“Vivienne Dunn.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s at school.”
Vivienne shuddered at the cobwebs overtaking the light fixture above her. She’d always known Lyle’s disdain for authority would come in handy one day.
“We were just at your school,” Lawrence said, his irritation clear, “and they told us she’s been absent all week.”
“That’s so weird.” It sounded like Lyle was smiling.
“In the interest of public safety, I really need to speak with her.”
“That’ll be pretty hard, cuz she’s not here.”
“I’ll tell you what…My associate is going to come inside and take a look, just to be on the safe side.”
“Yeah…that’s not happening.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Mel?”
As sounds of a scuffle reached Vivienne, she prayed the worn floorboards did not give away her retreat to her bedroom. She flicked off the lights and listened to the muffled conversation below.
“I’m calling the cops, man!”
Lyle. She had to help Lyle.
Except these guys weren’t after him. They wanted her.
“Get out of the way, kid. We have Lynn Foley’s permission to search the premises.”
If Lynn had cooperated with these men, that meant she could be the traitor Deacon had alluded to. Deacon had told her the truth about flying. Could that mean he was also telling the truth about Vivienne not surviving what was to come next?
She refused to wait around to find out.
She grabbed her backpack, dumped everything onto the bed, and shoved some clean clothes inside, along with her wallet and the photo of her brother and sister.
“She’s not down here!” a man called. “You sure she’s still around? If he was with her at the hospital, then—”
“Go upstairs. She has to be here somewhere.”
The wooden treads creaked as someone climbed the steps.
They were coming. She needed to hide. Would they look under the bed? In the closet? No, no. Those were the first places they’d look. Her gaze landed on the window, and a familiar tingling made her arms itch.
She knew exactly how to escape.
Adrenaline wasn’t an issue, but should she take the pill anyway? She dug through her pocket for the second half and took it. While it dissolved, she opened the window; raindrops splattered on the sill. Dampness seeped through her leggings when she climbed onto the ledge.
Happy thoughts. She needed to think happy thoughts.
She closed her eyes, but all she could think about was the men coming for her. Dragging her away. Killing her slowly—
Happy. Happy. Happy. Thinking about her brother and sister made her happy. She focused on those memories. Christmas. The year her brother had made her a rocking horse. The fire in her chest spread to her limbs, and she knew the moment her body left the ledge.
She willed herself higher, and her internal fire responded like the burner in a hot air balloon. Although she was afraid to look down, she forced one eye open.
The roof? She was only as high as the stupid roof? Her heart hammered in her chest. Rain fell over her face, blurring her vision.
The light in her room flashed on.
“She’s not here,” the man bellowed.
“Are you sure?” Lawrence called.
“Yeah. The window’s open and the screen is popped out.” The man’s silhouette approached the opening.
Dizzy, Vivienne closed her eyes and whispered “Help me,” to God, the stars, the rain—anyone and anything that would listen.
Her adrenaline surged, jolting her up and out of sight.
From between passing rain clouds, Vivienne watched the black van drive away from her house. Adrenaline still pulsed through her veins, heating her core and holding her tingling body steady.
Her joy at escaping was replaced by a cold realization: she had no clue how to get back down.
Last night, her skepticism had cut the invisible string holding her mid-air.
Maybe if she was only a little bit skeptical, she could get down nice and easy.
“I don’t believe it,” she whispered to a passing bird.
The bird side-eyed her on its way to the telephone wires.
Vivienne didn’t budge.
Mrs. Melkova came out of her house and hobbled toward her beat-up red Volkswagen. The car protested when she tried to start it. After coughing some black smoke from its tailpipe, it stuttered toward the stop sign.
Vivienne allowed more doubt to cloud her mind.
This isn’t happening. This is a dream.
You’re not special.
You. Can’t. Fly.
The tingling stopped. Fear replaced her adrenaline like a leaded weight dragging her back to Earth.
She was falling too fast.
Think, Vivienne. Think.
What had Deacon said?
She had to clear her mind.
How was she supposed to do that with her stomach in her throat?
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture her brother and sister.
Her skin prickled, but their faces were muddled, like they were lost in fog.
If I survive, I’m going straight to Neverland . . .
I’ll see Deacon again.
Her adrenaline roared to life. She slowed down, but the roof still knocked the wind out of her. She grabbed for something, anything to keep her from tumbling to the ground. The shingles scraped her hands, but she couldn’t get a good grip.
Her body went over the edge, but her fingers caught the cold, leaf-filled gutter at the back of the house.
The gutter groaned.
Happy thoughts. She really needed more happy thoughts. She could see her brother and sister’s smiles as clearly as if they were standing in the puddles below her.
The gutter broke.
Vivienne’s adrenaline spiked, and she was able to slow herself enough to land on her feet in the small gravel-filled patch behind Lynn’s house. Adjoining fences surrounded the backyard, and a narrow metal gate led to the street at the front of the house. She decided on the former and threw her backpack over the lowest fence.
Someone called her name—probably Lyle.
She didn’t stick around to find out.
She nudged one of the weathered boards in the wooden wall and slid through. There was a chain-link fence on the other side of the neighbor’s overgrown grass, and she climbed over it with minimal rattling. After conquering three more yards, she reached a street.
She sprinted until her lungs felt like bursting, then collapsed in the wet grass behind a wide oak tree. Once she caught her breath, she jogged the rest of the way to the bus station.
She dragged her phone from her pocket and called the number from earlier. Her shaking hands were scraped and bleeding.
“Kensington College, this is Michelle.”
“Michelle. Thank God. I need your help. Can you connect me to Julie at Kensington Academy?”
“One moment.”
She took shelter from the rain beneath an overhang and tried not to think of her wet socks slurping inside her muddy shoes.
“This is Julie.”
“Julie. It’s Vivienne Dunn.”
“Hello again.”
“Sorry about earlier. We got cut off, and I wasn’t able to speak freely.” The lie didn’t sound very convincing.
“I see. What can I help you with?”