Castles On The Sand Part 25

I shut and lock the front door.

In the kitchen, Kailie sits with her forehead resting on her hand. She doesn't say anything.

I return to my seat and eat another potato chip. I don't say anything either.

That night she sleeps like the dead, limp as a ragdoll and unmoving. I wake up once when I roll onto her hand, and again when my leg jerks and I kick her, but each time she lays in the same position, on her back, mouth slightly open. The next time I open my eyes, my alarm is blaring and she's gone. On my desk is a note that reads: I think of her father stalking off towards his car and get dressed and ready as fast as I can, worried that I'll have to stand on the corner for fifteen minutes or more to see if she's coming, but as soon as I set foot outside, I see her standing in our usual meeting spot, her cellphone in her hand, an amused half-smirk on her lips as she taps away on it with her thumb.

My knees go weak with relief. I run to join her. "Hey."

"Hey, hey. I slept so well last night."

"I'm glad. You want breakfast before school?"

She opens her backpack to reveal a greasy paper bag. "I brought you breakfast. EVOL does breakfast burritos, don't you know?"

"Deep fried breakfast. Perfect." I can't help but glance to see if she's soaked her notes or textbooks in oil, but her backpack is empty, which is strange. Her parents insist she bring home all her homework and do it every night.

My friend is in high spirits, though, and we crunch our way through our burritos as we walk to school. Warm egg, sausage, and salsa with gooey cheddar cheese taste so good with the deep fried sh.e.l.l that I'm to the end of mine before we even reach the high school. How embarra.s.sing.

"Okay, so I've decided," says Kailie. "I'm gonna go see Kirsten today after school."

"You want me to go with you?"

"Please?"

"Yeah, of course."

The sight of her smile makes me feel like a big, constricting rubber band around my chest melts away. Kailie's fine. The strangeness with her parents is just that, family strangeness. It'll all work itself out.

It isn't until we get to school, cross the parking lot, and go inside that she unzips her jacket and I see she's wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I avert my eyes and pretend not to notice. Alex is just inside the doorway and I stop to ask him, "How did it go?"

He looks down at me, surprise flitting across his expression. "I got community service. They're gonna see if I can volunteer at a group home."

"That is awesome. So your mom?"

"Still working on that one."

"Do you know which group home you'll work at?"

"I dunno, probably one with a lot of violent patients. Officer Li was not happy."

"I'm happy, though."

"Well, thanks."

Kailie grasps my arm. "What are you doing?" she whispers, her breath hot against my ear.

Alex looks at her and I see his usual anger flare up. But then he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and says, "She's talking to me. You got a problem with that?"

"Yeah, I do."

I switch her grip so that I'm holding onto her arm instead. "She doesn't mean that."

"Yes I do. He's a psycho!"

"She means that as in psychopath. And she says congratulations, right?" I turn and peg her with my best stop it now look.

"And you-" she turns to Alex "-you can't be friends with her."

Alex lifts an eyebrow. "So, Madison, I got all these text messages saying you wanted to do some stuff for me." He keeps his voice level, no hint of irony.

"Right, those," I say. "Yeah, what's a good time?"

"I've got detention this afternoon. Maybe after. That enough time?"

"I don't know." I bat my eyelashes. "How long does it usually take? I don't actually know what half the things in those text messages are."

At that his facade cracks and he laughs. "I'll see you later."

"Later." Only then do I look around and see that everyone is staring at me. Alex ducks his head with embarra.s.sment as he retreats down the hall.

Kailie rears back and punches me in the chest, hard enough to knock me back. "I hate you," she screams.

I stumble into the doors where several pairs of hands grab my shoulders and help me up again. Before I can even lift my gaze, I'm surrounded by people and Kailie's being restrained by Ryan and another one of his friends.

I glance around, confused, but within minutes I'm in the nurse's office, where she checks out the bruise on my sternum and Kailie's in the princ.i.p.al's office, being given detention. And I thought n.o.body ratted on anyone in this school. I now know what she was mad at me for, though. Maybe it wasn't Ben that Kailie was looking for at all those midnight beach parties. Clearly, she's got a thing for Alex, and who can blame her? He's beyond gorgeous, and so is she. Cold fear settles in my chest. If Alex had to choose between me and her, I just can't see him choosing me.

I don't see Kailie for the rest of the day, except in pa.s.sing, and she glares at me each time. A text to her phone goes unanswered, so I just decide to leave it. I don't forget about her desire to go visit her sister, though.

At five o'clock, I can't help but stare out the front windows. Maybe, I tell myself, she went to see Kirsten on her own. She doesn't need me, right? The two sisters are probably sitting and chatting.

I try to focus on my homework, which I've laid out on the kitchen table.

At five thirty, I find myself staring out the window again. Something feels all wrong. The Kailie I know would have come by to apologize by now and tell me how things went with her sister, if she even went to see her sister. Maybe she had to go straight home from detention, which would have ended an hour ago.

Even though I know it's not entirely rational, I get up, put on my jacket, and head out, tapping out a quick text to my friend to let her know that I'm looking for her.

I take my time, as I walk towards the Inn. On my way up Ridge Road I crane my neck to look at the Inn, as if by staring at the outside I can figure out whether or not my friend is or was there. Her car is.

The wind goes from cool to sharp and biting cold as I draw closer to the bluffs, and when I reach the door to the residence, there's no answer when I knock. I consider knocking on the back door of the Inn itself, but recall my tense encounter with Mr. Beale yesterday and think better of it.

Kailie still hasn't answered my text, so I mull over what to do next. Maybe she went to Kirsten's without me, I reason, so I head out in that direction.

