The Secret Runners, page 18
If you carried someone through a portal to another time and left them there, that would do it.
I found myself thinking about the missing girls of Monmouth, and the connections they’d had to the secret runners.
The first girl to disappear, Trina Miller: smart, pretty, a sophomore. She’d been friends with Misty…until Misty froze her out when she started tutoring Bo Bradford. She vanished soon after.
I knew nothing about the second girl, Delores Barnes, the one with Down syndrome.
And then there was the third girl, Becky Taylor.
She had been a year older. Popular, beautiful, and clever, she’d beaten out Chastity Collins for the title of belle of the ball at the cotillion last year…and then disappeared that very night.
Becky had also been the leading contender to be Head Girl at Monmouth this year, but after her disappearance, Chastity took that title.
So both Trina and Becky had clashed with the Collins girls—girls who had more than a little ruthlessness in them and who had access to their own private time portal.
I recalled Jenny’s words at the Cote about the Collins clan: “Just be careful. That family is weird.”
And now, after a particularly venomous confrontation with Misty—following months of smaller skirmishes dating back to the first school assembly—Jenny was suddenly gone.
Could Misty and her friends really be that spiteful, that malicious? That evil?
I liked Jenny. I liked her dad, too, and I hated seeing him in such pain. In this world of extreme wealth, superficial friends, and casual entitlement, Jenny and Ken Johnson were grounded, real, decent.
My runs with Misty’s crew were adrenaline hits, not friendship.
But Jenny, with her similar wrist scar and our shared job, was the closest thing I had to a true friend. And wherever she was, she hated me right now.
I had to do something.
But to take action was to cross a line—like it had been back in Memphis. And the danger in defying Misty was far greater than it had been in defying Savannah. Here it could be deadly.
Screw it, I thought.
I knew what I had to do.
GETTING INSIDE
I found Bo at lunchtime on the rooftop basketball court.
I’d sought him out to see if I could convince him to venture into the portal with me later that day, but as it turned out, I didn’t have to.
“I want to find out what happens to my family,” he said firmly. “I have to know. But I don’t want to do it with the whole group. Will you come with me?”
“Sure,” I said. “I want to check out a couple of things myself. How about we go today after school?”
Bo nodded. “I’ll ask Misty for the gem. Meet me at the Met at five.”
* * *
—
At 4:59 p.m., I was standing on the front steps of the Met dressed in hiking boots, a North Face jacket, and jeans, when my phone buzzed.
It was a text from, of all people, my dad down in Memphis.
HEY BLUE!
GREAT NEWS. THEY’RE LETTING ME OUT ON MONDAY (I THINK THE COMING END OF THE WORLD HAS MADE THE POWERS THAT BE AT THE HOSPITAL A LITTLE MORE LENIENT).
I’M BOOKED ON A TRAIN TO NYC ON TUESDAY. I’LL ARRIVE AT PENN STN AROUND 3 P.M. ON THE 14TH. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU.
(P.S. I HOPE YOU’VE BEEN EATING YOUR VITAMIN SUPPLEMENTS AND SARDINES!)
LOVE, DAD
I was both pleased and horrified. I wanted to see my dad more than anything, but I also knew that total social breakdown would begin in New York on March 14. My dad would be riding that train directly into the chaos.
I was lifting my phone to call him, when Bo ascended the steps of the Met, dressed in sneakers and his lacrosse tracksuit.
With a smile, he held up the gem. He’d gotten it from Misty without any fuss.
“I was honest with her,” he said. “I told her I wanted to see what’s going to happen to my family without the larger group.”
“Did you mention that I was going with you?” I asked. “I think Misty has more than a little crush on you.”
Bo grimaced uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’ve kinda noticed that. And, no, I didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do this.”
THE INVESTIGATION RUN
It was about 5:30 p.m. when Bo and I climbed out of the well inside the other New York.
Bo lived at 960 Fifth Avenue, another very prestigious address in New York. Unlike the San Remo or the Dakota, celebrities did not bother to apply at “960,” as it was known: it existed solely for the ultra-wealthy elite who delighted in their wealth not being seen. The last apartment to be sold there went for $70 million, in cash.
It was also a block away from Monmouth, which suited me fine, because that was my destination.
