Silence Read Free Page B

eyes.
    I shook my head.
    The beam of the flashlight had slipped marginally off my face, when suddenly it was square between my eyes yet again.
    “Hold on a second,” he said, a note of something I didn’t like slipping into his voice. “You’re not that girl, are you? Nora Grey,” he blurted, as if my name was a knee-jerk response.
    I retreated a step. “How—do you know my name?”
    “The TV. The reward. Hank Millar posted it.”
    Whatever he said next floated past. Marcie Millar was the closest thing I had to an archenemy. What did her dad have to do with this?
    “They’ve been looking for you since end of June.”
    “June?” I repeated, a drop of panic splattering inside me. “What are you talking about? It’s April.”
And who was looking for me? Hank Millar? Why?
    “April?” He eyed me queerly. “Why, girlie, it’s September.”
    September? No. It couldn’t be. I would know if sophomore year had ended. I would know if summer vacation had come and gone. I’d woken up a mere handful of minutes ago, disoriented, yes, but not stupid.
    But what reason did he have to lie?
    With the flashlight lowered, I looked him over, getting my first full picture. His jeans were stained, his facial hair tufted from days without a razor, his fingernails long and black under the tips. He looked an awful lot like the vagabonds who wandered the railroad tracks and shacked up by the river during the summer months. They were known to carry weapons.
    “You’re right, I should be getting home,” I said, backing away, brushing my hand against my pocket. The familiar bump of my cell phone was missing. Same with my car keys.
    “Now just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, coming after me.
    My stomach cramped at his sudden movement, and I broke into a run. I raced in the direction the stone angel pointed, hoping it led to a south gate. I would have used the north gate, the one I was familiar with, but it would have required me to run toward the man, instead of away. The ground cut away beneath my feet, and I stumbled downhill. Branches scraped my arms; my shoes slapped against the uneven and rocky ground.
    “Nora!” the man shouted.
    I wanted to shake myself for telling him I lived on Hawthorne Lane. What if he followed me?
    His stride was longer, and I heard him tramping behind me, closing in. I flung my arms wildly, beating back the branches that sank like claws into my clothes. His hand clamped my shoulder, and I swung around, batting it away. “Don’t touch me!”
    “Now hold on a minute. I told you about the reward, and I aim to get it.”
    He lunged for my arm a second time, and on a shot of adrenaline, I drove my foot into his shin.
    “Uuhn!” He doubled over, clutching his lower leg.
    I was shocked by my violence, but I didn’t have any other choice. Staggering back a few steps, I cast a hasty look around, trying to get my bearings. Sweat dampened my shirt, slinking down my backbone, causing every hair on my body to stand tall. Something was off. Even with my groggy memory, I had a clear map of the cemetery in my head—I’d been here countless times to visit my dad’s grave—but while the cemetery
felt
familiar, down to every last detail including the overwhelming smell of burning leaves and stale pond water, something about its
appearance
was off.
    And then I put my finger on it.
    The maple trees were speckled with red. A sign of impending autumn. But that wasn’t possible. It was April, not September. How could the leaves be changing? Was the man possibly telling the truth?
    I glanced back to see the man limping after me, pressing his cell phone to his ear. “Yeah, it’s her. I’m sure of it. Leaving the cemetery, heading south.”
    I plunged ahead with renewed fear.
Hop the fence. Find a well-lit, well-populated area. Call the police. Call Vee—
    Vee. My best and most trusted friend. Her house was closerthan mine. I’d go there. Her mom would call the police. I’d describe to them what