Page 66 of Come Find Me
I walk slowly toward the hall, pulling Kennedy along, because I’m starting to think we’re actually going to get out of here without her calling the police, when she grabs my arm—no longer afraid, but pissed. “Hey, what’d you say your names were?”
I scramble, panicked. “Liam,” I say, the first thing that comes to my mind. This is who I’m doing this for, after all. Kennedy tips her head, like she understands, and says, “Elliot.”
The girl’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Oh. Huh. Okay. Yeah, I’ve heard of you.” I can see Kennedy tense beside me, her eyes widen. “I just thought you were…”
“You thought what?” I say. Kennedy appears stunned, and unexpectedly short on words.
“His boyfriend. I thought Elliot was a guy. Sorry, I heard him on the phone with you when he was back once this fall. I just assumed…”
Kennedy looks to me, her eyes impossibly wide, almost tearing up. Her mouth drops open, and I can see her processing, fitting the pieces back together. The connection, it’s here. I can see her believing again.
The signal sent her to my house so we would find this boy. This boy who, we now have proof, knew Elliot Jones. Not only that, who might have been Elliot’s boyfriend.
Wearesupposed to find him.
The girl steps closer before speaking. “I hope you’re not mixed up with whatever’s sent him running, Elliot. Really. If he won’t show his face, there’s probably a reason, knowing him. I’d hate to see you disappear, too.”
Then she takes the key from Kennedy, eyeing us slowly. “I will call the police if I see you here again.”
Kennedy nods, and we head down the stairs. But before we’re out the door, we hear her call after us. “If you find him, tell him it’s time to come home already.”
—
As soon as we’re back at my car, out of breath, Kennedy grabs my arm. “Holy crap. Did you get the address?”
“The old Rollins factory? Yeah, look it up on your phone, see if you can find it.”
She turns her phone on and cringes when she sees the display. She must have a bunch of calls or texts from Joe. But she clears her throat and opens a map program.
Her hands are shaking, and she has to enter the information twice before she gets it right. “Okay,” she says. “It’s a factory. Says it’s closed, though. Come on, I’ll put the address in.”
We follow her phone’s directions, and as we drive the streets in the daylight, everything comes into focus: this is an old mill town, full of brick factories, some boarded up. Like the town itself is disappearing.
We drive by the address of the old factory, but we don’t stop. It’s a large rectangular building with small windows, all covered up, and there’s too much movement across the street. It appears to be some construction site, with a crane, men in hard hats, several bulldozers. At first I think maybe they’re renovating the factory into some new space. But then I see I was mistaken: the wrecking ball, the dumpsters, the garbage trucks. They’re taking it down, piece by piece.
“We’ll come back after work hours,” I say. “She told us to check it out at night anyway.”
I think of all the people here, and what will happen to them. If entire sections of the world go like this. Slipping through some crack in time, swallowed back into the earth.
There’s a long way to go until night, and Kennedy sends a quick text, then powers down her phone again. “I’m worried Joe’s got some tracking app set up, since he grounded me.”
“What did you say to him?” I ask.
“ ‘Trust me,’ ” she says. She’s lucky, I think, having someone checking in on her all the time. The way Joe looked at me when we first met, like I was something he needed to protect Kennedy from. As if he’s making up for everything he wasn’t able to keep her from before.
The sudden interest from my own parents only seems to be because of Liam.
We go to the same fast-food restaurant again, where Kennedy pays for lunch. “You drove,” she says, waving me off. “Again.”
The worker looks between me and Kennedy. “Weren’t y’all just here?”
I nod but then think it’s in our best interest to get out of here. The only place I can think to go is the ballfield, in the distance.
“Come on,” I tell her. We take our food to go, and I drive down the road, which dead-ends at nothing. There’s no reason for this road to exist, really, except for the ballfield, and even that doesn’t seem to be serving a purpose anymore.
The fence around the field is only partially standing, warped and disconnected in sections, and I step through a narrow clearing where the metal posts have come loose from the earth. There are two silver benches beside the baseball diamond, and I straddle one, spreading the contents of the fast-food bag between us. “Quite the picnic spread,” Kennedy says, taking a seat facing me.
But all I can picture is the family picnic, two years ago. The food we ate before Liam took off. Fried chicken, potato salad—all the little details I had forgotten.
