Page 84 of Fragments of the Lost
And then. I look to the open window. The screen is missing. Sean is missing.
I can’t breathe.
Caleb, no.
—
The door swings open downstairs, and I want to tell her. I want to show her.Look what happened. Look.
Except.
She knows. My blood runs cold. She must. Sean is gone; his clothes were here. The pocket watch in the garage. She knows—she’s always known.
The room hollows out:Why am I here in this room? Why did she ask me to come?
As I hear her heading up the steps, presumably to continue painting this room, I slink into the closet, pull the bookcase aside, and disappear into the hidden attic space, pulling the bookcase back into place behind me.
I listen to her footsteps. She walks into the room. She must see the wall I’ve exposed. She must know someone has been here. She opens the closet door. Peers inside. Steps back. I hear fabric moving, assume she must be checking under the bed.
It’s like she can feel the presence of another.
“Caleb?” she calls.
And the name, the very word, makes him come alive. Makes everything something other than what I assumed. Her steps circle the room slowly. And then, closer now, she calls, “Jessa?”
I reach my hands up, to the spot I cannot see, where the Swiss Army knife once was. There’s nothing but empty space. I know Max and I were passing it back and forth, but then Caleb’s mother arrived, and…I can’t remember what we did with it. I take out my phone to use as a flashlight, and there, between two wooden beams, the glint of light reflecting off metal.
I reach down and my grip tightens on the Swiss Army knife. It’s all I have. That, and my phone. I turn the volume down, and input the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad. My finger hovers over the button, ready to hit Send.
Because I suddenly understand exactly why I’m here. Why she was keeping me so close. Following me.
She has sent me here to find her son. She believes he’s alive. It’s why she’s been following me, thinking I knew something more. And when it was clear I didn’t, she brought me here instead, hoping I’d find something and figure out where he was, where he went.
And I believe I have.
A phone rings, and I jump—it’s not mine.
I hear her answer, her voice just beyond the wall. “Yes, you’re here? Great. Be right down.” And then the footsteps back away. They fade down the stairs. Then there’s the sound of a door swinging open somewhere below. I hold my breath until I hear the door close again. I cancel the call screen on my phone. Then I leave my hiding spot in the attic, the Swiss Army knife still in my clenched fist, my phone in the other. I peer out the window, carefully. There’s a van out back, at the edge of the long driveway. I assume she’s rented it. She’s carrying her things to the back. It’s now or never, I decide. She’s busy. She won’t be paying attention.
Caleb’s backpack is in the middle of the room, and I picture him swinging it onto his shoulder, looking over at me briefly: “Coming, Jessa?” Raising an eyebrow as he takes off, launching himself down these steps—me always running a step or two behind.
I grab the few things left in this room, shove them all into his green backpack, along with my things. I barely focus on anything else as I half tumble down the steps, out the front door, racing, racing, around the block, to Max’s house.
—
I send my brother a text, letting him know I have after-school plans and won’t be arriving until later. I don’t want him worrying, and calling our parents.
I have Caleb’s backpack, the flashlight, my phone that’s slid into the side pocket. These shoes aren’t the best, but they will have to do.
Because she knows what I know. She’s been following the same path. And I’ve led her most of the way there.
I’ll have to go the rest of the way alone. To beat her there.
It’s the things that are missing that tip me off: the camping gear, the money. Eve doesn’t know about those things. She doesn’t know the pieces I’ve put together, from my memories. I know where he went. He took me there, once before.
The day is like yesterday, a hazy gray, a fine drizzle, the sky always on the verge of just breaking open. My wipers cut through the mist as I drive, and the rain seems to come down heavier the faster I go. I imagine, for a moment, that I’m Caleb. Coming upon the bridge. Deciding. Seizing the moment.
Max still isn’t picking up his phone. If he’s in a science lab, he probably won’t be able to check it until the end of the double period. His voice finally answers:Leave a message,and I’m shouting into his voicemail, which I have on speakerphone in the cup holder. “Max. I know where he is. Don’t tell his mother. It’s the Delaware Water Gap. I’m heading there now.”
