power all the time.
Sometimes one sight or sound or line of dialogue was all it took to tip you over the edge.
We carried our haul to the velvet ropes, the four of us loaded down like kids at a midnight matinee. The theater lights popped on in the lobby, and people shuffled in, half-lost in their own anticipation.
Carol nudged me with her elbow. “You think this’ll actually give us any answers?”
I didn’t know, but I hoped. “Even if it doesn’t, at least we get popcorn.”
Beth gave a soft little snort. “It’s too bad we can’t lure Stilettos in there and see what the movie does to her. Maybe she’d have a life-changing moment and stop being a jerk.”
Deva grinned. “Or she’d start a cult.”
The previews started as we walked in, so the darkness swallowed up the last of the day’s worries. The screen glowed, the curtains pulled back, and for a second, I could forget everything except the promise of a few hours in a world not my own.
But as I settled into Row D, Seat 7, my mind kept circling back to Alice. What had she seen on this screen, or in her own head, that made her get up and leave everything behind?
The question hovered through the previews and into the opening credits, every now and then interrupted by a crunch of popcorn or a whispered joke from Carol. I wasn’t sure if a movie could change my world, but I knew I had to try every clue, no matter how weird it seemed.