《Whisper》


 Chapter 1

    Madison - 2005


    He¡¯s really, truly mad at me.


    The thought clangs through me as my fingers tangle in the long blades of grass on either side of my hips. It¡¯s a cloudless day, the sky a searing blue. The heat has turned oppressive and muggy, so much so that my yellow shirt is starting to cling with sweat.


    I grab my bookbag and dig around the front pocket until I feel the telltale loop of a hair tie. Slipping it over my fingers and onto my wrist, I gather my heavy heap of brassy, brown hair and wind it up until I can tie it into a haphazard knot on my head. Almost too tight, it pulls randomly over my scalp until I yank it a few times to ease the pinch.


    Not like the other girls on the other side of the baseball pitch with perfect messy buns and jean shorts cut so high their pockets stick out the bottom. Each one wearing a different colored shirt, like jeweled peacocks gathered in the golden afternoon light.


    No, my shirt is dingy, faded, and sweaty, my face feels hot and flushed from the heat and I don¡¯t have a swipe of makeup on it. The rubber sole of my left tennis shoe is separating at the toe, my fingers working between the flap, flicking bits of dirt and debris out.


    He won¡¯t even look at me.


    Carrie Hayes waves at him and his mit flaps awkwardly before resting again on his bent knee. It¡¯s just a practice game, just for fun really. But the sun drenched bleachers have always been a popular after school hangout whether there was action on the field or not.


    The bat cracks, a baseball zings out, and he snags it effortlessly, those huge broad shoulders flexing in his gray shirt before he volleys it toward the second baseman.


    I shout out a cheer and watch his head turn to the side but not completely around. He knows I¡¯m here. I¡¯m always here.


    ¡°Doghouse, huh?¡±


    I glance over my shoulder and squint into the sun, blinking rapidly around Heather¡¯s outline.


    She lumbers the last few steps before collapsing down beside me. Once she¡¯s divested her book bag she looks like a real human girl and not an awkward turtle carrying fifty pounds on her shoulders.


    ¡°You gotta start leaving those books in your locker,¡± I chide her.


    ¡°Yeah, well my mom wants a valedictorian. I need them so I can fall asleep with their heavy weight on my body. I¡¯m trying to learn via osmosis.¡±


    I snort and look back toward the field.


    ¡°Let me know how that goes.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s still mad, huh?¡±


    I shrug, because yeah, he¡¯s still mad and I don¡¯t know how to feel about that. We¡¯re friends. Best friends. Like me and Heather are best friends. Except not. We¡¯re best, best friends. Closer than I am with Heather. Closer than I am with anyone else.


    ¡°You guys need to talk about it. I keep telling you-¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t feel that way about me! Stop saying that he does! I¡¯m so sick of it!¡±


    Heather jerks back, her hand coming up like she¡¯s trying to stop a speeding train.


    ¡°Jesus Maddie! Okay! For fucks sake!¡±


    And now I feel like such an asshole because I shouldn¡¯t have snapped at her. She¡¯s just trying to help. Plus my outburst makes me look totally psycho. Also, I need to keep my stupid voice down so he doesn¡¯t overhear our conversation.


    But it¡¯s not helping.


    My heart can¡¯t take the idea that she might be right. That Rem might have those kinds of feelings for me. That my other best friend, my longest best friend, my real, extra special best friend¡­ Might feel more for me than just friendship.


    Remington Clark, the boy that introduced himself to me by throwing a water balloon at my butt when we were eight.


    Rem who was currently playing outfield and ignoring me all over a stupid date with stupid Mitch Erikson.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I snapped at you. I just¡­ it¡¯s because him and Mitch are total assholes to each other. There¡¯s not some secret love story underneath, okay?¡±


    Her head bobs and she pulls a crumpled paper lunch sack from her bag, fishing for the cheese stick she didn¡¯t finish at lunch.


    ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t eat that. It¡¯s gotta be so hot by now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry and it¡¯s fine.¡±


    My stomach turns a little and I grimace as she takes a bite out of it. Gross.


    ¡°Are you really going to go on a date with Mitch?¡±


    I sigh, watching the guys all jerk into motion the second a ball actually connects with the bat again.


    ¡°I wanted to at first. I mean, it was kinda cool when he asked and I said yes before I really thought it through but now¡­ I¡¯m not so sure. Now I feel¡­disloyal? Which logically, I think shouldn¡¯t be how I feel but I can¡¯t help it.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re not going to go on a date with Mitch.¡±


    My hands form claws in the soft grass, ripping handfuls out then letting the severed blades flutter back to the ground.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Then Rem will be happy again,¡± Heather practically sings.


    I snort because, no he won¡¯t. He¡¯ll hold this over me for at least a week before things go back to normal. Maybe not outright but he¡¯ll be sure to make comments. Ugh.


    Rem is super moody, though to look at him you¡¯d think all he did was smile and pop those dimples out, left, right, center. No, inside Rem there was a fiery ball of something.


    It wasn¡¯t quite anger or resentment but something more. Something dark that sometimes scared me. Not that I was afraid for myself. Rem wouldn¡¯t hurt a single hair on my body, of that I was absolutely certain. No, I was afraid for him. His intensity and restraint seem to fight a daily battle. To the masses he was light hearted, happy, a jokester. In private it was much different.


    There was a quiet ferocity in his hooded jade eyes. He liked to turn off all the lights in his room except for the dim bulb in the bedside lamp and play rock albums, just loud enough to drown out any attempt at conversation but not too loud that his mother complained.


    That smirking mouth would turn sullen and pouty as he stretched over his queen sized bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes flickering at nothing as guitars and drums raged. Sometimes I would try and guess what he was thinking. Not out loud or anything but just to myself. Was he thinking of his Dad? Some girl he was in love with and didn¡¯t return his affections? If it was about a girl who was it? Was it his time in foster care? Was it about his relationship with his mother? Or did he just like to play the emo kid sometimes?


    Conundrum. That is what Remington is. My conundrum.


    And for the first time since freshman year he is mad at me and I have no idea how to handle that. Rem is never mad at me, not about anything important.


    Although, could I even think this was that important? It¡¯s just a date. A stupid thing really. I¡¯ll text Mitch and tell him I changed my mind. Then I¡¯ll explain to Rem that I called the whole thing off and we¡¯d be okay again. We can go back to the way it was before the sixth period bell rang yesterday.


    I dig into my bag for my blocky Nokia and press the button to turn it on. My finger moves over the keys, pulling up Mitches name and starting to text. It takes me a while even with the T9 but I manage it, reading over the message twice before sending.


    Hey, changed my mind. No date.


    His response comes faster than I think it will. I assume after turning him down he¡¯ll either ignore me or just be an asshole on Monday.


    Why


    Why? Shit. I mean, I guess I owe him an explanation but doing it over text seems¡­ruthless. Then again, I decided to back out over text so I kinda made my bed on that one.


    Rem doesn¡¯t like it. I don¡¯t want to make him mad.


    It¡¯s the truth right? Rem doesn¡¯t like it, he did get mad. He yelled at me in the hallway when he found out via Heather¡¯s big ass mouth.


    Fuck Rem. Go out with me.


    I can¡¯t. Still friends tho right?


    Whatever


    I sigh. Yeah, I fucked this all up, but honestly, Rem was way more important to me than Mitch. I barely knew him. Sure he was pretty and athletic and I didn¡¯t think in a million years he¡¯d ever want to go on a date with me but my friendship with Rem was special. I didn¡¯t need anyone to tell me that. I knew it, on some visceral level. We just got each other. Through music and words and movies and jokes. We were on another level. I¡¯d take Remington over a hundred Mitchs.


    ¡°How much longer on this?¡± Heather asks, her hand waving toward the field.


    I shrug, ¡°Maybe another hour. They like to hang out for a few minutes afterwards. I was going to see if he¡¯d talk to me. Check it out.¡±


    Heather takes the phone from my hand scrolling up through the messages and whistles.


    ¡°Damn through text too. Savage.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that! I didn¡¯t think about it until I¡¯d already texted him. I feel bad now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Mitch. He¡¯ll find someone else to take out. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s ever had a girl turn him down until you honestly. He needs it. A little rejection goes a long way to checking some of these boys'' egos.¡±


    The laugh that bubbles out of me is from humor but also nervous tension. I¡¯m a giant asshole now and I just know it. How is it possible I¡¯ve gone almost my whole high school career without any drama and now when I¡¯m in my last semester, this shit is coming at me from all angles? In the span of only two days no less.


    ¡°Good luck, chica. I¡¯m gonna head home. You sure you don¡¯t want a ride?¡±


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m good. I¡¯ve got my bike anyway.¡±


    I nod over my shoulder at the hand me down bike Rem gave me. It¡¯s black and green and the tires are huge but it gets me to school and back so I can¡¯t complain. Better than riding in the work van with my dad in the mornings.


    Mostly, I throw it in the back of Rem¡¯s beat up Chevy when he drives me to school and then ride it back in the afternoon when he has practice or work but today, I¡¯d had to bike in. I was in the doghouse afterall.


    Heather waves as she walks toward the student parking lot, her green Honda looming all alone in the center of the faded white stripes.


    To kill time I pull out my notebook and start jotting down words and thoughts, letting the squirming sick feeling in my stomach take shape on paper.


    But the words are trapped inside me


    Hopes and fears; something exciting


    Is there more inside your words


    Or am I just lying?


    I hum out a discordant melody that seems all wrong and for the millionth time, I roll my eyes at my juvenile attempts. It¡¯s ridiculous to think anyone cares about what a seventeen year old girl writes in her stupid notebook and tries to turn into songs. I¡¯m not Taylor Swift. I¡¯m just Madison Miller. Single child to Trent Miller. Daughter to late Mary Miller.


    No one gives even a tiny shit about the crap I write in this stupid notebook.


    Ugh, I jam it back into my bag and glance up over the field. They¡¯re by the dugout now, the game either over or abandoned. Girls from the bleachers have wandered into the space, their hands moving in graceful motions, hair flipping, hips popping this way and that. Sweat trails down my temple and I blow an errant strand of hair out of my face. The bangs I¡¯d cut in at the beginning of the year were finally growing out but they refused to stay out of my face still. The ends just barely tucked into my bun. How do these girls stay out here for this long and not sweat? Why do I always feel so gross compared to them?


    Sarah Huxom reaches out to press her hand against Rem¡¯s arm and Carrie cuts her a look that burns. I can feel it all the way across the field.


    Ooooh, cat fight.


    But nothing interesting happens. Carrie flings her red hair over her shoulder and I wonder how long she has until she needs a touchup on her roots. Sarah laughs at something Rem says, her head going back, long blonde hair streaming down so low it brushes her belt loops.