We came to the entrance to 960.
I gave Bo a solemn nod. “I hope it’s all okay in there. I’ll go to Monmouth while you check it out.”
“Thanks,” Bo said. “Oh, wait.” He pulled something from his pocket and quickly looped it over my head: Misty’s necklace, with the gem attached to it.
“Here, take this. If something happens to me, you’ll be able to get back home.”
“But what if something happens to me?” I asked. “What will you do?”
“I’ll find you,” he said. “I promise.”
With a final nod, he went into his building.
When he was out of sight, I hurried up Fifth Avenue and dashed into the ruins of The Monmouth School.
* * *
—
I went straight to Ms. Vandermeer’s office, the one in which Misty and Hattie had read through the confidential files of Jenny and who knew how many other students.
In fact, the files they had been reading were still spread out messily on the floor where they had left them.
I went straight to the filing cabinet, slid it open, and flicked through the files till I found the one I was looking for:
COLLINS, MELISSA (MISTY)
I’m not sure what I expected to find in Misty’s file. Perhaps some mention of the missing girls, some link to them.
And there it was, right near the front of the file, a report from January of last year:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal following incident with Ms. Trina Miller at The Monmouth School
Misty is a troubled young woman. She displays both sociopathic and narcissistic tendencies. In her social interactions, she is controlling and manipulative. Or in less formal terms, since a very young age, she has always found a way to get what she wants. Her level of entitlement is so high that when she doesn’t get her way, she lashes out, sometimes dangerously.
The altercation with her fellow student, MS. KATRINA (TRINA) MILLER, on January 4 is illustrative.
Ms. Miller, it appears, asked a male student at the school, MR. BEAUREGARD (BO) BRADFORD, on a date to Tavern on the Green. Misty harbors feelings for Mr. Bradford, and she confronted Ms. Miller, her friend, about asking Mr. Bradford out. Insults were exchanged before Misty slapped Ms. Miller across the face, an act which resulted in Misty receiving a brief suspension from school and an appointment to see me for this psychological evaluation.
In our session, Misty showed not the slightest sign of remorse for striking Ms. Miller. She declared that they would no longer be friends. She said this matter-of-factly and without emotion.
RECOMMENDATIONS
Medication is not the answer for Misty. Her problems are not of the kind that can be addressed with drugs. She is self-involved, controlling, and entitled, and quite possibly psychotic. When she doesn’t get what she wants, she reacts aggressively.
It is my professional opinion that regular and continued cognitive behavioral therapy sessions that challenge her worldview would be the best treatment for her.
Dr. Vivienne Freeman, MD PhD PsyD
A second sheet was paper-clipped to the report:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Addendum following disappearance of Ms. Trina Miller
I have been asked to report on whether Ms. Misty Collins might have been involved in the disappearance of her fellow student at Monmouth, Ms. Trina Miller, two weeks ago.
While it is true that Misty and Ms. Miller were involved in an altercation shortly before Ms. Miller’s disappearance, I find it very difficult to believe that a girl of fifteen, even one with Misty’s psychological profile, could have carried out someone’s total disappearance so comprehensively.
Hmmm. I couldn’t say I agreed with the good Dr. Freeman. But then Dr. Freeman didn’t know about Misty’s secret portal through time.
Then I glimpsed another report behind the first one.
It caught my attention because the label on it did not read COLLINS, MELISSA (MISTY).
It was marked COLLINS, OSCAR (OZ).
I opened it and read it:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal of Mr. Oscar (Oz) Collins [copy for insertion into file of Melissa (Misty) Collins]
Mr. Oscar (Oz) Collins was referred to me after his mother discovered several searches on his smartphone relating to pornographic material.
It is my assessment that Mr. Collins is an average teenage boy with the curiosities of an average teenage boy. Having spoken to Oz about the issue, I told his mother not to worry. Such searches—which are easy to do these days—are perfectly normal for an adolescent curious about the opposite sex.
Interestingly, however, when I pressed him on the matter, Oz vehemently protested his innocence. He maintained, even though he could not prove it, that it was his sister MELISSA (MISTY) COLLINS who had stolen his phone and made the pornographic searches on it. She had done this, he said, as an act of vengeance after he had informed their parents that she had gone out when she had been grounded.
