I didn’t turn to follow Leo, but instead kept walking on Ivy Road. The third pair of footsteps continued behind me. I looked behind me and saw a tall man in a baseball cap cloaked in shadow, standing at a mailbox, whistling and looking to the sky.
Whoever he was, he couldn’t have been more obvious.
I ran for it.
I sprinted as fast as I possibly could down Ivy Road, never looking back. If I wasn’t so scared for my life, I would have been impressed with this body’s athleticism. At the corner I spotted a street sign that said Addams. I turned left and ran until I spotted my front porch.
Chapter Six
Thursday, 9:12 PM
I
hurled myself inside and locked the front door behind me. The house was empty and dark. I fumbled for a light switch but couldn’t find one, because I hadn’t spent more than a day in this house, not nearly long enough to notice the placement of light switches.
“Dad?” I shouted. “I’m back!”
It seemed odd that all the lights should be off. I had noticed as I was bolting up the driveway that none of the lights were on upstairs either, and I doubted that Dad was asleep as early as 9 o’clock at night, dorky as he was. “Dad?”
I heard a low whining sound from the kitchen. “Dad, is that you?” I said, stepping awkwardly through the darkness, trying not to trip over furniture. But when I entered the kitchen, where moonlight was spilling through the window above the sink and illuminating the bare countertops and tile floor, there was no sign of my father. I heard another creaking whine, and I spun around to see the wind struggling with the half-open back door. Why was the back door open?
As quietly as possible, I took a terrified step toward the silverware drawer. My heart felt like it was pounding inside my ears and my skin was hot and prickly and every rush of air through a curtain, drip of a faucet, or creak of a branch sounded like the footsteps of someone lurking through the house. My terror felt like a knife to the throat.
There was someone waiting for me. I was sure of it.
He had killed my father, and was about to kill me. He was either the man who followed me home, or he was working with the man who followed me home. Maybe it was Leo. Yes, it probably was Leo. I pictured him waiting for me upstairs, his greasy black hair dangling down the sides of his sunken cheeks, his spidery fingers curled around a cold, black knife handle. He was systematically eliminating my whole family, first Paul, then Dad, and now me. I was so horrified I could barely think.
Wincing at the rumbling noise, I slid open the silverware drawer. Then I removed the largest steak knife I could find and faced the kitchen door. At least I could attempt to fight back.
I realized I’d forgotten to ask Will what happened if I died again, in the body that was Borrowing me. I assumed at the very least it meant I wouldn’t get to be a Shadow anymore. At most, that I would be obliterated from heaven and earth. Nullified. Completely and utterly dead and gone.
I was standing in the middle of the dark kitchen, knees bent and at the ready, holding a steak knife in the air, when the phone rang.
I literally jumped two feet in the air and figuratively screamed my head off. I landed on the floor, on my butt, then hopped up again, just in time to answer the call.
“Hello?” I said too loudly, panting. I must have sounded like I was in the middle of making out with someone.
There was no answer. I could hear the faint sound of breathing on the other line.
“Who is this?”
Still no answer.
I quickly grabbed a pen and a napkin and wrote down the phone number that had appeared on the glowing green screen of the portable phone: 555-213-5498.
There was a click at the other end, and the hollow, mechanical echo of a dial tone initiating.
I had to find out who had called, so I decided to call them right back. Maybe I could plead with them to spare my life.
My hands were shaking so violently that I was having trouble pressing the right keys on the phone, and had to start over and over: 5. 5. 6.
No. 5. 5. 5. 2. 3.
No. 5. 5. 5. 2. 1. 3.
That’s when the front door flew open. “Brooke?”
I recognized the voice as Dad’s and instantly heaved all the poisoned, frightened-for-my-life air from my stinging lungs. I ran into the living room and threw my arms around him.
“You’re alive!” I screamed.
“What do you mean, I’m alive? Of course I’m alive!” Dad didn’t sound glad to be alive. He sounded furious. “Where were you?”
I stumbled back and looked at his face, which was flushed with anger. I never understood how, if you were really worried about someone, you could holler at them with such force when you finally found out they were alright.
