Needy Little Things(75)

“What?” He pats his pockets a few times before freezing in place.

I end the call. The vibrating stops. And we both know what this is.

Jed’s face goes dark. He drops everything in his arms and sprints out of the gas station.

“What in the ever-loving heck got into him?” the clerk says, handing me back my card.

I snatch it from him and race out to the car. Jed is gone, but the hooptie was the only vehicle in sight when I pulled up. If he’s heading to Daddy’s rental, I can beat him there. I fill the tank with just enough gas to get there and speed off down the road.

The five-minute drive feels like an eternity. What used to be a dirt path leading to the small rental house has turned into mud and swallowed the whole yard with it. I can’t risk getting the car stuck in that mess, so I drive another ten seconds and turn onto the gravel road that leads to Dad’s house. In the yard are several missing person flyers covered with sheet protectors and taped to paint stirrers stuck in the ground. The rain has made a mess of them, but I’m glad they’re there. Dad’s truck isn’t out front, but I can’t wait around. I text Malcolm to let him know I got here safely and then go inside.

“Daddy!” I shout over the squeak of the screen door that he never keeps locked. I don’t expect an answer, but I get one in the form of an irritated bark. Otis, Dad’s toothless English bulldog, comes trotting down the hall like he’s gonna do something. He gets a whiff of me and spins around in an excited circle, but there’s no time to greet him. I need to find Deja and get out of here.

I run straight through the house and out the back door to the shed where Dad keeps the four-wheeler, praying the thing is functional. The key hangs on a nail above the toolbox. I put it in the ignition, hold my breath, and turn. It starts. I reverse out and drive it as fast as it will go toward the rental. Mud splashes up to my waist, but I’m there in a flash. I cut the engine directly across from the long staircase Daddy built that leads down to the creek. Those banks used to be the most peaceful place on Earth to me, but today the sound of rushing water sets me on edge.

I dart up the ramp that leads to the side door of the house. It’s locked, but the window next to it is wide open. It’s too high for me to reach from the ground, so I climb onto the rickety railing. I balance there for a few seconds, debating the best way to transition inside, before taking my chances and bunny hopping through the window. All would have been well if the floor wasn’t rotted out. My right foot breaks through the decaying pine. I clench my jaws to avoid shouting out in pain and carefully remove my foot from the hole. My lower calf is bloody, muddy, and full of splinters. “Deja!” I shout, forgoing my plans of a gentle approach. I lurch over onto all fours and use the wall to straighten up to my full height. “Deja!” I call again, but there’s no answer. If she were here, she would have heard that grand entrance I made. Still, I hobble around the small space, looking for any sign she was here at all. I find a promising bag of fresh trash in the kitchen.

In the bedroom, I find the flower crown and romper she wore to Afro Alt balled up in the corner. My stomach drops as if I’m free-falling on a roller coaster. She was definitely here, but there’s no telling where she, or Jed, is now. I need to find my dad. It’s time to call the police.

I limp my way back to the side door and accidentally drop the keys to the four-wheeler as I fumble with the doorknob. They land at the edge of the hole I created with my foot. When I reach down to grab them, I sense something.

A need.





CHAPTER 32





Water. Water. Water.

I get down on all fours and peer into the hole in the floor, but the little remaining light of the day doesn’t extend far. The need persists, but no one answers when I call out. I take another lap around the house, feeling the clarity of the need wax and wane. In the end, I’m drawn back to the hole. The flashlight on my phone doesn’t help much, but I stick my arm as far in as I can without blocking my vision. I slowly rotate it, getting a glimpse from every angle. Something brushes against my wrist and I flinch, dropping the phone out of reach. It rests sideways against a rock, illuminating some of the space I couldn’t see before.

Illuminating a set of long, honey-brown box braids.

“Deja!” I scream. It’s guttural. A sound I’ve never heard leave my mouth. I have to tell myself three times over that she isn’t dead. If she were dead, I wouldn’t be hearing her need.

I try reaching for my phone again, but all I do is knock it over, sending the crawl space back into darkness. Crawl space. There has to be an entrance to it somewhere. I run outside and scan the perimeter of the house. Nothing on the outside. Covered in mud, I go back in and reassure Deja I’m going to get her out. I don’t know if she can hear me, but I promise her over and over.

I spot the hinge of the crawl space hatch door on the floor of the bedroom closet, partially concealed by renovation supplies. A sour taste builds in the back of my throat when I find several Walmart bags filled with snacks and drinks stashed beneath a sheet. I push the junk aside, only to find the door padlocked. It’s old and cheap, like something a middle school kid would put on their locker. A measure clearly taken to keep Deja in rather than any worry about keeping someone out. I scan the closet for something to open it with. A rusty toolbox sits on the top shelf. I rise onto the tiptoes of my good foot and take it down. There’s no hammer inside, but there is a tiny key. My hands tremble so badly, it takes several seconds to get the key into the hole. Once the lock pops open, I snatch a bottle of water from the case to my right and throw open the door. A strong, mildewy odor smacks me in the face. I never thought I had issues with confined spaces, but the distance between the floor and the earth below can’t be more than three feet high. I don’t allow myself any more time to think about it. I wiggle down into the space and crawl to my friend.