Oz informed me that, as punishment, his parents have decided to send him to a military camp for the summer. At this news, he says that Misty taunted him, “Fantastic. Now I get to enjoy the summer without having you around to spoil it.”
I stared at the file.
Poor Oz. Misty had set him up so he’d be shipped off to military camp for the summer. And then for good measure she’d told everyone at school about it and trashed his reputation. What a bitch.
I returned the file to its drawer, just in case Misty came here looking for it.
Now very curious, I sought out another file and found it:
MY LITTLE SISTER PROGRAM
BARNES, DELORES
Delores was the second girl to disappear, the one with Down syndrome, who, while not a student at Monmouth, had been connected to the school via the My Little Sister Program.
I opened the file and, after flipping through some pages, found something relevant to my search:
STUDENT INCIDENT REPORT
Incident with Henrietta (Hattie) Brewster
Delores was involved in an altercation with Henrietta (Hattie) Brewster on the sidewalk outside school this morning.
It seems to have started innocently enough. As she arrived at Monmouth to participate in the My Little Sister Program, Delores tripped on the sidewalk and spilled her hot chocolate onto and into Ms. Brewster’s new handbag.
Ms. Brewster was not pleased. According to several girls who witnessed the incident, Delores was instantly apologetic. Unfortunately, Ms. Brewster was not in the mood to forgive, and she expressed her anger at Delores with some epithets that are not, shall we say, the Monmouth way. According to those witnesses, she said to Delores, “You stupid fucking klutz! I don’t know why we have to babysit you freaks anyway. Shouldn’t you be doing some basket-weaving course or something?”
Ms. Brewster was counseled about her language and forced to apologize to Delores. Delores continues to be upset by the incident. She has offered to pay for a new purse for Ms. Brewster numerous times and continues to apologize to Ms. Brewster whenever she comes to our school for the My Little Sister Program.
I read the report with increasing dread.
Poor Delores. By the look of it, she had accidentally bumped into Hattie on the street and spilled her hot chocolate all over Hattie’s new and no doubt expensive handbag.
Of course, Hattie—big, belligerent, and gunning for a fight—had let fly with a barrage of insults.
And shortly after, Delores Barnes had vanished from the face of the Earth.
A chill slithered up my spine.
The pattern was clear, at least to me. Three girls who had offended Misty’s clique of runners—one who had challenged Chastity, one who had crossed Misty, and one who had angered Hattie—all mysteriously disappeared soon after.
The cops and the school’s FBI investigator had clearly not suspected Misty’s gang in the three disappearances. And why would they? They were too disparate, too disconnected.
Even if the investigators had put the incidents together, they couldn’t possibly have been expected to figure out that Misty’s crew had a secret location—in another time—to which to dispatch those girls who had displeased them.
This, I figured, had been Jenny’s fate, too.
But where could she be? And how could I possibly find her?
I closed the file, slid it back into its place, and slammed the drawer. It was time to leave.
As I started to go, I stepped on one of the files on the floor, left there by Misty and Hattie.
I wouldn’t have taken any notice of it had I not recognized the name on the spine.
O’DEA, GRIFFIN (GRIFF)
It lay open. To another psychiatrist’s report.
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal following incident at Barneys on June 12
This shoplifting incident highlights Griff’s significant and strict medical needs. If Griff does not take his medications, his manias will reveal themselves very quickly.
First, there will be more kleptomaniacal incidents like this. When he is not medicated, he is a compulsive stealer. He likes what other people have.
But if Griff is deprived of his medications for a longer period of time, we will see more violent and impulsive incidents like those that occurred in his youth: the torture of pets and small animals, and disproportionate acts of revenge on people he feels have slighted him (I refer to the recent incident where he cut up his mother’s favorite dress with scissors after she refused to buy him some designer sneakers).
This incident is a timely reminder for all of us involved in Griff’s mental health to keep a close eye on his medication schedule. I would, accordingly, like to increase his dosages of Risperdal and Clozaril. He is lucky that after his parents paid for the items he stole, the store chose not to press charges.
So Misty had been reading up on Griff. And while it sure made for interesting reading, I had more important things to do right now.