“I was doing paperwork upstairs and I came down around 7:30 to bring you dinner and you were gone!”
I winced. I’d forgotten to tell him that I was going to the diner. “I was out with Alex and Allison,” I said meekly.
Dad threw his arms in the air, doing his best to look menacing, despite the leather patches on the elbows of his green sweater. “Your brother is gone, Brooke! How do you think I’m feeling right now? And you
forget
to tell me you’re going out? Give me a break.”
“Geez!” I muttered. “It was a mistake.”
“You were never like this when your mom was here!” he hollered.
I didn’t even know this man, and here he was, berating my character, raising his voice. I tried to keep my voice calm and soft, but it seemed to grow loud and angry of its own accord. “I was never like
what
?” I hollered back.
“Like a sneaky little teenager!”
That was it. I’d had it.
“You have no idea what is going on in my life!” I shouted. “I need to find Paul way more than you do, and that’s why I went out tonight in the first place. So I would appreciate a little respect and you staying out of my way while I do my job!”
Dad looked like he might slap me, then he put his arms down at his side and turned away, breathing heavily, kneading the bit of skin between his eyebrows. “It’s not your fault what happened,” he said quietly. “And it’s the police’s job to find Paul. I don’t want you thinking about it anymore. Your job is to just stay safe. I can’t lose you again, Brooke. Now, please go to your room.”
I heaved a heavy sigh and stormed upstairs, stuffing the napkin with the phone number into my pocket.
I was so angry that I’d almost forgotten about the possibility of Leo hiding upstairs with a knife, which, if Dad had been out searching for me, was still entirely possible. I flipped on the lights in the bathroom just to be safe. Nothing.
I threw open the linen closet in the hallway: just sheets and towels that smelled like mountain streams and lilacs. No murderous freshmen.
I turned the knob on my bedroom lamp and a yellow glow warmed the room. I checked the closet: no one.
All that was left was Paul’s room. I padded in and I was struck instantly by the smell of stale air and old pizza crusts. I flipped the wall switch next to the door and beheld, with no small amount of disgust, the array of half-eaten food, dirty dishes, old candy wrappers, and empty soda bottles that had congregated at the foot of his bed. The walls were painted navy, and there was a bookcase stacked with baseball trophies and model dinosaurs. The bed itself was unmade—the sheets and the comforter had twisted themselves into a giant boulder of bedding that sat square in the middle of the mattress. The centerpiece of the room was a big TV—not a flat screen, but an old-looking, thick, square TV. It had probably once been the fancy new family room TV, and then, when replaced by a newer model, it had wound up in Paul’s room.
An Xbox sat in front of the TV, and the various power cords and AV cables and controllers that attached the TV to all of its various organs looked as twisted and complex as veins and arteries and nerves. I checked inside the closet: piles of smelly clothes and a mountain of Xbox games, but no Leo.
I scowled and went to leave, and as I did, I tripped over one of the Xbox controllers and fell back into the TV.
It was too massive to knock over, but I must have hit the power button by mistake, because I could feel the tingling of static at my back as it turned on.
I stood up and shook myself off.
At first I wasn’t sure what I was looking at on the TV screen. The screen was black with a gray box in the center and the words “Xbox LIVE Party,” with a list of names underneath. “CaptFunBags.” “Jnxbrutha23.” There were pictures next to the names, some of people, some of icons. “SeeLion.” “Bord2Deth.” “Leo2361.”
Wait.
I moved closer to the TV and glared at the little picture next to “Leo2361.”
There he was: sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, greasy black hair parted down the center.
How did Paul know Leo?
Chapter Seven
Friday, 7:15 AM
I
grunted into Mr. Houseman’s chorus room the next morning at 7:15. It is impossible to sleep, or at least sleep well, after you’ve had a fight with someone in your immediate family, even if you only met your immediate family the night before. I woke up at least once an hour, the sheets wrapped tightly around my waist and wrists and ankles, a prisoner of my own worry. How was
I
supposed to find Paul, if the police couldn’t?
Mr. Houseman was sitting at the piano, in the same blue suit and red bowtie he’d been wearing the day before, playing something that I recognized as Bach, even though I had no memory of ever going near a piano. I looked around for the hundred or so other students in the chorus, but the seats were empty.
