slides under my sweatshirt—cold, visceral, trailing along my skin like the edge of a blade. Not deep enough to cut, just touching in a way that makes me shiver.
I pull up the stick I’ve been using to probe leaves, then whirl around, catch a breath, but I can’t see anyone.
Is he there? Is it just my imagination? Where have all the other searchers gone? We are supposed to work in pairs. Always in pairs. There’s a danger that he might come back, seeking to snatch the evidence left behind and relocate it. If there is any evidence . . .
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
“Elizabeth . . .” He knows my name. His voice sends another shiver through me.
What if he knows where I live? Where are Jessica and Micah? Could he come to my house, take them away like he took little Emily? Has he been to my house already? Stood over the beds of my children while they were sleeping?
“Who are you?” My voice echoes through the woods, bouncing off shadows and trees, rising into the canopy of birch and pine, startling birds into flight. “You give her back, do you hear me? You give Emily back!” Suddenly I am bold. I expect him to do as I have commanded.
I scan the forest, checking for the blonde girl from the photo on the flyer. I can almost see her, running through the trees. I think I do, but then she’s gone.
“Elizabeth!” He calls my name again, louder than before, insistent. His voice seems to come from the sky, from everywhere. “Elizabeth!”
He grabs me then, seizes my arm, shakes me. The back of my head strikes something solid yet soft. His shoulder, I think. He has me now.
How will the news reach my family? How will they find out? Who will help Jessica pick out her dress for the prom? Who will make sure that Micah doesn’t get left out of all the festivities, since he’s decided to graduate this year?
I picture them rattling around the house, alone, while Robert spends his time in the north woods. Will he come home and pick up the slack after I’m gone?
I fight, jerk an elbow back, flail my arms, try to grab something—his hair, his nose, his eyes. I go for the most vulnerable targets, the things I’ve learned in self-defense classes offered by the department.
“Elizabeth, for heaven’s sake! Wake up!” The voice rings high, echoes. It’s a woman’s now. My mother’s.
My head bobbles side to side, bumps into something hard this time, and I wake just as the car is wobbling from the shoulder back onto an old two-lane road.
Around the ribbon of blacktop, pine, maple, and sweet gum trees stretch skyward like the pickets of a privacy fence, concealing all but glimpses of what lies beyond—a house, a barn, a cotton field, white-crested and ready for harvest, and the sky darkening toward the first evening hues.
Beside me, Mom is wide-eyed, both hands back on the wheel. She sends a concerned look my way, but mostly she’s irritated. “What in the world is wrong with you? You’re lucky we didn’t end up in a wreck.”
I stretch the stiffness from my neck and sit up, surprised that I’ve let myself fall so deeply asleep. I’d intended to stay awake, to watch for any signs of Mom dozing at the wheel or zoning out and doing something dangerous. If she shouldn’t be making car trips anymore, I need to know. But even that seems strange—my questioning my mother’s competence in anything. She’s always been the one in charge. Of the school, of the family. Of the world, really.
I don’t want to take over the world, or even the running of the family compound. Or the running of her . It’s all I can do right now to hold my own house together and keep from committing mayhem in the daily struggle of parent versus teen.
There’s a town ahead, and I spot a Dairy Queen billboard. “Let’s stop for an ice cream.” I’m surprised when another sign informs me that we have driven through a whole state since I fell asleep. “We’re in Virginia? How long was I out?”
“Three hours at least,
I pull up the stick I’ve been using to probe leaves, then whirl around, catch a breath, but I can’t see anyone.
Is he there? Is it just my imagination? Where have all the other searchers gone? We are supposed to work in pairs. Always in pairs. There’s a danger that he might come back, seeking to snatch the evidence left behind and relocate it. If there is any evidence . . .
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
“Elizabeth . . .” He knows my name. His voice sends another shiver through me.
What if he knows where I live? Where are Jessica and Micah? Could he come to my house, take them away like he took little Emily? Has he been to my house already? Stood over the beds of my children while they were sleeping?
“Who are you?” My voice echoes through the woods, bouncing off shadows and trees, rising into the canopy of birch and pine, startling birds into flight. “You give her back, do you hear me? You give Emily back!” Suddenly I am bold. I expect him to do as I have commanded.
I scan the forest, checking for the blonde girl from the photo on the flyer. I can almost see her, running through the trees. I think I do, but then she’s gone.
“Elizabeth!” He calls my name again, louder than before, insistent. His voice seems to come from the sky, from everywhere. “Elizabeth!”
He grabs me then, seizes my arm, shakes me. The back of my head strikes something solid yet soft. His shoulder, I think. He has me now.
How will the news reach my family? How will they find out? Who will help Jessica pick out her dress for the prom? Who will make sure that Micah doesn’t get left out of all the festivities, since he’s decided to graduate this year?
I picture them rattling around the house, alone, while Robert spends his time in the north woods. Will he come home and pick up the slack after I’m gone?
I fight, jerk an elbow back, flail my arms, try to grab something—his hair, his nose, his eyes. I go for the most vulnerable targets, the things I’ve learned in self-defense classes offered by the department.
“Elizabeth, for heaven’s sake! Wake up!” The voice rings high, echoes. It’s a woman’s now. My mother’s.
My head bobbles side to side, bumps into something hard this time, and I wake just as the car is wobbling from the shoulder back onto an old two-lane road.
Around the ribbon of blacktop, pine, maple, and sweet gum trees stretch skyward like the pickets of a privacy fence, concealing all but glimpses of what lies beyond—a house, a barn, a cotton field, white-crested and ready for harvest, and the sky darkening toward the first evening hues.
Beside me, Mom is wide-eyed, both hands back on the wheel. She sends a concerned look my way, but mostly she’s irritated. “What in the world is wrong with you? You’re lucky we didn’t end up in a wreck.”
I stretch the stiffness from my neck and sit up, surprised that I’ve let myself fall so deeply asleep. I’d intended to stay awake, to watch for any signs of Mom dozing at the wheel or zoning out and doing something dangerous. If she shouldn’t be making car trips anymore, I need to know. But even that seems strange—my questioning my mother’s competence in anything. She’s always been the one in charge. Of the school, of the family. Of the world, really.
I don’t want to take over the world, or even the running of the family compound. Or the running of her . It’s all I can do right now to hold my own house together and keep from committing mayhem in the daily struggle of parent versus teen.
There’s a town ahead, and I spot a Dairy Queen billboard. “Let’s stop for an ice cream.” I’m surprised when another sign informs me that we have driven through a whole state since I fell asleep. “We’re in Virginia? How long was I out?”
“Three hours at least,
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