I threw down the file. I had to figure out where—
“Hey, Skye. Thought we might find you here,” a voice said from behind me.
It was Misty’s voice.
I turned.
Misty, Hattie, Verity, and Chastity stood in the doorway, their eyes deadly, blocking the exit.
TRAPPED
I just stood there in the school counselor’s office, wearing Misty’s necklace, looking like a burglar caught red-handed.
There was a moment of silence as we all assessed each other.
Verity and Chastity glared at me. Hattie’s eyes darted excessively: a facial tic she’d developed since she’d seen her own dead body. Her mind was gone.
“What did you do with Jenny?” I said.
Misty’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Like with the others, we took her someplace that’ll have special meaning just for her.”
“The others? You mean Becky, Trina, and Delores?”
“It started with Trina,” Misty said, “because Trina betrayed me. It was the best way to get rid of Becky. As for the freak, well, we just did that for fun because she ruined Hattie’s new Birkin bag.”
“I loved that bag…,” Hattie drawled, still blinking weirdly.
I said nothing, but I was thinking: Holy shit.
Misty spat. “Fucking Trina. You know, I thought she was my friend. And then she went and asked Bo out on a date. My Bo! On a date! At fucking Tavern on the Green. I mean, what a cliché.”
Misty’s heavy-lidded stare became harsher. She threw something at me, and I caught it.
Her phone.
On the screen was a video. I pressed the triangular “Play” icon…
…and saw the high heap of trash in the tunnel underneath the well. Faint light came down the well, illuminating the space. It was the signature fish-eye view of a GoPro camera.
Then two figures entered from the right, both holding phones as flashlights.
Bo and me.
On our first private run, when we had gone up and out of the well to explore the world of the future for the first time. I watched as, on the screen, Bo tried several times to hurl his grappling hook up into the well until at last it caught.
And then—to my horror—I saw Bo hold me in his arms and kiss me tenderly.
I remembered the moment vividly, only now I saw it through Misty’s eyes.
Oh, shit…
Then I recalled my very first run with the larger group, when Misty had fiddled around among some crevices in the left-hand wall of the tunnel near the trash heap.
I found myself thinking about the missing girls of Monmouth, and the connections they’d had to the secret runners.
The first girl to disappear, Trina Miller: smart, pretty, a sophomore. She’d been friends with Misty…until Misty froze her out when she started tutoring Bo Bradford. She vanished soon after.
I knew nothing about the second girl, Delores Barnes, the one with Down syndrome.
And then there was the third girl, Becky Taylor.
She had been a year older. Popular, beautiful, and clever, she’d beaten out Chastity Collins for the title of belle of the ball at the cotillion last year…and then disappeared that very night.
Becky had also been the leading contender to be Head Girl at Monmouth this year, but after her disappearance, Chastity took that title.
So both Trina and Becky had clashed with the Collins girls—girls who had more than a little ruthlessness in them and who had access to their own private time portal.
I recalled Jenny’s words at the Cote about the Collins clan: “Just be careful. That family is weird.”
And now, after a particularly venomous confrontation with Misty—following months of smaller skirmishes dating back to the first school assembly—Jenny was suddenly gone.
Could Misty and her friends really be that spiteful, that malicious? That evil?
I liked Jenny. I liked her dad, too, and I hated seeing him in such pain. In this world of extreme wealth, superficial friends, and casual entitlement, Jenny and Ken Johnson were grounded, real, decent.
My runs with Misty’s crew were adrenaline hits, not friendship.
But Jenny, with her similar wrist scar and our shared job, was the closest thing I had to a true friend. And wherever she was, she hated me right now.
I had to do something.
But to take action was to cross a line—like it had been back in Memphis. And the danger in defying Misty was far greater than it had been in defying Savannah. Here it could be deadly.
Screw it, I thought.
I knew what I had to do.
GETTING INSIDE
I found Bo at lunchtime on the rooftop basketball court.
I’d sought him out to see if I could convince him to venture into the portal with me later that day, but as it turned out, I didn’t have to.
“I want to find out what happens to my family,” he said firmly. “I have to know. But I don’t want to do it with the whole group. Will you come with me?”
“Sure,” I said. “I want to check out a couple of things myself. How about we go today after school?”