Again, I take my time and search the sidewalks with my gaze for any sign of my friend. When I reach Kirsten's house, I can tell, just from the way people move around inside, that Kailie isn't there. I'd expect the two sisters to sit down and talk, but the shadows inside move around, as if doing evening ch.o.r.es.

I backtrack to my house, the library, then back to the Inn before returning to search around my neighborhood some more. I don't know why I'm searching like this, but everything looks wrong, even though I can't put my finger on why. It's as if I've been taken from my world into a world that is almost identical, but not quite. The houses seem to have more cracks than I remember, and the sky less light at this hour. I pull out my phone and call John.

"Something happened to Kailie," I say.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. But I know something's wrong. Or maybe I'm just paranoid. I guess I'm just paranoid."

"Tell me what happened."

"Well, I haven't seen her since school, but she kind of got thrown in detention for hitting me and was really mad at me so... maybe that's why I haven't seen her."

"That what you really think?"

"No. I think something's wrong, but I can't figure out why. I can't shake the feeling."

"Trust your gut. Have you looked everywhere?"

"Pretty much."

"Talked to people?"

"I guess I could start doing that right now."

"Okay. Anything I can do?"

"No. I'll call you."

We hang up and I head back to Kirsten's where, again, the figures move from room to room and there's no sense of a visitor. Still, this time I go knock on the front door, my knuckles making a hollow sound against the flimsy wood.

A very exhausted looking Kirsten opens, and at the sight of me, she looks past, then back at me, puzzled. Her brown hair is piled on top of her head in a loose bun and she's wearing sweats and a t-s.h.i.+rt for some band I've never heard of. "Hi," she says.

"I'm looking for Kailie. Has she been by?"

"Um... I haven't seen or even talked to Kailie in ten months." Her searching gaze seems to ask, "Should I be worried?" Her voice is leaden with exhaustion, and I can't help but notice that she looks closer to thirty than her actual age of nineteen. Her belly is starting to swell with another pregnancy and I can hear a toddler chattering away in the other room.

It's a question I feel I should ask her. "She wanted to come see you today. I was supposed to come with her."

"Well, I can tell you what happened. Mom and Dad stopped her, either by bribing or punis.h.i.+ng her-"

"You think they'd punish her more?"

"More than what?" She shrugs.

"Okay, well thanks. Sorry to bother you."

"It's fine. Bye."

Who else, I wonder, can I talk to? Other than her parents. I don't want to talk to them. I wander back to my house, fully aware that I'm stalling. I stop at the curb and stare at my home with its pots and windchime and bleached out siding. Then I see it. Tucked under my window is a little piece of paper.

Or, as I discover when run over and tug it loose, a little envelope. I open it and out of it spills a necklace with a single, black pearl. I gave it to her for her sweet sixteenth birthday.

I jam it into my pocket, turn, and head for the Inn at a dead run, tearing down the street towards Jacksons and bolting across Wilkstone, heedless of traffic. The Inn's lights are all on, glowing faintly in the falling dusk, but the lights of the house are off. I ignore the st.i.tch in my side as I circle around to the house door, collapse against it, and knock. No answer.

I run to the rain barrel and am on the roof in record time, but her room is dark and there's no response when I knock on the window. The wind whips across the asphalt s.h.i.+ngles and tugs at my s.h.i.+rt and jeans. Maybe I've got this all wrong. Maybe Alex's claim that giving things away is a symptom of suicide is wrong.

A little voice inside my head says he's right. After all, who would know more about weird mental issues? I wish I had his phone number, but never thought to ask for it.

I pound on the window, then press my palms to it and shove upwards. It won't budge. I call Kailie's phone and hear it ring, inside the room. No one answers.

I call my mother.

"What is it?" she answers, voice seething with rage.

"Mom. I can't find Kailie and I am really, really worried about her."

"Where are you?"

"Um... on the roof of the Beales' house."

"What are you doing there?"

"Like I said, I'm trying to find Kailie and I think she might have hurt herself."

"Well what are you going to do? Break into their house? Call the police? Be serious."

"I am serious, Mom. I'm afraid she might have attempted suicide."

"Do not do any property damage based on a hunch. The last thing I need is for you to break a window. The Beales will throw me out of the gallery altogether. Just leave the situation be."

I hang up and resist the urge to throw my phone as far as possible. Instead I press my face against the gla.s.s and look into the darkness in Kailie's room. I can see the far wall, some of the floor, and a very dark splotch on the rug. That is definitely not right.

The window doesn't break when I hit it with my hand, and I realize that's a good thing because I'd just cut myself. I turn around and ram it with the heel of my boot. The first time I hear a crunch, but the gla.s.s doesn't give all the way. A star shaped nexus of cracks appears. I ram again and this time it does give, sending shards of gla.s.s into the room beyond.

There is a sickening smell that I can't quite place.

I climb in, careful not to cut my hands on the jagged gla.s.s, only, when I put my boot down inside, it slides out from under me and I have to grab the nearest thing at hand. I thank whatever deity is listening for the sh.e.l.ls affixed to the wall. They hold my weight and don't slice my hands. I look down and see that I'm standing in a pool of blood.

My throat constricts with shock, turning my scream into a squeak. Kailie is lying, curled up in the corner, her clothes soaked through. Her back is to me, her hair matted and caked, her cheek paler than mine.

I vault over Kailie's unconscious form, slip, and fall. My hand lands on a kitchen knife and I see in the dimness that she's slit her wrists. Blood covers her hands. I fumble my phone out of my pocket and try to dial 911. I manage on the third try.

"Emergency?" says the operator.

"My friend might have killed herself. She slit her wrists."

But Kailie inhales sharply.

"She's alive!" I say.

"Where are you?"

I give the address. "It's the Pelican Bluffs Inn. The house attached to it."