    Stupid, pretty, blonde bimbo.


    But it¡¯s an empty insult. Sarah is smart. So smart she¡¯s actively giving Heather a run for her money on valedictorian. As for the pretty and blonde part, well it¡¯s true. She¡¯s gorgeous. All tanned legs and big boobs and perfectly symmetrical face.


    Welp, guess I waited for nothing.


    I make sure my bag is zipped then sling it onto my back. One last glance at Rem shows he¡¯s hunched over his duffel bag, his phone engulfed in one giant, meaty fist. Even from here I can see the pucker on his brow, the way his mouth purses into a fine line. Sarah hovers behind him, doing her best to look over his arm at the screen, pink painted nails a bright contrast against his gray sleeve.


    Best leave before I get reamed again in front of a crowd. Hell hath no fury like Rem and all.


    I straighten my bike up and wheel it around the chain link fence, throwing a leg over and preparing to push up onto the seat when I hear him.


    ¡°Mad! Maddie, wait!¡±


    My feet bounce on the ground, the pointed seat bumping me in the butt as I turn to watch Rem jog over to me.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he breathes, his cheeks ruddy from the heat and exertion of the game. His chocolate colored hair is damp with sweat, fingers flexing on the duffel strap slung around his chest.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°You called it off with Mitch.¡±


    ¡°How the heck do you already know that?¡±


    ¡°He texted me,¡± he says, wiggling the blue phone in his hand.


    ¡°Oh for the love of God. And boys say girls gossip too much. I swear you¡¯re all the worst.¡±


    My eyes roll and I bring my right foot up to the pedal but then wobble when Rem grabs both handlebars, effectively keeping me right where he wants me.


    His hands cover my own completely, the hot, sweaty heat from his skin sears into my muscles, rendering me momentarily mute.


    It¡¯s not the touch that¡¯s weird, it¡¯s how firmly he¡¯s gripping. It¡¯s borderline painful.


    ¡°He said you canceled because of me.¡±


    ¡°I- I- Well I said it was because you didn¡¯t like it and I didn¡¯t want you to be mad. Even if I was a super bitch and canceled on him through text.¡±


    Those green eyes search my face with a kind of desperation. Just when I¡¯m about to question it though, he blinks and it¡¯s gone. An easy smile spreads on his face.


    ¡°He¡¯s an asshole. Who cares how you told him? He does it to girls all the time.¡±


    That jolts me a little because while Mitch is popular and generally thought of as a golden boy, he doesn¡¯t seem cliche enough to cancel on girls through text. No, I seem more mean than Mitch does in that regard.


    ¡°I gotta get home, Rem. Sarah¡¯s waiting for you too. You should get back.¡±


    I push my feet backward trying to use the bike to roll away, to dislodge the hold he has on my hands. But Remington won¡¯t allow it, fingers tightening on me, keeping us tethered.


    Rem looks over his shoulder and sure enough Sarah stands with Carrie and Riva twenty feet on the other side of the fence. They¡¯re trying valiantly to look like they haven¡¯t been eavesdropping but I know better. It¡¯s so quiet out here, now that most of the other kids have left, that nothing we said would have been missed. I wasn¡¯t whispering and neither was Rem. They did follow him across the field too.


    ¡°I¡¯ll drive you. I got the new Gorillaz album. We¡¯ll drop your bike and you can come over.¡±


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    My eyebrows screw in and I glance at him.


    ¡°But I thought you were going to Donny¡¯s tonight. The party.¡±


    ¡°Nah, fuck it. I don¡¯t feel like partying. I need a shower and I want to listen to some music. C¡¯mon. Me and you Maddie.¡±


    And suddenly it¡¯s like Mitch never asked me out and we never shouted at each other in the hallway and the sick feeling in my stomach never existed.


    Everything is alright again because Rem isn¡¯t mad anymore.


    I¡¯m not silly enough to think I¡¯ve heard the last of this crap with Mitch but at least Rem is talking to me.


    He holds out a hand and I take it, throwing my leg back off the bike. His long arm grasps the center between the handlebars easily, walking it to the back of his dark green truck. Rem¡¯s biceps bulge as he picks the bike up and sets it down in the empty bed. I¡¯m already at the passenger door waiting. He opens the door, taking my bookbag and putting it in the back seat.


    When the engine roars to life, all the windows go down and the frenetic sound of Linkin Park blares through the aftermarket speakers.


    The drive home is relatively short, only about ten minutes. Rem leaves my bike in the back of his truck and drops me at the curb in front of my house before driving up three spots and parking in front of his own.


    I hurry inside, dropping my book bag and heading straight for my shower. Thirty minutes later I¡¯m wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top over an old sports bra. My wet hair is braided down my back, my phone clutched in my hand.


    ¡°Going to Rem¡¯s!¡±


    My dad calls something out from the open garage door, probably an ¡®okay¡¯ or ¡®yeah.¡¯


    I speed walk toward Rem¡¯s house, barging inside like I live there.


    ¡°Hey, Mrs. Clark!¡±


    ¡°Maddie! How was school, dear?¡±


    ¡°Eh, it was school. TGIF right? How was your day?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it was wonderful. I¡¯m working on a new painting!¡±


    ¡°Ooooh, I like it! That purple is on point!¡±


    Her smile is radiant, the pink and green scarf she¡¯s tied around her head a pop of color against the canvas smock she¡¯s wearing.


    Rem lives here with his mother who is the biggest hippie I¡¯ve ever met in my life. She makes (pot) brownies, listens to the Beatles more than anything else, and wears the most amazing earrings that dangle in all sorts of shapes and sizes.


    I can easily imagine her at Woodstock or wearing outrageous bell bottoms and halter tops with flowers painted on her arms and stomach. Not that I¡¯ve ever seen her wear anything like that, but I could totally see it. She''s practically a walking cliche.


    Mrs. Clark smells like patchouli and weed and uses their living room as a paint studio.


    She¡¯s also the sweetest person on the planet. Honestly, I¡¯ve never heard the woman raise her voice, not even to call Rem down for dinner. She just floats up to his door and knocks gently, her lilting voice telling him food is ready or his laundry needs to be folded.


    Rem also has some weird spidey sense when she talks. It¡¯s like he¡¯s attuned himself to her volume. He can hear her even with the music raised.


    ¡°Thank you, my lovely! Rem came in a little bit ago, he¡¯s in his room I think.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Mrs.Clark! I can¡¯t wait to see it when it¡¯s finished!¡±


    Her smile is distracted, the paint brush already swirling over her pallet, mixing colors together.


    Rem¡¯s dad died when he was a baby. It was a factory accident. Between the life insurance and several other factors Mrs. Clark was financially well off. From what I understand though, a few years before we met, he was in foster care for a little over a year.


    Mrs. Clark had sort of a breakdown and wasn¡¯t able to care for him. She regained custody but it had taken some time, leaving Rem in the care of strangers.


    It¡¯s not something he ever talks about, not even to me. I only know about it from bits and pieces I¡¯ve put together over the years.


    His room is at the top of the stairs on the left. They have a four bedroom house so he got to pick which room he wanted. Obviously, the master bedroom downstairs was his mother¡¯s but Rem had chosen the room facing the back yard instead of the larger one down the hall. That room was storage now, the extra room over the garage became their guest bedroom that never got used. His drum set was in the basement right in front of the washer and dryer.


    I don¡¯t bother knocking on this door either. I just twist the knob and walk right in. Rem is leaning back in his desk chair, legs sprawled lazily, his back slanted as far back as the chair will allow, his bare feet flexing in the carpet.


    Shirtless and wearing only a shiny, loose pair of white basketball shorts, he rolls his head to look at me, a weird grin on his face. His computer is on, AIM chat boxes littering the screen.


    ¡°C¡¯mere.¡±


    Rolling my eyes I ignore his request and fling myself onto his unmade bed, breathing in the smell of laundry soap and boy.


    ¡°I was promised Gorillaz.¡±


    ¡°And Gorillaz you shall have, but c¡¯mere first.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, but I just laid down!¡±


    ¡°And you can lay back down in a minute.¡±


    Heaving a disgruntled groan, I heft myself back up and stomp over to him.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Big hands wrap around my waist, twisting me until my back faces him before sliding around my belly and pulling me down onto his lap.


    I squirm trying to get comfortable as he turns the chair and reaches around me to move the mouse.


    A chat box moves to the center of the screen.


    BuschMaster87: I think it¡¯s fucked you told Madison to cancel on me man. What ever happen to bro¡¯s before ho¡¯s


    RockSteady227: First of all, don¡¯t ever refer to her as a ho. Second of all, I didn¡¯t tell her to cancel on you. Thirdly, she¡¯s off limits. I told all you assholes when you made that stupid game up, she was off fucking limits.


    BuschMaster87: she said it was because you got mad. it¡¯s the same thing. and you know what I mean asshole. you can¡¯t blacklist her from the game. we said all the girls in the highschool were open season. did you tell her?


    RockSteady227: Maddie can do whatever she wants. She canceled cause you¡¯re a douche. No, I didn¡¯t tell her but I might tonight. Just so she knows what the fuck is going on now that you fuckers can¡¯t follow the rules.


    BuschMaster87: Fucking cock blocking asshole. I wasn¡¯t serious about the shit I said at harvey¡¯s. there are no rules! all girls are game!@


    BuschMaster87: you just can¡¯t stand it that she wanted to go out with me. you just had to fuck me over! I¡¯m so close to beating out James. I¡¯d get extra points for banging a virgin and you knew that!


    RockSteady227: Maybe you shouldn¡¯t have been talking about her pussy at Harveys then. Maybe you shouldn¡¯t have been talking about using her like that. But for real, you put her name in your mouth like that again and I¡¯ll bust it right out. Don¡¯t fucking worry about her v-card. You¡¯re never going to get it.


    BuschMaster87: You don¡¯t own her. She¡¯s not your girlfriend. She¡¯s fair game.


    RockSteady227: Wrong. Maddie isn¡¯t part of the game. Period. I¡¯ve told you and every other asshole participating in that. SHE¡¯S OFF LIMITS.


    BuschMaster87 signed off at 6:05:03 PM


    My hands are shaking a little so I press them down flat on his desk, right below his keyboard. One of his big hands is rubbing a circle on my back, my wet braid snaking over his arm, tugging on my head each time it moves.


    ¡°What game?¡±


    Rem sighs, his other hand coming up to press against my belly.


    ¡°They made it up at the beginning of the year. Whoever has sex with the most girls by graduation wins.¡±


    My heart is a hammer in my chest. Oh God. Oh my God.