Bo nodded. “I’ll ask Misty for the gem. Meet me at the Met at five.”
* * *
—
At 4:59 p.m., I was standing on the front steps of the Met dressed in hiking boots, a North Face jacket, and jeans, when my phone buzzed.
It was a text from, of all people, my dad down in Memphis.
HEY BLUE!
GREAT NEWS. THEY’RE LETTING ME OUT ON MONDAY (I THINK THE COMING END OF THE WORLD HAS MADE THE POWERS THAT BE AT THE HOSPITAL A LITTLE MORE LENIENT).
I’M BOOKED ON A TRAIN TO NYC ON TUESDAY. I’LL ARRIVE AT PENN STN AROUND 3 P.M. ON THE 14TH. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU.
(P.S. I HOPE YOU’VE BEEN EATING YOUR VITAMIN SUPPLEMENTS AND SARDINES!)
LOVE, DAD
I was both pleased and horrified. I wanted to see my dad more than anything, but I also knew that total social breakdown would begin in New York on March 14. My dad would be riding that train directly into the chaos.
I was lifting my phone to call him, when Bo ascended the steps of the Met, dressed in sneakers and his lacrosse tracksuit.
With a smile, he held up the gem. He’d gotten it from Misty without any fuss.
“I was honest with her,” he said. “I told her I wanted to see what’s going to happen to my family without the larger group.”
“Did you mention that I was going with you?” I asked. “I think Misty has more than a little crush on you.”
Bo grimaced uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’ve kinda noticed that. And, no, I didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do this.”
THE INVESTIGATION RUN
It was about 5:30 p.m. when Bo and I climbed out of the well inside the other New York.
Bo lived at 960 Fifth Avenue, another very prestigious address in New York. Unlike the San Remo or the Dakota, celebrities did not bother to apply at “960,” as it was known: it existed solely for the ultra-wealthy elite who delighted in their wealth not being seen. The last apartment to be sold there went for $70 million, in cash.
It was also a block away from Monmouth, which suited me fine, because that was my destination.
We came to the entrance to 960.
I gave Bo a solemn nod. “I hope it’s all okay in there. I’ll go to Monmouth while you check it out.”
“Thanks,” Bo said. “Oh, wait.” He pulled something from his pocket and quickly looped it over my head: Misty’s necklace, with the gem attached to it.
“Here, take this. If something happens to me, you’ll be able to get back home.”
“But what if something happens to me?” I asked. “What will you do?”
“I’ll find you,” he said. “I promise.”
With a final nod, he went into his building.
When he was out of sight, I hurried up Fifth Avenue and dashed into the ruins of The Monmouth School.
* * *
—
I went straight to Ms. Vandermeer’s office, the one in which Misty and Hattie had read through the confidential files of Jenny and who knew how many other students.
In fact, the files they had been reading were still spread out messily on the floor where they had left them.
I went straight to the filing cabinet, slid it open, and flicked through the files till I found the one I was looking for:
COLLINS, MELISSA (MISTY)
I’m not sure what I expected to find in Misty’s file. Perhaps some mention of the missing girls, some link to them.
And there it was, right near the front of the file, a report from January of last year:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal following incident with Ms. Trina Miller at The Monmouth School
Misty is a troubled young woman. She displays both sociopathic and narcissistic tendencies. In her social interactions, she is controlling and manipulative. Or in less formal terms, since a very young age, she has always found a way to get what she wants. Her level of entitlement is so high that when she doesn’t get her way, she lashes out, sometimes dangerously.
The altercation with her fellow student, MS. KATRINA (TRINA) MILLER, on January 4 is illustrative.
Ms. Miller, it appears, asked a male student at the school, MR. BEAUREGARD (BO) BRADFORD, on a date to Tavern on the Green. Misty harbors feelings for Mr. Bradford, and she confronted Ms. Miller, her friend, about asking Mr. Bradford out. Insults were exchanged before Misty slapped Ms. Miller across the face, an act which resulted in Misty receiving a brief suspension from school and an appointment to see me for this psychological evaluation.
In our session, Misty showed not the slightest sign of remorse for striking Ms. Miller. She declared that they would no longer be friends. She said this matter-of-factly and without emotion.
