Page 48 of Come Find Me
I feel sick, like the world has tilted. I can’t orient myself.No.They’re wrong.
“They’ve enlarged the photo for us,” my dad says, gesturing to the living room. “Agent Lowell is asking all of us to take a good look again. To think about where it was taken.”
The room is practically spinning. It feels like I’m falling, like something is slipping from my grasp—
“Nolan,” he says, like he’s repeating something he’s already said.
It’s then I notice the printout on the living room table. Enlarged Liam, in the center of the room.
I picture my brother, in the corner of this very room. The fever dream. His mouth moving.Help us. Please.
I picture him over the sink the morning he disappeared, the drop of blood. The hiss of pain, the razor clattering in the sink.
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to disguise where the email was sent from,” my dad adds. “They’re still working on it, at the field office.”
It’s then I think:They won’t find anything.It’s a thought that suddenly feels absolutely true: from somewhere beyond, my brother did this. He’s been trying to reach me, with the dream, the email, the signal; and now he has.
When my parents leave the room momentarily, I snap a photo of the printout with my phone, and I text it to Kennedy.
This is the photo that was sent to my brother’s old girlfriend.
And then I walk up the steps to my room, staring at the photo on my screen, at the grainy pixels. It’s just trees. Trees, and my brother, and Colby’s tail in the corner.
My phone rings in my hand, but it’s a video call. When I hit Accept, I see Kennedy sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, with notebooks and papers spread out all around her, empty boxes in the background. The phone must be propped up on one such box.
She leans closer to the screen for a moment, then shakes her head. “You don’t look that much like him.” Then she looks down again, shifting a few papers around.
“So I hear,” I say. I’ve been told that most of my life. Liam really was the golden child, both in actions and looks. We were like opposite sides of the same coin: his hair was a dark blond to my fully brown; his eyes blue to my brown; his face perfectly symmetrical, whereas my nose still bent slightly to the left after getting too close to a swing in Little League. I bet I’m as tall as him now, though. The thought hurts my stomach.
She stops moving then, looks up from the work around her. “That wasn’t a slight. I was just picturing someone more like you.” Her eyes flick away and she turns her face to the side, her hair falling over her features so I can’t read her expression.
She goes back to multitasking, or whatever it is she’s doing. She called me, but it’s like she’s expecting me to lead the conversation here. “Uh,” I say, “what are you up to?”
“Well, there’s definitely no signal coming through anymore. So I’m looking through all of Elliot’s things, seeing if I can figure anything out. See where it came from. Trace it back.”
“Any luck?”
“Not really. I wish I could get back there, though. I want to try rebooting the electricity. It seems that’s what knocked it out the first time. You?” She pauses, tipping her head over, twisting her dark hair up into a haphazard ponytail on the top of her head, as if she needs it out of her way to think clearly.
“Well?” she asks, still upside down.
When I forget to answer, she flips her hair back and looks at me head-on.
“Sorry, was just waiting for you to finish.”
She gives me a look like I’m ridiculous. “Can you not do your hair and speak at the same time?”
“I don’t really think about my hair all that often.”
She smirks, then flips her hair back and forth, like a joke. But now it’s all I can think about. Dark hair, cascading over my vision. I clear my throat.
“Sorry, nothing here, either. I told my parents about the photo of Hunter Long, but he was reported missing this past winter. Still, can I give them your name?”
“Sure, though I don’t think I’ll be much help. I saw him in the fall.”
“Sorry, Kennedy, about last night. I hope I didn’t get you in even more trouble.”
She winces. “I’m in trouble, but it’s not your fault. My idea, my plan. Sorry you got caught up in it.” She smiles then. “Could be worse. At least I still have my phone.”