    ¡°And¡­how- how would that even work? I mean, couldn¡¯t someone just say they fucked a bunch of girls?¡±


    Rem sits up a little then, his movements a little jerky. He looks at the screen, the hand on my back stops rubbing instead fisting around my braid, wrapping it around his palm.


    ¡°They have to have proof.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God, I feel sick.¡±


    My brain goes slack, both his hands grip my waist tightly, I''m not sure if it''s supposed to be comforting or keep me from bolting.


    ¡°I¡¯m not playing it! And I told all those fuckers you were off limits. You saw that! I would never let anything like that happen to you!¡±


    My chest is moving like a creaky accordion. They were talking about my virginity! Oh Jesus.


    ¡°Oh fuck, Heather and Michael-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not playing either. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t say anything about it. It¡¯s fine. Whatever went down with those two, had nothing to do with it.¡±


    I relax a little, more air seeping into my lungs.


    ¡°How could you not tell me!¡±


    ¡°I wanted to! But it wasn¡¯t something¡­ I just didn¡¯t know how. It felt like I shouldn¡¯t. I don¡¯t fucking know!¡±


    There are too many thoughts racing through my mind right now. Too many feelings. My skin is chilled but my face feels hot.


    ¡°What happened at Harvey¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t there. Rory said Mitch was talking about you. I heard second hand.¡±


    ¡°But he was talking about my¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Gross. So fucking gross. Why are all you boys so gross?!¡±


    ¡°Hey! I wasn¡¯t talking about it! You know me better than that!¡±


    I do. I really do. Rem isn¡¯t a full fledged gentleman but he¡¯s not like the other boys in school. He opens my doors for me no matter what. He pulls his truck up to the door outside the grocery when it¡¯s raining. He walks me to class when he can and he always puts himself between me and traffic when we walk anywhere there might be cars.


    But he still curses like he¡¯s in the Navy and pees outside where anyone can see him. He still burps and smokes cigarettes sometimes. He¡¯s still a boy with boylike mannerisms.


    ¡°I do. I¡¯m sorry, this is just a lot. I feel so awful for the girls who¡­¡±


    ¡°Well there¡¯s nothing I can do for them.¡±


    ¡°I know. I mean, I know. Jesus, that¡¯s just so gross.¡±


    He makes a face and starts to spin the chair around again. My eyes catch on another chat box with Sarah¡¯s handle on it. I can¡¯t see the whole conversation, just the last message before the text box.


    CherryGloss15: Please come out tonight? Please?


    And then my stomach is back to that weird gnawing feeling.


    ¡°C¡¯mon. Time for Gorillaz. Get comfy.¡±


    Standing from his lap, I walk the three steps to his bed and drop down on it again, this time rolling into the blankets until I¡¯m under them, my head in the center of the bed.


    ¡°You know you¡¯re gonna have to move.¡±


    I yank the blanket over my head.


    ¡°No. My spot, now.¡±


    I can hear him unwrapping the CD, the crinkling squeak of the cellophane loud in the quiet. I like that he doesn¡¯t even open them until I¡¯m with him. Like it¡¯s proof he hasn¡¯t really listened to it yet. Like I was special enough to wait for that moment.


    When his sound system whirs to life, the soft sounds of a horn instrument heaving up and down filters through.


    I¡¯m being shoved and pushed under the blankets as he makes room for himself. When I flip the blankets off my head, he¡¯s reclined on his pillow, the CD booklet in his hand.


    ¡°Anything good?¡±


    ¡°Eh.¡±


    I crawl up, taking the blankets with me, clutching them tight against my chest when I drop down beside him. We look at the pages together, eyes skimming the words and pictures.


    ¡°Are they really playing that game?¡±


    Rem blows out a tense breath, his shoulders bunching before relaxing.


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s fucked, I know but I don¡¯t know what else to say.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°Because, I didn¡¯t want you to stress about it and I knew you¡¯d tell Heather and she¡¯d tell God knows who and they¡¯d trace that shit right back to me and I didn¡¯t want to put any of us in the crosshairs.¡±


    It makes sense. I¡¯m not really mad. I¡¯m more shocked than anything. Then disgusted. Then revolted. And then a teensy tiny bit mad that he didn¡¯t tell me. But he¡¯s right, I¡¯d have told Heather and Heather is terrible at keeping even the most minor secrets. She¡¯d never be able to hold onto this one.


    ¡°Well now I do know. So-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Heather. Do not tell her. She will blab to everyone. She¡¯ll make fucking posters or some shit with glitter. She¡¯ll write a thousand word essay on it and post it on the school message boards.¡±


    He¡¯s not wrong. Heather¡¯s idea of social justice is loud. She would see this whole thing has a single minded attack on women.


    ¡°How am I supposed to not tell her?¡±


    ¡°Easy, when you think you¡¯re going to say something, don¡¯t.¡±


    He rolls off the bed and onto the floor, executing three fast pushups before standing.


    ¡°Look, if they had left you alone like they were supposed to, this wouldn¡¯t be an issue but I told you not to agree to a date with Mitch. I told you he was an asshole. You didn¡¯t listen to me and now we¡¯re in this situation okay?¡±


    That kinda makes me mad. Specifically because I hate that he actually threw ¡®I told you¡¯ in there.


    ¡°So just because you said ¡®No, you can¡¯t date him.¡¯ I was supposed to just be like, ¡®Oh right, I forgot, Master Remington, you tell me what to do. I shall decline said invitation post haste!¡¯¡±


    ¡°Who the hell says ¡®post haste?¡¯ But seriously, keep the Master Remington part. I like that a lot. Like, a lot, a lot.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so demented.¡±


    He slides a big finger over the volume dial, lowering the sound of the music so we can still hear the words but it¡¯s not so loud that I have to raise my voice. His body bows as he snags a baseball off the floor.


    And maybe if he hadn¡¯t come at me so hard when I told him about Mitch asking me out, I might have called the whole thing off right then in the hallway but it had hurt when he acted so incredulous.


    Like it was crazy that Mitch could ever possibly think to ask me out.


    But then again, it kind of was. I wasn¡¯t exactly like the other girls in school. Rarely did I wear makeup and if I did it was just mascara and black eyeliner that I smudged all over the place. I felt so plain most of the time.


    Boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, boring tan skin that turned a sallow yellow in the winter. Short, no breasts with a whole lot of thigh and hips. I¡¯m not really athletic. I read too much, listen to music, and try to write songs that suck.


    So it was kind of nice to think that Mitch thought there was something special about me. Something special enough that he asked me out.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was out of line.¡±


    It¡¯s like he just knows where my mind has gone. And that¡¯s been the norm since we became friends. I know Rem like I know myself. He knows me the same.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay-¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. I fucking hated it. I hated fighting. And it was different. Not like¡­ that¡¯s not us. I reacted badly. I was just freaking out about the stupid game they were playing. I thought for sure they¡¯d leave you alone but when you said he¡¯d asked you out, I knew. And I knew it was fucked cause I was going to have to tell you why and I knew it would hurt your feelings and then I started yelling and I literally could not stop myself from yelling. I mean, I was doing it and thinking, ¡®Fucking stop, you lunatic¡¯ and I couldn¡¯t. It was like an out of body yelling experience.¡±


    His voice is breathless by the time he finishes, eyes glittering, hands gripping the baseball in his hand so hard I can hear the leather creaking. I¡¯m caught on the muscles of his forearms, the thick circumference of his wrists, those fingers flexing white around the horse hide.


    ¡°I don¡¯t ever want you to look at me like that again, Maddie. I can¡¯t take it. I hated it.¡±


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s okay. I get it now. I understand. I mean, I wasn¡¯t any better yesterday. I yelled back at you, you know.¡±


    ¡°Because I was being a dick. You should yell at me when I¡¯m being a dick.¡±


    ¡°You were trying to look out for me. I knew it yesterday too. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling a little longer I guess.¡±


    ¡°What feeling?¡±


    I shrug, my fingers finding the edge of his comforter and tracing over the thick stitches there.


    ¡°Like¡­wanted? That¡¯s so stupid when I say it out loud. God, just ignore me. This isn¡¯t what I thought it would be like, the music. It¡¯s not bad but I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Hold up. What do you mean ¡®wanted?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Please can we not have a Dawson¡¯s Creek moment right now? Can we just go back to being Rem and Maddie and talk about the music?¡±


    ¡°Fuck Dawson¡¯s Creek and fuck the music for right now.¡±


    I gasp in mock outrage, a warped grin on my face because I¡¯m getting nervous and trying desperately to get us back on track.


    ¡°You take that back! You take that back right now! How dare you!¡±


    Rem¡¯s face goes hard and I immediately swallow. Okay, so we¡¯re not at the joking stage yet.


    ¡°Talk to me, Maddie. What do you mean, ¡®wanted?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Wanted. I mean, like someone likes me. Something thinks I¡¯m pretty or fun or whatever. I know it hasn¡¯t escaped anyone¡¯s notice that I¡¯ve been on like two dates my entire life and those were kinda terrible.¡±


    I roll my eyes and scratch at a loose stitch on the blanket.


    The bed dips before Rem sets the baseball on his nightstand.


    ¡°You are pretty. And fun. So what if you¡¯ve only been on two dates. So what if the assholes we go to school with can¡¯t see that or if they do, they¡¯re too chickenshit to do anything about it. Fuck them. You don¡¯t need a fucktard like Mitch to validate you, Maddie.¡±


    My laugh is brittle.


    ¡°Listen to you all ¡®girl power¡¯ right now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious.¡±


    And he really is. His voice has gone all deep and soft, tilting his head down then to the side.


    A big hand lands over mine on the comforter, warm and strong.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re pretty. I think you¡¯re fucking amazing and talented and funny and perfect.¡±


    My nose starts to sting a little and I¡¯m really close to being one of those girls.


    ¡°Ugh, okay. That was seriously sweet and I appreciate the fuck out of you, but I don¡¯t want to snot sob on you right now. Can we please fast forward through this part? Please?¡±


    When I lift my gaze to Rem¡¯s he¡¯s still so serious but after three long seconds he grins at me and lunges.


    My shriek is a terrible sound, legs kicking air as his fingers deftly dig into my ribs.


    Ten breathless minutes later and I¡¯m sprawled on my stomach, Rem''s head pillowed on the back of my thighs as we abandon the Gorillaz and he switches over to My Chemical Romance, not his favorite but it¡¯s what I¡¯m into right now and he knows that.


    He flips the stereo remote in his hand as my feet move in time with the beat.


    ¡°Go to the Fall Dance with me,¡± he says. And it is a statement not a question.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I turn my head toward him, seeing his over exaggerated fist pump out of the corner of my eye.