RECOMMENDATIONS
Medication is not the answer for Misty. Her problems are not of the kind that can be addressed with drugs. She is self-involved, controlling, and entitled, and quite possibly psychotic. When she doesn’t get what she wants, she reacts aggressively.
It is my professional opinion that regular and continued cognitive behavioral therapy sessions that challenge her worldview would be the best treatment for her.
Dr. Vivienne Freeman, MD PhD PsyD
A second sheet was paper-clipped to the report:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Addendum following disappearance of Ms. Trina Miller
I have been asked to report on whether Ms. Misty Collins might have been involved in the disappearance of her fellow student at Monmouth, Ms. Trina Miller, two weeks ago.
While it is true that Misty and Ms. Miller were involved in an altercation shortly before Ms. Miller’s disappearance, I find it very difficult to believe that a girl of fifteen, even one with Misty’s psychological profile, could have carried out someone’s total disappearance so comprehensively.
Hmmm. I couldn’t say I agreed with the good Dr. Freeman. But then Dr. Freeman didn’t know about Misty’s secret portal through time.
Then I glimpsed another report behind the first one.
It caught my attention because the label on it did not read COLLINS, MELISSA (MISTY).
It was marked COLLINS, OSCAR (OZ).
I opened it and read it:
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal of Mr. Oscar (Oz) Collins [copy for insertion into file of Melissa (Misty) Collins]
Mr. Oscar (Oz) Collins was referred to me after his mother discovered several searches on his smartphone relating to pornographic material.
It is my assessment that Mr. Collins is an average teenage boy with the curiosities of an average teenage boy. Having spoken to Oz about the issue, I told his mother not to worry. Such searches—which are easy to do these days—are perfectly normal for an adolescent curious about the opposite sex.
Interestingly, however, when I pressed him on the matter, Oz vehemently protested his innocence. He maintained, even though he could not prove it, that it was his sister MELISSA (MISTY) COLLINS who had stolen his phone and made the pornographic searches on it. She had done this, he said, as an act of vengeance after he had informed their parents that she had gone out when she had been grounded.
Oz informed me that, as punishment, his parents have decided to send him to a military camp for the summer. At this news, he says that Misty taunted him, “Fantastic. Now I get to enjoy the summer without having you around to spoil it.”
I stared at the file.
Poor Oz. Misty had set him up so he’d be shipped off to military camp for the summer. And then for good measure she’d told everyone at school about it and trashed his reputation. What a bitch.
I returned the file to its drawer, just in case Misty came here looking for it.
Now very curious, I sought out another file and found it:
MY LITTLE SISTER PROGRAM
BARNES, DELORES
Delores was the second girl to disappear, the one with Down syndrome, who, while not a student at Monmouth, had been connected to the school via the My Little Sister Program.
I opened the file and, after flipping through some pages, found something relevant to my search:
STUDENT INCIDENT REPORT
Incident with Henrietta (Hattie) Brewster
Delores was involved in an altercation with Henrietta (Hattie) Brewster on the sidewalk outside school this morning.
It seems to have started innocently enough. As she arrived at Monmouth to participate in the My Little Sister Program, Delores tripped on the sidewalk and spilled her hot chocolate onto and into Ms. Brewster’s new handbag.
Ms. Brewster was not pleased. According to several girls who witnessed the incident, Delores was instantly apologetic. Unfortunately, Ms. Brewster was not in the mood to forgive, and she expressed her anger at Delores with some epithets that are not, shall we say, the Monmouth way. According to those witnesses, she said to Delores, “You stupid fucking klutz! I don’t know why we have to babysit you freaks anyway. Shouldn’t you be doing some basket-weaving course or something?”
Ms. Brewster was counseled about her language and forced to apologize to Delores. Delores continues to be upset by the incident. She has offered to pay for a new purse for Ms. Brewster numerous times and continues to apologize to Ms. Brewster whenever she comes to our school for the My Little Sister Program.
I read the report with increasing dread.
Poor Delores. By the look of it, she had accidentally bumped into Hattie on the street and spilled her hot chocolate all over Hattie’s new and no doubt expensive handbag.
Of course, Hattie—big, belligerent, and gunning for a fight—had let fly with a barrage of insults.
