1
Margo
Something cool touches my cheek.
I pull away, and my entire body bursts into flames.
Pain, not flames.
My face is hot.
“Come on, Margo, I know you’re back.”
Back? Back where?
“Wake up, Margo.”
Am I sleeping?
I can’t open my eyes. I can’t move. It’s just pain everywhere, little rockets sizzling under my skin and across my brain. The headache is extreme.
Where am I?
Another cool thing on my cheek.
“Jesus, did you try to kill her?” A new voice. Lighter.
Someone I know? Their name is on the tip of my tongue.
“I couldn’t really control it once I hit them,” the first one says.
“She’s bleeding.” A sigh. Someone moves my head. A groan fills the air.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears, drowning out the voice for a moment.
“…hospital. You don’t have a choice.”
Maybe I’m dead.
“Up you go, Margo.”
I’m lifted, swung into arms. My head falls back.
My eyes open in slits. It’s blinding.
Old slatted wood. Sunlight peeking through. Cold air. A high ceiling, rafters with cobwebs and hay.
I can’t be dead.
“You aren’t dead. You’re not going to die. That’s not the plan.”
Someone has a plan? I used to be a planner. I thought I knew what was going to happen to me. I thought I could control it. And then…
“Don’t fucking talk to her.”
“I’m sorry,” the first voice says. “God, I’m sorry.”
Something covers my nose and mouth. A cloth. The fabric is soft, but my body bucks against it. My lungs burn. I wrap my hand around the person’s wrist and hold on for dear life.
But wait. I think…
I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.
I snap my eyes fully open, locking them onto the face of the person carrying me.
It’s too late to do anything else. I gasp, inhale the chemicals.
Hands reach up out of the darkness, dragging me back down.
I go. Anywhere is better than here.
Caleb
A balled-up sock hits me in the face.
I jerk and glare at Eli. “What was that for?”
“You were zoning out,” he says.
One thing we can’t get away with in the Black household is laundry duty. Everything else is taken care of except this one task. It’s soothing, the warm fabric sliding through my hands. But it also invoked memories.
Packing clothes. Being shipped off to Uncle’s house.
Mom leaving.
Eli and I stand on opposite sides of the dining table with our own piles of clean clothes. The faster we fold, the sooner we’ll be done. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
“Just think how prepared you’ll be for when you live on your own,” Eli’s mom often told us. “We’re getting you ready for adulthood.”
But I can’t concentrate, because Margo is with her dad. She’ll find out the real truth. The ugliness we’ve been hiding.
Her dad killed mine. Snuffed his life out—
“Dude.”
I grimace.
The doorbell rings just as my phone goes off. I glance at Eli. It’s a blocked number.
He waves me off, unaware of the sudden spike in my blood pressure, and heads to the door.
I’m being ridiculous. A blocked number isn’t Unknown, Margo’s harasser. Stalker. No, it’s probably a telemarketer or a scam.
“What?” I bark into the phone.
“Hello, Caleb,” a robotic voice says. It sounds like an automated voice reading a line of text. “I’ve greatly anticipated speaking with you.”
I stare at the floor and don’t answer. They want to hear my voice? No way.
“They’re going to ask you about Margo.”
“What?”
The line fills with breathing. It doesn’t make sense in contrast to the automated tone. “When they ask, just remember: anything you say will be held against you.”
“What happened to Margo?” My heart beats faster. Worry takes over.
“Don’t worry, Caleb. You got your wish.”
I fight back the growl. “What the fuck did I wish for?”
Pause. “For the foster parents to be… Removed from the situation.”
Mrs. Black walks into the kitchen. “Caleb, hang up the phone.”
Happily. I hit the end button and toss my phone onto my folded clothes.
Game face.
“The police are here,” she says to me in a low voice. “They wanted to talk to you… Who was on the phone? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake off the bad feeling. “No one important.”
She shrugs. “Come along, then. I’ve called Josh.”
Mr. Black is a defense lawyer. If she’s called him…
“Am I in trouble?”
Worry flits across her face, but it’s gone before I can latch on to it. “Have you done something we need to worry about? I can insist we wait—”
“I haven’t done anything.”
She nods, smoothing out my shirt. She’s been more my parent than my family ever was. Taking a deep breath, she turns and leads me into the living room.
“Caleb, this is Detective Masters.” She gestures for us to sit. “Since Caleb is still a minor…”
“Of course.” The detective is an older guy. Bald. He seems like he could eat nails for breakfast. “Caleb, I just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
I lift one shoulder
“Have you been home all day?”
My eyebrow jumps. It isn’t every day the police come asking for an alibi. “Yep, Eli and I have been doing laundry and playing games.”
He clears his throat, glancing at a little notepad in his palm. “And when’s the last time you saw Margo Wolfe?”
My stomach twists. “Did something happen to her?”
He waits.
“I saw her this morning. She went home, and I stayed here.”
“And as far as you know, what were her plans today?”
I glance at Mrs. Black. “She had plans to see her father.”
“Her father, who happened to be in jail on murder charges—”
“He pled out to voluntary manslaughter, Detective,” Mrs. Black says in a low voice. “And this line of questioning seems rather extreme. Are you insinuating something happened to Margo?”
Detective Masters leans back, his eyebrow twitching.
Smug asshole.
“I’m not insinuating anything, Norah. Margo is missing.”
I bolt to my feet. “Missing?”
“Her foster father was found at the scene of a car accident. She was not in or around the vehicle.” He stands as well. “From the condition of the car, she was badly hurt when they pulled her out of the wreck.”
“And you’re here?” I snap. “Questioning me when you should be—I don’t know, out there searching for—”
“Caleb,” Mrs. Black says, putting her hand on my arm.