    It¡¯s not really a big deal. We¡¯ve been each other¡¯s dates all through high school for just about every event. At this point I¡¯m not even sure why he asks me. It¡¯s just a given.


    ¡°It¡¯s late. I should get home and scrape together some food.¡±


    ¡°Spend the night. I¡¯ll order pizza.¡±


    I should say no but I¡¯m hungry right now. And pizza will be fast and easy and I won¡¯t have to be sad when I realize there¡¯s no more lunch meat in the fridge.


    Since my mom passed away my Dad and I have lived off a sketchy assortment of food. The oven almost never gets used but our microwave is the lord and commander of the kitchen. If that thing ever breaks we¡¯re screwed.


    Hot pockets, sandwiches, TV dinners, and ordering out is the only way we stay alive.


    Mrs. Clark makes us casseroles every once in a while but otherwise we eat like bachelors.


    ¡°Okay. But I want pineapple.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do.¡±


    He likes them too but he pretends he doesn¡¯t.


    An hour later I¡¯m on my back, my fingers are greasy, my stomach is overly full, and I¡¯m struggling to figure out how I¡¯m going to sit up with all this food inside me. I ate my last piece lying down, not ready to concede defeat with only three slices left in the box but man, I couldn¡¯t eat a single bite more right now.


    We¡¯re on the floor in Rem¡¯s room, two boxes of pizza between us. He leans back against the dresser, legs spread around his box, a hand over his stomach, eyes half lidded, a smear of red pizza sauce on the corner of his mouth.


    We¡¯re like two lions that just massacred a gazelle. If that gazelle came from Capo¡¯s Pizza.


    ¡°Can you stand?¡± he murmurs.


    ¡°Standing is for losers.¡±


    A laugh huffs out of him and he groans before rolling to his side and standing himself.


    ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s get ready to crash. I¡¯m fucking tired.¡±


    He leans down, bracing one hand on his knee and extending the other toward me.


    ¡°But¡­ but¡­ I like it here. I can live here now. I¡¯m okay. Just drop some food on the floor every once in a while and maybe a bottle of water. I¡¯m good. I¡¯ll be really quiet. You won¡¯t even know it when my skin grafts to the carpet.¡±


    Another exaggerated groan and he¡¯s hooked his hands under my armpits, pulling me up until I¡¯m sitting. My stomach feels even more full in this position. I feel fat and awkward now. Yuck.


    ¡°Go. You get first dibs on the bathroom.¡±


    ¡°Fine but I want it stated for the record that I do this under protest.¡±


    ¡°Protest while you wash your hands and face. And brush your fucking teethe.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I really have to pee or else I¡¯d rub my greasy hands and face all over your pillow right now, you twerp.¡±


    I don¡¯t hear his comeback. I¡¯m already out the door and moving into his bathroom.


    It¡¯s in the hallway and pretty big since all three rooms up here are supposed to share it.


    Once I¡¯ve done my business and washed up I look at myself in the mirror. My face is flushed, my stomach slightly pooched out from too much pizza. I study my wide cheeks, my dark eyebrows that are in desperate need of a plucking, my too full lips and weirdly sloped nose. Ugh, whatever.


    The door knob turns slowly before it¡¯s being opened.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    I look over at Rem, who¡¯s cautiously peeking his head through the gap.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m done. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°S¡¯all good. You were just in here for a while.¡±


    I pull the door open more and slip past him, into the hallway. Scurrying back into his room, I find my flip flops and slip them back on. I should really go home. Sleepovers were fun when we were younger but now¡­ sometimes it was awkward.


    Rem didn¡¯t like me staying in the guest room, he wanted me to stay in here with him and while I know his mom doesn¡¯t care, or maybe she does but she trusts us, I know if my Dad ever realized I was sleeping in Rem¡¯s bed, he¡¯d freak the fuck out.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    I whip my head toward the door, my hand going to the spot over my heart.


    ¡°Jesus, wear a fucking bell!¡±


    ¡°Um, you¡¯re in my room.¡±


    A breath stutters out of me because yeah, it is his room. He still needs a fucking bell.


    ¡°I¡¯m going home.¡±


    ¡°You said you¡¯d stay.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and now I¡¯m going home. It¡¯s late. We¡¯re a little old for sleepovers. And I¡¯m literally three doors down.¡±


    ¡°You said you¡¯d stay.¡±


    And there¡¯s that tone. That mulish, pissy tone. The one Rem used to get when someone took something of his and played with it. When someone on the playground did something he didn¡¯t like and he got frustrated or mad.


    ¡°We¡¯re just going to fall asleep. You don¡¯t need me here to sleep, Rem.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t talk. He just grabs my arms and pushes me toward the bed until the mattress hits behind my knees and I¡¯m forced to sit down. Thick fingers pluck the green flip flops off my feet, throwing them toward the dresser on the far side of the room.


    ¡°You¡¯re staying.¡±


    ¡°Rem-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been a shitty two days, Maddie.¡±


    Which I get. I do. We had a fight, we yelled at each other. It¡¯s bound to happen, we¡¯re getting older and more opinionated. Neither one of us is a wilting flower. We both have strong personalities.


    ¡°Can I at least sleep in the guestroom?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    He sounds genuinely perplexed. Like the idea of me sleeping in another bed in the same house is just so foreign that there couldn¡¯t possibly be a reasonable explanation for it.


    ¡°Because if my Dad finds out he¡¯ll flip.¡±


    ¡°When has your Dad ever come over here when you¡¯ve stayed the night? And we¡¯re sleeping, not fucking around. Fully clothed. My Mom doesn¡¯t care. Now move over.¡±


    I grumble but do so, sliding over onto my side of the bed. Because that¡¯s what this is, my side. Rem takes the side closest to the door, stretching those thick arms over his head once before reaching over to turn out the lamp. His door is ajar about a foot, the hallway light spilling into the room.


    I roll back and forth a few times, trying to find a comfortable position when he moves, his body making the mattress dip in the center and my body moves into him. He¡¯s a hot wall of muscle against my back.


    A heavy arm drapes over my waist under the blankets and he nuzzles his chin over my head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. For all of it,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry too,¡± I whisper back.


    ¡°You¡¯re my favorite person. I don¡¯t ever want to lose you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my favorite person and we won¡¯t lose each other.¡±


    ¡°Promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise. You¡¯re stuck with me forever. Now go to sleep, jerk face.¡±


    ¡°Night, Maddie.¡±


    It¡¯s these moments that hook into my heart like razor wire. The squeezing, bleeding feeling that causes tears to well up into my eyes when we whisper to each other like this.


    Every time we lay in the dark together and I hear his soft sighing voice I¡¯m tethered tighter to him. So tight now I don¡¯t know how to untangle myself. I don¡¯t know how to free myself from him. There¡¯s no reason in the world why I would want to.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    Remington


    ¡°So she knows about it now,¡± Evan wheezes, as he swings another fifty pound sack of corn into the back of the idling truck.


    ¡°Yeah, she knows now,¡± I grunt, swinging one of my own.


    The pile is growing and we have twenty more to go. Mr. Leechman comes every Saturday like clockwork and buys thirty, fifty pound sacks of corn for his cattle. Any minute now a big red Dodge is going to round the building and back up, Mr. Price waiting for his own load of corn. Then another, and another.


    Titan Grain and Feed should really invest in forklifts and building a raised dock but since it¡¯s existed since the 1920¡¯s it¡¯s all on the ground level and Mr. Wade doesn¡¯t believe in skirting real work. I can¡¯t complain. He pays me ten bucks an hour to haul around heavy things. I work here for about six hours on Saturday mornings and a few hours every day after school. It helps me save money for college and has the added benefit of being a stellar workout.


    I can feel the burn in my arms and shoulders as I grab another bag, the leather gloves on my hand slap on the plastic weave of the sack, corn dust plumes into the morning humidity.


    ¡°And how did that freak out go?¡±


    ¡°She took it pretty well actually.¡±


    Maddie had taken the news about ¡®The Game¡¯ way better than I¡¯d anticipated. I expected her to be pissed, to yell at me and storm out of the room. But the longer I thought about it this morning I realized, that wasn¡¯t Maddie at all. Maddie was pretty self contained. She thought about things before she let her emotions loose. And really, I wanted her to be angry. I wanted her to yell at me because I felt like I¡¯d deserved it.


    I¡¯d kept the knowledge of that disgusting game from her. I¡¯d ignored the feelings of every other girl in the school with the single minded thought that as long as Maddie was safe from it, none of the other girls really mattered.


    I can still hear my mother¡¯s voice talking to me about respecting women and their bodies. How even the meanest girl deserves to be spoken to gently because on the inside everyone has feelings.


    Sure, I kept tabs on Heather. She¡¯s a good person and Maddie loves her to death but I didn¡¯t feel an ounce of the same loyalty toward her that I felt for Mads. Which probably makes me a dick since we¡¯ve been friends since Freshman year and I do feel like without her Maddie would not be as happy if she only had me around.


    The events of the last two days beg for examination. I know this. I know at some point, I¡¯ll need to sit down and pick it all apart. The way I felt standing in the hallway outside the library when Heather mentioned Mitch taking Maddie out. The searing nausea that fell into my stomach like an oversized stone. How I¡¯d started to sweat and tremor when Maddie¡¯s flushed face squared off against mine.


    I¡¯d felt sick. So sick and afraid. For too long I was the only boy in Maddie¡¯s life. Heather was her girlfriend. They had girls only sleep overs and talked about girls only topics like periods and waxing and makeup. But I received the lion¡¯s share of Maddie¡¯s time, listening to music, talking about movies, debating ridiculous topics that had no point other than to give me a little more of her. Her words, her thoughts, a view inside that tangled mind.


    There had never in ten years been a time when I had to share her with another guy. Never. Not even her dad, that sad man who tinkered in his garage all night rather than be alone in the house his wife wasn¡¯t in anymore. Sometimes I hated how neglected Maddie seemed but others I was grateful for the absent single parent because it meant I got to step in. I got to be her protector and her solid ground. It made me feel important. A weird kind of high when she would ask what we should do and look at me as if my answer was the most important thing in the world.


    So my feelings on Mitch taking Maddie out went past the stupid Game. It went to a place I didn¡¯t like to go. It went deep. To my feelings that I kept locked away under thousand pound chains.


    ¡°Fucking hell, when are these cows getting slaughtered?¡±


    A breathless laugh huffs out of me just as I¡¯m lifting another sack of corn.


    ¡°Not soon enough, man. Not nearly soon enough.¡±


    Everett isn¡¯t a small town but it¡¯s surrounded by agricultural land and livestock. We have a small movie theater, a big chain grocery store, and several shops and businesses. It¡¯s not terrible like some of the other much smaller places twenty miles in any direction from here, but it¡¯s no metropolitan.