And shortly after, Delores Barnes had vanished from the face of the Earth.
A chill slithered up my spine.
The pattern was clear, at least to me. Three girls who had offended Misty’s clique of runners—one who had challenged Chastity, one who had crossed Misty, and one who had angered Hattie—all mysteriously disappeared soon after.
The cops and the school’s FBI investigator had clearly not suspected Misty’s gang in the three disappearances. And why would they? They were too disparate, too disconnected.
Even if the investigators had put the incidents together, they couldn’t possibly have been expected to figure out that Misty’s crew had a secret location—in another time—to which to dispatch those girls who had displeased them.
This, I figured, had been Jenny’s fate, too.
But where could she be? And how could I possibly find her?
I closed the file, slid it back into its place, and slammed the drawer. It was time to leave.
As I started to go, I stepped on one of the files on the floor, left there by Misty and Hattie.
I wouldn’t have taken any notice of it had I not recognized the name on the spine.
O’DEA, GRIFFIN (GRIFF)
It lay open. To another psychiatrist’s report.
PSYCHIATRIST’S REPORT
Psychological appraisal following incident at Barneys on June 12
This shoplifting incident highlights Griff’s significant and strict medical needs. If Griff does not take his medications, his manias will reveal themselves very quickly.
First, there will be more kleptomaniacal incidents like this. When he is not medicated, he is a compulsive stealer. He likes what other people have.
But if Griff is deprived of his medications for a longer period of time, we will see more violent and impulsive incidents like those that occurred in his youth: the torture of pets and small animals, and disproportionate acts of revenge on people he feels have slighted him (I refer to the recent incident where he cut up his mother’s favorite dress with scissors after she refused to buy him some designer sneakers).
This incident is a timely reminder for all of us involved in Griff’s mental health to keep a close eye on his medication schedule. I would, accordingly, like to increase his dosages of Risperdal and Clozaril. He is lucky that after his parents paid for the items he stole, the store chose not to press charges.
So Misty had been reading up on Griff. And while it sure made for interesting reading, I had more important things to do right now.
I threw down the file. I had to figure out where—
“Hey, Skye. Thought we might find you here,” a voice said from behind me.
It was Misty’s voice.
I turned.
Misty, Hattie, Verity, and Chastity stood in the doorway, their eyes deadly, blocking the exit.
TRAPPED
I just stood there in the school counselor’s office, wearing Misty’s necklace, looking like a burglar caught red-handed.
There was a moment of silence as we all assessed each other.
Verity and Chastity glared at me. Hattie’s eyes darted excessively: a facial tic she’d developed since she’d seen her own dead body. Her mind was gone.
“What did you do with Jenny?” I said.
Misty’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Like with the others, we took her someplace that’ll have special meaning just for her.”
“The others? You mean Becky, Trina, and Delores?”
“It started with Trina,” Misty said, “because Trina betrayed me. It was the best way to get rid of Becky. As for the freak, well, we just did that for fun because she ruined Hattie’s new Birkin bag.”
“I loved that bag…,” Hattie drawled, still blinking weirdly.
I said nothing, but I was thinking: Holy shit.
Misty spat. “Fucking Trina. You know, I thought she was my friend. And then she went and asked Bo out on a date. My Bo! On a date! At fucking Tavern on the Green. I mean, what a cliché.”
Misty’s heavy-lidded stare became harsher. She threw something at me, and I caught it.
Her phone.
On the screen was a video. I pressed the triangular “Play” icon…
…and saw the high heap of trash in the tunnel underneath the well. Faint light came down the well, illuminating the space. It was the signature fish-eye view of a GoPro camera.
Then two figures entered from the right, both holding phones as flashlights.
Bo and me.
On our first private run, when we had gone up and out of the well to explore the world of the future for the first time. I watched as, on the screen, Bo tried several times to hurl his grappling hook up into the well until at last it caught.
And then—to my horror—I saw Bo hold me in his arms and kiss me tenderly.
I remembered the moment vividly, only now I saw it through Misty’s eyes.
Oh, shit…
Then I recalled my very first run with the larger group, when Misty had fiddled around among some crevices in the left-hand wall of the tunnel near the trash heap.
