Lost Girls Read Free

Once more she yells, “Aydee!”—but the wind drowns her out.
    She wraps herself in the quilt to take the edge off the wind. Within seconds, she’s completely covered in snow. She tries to struggle free, but all her energy is spent and she loses consciousness.

    The morning sunlight rouses her. The sky is cloud-free, and the wind has died down. It’s much warmer—the snow around Sandra is moist, melting.
    Sandra is astounded to be alive. She feels giddy, joyful.
    She stands up. It hurts; her legs are stiff and cold.
    Across the street, she sees a woman fiddling with the books in a store’s window display. She looks up at the sign, green and blue letters painted onto a brown background: Lost Pages.
    Inside the bookshop, Sandra is too nervous to face the woman. Browsing through the shelves, she notices that most of the books are in languages she can’t even identify. Her eye falls on a tome whose jacket painting resembles her tattoos—twin snakes spiralling upward into the air against a backdrop of planets and stars—but she doesn’t understand the strange script above the illustration.
    She reaches out to pick up the book, but then she remembers why she’s here. She looks up at the woman and blurts out, “You’re Aydee,” astonished at the sight of this clean and healthy version of her friend.
    “Yeah, that’s me. You looking for something in particular? Chances are we have it.”
    “I’ve walked down this street hundreds of times . . . I’m sure this store was never here before . . . I can’t believe you’re real. That this place is real.” Sandra had been right: her friend Aydee must have been younger than she appeared. Looking at this Aydee—a little taller than the Aydee she knows—Sandra can tell that she can’t be more than twenty-five, maybe even only twenty. She’s exactly like her friend described: long, braided hair; beautifully smooth creamy brown skin; strong shoulders.
    “Don’t tell me you’re from one of those worlds where I’m a comic-book character or something. . . .” The bookseller lets out an irritated breath. “Look, you can click your heels all you want, but this place is real and so am I.” She collects herself and continues in a friendlier tone. “Sorry. There’s been a bit too much of that recently. Let’s start over. . . . What can I do for you?”
    Sandra looks around, and she’s struck by a missing detail. “Where are the dogs? She always told me this place was full of dogs.”
    “She?” Aydee scrutinizes Sandra. “I’ve seen you . . .” Aydee shakes her head, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “No, the dogs . . . I don’t mind them, but that’s always been more Lucas’s thing. They’re with him, and he’s not here anymore. You know him?”
    “I’ve heard about him.”
    There’s an awkward silence.
    Aydee says, “You’re shivering. Do you want a cup of tea?”
    Aydee sips her tea, listening quietly to Sandra’s story.
    Sandra repeats, “Say something. Do something. We have to help her. You have to find her. Save her.”
    Her voice simmering with anger, Aydee says, “I think you should leave.”
    “What?”
    “Leave.”
    “But—”
    Aydee gets out of her chair, grabs Sandra by the arm, pushes her outside, and locks the door to Lost Pages.
    Sandra scours the neighbourhood for Aydee—her Aydee—while city trucks clean away the mountains of slush and snow. Sandra doesn’t return to the apartment. After the storm, the temperature warmed up to above freezing, even at night. The quilt keeps her warm enough. She knows she should go to work, but she can’t stomach the thought of cleaning up the mess at the tattoo parlour anymore. It’s time for a change, even though she has no idea what that might entail. First, she has to find Aydee.
    That other Aydee is no hero. My Aydee would never treat anyone like that. She’s loyal and brave and strong of heart and . . .
    A group of kids in the park—homeless ecopunks who hang out