    Once upon a time Everett was a big deal though when the meat packing plant was still operational. The place still sat in all its faded white glory, red streaks of rust now bleeding from every orifice. They had stock pens in the back that have now grown into a field of tall grass. We go out there from time to time and have a bonfire, drink beer, and dare each other to go inside the factory.


    In the daytime it¡¯s not so bad when you can see what¡¯s around you but the hanging meat hook conveyor belt along with the rusting track below them is enough to give anyone nightmares. Take out the fact that the place still smells like rotting meat in the summertime and yeah, that dare is looking pretty shitty right about then.


    ¡°Alright Mr. Leechman! You¡¯re good!¡±


    I slam up the tailgate and pat it twice, waving back at him through the side mirror. The truck pulls out and the red Dodge backs in place.


    ¡°I got fifty today, boys!¡±


    I sigh before walking up to his window and looking at the handwritten ticket. He sure as fuck did get fifty bags.


    ¡°You got straps?¡±


    ¡°Right here.¡±


    I take the ratchet straps and toss two over to Evan who hooks them down into the bed, leaving them dangling over the sides of the pickup.


    I¡¯m getting tired now but that¡¯s okay. I felt like I had a year''s worth of pent up energy to burn off this morning. Rolling my shoulders, I walk over to the dwindling pallet of corn and start hefting the bags over my shoulder.


    Last night, I wasn¡¯t thinking about what it would be like to wake up with Maddie in my bed this morning. I was thinking that I really wanted to be close to her after all that fuckery over Mitch. How it had always made me feel happy to wake up and talk to her in the morning, sleepy voices drifting in and out of sleep, hands clasped together over the comforter. She was so soft and silly in the mornings, her eyes lazy, no lines on her forehead, no indecisive pucker of her lips.


    She wasn¡¯t thinking of writing in her notebook or studying for a test. She was relaxed and pliant.


    This morning was no exception to that but it was¡­more. Borderline awkward.


    I¡¯d woken up with her on top of me. Literally, knees around my hips, head on my shoulder, little hands balled up against her chest. I could feel her digging her feet into my thighs since at some point the comforter had slid off the side of the bed and my mother always sets the thermostat down to like sixty degrees at night. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands had started to rub firmly over her back, then down over her ass and to her thighs. Long strokes that had my dick throbbing and her face nuzzling into my neck. The damp heat of her breath was like lightning to my balls.


    ¡°Mads?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Roll off, baby.¡±


    ¡°No. Cold. So cold.¡±


    My arm had blindly flailed over the side of the bed until I¡¯d connected with the comforter, whipping it over us and rubbing her back, like a friend, until she relaxed and went limp on me, which didn¡¯t help anything I had happening below my waist.


    When she let out a soft snore, I rolled her onto her back, arranging the blankets around her and fled to the bathroom.


    I was two seconds away from stepping under a frigid shower when I said ¡®fuck it¡¯ and cranked the water to hot and jerked off like a fucking asshole.


    Normally, I¡¯m not so squeamish about self care but not this morning. This morning it was like pulling my teeth through my ears. Because I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Maddie. Her soft sighs, her even softer skin, the way she fit fucking perfectly on my chest. How she trusted me to keep her safe and warm in my bed. And that had done it. I¡¯d spurted all over the fucking wall, breathing like a bull.


    By the time I¡¯d dried off and made it into my closet Maddie had rolled herself up in the blankets like a little burrito. I left her there, heading here to work. She¡¯ll know where I am since I¡¯m always here on Saturday mornings.


    If I¡¯m lucky she¡¯ll still be in my room when I get back, probably laying in bed listening to music and asking me some ridiculous question about some ridiculous topic and I can forget that this morning ever happened. Forget the soft space between her legs that felt like a fucking furnace against my stomach.


    ¡°You know Ted and Warner are going to be pissed that she knows about it. Once Heather finds out-¡±


    ¡°Heather isn¡¯t going to find out. I talked to Maddie. She¡¯s not going to tell anyone. As long as those assholes stay away from her I won¡¯t snitch. But Mitch did it to himself. I was very clear that she was blacklisted.¡±


    Evan grunts and I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s in agreement or exhaustion.


    ¡°No shit. That¡¯s like four right? Damn. Scary stuff right there. Hope that asshole don¡¯t come to Everett, though I suppose he did, he¡¯d get full of buckshot!¡±


    Mr. Wade is currently standing at Mr. Price¡¯s rolled down window, a newspaper being passed back out to him.


    ¡°Serial killer! Can you imagine! Here in Everett!¡±


    It¡¯s usually really quiet out back since Mr. Wade doesn¡¯t allow us a radio so I have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on their conversation. Sometimes it¡¯s one of the best places to learn town gossip. Mr. Wade knows all the big rich cattle owners and they all love to talk about each other when they think no one is listening.


    ¡°Says here he takes ¡®em for a week, does things to ¡®em and then murders them. Drops them off in a wooded area and moves on. He¡¯s hit four small towns across two states. They can¡¯t figure it out, there¡¯s no pattern. Terrible thing. Terrible, terrible thing to happen to those girls.¡±


    ¡°I saw on the news the other night, they were all really young. High school. Guy has some sickness for kids or something. Man, I hope they catch him and throw him in the fucking chair. Creeps like that turn my stomach.¡±


    ¡°God¡¯s honest truth, that is. And Holly Mercer over at the paper said it¡¯s a cryin¡¯ shame cause each time he done took one of those girls he stayed local with ¡®em. Can you imagine findin¡¯ out later she was in town the whole time and no one could find her? That he managed to do all that right under them policemen''s noses? Just shame on them for that.¡±


    The pallet is empty so I use the rusted old pallet jack to move another closer to the back of Mr. Price¡¯s truck and Evan hops up onto the tailgate. We¡¯ll need to stack them better now so that the straps will hold as he¡¯s driving.


    It takes us another twenty minutes to finish the job and get him strapped in. The rest of my shift goes by in a similar fashion. Seems talk of a possible serial killer being in the area has everyone excited. Two more people bring it up while we¡¯re loading corn and then Mrs. Auderbach mentions it while I¡¯m loading her trunk full of mulch.


    ¡°You be safe now, young man. Make sure you walk your sweetheart home from school!¡±


    Her head lowers down into the driver seat of the ancient Lincoln, her helmet of white curls disappearing when the door shuts.


    ¡°You¡¯re good for the day, Remington!¡±


    I turn toward the open door that his voice came from.


    ¡°But I got another hour, Mr. Wade,¡± I mumble when I come back inside the dim lit feed store. It seems that way anyway after being in the blazing sun.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you for the six hours, son but I got no more pickups scheduled until Monday afternoon. Oh, and I might need you to work a few extra hours on Wednesday after school. Brent Tollsboro ordered a pallet of corn and a pallet of premium feed. Guess he¡¯s going for broke on those extra cows. I hope it pays off for him. Evan already left about ten minutes ago, ask him if he¡¯ll come help on Wednesday, would ya?¡±


    I nod and pull off the rawhide gloves, tucking them under the front counter.


    ¡°Will do, Mr. Wade. See you Monday!¡±


    My truck is like an oven when I get inside and it¡¯s barely ten in the morning.


    I roll the windows down and keep my music low. When I get home, I¡¯m sweaty, itchy from all the dust stuck to my skin, and thirsty. So fucking thirsty.


    In the kitchen I fill a glass at the sink and drain it twice before heading up to my room. My mom is probably still asleep, since she stays up late painting almost every night.


    I stop to look at the new canvas she has propped up near the sliding glass porch doors. It¡¯s vibrant and blurry, only the background of what she¡¯s doing right now but it¡¯s the colors that seem happy which eases some of the weight off my chest.


    There was a period where all her paintings were dark and shadowed. Where she never smiled unless Maddie was here and she didn¡¯t take care of herself like she should. I¡¯m glad if those days are behind us because I¡¯m not sure I could handle them again. I¡¯m not sure I could pick her up off the bathroom floor and put her to bed after a bad crying episode or ignore the way she smelled like weed and vodka.


    Shaking my head, I lumber up the stairs, pushing my door open to see Maddie sitting at my desk, her notebook open, her bookbag on the floor beside her. I guess she went home before coming back.


    And why does that make me so happy? That she left and came back? That she brought more of her things to my space so she could stay longer?


    ¡°How''s Mr. Wade?¡±


    ¡°A hundred years old and still lookin¡¯ like the Marlboro man.¡±


    Her eyes crinkle when she snorts and a weird stabbing feeling shoots through my chest.


    Huh.


    The notebook slaps shut and she spins around and around in my chair.


    ¡°So what are we doing today?¡±


    ¡°Some people are going to the lake. Wanna go?¡±


    Her mouth puckers into an exaggerated duck face as she ponders the question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I kinda don¡¯t think I could face Mitch right now. I might try to punch him in his dick. He¡¯ll probably be there, right?¡±


    Come to think of it, yeah he probably will be. Half the senior class will be there.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to see him eventually. You know, like Monday¡­ in homeroom?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t remind me. The rest of this year is going to be so fucking awkward.¡±


    ¡°Nah, it¡¯ll be fine. Just ignore him.¡±


    The loud vibration of her phone going off throws our attention back to the desk.


    She picks it up, fingers pressing the buttons.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna shower.¡±


    Again. But at least this time I won¡¯t be jacking off. Maybe. She¡¯s still wearing her shorts and tank top from last night. The tank stop and sports bra that don¡¯t do anything to hide the generous amount of side boob she has when she leans forward.


    I scrub up quickly and go for a cold shower this time. It helps take some of the heat off me and I feel pretty refreshed. Back in my room, Maddie doesn¡¯t even look up when I walk by her in my towel and into my closet.


    Terrible for my pride but also a godsend because if she does look I might get a chub from the visual contact.


    ¡°Heather says she¡¯s back with Michael. They¡¯re going to see a movie tonight, wanna go?¡±


    ¡°What movie?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. Let me ask.¡±


    And that¡¯s how the rest of our weekend goes. We go to the movies with Heather and Michael which starts out fine but by the end feels a little like a double date. I pay for Maddie¡¯s ticket and popcorn, then I pay for our dinner.


    I don¡¯t mind.


    Maddie gets an allowance from her Dad and does babysitting gigs when she can but I definitely have more money than she does. And I won¡¯t lie and say I don¡¯t enjoy treating her. She doesn¡¯t expect it, even though it¡¯s how we¡¯ve been doing things for the last two years. Maddie still pulls out her ratty wallet and I still just pay the bill without even looking.


    It only gets awkward when Heather and Mike start making out against his car after we leave the diner.