“It’s Wednesday, Brooke,” said Mr. Houseman, looking concerned. “No chorus on Wednesday.”
I hung my head. I’d woken up early for nothing. Not that I would have made it past six anyway.
“Are you alright, honey?” he said, patting me on the back. His moustache was gray and well manicured. “You seem . . . not yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“Listen,” he said kindly. “Michelle has been doing your solos in rehearsal. I think you should sit the concert out today. You’ve had such a shock, and you haven’t rehearsed with the group. No one’s expecting you to get up there and belt your brains out after you’ve been under such tremendous stress.”
Why was everyone telling me not to sing? What was the worst that could happen? If I land in the body of a kangaroo, shouldn’t I be allowed to jump? I wanted to ride Brooke’s glorious voice like a motorcycle, to soar and glide over a canyon, in front of hundreds of children, dropping their jaws in awe. Didn’t I deserve a little fun?
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Houseman,” I said. “But they are my solos, and I’d like to sing them myself.”
I turned and sauntered off to first period English.
I waited in the back of Ms. Peterson’s class, draped over my desk, my cheek pressed firmly against the cold Formica. I must have fallen asleep for a minute, because I screamed a little when Alex poked me in the neck.
“Um, wake up,” she said, smiling. “We weren’t out that late.”
“I know,” I replied. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“You just ran out of the diner. It wasn’t like you. You haven’t really been yourself since you got back.”
I was overcome with frustration. I wanted to stand dramatically and throw my chair across the room and kick my desk over and raise both arms in the air like angry wings and scream, “That’s because I’m not Brooke, you idiot!”
But I didn’t. Instead, I took a deep breath. Getting angry wasn’t going to fix anything. I was here to find Paul, not throw tantrums. And if Will was right—and there was no reason to disbelieve him—I had been given the role of Shadow for a reason. There had to be a way for me to do this. So stop thinking, I told myself, and start acting.
I gave Alex my biggest Brooke smile. “Al, can I borrow your phone?” I asked.
“Sure.”
Alex handed me her iPhone with its green rubber case.
I reached into my bag for the crumpled up note from last night—in all the confusion of the fight with Dad I’d forgotten to dial the number that had called the house—and just as my fingers touched the napkin, the phone number popped into my head. 5.5.5.2.1.3.5.4.9.8. Confused, I flattened the paper and checked. The number was a match. But how was that possible? I’d barely even glanced at it and I’d memorized it.
“Is something wrong?” Alex asked.
“No. Everything is . . . fine,” I said, and punched in the number.
I could feel Alex watching me with concern as I stared at the phone. I didn’t actually expect anyone to pick up, of course, but I was getting so desperate that calling the unknown number was all I could think to do. These, thus, far, were the brilliant pieces of evidence I’d gathered over the course of my investigation: 1) Leo knows Paul. 2) I was followed home by someone other than Leo. 3) Someone called the house after that and hung up when I answered.
I was a terrible Shadow.
Then, to my surprise, a phone rang inside the classroom. I looked around frantically while keeping an ear to the iPhone.
Ms. Peterson, who was sitting behind her desk at the front of the room, pulled a clunky, bejeweled cell phone from her bag and examined the number on the screen. She switched the phone off without answering and threw it back in her bag.
Alex’s iPhone stopped ringing.
I stifled a gasp. The person who called the house last night and hung up when I answered was none other than Ms. Peterson, the same person who somehow knew that I’d thrown myself out of a moving van.
Ms. Peterson stuffed her purse under her desk. “Sorry, class! Phones off! We’ll start in two minutes.”
“Abby,” came a voice from behind me. I spun around and saw Will leaning against the back wall of the classroom, arms folded across his chest, the brim of his baseball cap tilted so far downward that you couldn’t see his face. It was a perfect imitation of a damaged, rebellious bad boy type, except for the pleated khaki pants and crisp white shirt. “Come talk to me in the hallway.”
I shook my head. “No! I’m not going to look like a crazy person again!”
“What are you talking about?” asked Alex, nervously taking back her iPhone.