Chapter 56
UNACCOUNTED FOR
Outside, red and blue lights spin in the dark.
Reporters speak into microphones, gesturing toward the front entrance of Foggy Hollow General, camera lights casting long shadows across the glass.
Inside, shell-shocked teens sit in the waiting room as a trickle of panicked parents arrive and a police officer moves from group to group, quietly gathering statements.
I sit beside Jude, my hand in his as we wait for news about Twig. Jude’s shirt is torn open, a peculiarity on a typical night, perhaps. But tonight is not typical, evidenced by Wednesday Addams and Chucky’s Bride sitting shoulder to shoulder across from us.
Wednesday weeps.
The Bride sniffles into her phone. “The police said to come here, but we just found out they’re transferring Callie to Morgantown,” she says. “It’s really bad, Mom. Her sister had to do CPR and …”
Her face crumples.
She can’t finish.
Callie Reese is a sophomore who was flung against a stone statue and knocked unconscious. Callie’s sister, a senior named Milly, administered CPR until the ambulance arrived.
“Can you come get us?” the girl asks, wiping at the black streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. “We want to go to Morgantown.”
On the television, the news unfolds. Muted footage of police tape at the cemetery and teenagers wrapped in blankets. A headline scrolls across the bottom of the screen.
Breaking: Several teens hospitalized after Halloween incident in Foggy Hollow cemetery.
The doors leading to triage hiss open and out comes Kate in a long black dress, her face still painted witch-green.
Harrison comes to his feet.
She falls into his arms.
“They’re putting him under sedation now,” she says. “I don’t understand how he burned his foot so badly. They said it went all the way though his shoe.”
Kate pulls away and looks at me like I might have an explanation. Before I can feign confusion, commotion breaks out on the other side of the waiting room.
“She’s his sister.” Griffin Tate gestures toward Kate, his bloody forearm wrapped in the tattered remnants of a superman cape. “Maybe he told her something. He was right there with us. He might have seen what happened to her.”
The officer tries to calm him down, but Griffin will not be calmed.
“She just—she disappeared. And none of my calls will go through. They keep dropping, see?” He dials a number and thrusts his screen forward.
The call doesn’t go to voicemail.
It doesn’t go through at all.
My heart twists.
He’s trying to call Lainey.
“I understand, son. This is all very upsetting,” the officer says. “But you’re not the only one having trouble. Whatever happened at the party disrupted signals. Phones are still acting up.”
“I have to go back there. I need to find her.”
The officer steps into Griffin’s path and nods at his wrapped forearm. “You need to get that checked out first.”
“But what if she’s still there? What if she’s hurt?”
“The scene’s been evacuated. And a lot of people ran. I’m sure she’ll turn up just fine. Now, why don’t you tell me everything that happened while we wait for those stitches?”
Kate sinks into the chair beside me.
“Did you see Lainey?” she whispers.
I shake my head, my insides squirming.
Yes, in fact. I did see Lainey.
No, in fact, she isn’t just fine.
I lean into Jude, thankful for his warmth, his strength, his presence—the miraculous, steady beating of his heart.
The front doors slide open.
Mr. and Mrs. Calloway hurry inside with my dad close behind, all three so focused on the front desk they don’t see us sitting in their periphery.
Kate and I rise in unison and call their names.
When they spot us, they melt with visible relief.
Mr. and Mrs. Calloway wrap Kate in a hug while I throw my arms around Dad’s neck. When I pull back, he takes my face in his hands, his dark brown eyes swimming with worry. “Are you okay, kiddo?”
I nod, but I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
Jude comes to my side as Kate assures her parents that Twig is okay. He’s injured, but it’s not life threatening. Together, they head to the front desk for more information.
Dad takes in the state of Jude—his torn shirt, his well-defined upper half, his lacerated palm—as the Calloways join us.
“He has a contusion on his head that needed some stitches,” Mr. Calloway says, wiping his palms down the front of his jeans, which are perpetually grease-stained thanks to his job.
He takes a seat. “And a burn on his ankle and foot that required attention. They’ll come for us when he’s out of the procedure. ”
Mrs. Calloway sinks into the chair beside him, white as a sheet. “What happened?”
Kate exchanges a bewildered look with Harrison, then another with me and Jude. “I don’t know. It was like … there was this massive gust of wind and the ground started to shake, like it did at the ball. All the lights went weird, and something exploded?”
“Everyone panicked,” Harrison says.
I nod along, avoiding Dad’s stare, and the Calloways’ too.
A throat clears.
The officer has reached us. He stands a few feet away with his hat in his hands, his expression soft. Before he can ask for a statement, however, the front doors slide open again.
A woman rushes inside with the same frantic energy as my dad and the Calloways. Only there’s nobody waiting to intercept her. When she reaches the front desk, she sets both hands flat on the laminate counter. “Please, can you tell me if my daughter is here? Her name is Ivy Winslow.”
The name hits me like a punch to the gut.
Ivy Winslow.
I couldn’t remember it earlier, but I recognize it now. The quiet girl in AP Lit. Always drawing in a notebook. Except when we read The Scarlett Letter. She had strong opinions about that book.
“I keep trying to call her, but none of my calls will go through. She was at the party. Do you know if she was brought in by ambulance? Do you know if she’s okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of her face—terrified, frozen in that final moment—before she … combusted. Disintegrated. Evaporated.
Her life gone in an instant.
Just like Lainey’s.
“Please check again,” the woman says.
The staff member behind the desk gives her screen a quick glance. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but she’s not here.”
The woman shakes her head, her hands curling into fists.
The officer steps in.
“Ma’am,” he says gently. “Just because Ivy is unaccounted for doesn’t mean she’s not safe.”
“What happened at that cemetery?” Miss Winslow asks, her voice edged with hysteria.
“We’re still trying to sort that out,” the officer replies. “At the moment, we believe someone may have been trying to cause a scare, being Halloween and all.”
Miss Winslow’s cheeks turn pink. “You think this was a prank?”
“It’s a working theory, ma’am. Equipment blew, the ground was unstable, and many of the teens on site were under the influence. Not a good combination, I’m afraid.”
“I can assure you, my daughter doesn’t—”
He holds up his hands. “I’m not accusing anyone.
I’m just letting you know what we’ve established so far.
I promise you we’re doing everything we can to sort it out.
Why don’t we step over here, and you can give me Ivy’s full name and description.
I’ll make sure it’s passed along to everyone at the scene. ”
I watch them walk away with my heart in my throat.
Because it won’t matter.
They aren’t going to find Ivy Winslow.
Or Lainey Sikes.
I reach into Jude’s lap and take his hand, thankful, so very thankful, that Twig escaped with nothing more than stitches and a burned foot.