    Maddie makes a weird face when she climbs up into my truck. Her and Heather shout through the windows at each other about calling the other the next day which could have been accomplished through text and wasn¡¯t that important to begin with.


    There¡¯s a tense exchange of staring during dinner when Mitch and Javier walk in. I know what it looks like, me sitting beside Mads, my arm stretched over the back of the booth, her body leaning into mine so she can talk to Heather. Mike is kind of a twerp for letting her sit on the outside but she had insisted so she didn¡¯t feel trapped against the wall.


    I think on that for a while as we eat, wondering if I ever make Maddie feel like I¡¯ve trapped her places. She¡¯s so small and I¡¯m one of the biggest guys in school, all lumbering legs and clumsy arms. Do I make her uncomfortable when I smoosh her into a booth like this? Does my heavy handedness when it comes to opening doors and having her walk on the inside make her feel confined?


    When my neck feels itchy and I¡¯m to the point where I almost have to ask, she turns to me and smiles with a huge bite of cheeseburger in her mouth. I laugh and shake my head because nah, there¡¯s no way. I¡¯d know if she was uncomfortable. I gotta stop letting Heather psyche me out like that.


    She doesn¡¯t even mean to but sometimes I think Heather is a real breathing girl and Maddie is something else. Her brain just doesn¡¯t work like normal girl¡¯s brains do. When I think she should be mad about something she¡¯s not. When something makes her sad, she doesn¡¯t act quite like another girl would. There¡¯s never any jealousy or loud freakout moments where she loses her shit. Maddie just turns inside herself, goes quiet and solemn.


    So to hell with Heather and her claustrophobia, Maddie looks just fine tucked under my arm. She was practically a suction cup on my chest this morning anyway. That has to speak for something.


    Mitch spends the last thirty minutes of our dinner glaring at me over Javier¡¯s head and I know I¡¯ll hear about this Monday afternoon at practice. But it can¡¯t be helped. Maddie and I are best friends, and we¡¯re going to stay that way.


    Sunday passes lazily for me. I sleep in, unfortunately alone since I can¡¯t convince Maddie to stay the night again. She goes grocery shopping with her Dad, if you can even call it that. Their freezer gets stuffed more than the fridge section. That girl eats more crap food than I do, and that¡¯s saying a lot since I¡¯m basically a garbage disposal. My mom makes chicken and rice casserole for dinner and I barely manage to not lick the pan when I¡¯m finished. Barely.


    Maddie and I chat on AIM until ten when she goes to bed and I follow right behind her.


    Now it¡¯s six thirty and my truck is idling outside her house, parked haphazardly in her driveway. The smile that stretches my cheeks feels like the most natural thing in the world when she comes bounding out of the house. I lean over and open the truck door, pushing it wide so she can hop in.


    ¡°Do we have time for the bakery?¡±


    Her face is flushed and she sounds breathless.


    ¡°Need a little sugar fortification for this morning?¡±


    ¡°I want coffee and a donut. Or two. Or three.¡±


    Chuckling, I put the truck in reverse and head toward the bakery. It has a convenient drive through that I know is going to be ten cars deep at this time. If I¡¯d known she wanted to stop there I¡¯d have picked her up half an hour ago but meh, we¡¯re seniors and homeroom isn¡¯t terribly important. In fact, I wonder if that¡¯s her plan. To be so late she misses homeroom altogether and goes right into second period without having to see Mitch at all. As plans go it has merit.


    Maddie changes her mind twice in the ten minutes to the bakery. Ping ponging back and forth between donuts and a breakfast sandwich and then finally settling on a sausage croissant and two glazed donuts with a chocolate milk.


    I wasn¡¯t sure I was hungry until the smell hit me so I ordered a few of the small sandwiches myself. In the school parking lot we devour our breakfast in the truck, watching stragglers head into the building before doing so ourselves. I let out a loud belch and Maddie makes a fake crowd cheer before scoring it at an eight. She explains if I¡¯d had more depth it could have been a perfect ten. Weirdo.


    I leave her at the door to her homeroom a niggling feeling in my stomach that something is wrong and I shouldn¡¯t. I should stay and grab her hand and take her to the library where we can hide until the second period bell but I don¡¯t. I just give her a mocking salute and head toward my own room.


    My knee bounces all through the second half of homeroom and second period. In fact, there¡¯s some weird frenetic energy I can¡¯t dispel all the way until lunch. I know what it is the minute my eyes land on Maddie¡¯s face. She¡¯s upset. I know it¡¯s not crazy obvious and to every other person in this room, she looks absolutely fine but there¡¯s a tension around her eyes, a set quality to her mouth that screams out at me.


    I cut about fifteen people in line to stand beside her. One freshmen kid actually raises his voice to me over it until I turn around.


    ¡°You got three more years to stand in this line, bud. Don¡¯t push me or you¡¯ll need crutches for part of that.¡±


    That settles him down.


    I drape my arm over her shoulder and¡­ she pushes it off.


    She pushes it off.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What the hell?¡±


    But Maddie won¡¯t look at me. She won¡¯t even glance in my general direction. Her face stays toward the food, her tray sliding along the metal bars as it fills up with salisbury steak and mashed potatoes.


    I follow along, not paying any attention to the food going on the tray or the automatic motion to grab two milk cartons.


    ¡°Mads, talk to me. What the fuck happened?¡±


    ¡°Watch your mouth!¡± the lunch lady barks and I roll my eyes.


    ¡°Maddie, stop. Talk to me.¡±


    I hold my tray in one hand and use the other to grab her shirt sleeve. Her face turns just slightly but I see the tears welling in her eyes and it throws my whole body into panic mode.


    Steering us toward the back of the lunch room, I commandeer a table we don¡¯t usually sit at but it¡¯s ours now because at this point if anyone even looks at me, my eyes might burn their faces off. I¡¯m too big for anyone to really get upset about it.


    Angling her so she sits with her back to the lunch room, I sit down beside her and push my tray away so I have room to reach my hands over to her.


    Her head shakes and she crosses her arms over her chest.


    ¡°Did you tell Mitch and Javier that I- that you-¡±


    ¡°What? What did they say?¡±


    She yanks her backpack around and jerks out a crumpled paper, practically tossing it at me.


    Heard we need to add Remington¡¯s name to the Game sheet. Bagging a virgin is extra points you know.


    Rem and I didn¡¯t have sex. You¡¯re disgusting.


    Not what I heard. Heard you stayed the night at his house on Saturday and didn¡¯t go home until after he left for work. Did a little walk of shame back home. Now that you¡¯re all worked in, can I get a go? It¡¯ll feel so much better the second time around.


    My hands are shaking. Seriously shaking.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell them anything. Fucking Christ, is that what you think? That I told them we- No. No Mads, I¡¯d never fucking do anything like that!¡±


    ¡°Then how did they know I spent the night?!¡±


    My mind races. Anyone could have seen her leave my house that early but it would have been a guess that she¡¯d spent the night. Maddie hated waking up early, she¡¯d sleep til noon if you let her. So someone had to have seen her go inside my house Friday night and not leave until Saturday morning and the only person who would have seen that and talked to Mitch was Sarah fucking Huxom.


    She lives two houses down across the street and her room faces the driveway. She¡¯d have a front row seat to my house and anyone who went in or out. It didn¡¯t help she was fucking pissed that I¡¯d bailed on the party Friday night. I bet she stayed home and watched my house like a fucking stalker.


    ¡°Someone saw you come over and then saw you leave and assumed. Probably Sarah she¡¯s mentioned being able to see my house from her window before. I swear to God, Mad, I didn¡¯t say that to anyone. You know me. You know I¡¯d never do something shitty like that.¡±


    ¡°So are you guys like, together now?¡±


    Sarah¡¯s obnoxious voice comes from right behind me. I lean back, turning to glare at her. My mouth opens to tell her to fuck right off when I notice her smirk and those sharp eyes looking behind me. That¡¯s when I realize Maddie has bolted. She¡¯s already at the lunch room doors by the time I untangle myself from the stupid table bench and go after her.


    She¡¯s not in the library or the computer lab so the only other place she could be is in one of the bathrooms. I text her but get no answer.


    The bell rings ending lunch and I¡¯m forced to abandon my search for her. She¡¯ll turn up, I just have to patient.


    But patience is not my strong suit. I¡¯m almost bleeding through my eyeballs by the time the clock hits three. Fuck practice today, I gotta find Maddie.


    Her bike isn¡¯t in the back of my truck when I get to the parking lot and my heart pounds harder at that revelation.


    Something is wrong. So, so wrong. There¡¯s a clenching in my stomach, an unnatural sweat clinging to my body. It feels a lot like panic which is crazy because she just went home. She¡¯s fine.


    But it¡¯s not fine. Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly, wrong.


    I fire up my truck and peel out of the parking lot, driving over a few of the cement parking chocks to cut the line of vehicles. I get tons of honks and shouts but ignore them. Maddie is in trouble. I don¡¯t know how I know. I just fucking do and until I have her warm skin under my hands, I won¡¯t believe otherwise.


    It¡¯s probably an overreaction. A culmination of emotions from the last few days just making me feel sick to my stomach but I¡¯m not so sure. I¡¯ve never felt this terrified before.


    I¡¯m so distracted that by the time I notice something else that isn¡¯t right- I¡¯ve driven right past it.


    A block before our section of neighborhood there¡¯s a bike laying on the sidewalk. My old bike. Maddie¡¯s bike.


    I back the truck up and get out, my body moving on reflex. There are tire skid marks on the asphalt beside it. Papers are blowing into the lawn beside her bike, a black notebook fluttering in the breeze. Maddie¡¯s notebook. Red dots on the cement.


    Blood.


    Fuck.


    Fuck!


    I run back to the cab and grab my cell dialing 911. I explain it to the operator who seems to think I¡¯ve lost my mind calling them over an abandoned bike and some paper. I¡¯m too keyed up to deal with this monotone woman though so I hang up on her and dial 411, getting the number for the local sheriff''s office. Drew Edwards will not think I¡¯m crazy. I¡¯ve known him since I was a toddler. He¡¯ll believe me. He will.


    ¡°Everett Sheriff¡¯s Office, how may I direct your call?¡±


    ¡°I need to report a kidnapping! It just happened! Please! You have to believe me! I need to talk to Sheriff Edwards!¡±


    The woman sucks in a sharp breath and then there¡¯s shouting on the line. Shuffling sounds and voices conflicting with each other in the background before I hear him take the phone.


    ¡°Who is this?¡±


    ¡°Remington Clark! Someone took Maddie. Her bike is on the sidewalk on Terrace Avenue. Her notebook is on the ground, she¡¯d never leave this on the ground. Never. There are tire marks. I don¡¯t know when she left school but she was upset today and now she¡¯s fucking gone. You need to do something. Do something!¡±


    My hand squeezes a tight fist into my hair as my eyes bounce between the bike and notebook and the papers blowing toward this random house''s bushes. I should get those papers back for her. I should grab them all. But this is a crime scene right? I shouldn¡¯t be touching anything. But she¡¯ll want those papers. What if they blow away and we never find them again?


    Oh fuck what if we never find them again?


    I¡¯m moving before I can think of another reason not to and start snagging them, the phone still pressed to my ear so hard it almost hurts.


    ¡°Calm down Remmy. I¡¯m coming okay? Five minutes. I¡¯ll be there in five minutes. Stay put.¡±


    I nod but he can¡¯t see me so I just hang up the phone and shove it into my jean pocket. It takes me a minute but I have all the papers, holding them gently and then I trot back to her notebook. I want so badly to grab it and stuff the loose sheets back inside but I can¡¯t. I know I can¡¯t.


    My eyes dart around the empty street, up and down, like she¡¯ll come walking up to me at any moment. She¡¯ll bust me for having her pages in my hand. But she doesn¡¯t.


    The cruiser shows up just a few minutes later along with four others that block the street off on both sides.


    Sheriff Edwards jackknifes from the driver seat of the closest car and jogs over to me. His eyes bounce all over the place taking in my truck that¡¯s still idling, the driver door wide open, the bike on the ground, the notebook, the papers in my hand, the house with the for sale sign in the yard and then he halts when he notices the bloody drips on the ground.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone. She¡¯s gone.¡±


    Drew¡¯s hands ease out and grip my shoulders tightly, pulling me into his torso. I drop my hands down from my chest to my sides. My body is going numb. My head is filled with bees that won¡¯t stop buzzing.


    ¡°-okay. Alright? We¡¯re going to find Maddie. Now tell me what happened.¡±


    I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m making any sense. I tell him about her getting upset after talking to Mitch, I think I even just call it bullshit drama but then tell him how she bailed at lunch, how I didn¡¯t even see her in the hallways after that. How when I came out I saw her bike was gone from my truck bed. How I felt like something was horribly wrong. How I found her bike and had to back up because I didn¡¯t recognize it right away.


    My phone rings and I look down to see Heather¡¯s name flash. She¡¯s talking before I can open my mouth.


    ¡°Hey, is Maddie with you? She¡¯s not answering her phone.¡±


    A choked sob breaks out of my chest and I heave, my body bending in half, hand braced on my knee, those papers crinkling in my fist.


    ¡°When did you see her last, Heather? When? You have last period together. Was she in it?¡± My voice is garbled, grief soaked, and desperate.


    ¡°Oh my God, what happened? Where is Maddie, Rem?! Um, no she wasn¡¯t in last period but she was there before class started. She left and went to the bathroom right before class started! Oh my God, is Maddie missing?!¡±


    I hang up and dial her father¡¯s number.


    ¡°Trent.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Miller, it¡¯s Remington, are you at home?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, why?¡±


    ¡°Is Maddie there?¡±


    ¡°No, hey are you okay, son? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    Drew takes the phone from my hands, a dark look on his face.


    ¡°Hey Trent, it¡¯s Sheriff Edwards. I¡¯m sending a deputy over to you right now okay? Sit tight. Trent- no just sit tight okay? They¡¯ll be there in less than a minute. I¡¯ll be there when I can.¡±


    He ends the call and holds my phone in his big fist.


    ¡°That was stupid, Rem. There''s a procedure that needs to be followed here. Now Trent¡¯s worrying and we don¡¯t even have all the facts yet.¡±


    ¡°Then get them! Better yet, get Maddie back! Why aren¡¯t you looking for her?! Why are you just standing here?!¡±


    His face goes from pissed to sad so fast I actually wretch. It¡¯s his condolences face. Like she¡¯s already-


    No. No. Not Maddie. Not my Maddie. No.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to start a canvas of the neighborhood okay? Maybe she fell and ditched the bike, went for help at someone¡¯s house. She could have just scraped her knee-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s been riding that fucking bike for three years, Drew! She rides this route every fucking day from school! She left her most prized fucking possession on the ground beside it! She¡¯s not okay! She didn¡¯t just bail and leave the bike! Someone took her!¡±


    And then Mr. Wade¡¯s conversation claws its way up out of my memory banks.


    ¡°Serial killer! Can you imagine! Here in Everett!¡±


    ¡°Says here he takes ¡®em for a week, does things to ¡®em and then murders them. Drops them off in a wooded area¡­¡±


    No. No, no, no.


    I grab my phone from Drew¡¯s hand and bolt for my truck, ignoring his shouts to come back. I have to drive up on the sidewalk and partially in someone¡¯s yard to get around the cruiser blocking the road but then I¡¯m dialing.


    ¡°Yo,¡± Evan drawls.


    ¡°Get in your car, call Thomas and Wade. Call everyone. Someone kidnapped Maddie. Someone took her. We need to find out where they¡¯re hiding her.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck, are you serious right now?¡±


    ¡°Get in your fucking car, Evan and start looking!¡±


    I make a dozen calls as my eyes scan the neighborhood when I realize that¡¯s stupid. They¡¯d never stay in the neighborhood. Too many people. Too many houses. Noplace for some out of town serial killer to take her. Hotels, motels, abandoned buildings. I need to search those places.


    My truck roars down the main drag of town as I look desperately from one parking lot to the next. I search all night. I pull into parking lots and knock on every fucking motel room door. I scream at the lobby attendant asking her if she¡¯s seen anyone suspicious, a girl being drug into a room, a man who looks like a rapist and murderer.


    I¡¯m shocked it takes until three AM for Drew to get a hold of me. I thought someone would have reeled me back in before now but no, I¡¯m climbing the chain link fence around a storage facility when the red and blue lights flare up behind me.


    ¡°She¡¯s not in there, Rem. Get down from there.¡±


    ¡°How the fuck do you know?¡±


    ¡°Because I called Linda McCall an hour after we got to you and she said no one has used a gate code since Saturday. There¡¯s no way to get a girl over that fence without going through it.


    ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯re looking okay? You were right, someone took her but they can¡¯t have gotten too far and we¡¯ll find her. C¡¯mon, son.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not your fucking son.¡±


    My hand is on the door handle of my truck when Drew¡¯s hand lands on the window.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me arrest you, Rem. C¡¯mon. Let me drive you home. You shouldn¡¯t be out in this condition.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t go home if she¡¯s not there.¡±


    He takes a deep breath and leans against the truck.


    ¡°We have four teams out canvassing businesses and houses right now. The whole town knows she¡¯s missing. Practically everyone is looking, Rem. But you need sleep. You need to rest. When we find her she¡¯s gonna need you and not some strung out zombie. C¡¯mon let''s get you home. Alex can drive your truck back.¡±


    The drive is tense. My eyes still linger on parking lots, dark buildings, and alleyways. She¡¯s here somewhere I just fucking know it.


    When we pull up to my house, I don¡¯t move. I just sit in the passenger seat of his cruiser, staring at the back of my pickup truck. Alex gets out and leans against the tailgate, his black uniform soaking up the darkness.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to find her, Rem. I promise.¡±


    ¡°But what if it¡¯s too late when we do? What if she¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t borrow trouble. We don¡¯t know anything for sure. Until we know for sure. She¡¯s still alive. She¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    I nod but it¡¯s an empty gesture. Something vital is missing from me. Something necessary for me to live is gone. My limbs don¡¯t work right, too heavy, too leaden. Has Maddie always been so important? Of course she has. Of course. But this- now- God, I don¡¯t know if I want to live without her. I don¡¯t know if I can. No more smiles, no more banter, no more sarcastic comments or cheesy dad jokes. No more sparkling brown eyes and messy hair on my pillow. No more tickles or pizza dinners. No more whispered words in the darkness. That¡¯s my line, my breaking point. Her soft voice whispering about how much it hurt when her mother died. Her reassuring words that my Dad would be proud of me, even if he wasn¡¯t here. How she thinks I¡¯m strong and funny and worthy.


    I drag myself into the house, my mother¡¯s frantic hands coming to my face, my shoulders. And then I fall apart. I drop down to my knees right there in front of the stairs and grab my Mom¡¯s legs, crying so hard I think I¡¯ll break apart from the tears coming out of me. My chest burns from lack of oxygen, my face cramps from how badly it¡¯s warped in grief.


    ¡°Shhh, it¡¯s okay, baby. It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s going to be okay.¡±


    But it¡¯s not because Maddie is not here. Maddie, my Maddie is gone. Someone took her. To hurt her. Someone is going to hurt her and then probably kill her and I wasn¡¯t there. I wasn¡¯t there to keep her safe.


    My Maddie.


    My Maddie is gone.


    Gone.


    Gone. Gone. Gone.


    When I wake up, there¡¯s bright sunshine seeping into the windows. That seems wrong for it to be so bright and cheery. It should be pouring rain. Everything should be drowning or burning or crumbling.


    I¡¯m sprawled on my bed, still dressed in the clothes from yesterday, boots still on my feet. My mom is wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the recliner beside my bed.


    I grab my keys and phone, quietly slipping from the room. My stomach growls but I ignore it, grabbing four bottles of water from the pack on the back porch and guzzling one before I even reach my truck.


    I throw the rest into the passenger seat and crank the engine. By the time I reach the gas station and fill up, I¡¯ve drank all the water and feel slightly better but the tension headache that¡¯s gripped me is still going strong. My eyes are puffy and my face swollen but it doesn¡¯t matter. Nothing else matters. Just finding Maddie. That¡¯s it. I have to find her.


    I call the Sheriff''s office and they patch me through to him.


    ¡°Anything?¡±


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Drew.¡±


    His sigh is all defeat.


    ¡°We found her bookbag and phone in a trash can outside the drugstore but I don¡¯t think she¡¯s close to that area. I think that¡¯s why it was dumped there. Harriet works the front counter and thinks she saw a blue panel van pull up outside around the time frame we¡¯ve got for her abduction so we¡¯ve got a bulletin out for that style of vehicle. No hits yet but it hasn¡¯t been out long. Stay home Remington. We¡¯ll call you when we have her, okay?¡±


    I just hang up. I¡¯m not fucking staying home.


    I drive all day. All fucking day. I drive and drive and drive. Then I sleep for a few hours and get back up and do it all again the next day, and the next. The sense of urgency is only increasing. A week is what Mr. Wade said he read in the paper. He keeps them for a week. Like five days? Or like a full seven? Why the fuck don¡¯t I read the goddamn paper? It¡¯s been three days. Three fucking days and I¡¯m running out of time. Maddie is running out of time.


    That night when I¡¯m exhausted and seeing double, I finally turn home. Instead of going to bed though, I just sit at my computer and google the serial killer I know is responsible for this. It has to be. Nothing even remotely like this has ever happened in Everett.


    It has to be him. It has to. There¡¯s some gut feeling telling me this is right. I¡¯m right.


    But God I hope I''m wrong because what he did to those girls¡­


    So if I were some sick fuck who abducted a seventeen year old girl and wanted to do heinous things to her in private where would I go?


    My phone rings.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Evan¡¯s voice is spooked, a harsh whisper in my ear.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been looking, man and Daryl and Ollie said they saw a big dark colored van go past them on route ten. So I headed out this way thinking they¡¯re full of shit and just wanted to sound like they knew something but fucking hell, they¡¯re right. There¡¯s a van that just pulled up to the old meat packing plant. They pulled it under the old feed shed and shut it off. I didn¡¯t see anyone get out but I can¡¯t see anything besides the back of it now and barely. It¡¯s fucking dark.¡±


    My heart thunders. Adrenaline erases every bit of exhaustion from my body in seconds.


    ¡°Did you call the cops?!¡±


    ¡°Not yet! I called you. I should have called the cops though. I gotta get out of here man, this is freaking me the fuck out!¡±


    ¡°No. No! Don¡¯t move. Are you in your car? Stay in your car. Don¡¯t make any sounds, you might spook him! Just stay there, I¡¯m on my way!¡±


    I sprint for my truck, my heart in my throat. He¡¯s there. She¡¯s there. I know it. I fucking know it.


    I¡¯m two minutes out from the other side of the old cattle pens. There¡¯s a warped, rutted road that we use to get back here and not many people know about it. I shut the truck off and my phone rings, Drew¡¯s name flashing on the screen.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go in there. We¡¯re on our way! We¡¯re ten minutes out. Do not fucking go in there, Remington!¡±


    I hang up. I¡¯m going in there. Fuck this. Once cop cars start showing up, he could freak out and kill her. Fuck that.


    I have no weapon. I have no knife or gun or anything I can use as a fucking weapon. Reaching into the back seat I dig until I feel the tire iron. It¡¯ll have to do. If I¡¯d been thinking in my room, I¡¯d of grabbed my big buck knife but I wasn¡¯t thinking.


    I ease the truck door open and close it gently before walking as quickly and quietly as I can down the dirt path. When the wooden gate comes into view, I slip between the slats and hustle through the waist high grass. It¡¯s dark. So fucking dark, I can barely see the outline of the grain silo but I¡¯ve been coming here for almost six years now in the dark so I know where I¡¯m going. I know exactly where everything is inside. I know there are two offices on the ground level and one larger one upstairs. I know there¡¯s an employee locker room in the back that smells like shit and sewage still with grimey tile walls filmed in green mold and red rust.


    The only entrance I know I can use to get inside that won¡¯t make noise is the back dock door. It¡¯s gone. Completely gone. So that¡¯s where I go, gripping the tire iron in my right hand. My phone is on silent in my back pocket.


    As I creep down the long hallways toward the main work area, I hear muffled sobs and the sharp whack of something hitting flesh.


    I can feel my blood surging inside me. I¡¯ll fucking kill him. I¡¯m going to fucking kill him. He will die for touching her. I swear on my life, I will fucking end him tonight.


    ¡°Because you know that was wrong! You know! Just do it like I want you to!¡±


    The voice makes me pause because it¡¯s not what I was expecting. It¡¯s male but higher pitched.


    ¡°You think you deserve better than this? You¡¯re a fucking whore! You¡¯re all fucking whores! Do it right. Do it right. Do it right. Yessss, like that. Just like that. No! No! Fucking bitch!¡±


    The wet thumping sound comes again and again and again. My feet move, my body shakes so hard my teeth rattle. I¡¯m amped up a thousand times more than I have ever been in my life.


    When I get closer, I know they¡¯re in the next room. The second office that has the busted out observation windows facing the packing plant work floor.


    Whimpers follow each fleshy slap. I¡¯m boiling alive but I can¡¯t just rush in. I have to assess how close he is to her. I have to assess what the situation is. What if he has a gun to her head? What if he just shoots her?


    ¡°Again. Now. Open. That¡¯s right. Open and let me see. Fuck, so good. That¡¯s right. Stick it out. Fuck yes. Dirty fucking slut.¡±


    Nausea roils in my belly as I clear the last foot and press myself against the wall. Leaning forward I peek into the glowing room, taking in as much as I can in a single glance.


    There¡¯s a short stocky man with his back to me, wearing a dark plaid shirt and jeans. A gas camp lantern sits in the corner throwing the room in deep shadows. On the grimy floor is Maddie, her wrists tied with green cables, her ankles wrapped in leather cuffs that are tethered together.


    I whip back around the corner again, trying not to breathe too loudly and then look again.


    His arm is working in front of him and I know what he¡¯s doing. Sick fuck. The wet slapping sound increases its pace.


    Maddie kneels in front of him, her mouth open, eyes screwed shut, tongue hanging out. Blood leaks from her scalp and the corner of her mouth. Her face is so bruised I can¡¯t tell where one hit happened and another ended. The line of her jaw is so swollen it looks like she has the mumps.


    ¡°Keep it out.¡±


    But when he grunts lewdly she closes her mouth, her body jerking back already expecting the blow.


    ¡°No! Fucking dumb bitch. You don¡¯t fucking move unless I tell you. You keep that slut mouth open! Do it! Do it now!¡±


    He reaches forward, grabbing her roughly by her jaw and yanking her forward. She grunts and collapses down on her chest, a pained cry shearing out of her when she lands.


    That¡¯s when I notice what his other hand is holding. A leather strap. Not a belt. A strap. It¡¯s studded with random brass bits. He raises it over his head and it cracks down on her back.


    She screams, squirming and trying to move away but she can¡¯t, her ankles keep her tethered and she¡¯s curled into herself like a baby in a crib.


    And that¡¯s the moment my body and mind disconnect from reality. I turn, rounding the corner and raise the tire iron, smashing it down over the back of his head.


    I hit and hit and hit.


    He doesn¡¯t go down though. I think three hits to his head should be enough to daze him but it doesn¡¯t. He just turns and knocks me back, arms surprisingly hard and corded with muscle. We crash to the ground and Maddie screams. My wrist hits something hard and I can¡¯t help it when my fingers release the tire iron. It falls clanging on the floor a few times before there¡¯s just the sound of our heavy breathing and fists thumping.


    Both of his hands grip into my hair and start smashing my head back into the tile floor. I reach up and jam my thumbs into his eye sockets, earning an ear splitting shriek. He rolls away from me but he¡¯s wild, desperate, terrified.


    He punches, kicks, and tries to bite me. Then at one point I think he just tries to run but I grab him by the back of his shirt and swing him into the door frame. Rearing back, he shoves me down and my left hand sparks in pain. A shard of glass slices over the back. I don¡¯t think- I just grab it, feel the sharp edges cut into my palm as he falls toward me, fist already cocked back to strike.


    The glass slides in and I feel every scrape against bone, every thick muscle ripping, the gush of hot blood flowing over my wrecked fingers. I feel when he realizes what¡¯s happened. The shift in his body, the lax way he drops and then the snap of the glass as it breaks, leaving a jagged rectangular chunk in my hand. I roll his body off, throwing the shard across the room and crawl quickly to Maddie, my palms slipping and sliding in the blood. And they are bloody, my whole chest is coated in the sticky hot fluid but I can¡¯t care.


    ¡°Over here! There¡¯s a light over here!¡±


    And then flashlights are bouncing all over the room, people are yelling and I know Drew is behind me. My fingers slip over the green cable on her wrists, her sobs tearing through my heart as I struggle to get her loose, to get her free, to hold her, and never, ever let her go.


    ¡°Rem, Rem, back up man. I got some snippers. C¡¯mon let me cut them off.¡±


    My hands drop and suddenly I¡¯m being pulled back by several people. A female officer crouches down in front of Maddie, holding her hands as Drew cuts through layers and layers of green wrapped wire. She cries out when it¡¯s loose, her hands dropping limply to her lap. They cut her out of the leather ankle cuffs too but it takes longer since there were fucking padlocks on the straps. Brass fucking padlocks that kept her tethered.


    ¡°Ambulance is outside, they¡¯re bringing in a stretcher for her-¡±


    She¡¯s standing and leaning on Drew and the woman but her eyes are on me. Those warm brown eyes that look stark fucking terrified are on me and she¡¯s pushing, she¡¯s struggling and I can¡¯t stop it. I jerk out of the arm hold I¡¯m in and we connect. Her sobs soak into my chest, her fast breathing and quaking are like a fire in my veins chanting, ¡®alive, alive, alive, alive.¡¯


    I wrap her up, rocking her side to side, a sense of relief I¡¯ve never felt in my life flooding through my body.


    Alive, alive, alive, alive.


    Arms are pulling and prying at us, trying to separate us but I just tighten my hold. Maddie just burrows deeper and I¡¯ll be damned if I let anyone take her away from me again.


    ¡°She needs a hospital, Remington. She¡¯s hurt pretty bad, Bud. C¡¯mon now, let¡¯s get her on the stretcher.¡±


    I grasp Maddie¡¯s head in my hands and pull her back. Blood smears over her temple and into her hair.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you. I¡¯m right here. We¡¯ll go together, okay?¡±


    She searches my face for what seems like eons but finally nods. I lift her up on the stretcher and hold her hand while they lay her back and strap her down but then she panics. She thrashes and jerks, screaming and screaming so I unclasp the thick black bands and she shoots off the thin mattress, right at my chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll carry her. I¡¯ll carry her to the ambulance. Don¡¯t tie her down again. Don¡¯t.¡±


    And everyone seems to agree. Everyone seems to agree that making this girl follow procedure is not so important right now.


    I carry Maddie out of the building, like a child that¡¯s fallen asleep and step up into the ambulance. It¡¯s bright in here and I¡¯m able to see her face well for the first time since lunch at school.


    Until the day I die, I¡¯ll never forget the way she looked in that moment. Drained. Defeated. And so fucking scared. All that joy and life that usually laid right behind her smile was gone.


    My fingers flex on her back and her sharp whimper jolts me so hard I almost slide off the bench.


    I remember the strap- the studs- and then ease my hands to her sides.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay. I¡¯ve got you. You¡¯re safe. You¡¯re so safe, baby. I¡¯m never letting anything bad happen to you again.¡±


    And when they shut the ambulance doors, I know it¡¯s a promise. A vow.


    I¡¯ll never let anything hurt her ever again.