“Shit,” Wren muttered as we started down the stairs.
“Poppy?” I called as we reached the bottom. “Are you down here?” The basement was even more frigid than I remembered. I turned on the light.
“So she went over there.” I pointed towards the left. “That wall. And she was pushing boxes around for some reason. And I went this way.” I pointed to the right.
“Why?” Wren sounded suspicious.
“I don’t know. I was tripping.” I shrugged. “I got distracted and wandered off.”
“Why did you come down here to begin with?” Her eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“Poppy wanted to show me something.”
“What?”
“She didn’t say.” I turned abruptly. “I’ll look over here, where I went. Why don’t you go over there, by the wall?”
Using my phone’s flashlight to see, I wound through the stacked boxes and furniture. Last night had felt so momentous, operatic, stepping from the cement floor into a magical forest. But now it just looked like any other dusty basement filled with shit. At least it felt slightly warmer over here.
One of the little paths opened up into a wider space. A black leather couch sat in the middle. Was this the “clearing” I’d come across last night?
I remembered holding Christina’s hand, how real it had felt. The chanting creatures, the demoness… had I really just been lying here alone, fucked-up and masturbating?
My shoe kicked something that went skittering across the floor. I went after it, searching amongst shadows until I spotted something glint under the couch.
It was a tube of peppermint lip balm.
“Alex!” Wren’s panicked voice tore my attention away.
“Be right there!” Slipping it into my pocket, I hurried towards her.
Wren ran up to me when I reached the stairs. “Oh my god!” She clutched my arms, on the verge of sobbing. “Oh my god, Alex, oh my god.” She dragged me away from the stairs, towards the back wall. We wound through more tall stacks of boxes that obscured the view. Something white and fragile blew past. At first I thought it was a piece of cobweb, but then it dissolved. We rounded a covered wardrobe and I halted abruptly.
Half-hidden behind the wardrobe was an open door. Beyond, snow-covered cement steps rose up into sunlight. Flakes drifted in, creating a small hill just inside the doorway.
“Do you see it?” Wren pointed with one shaking finger.
I stepped closer. My heart thrummed so intensely it felt on the verge of exploding.
Yes, I could see it. I pressed my arms against my chest, shaking from cold and fear and shock.
In the snow that covered the cement stairs, there were indentations, shallow but unmistakable.
Footprints.
Chapter 22
I turned back to Wren but she was already gone. I heard her pounding up the basement steps, yelling, nearly shrieking.
I sank down into a crouch, feeling suddenly light-headed.
My parents were going to take me to a specialist because they were worried I’d hurt myself or wander outside or something.
Poppy the sleepwalker had sleepwalked outside.
Had she done it while tripping, in a dreamlike state, or after she’d fallen asleep? It could have been either. As I stood there, frigid water seeping into my socks, it struck me that this was the horrible news I’d been dreading ever since I woke up.
My feet sank into the imprints as I climbed the steps, the frosty wind snatching at my clothes and hair.
“Poppy?” I could barely get the strangled word out of my throat. The back lawn was an expanse of white. I forced myself to scan for lumps.
“Alex!” Chitra was calling from inside. “Come back. You’ll freeze.”
I examined the landscape once more. Nothing. In a daze, I came back inside. Chitra’s face was distorted with fear. She pulled me away from the doorway and shut the door.
“No!” I cried, but Chitra held fast to my arm.
“She’s not coming back that way, love.” Chitra’s voice was grim.
“Do you think she’s okay?” I asked. The dread had broken into a raging gale, ravaging my insides.
“I don’t know.” Chitra pulled at me. “But standing here dripping wet isn’t going to help. Let’s go back up.”
When we reached the kitchen, Taylor was just entering the room, Yana and Wren close behind her.
“I need to see.” Taylor hurried down the steps but Yana and Wren stayed. Wren’s face was blotchy, her eyes red. Yana looked the same as Chitra: lips pressed together, eyes opaque and calculating. She kept smoothing back her tight ponytail.
“This can’t be happening,” Wren said loudly.
I went to the window and looked out. Had Poppy made it to the trees? If so, her trail was long filled in. The only reason the footprints were still visible was because the concrete steps down to the basement were partially protected from the wind. I felt detached, like we were working on a math problem: If a 98.6-degree human wanders out into subzero temps in a drug-altered state, how long before they slip into unconsciousness?
“We need to go look.” Chitra watched Yana as if she were the leader. “Right?”
Yana gave a brief nod and left.
Steps pounded up the basement stairs.
“Okay.” Taylor burst in, energized as an action hero. “We need to do a search. We’ll get Roza and Keira and then we’ll split up the yard.”
In the front hall, Yana was bringing out our boots and coats and leaving them in a pile. Chitra and Taylor hurried upstairs to get the other two.
Wren and I sat on the floor to lace up our boots.
“This is so messed up,” I muttered.
Wren stared at me, her blue eyes glassy. I’d seen her look like this only once before: when she’d gotten the call about her second cousin. The one who’d gone to bed and never woke up, clutching an empty pill bottle.
“We’ll find her.” My words sounded false even to me.
Wren gulped. “But what if she’s dead?”
If she’s outside, then, yeah. But I couldn’t say it, nor believe it. Maybe there was a chance. Weren’t there stories of people making little igloos for themselves, surviving snowstorms overnight?
Chitra and Taylor came back down the stairs, followed by Keira and Roza. Keira was still in her pajamas—pants and a button-up top covered in stylized English bulldogs. She looked dazed. Roza hurried a few steps behind, fully dressed, her brow knit with worry.
“How long has she been out there?” Roza grabbed her boots.
Wren choked back a sob.
“We don’t know,” I said. “We just saw those footsteps going outside. Maybe she circled back? The front door?”
“We keep the front door locked,” Yana said.
Keira turned to Roza. “Did you call the police?”
“The phone’s out.” Taylor stood, bundled up and ready to go.
“Radio?” Yana glanced at Roza, who nodded. Yana hurried out.
“What is happening?” Keira muttered. She held her face in her hands, then cried: “You happy, Roza? Is this enough suffering for you?”
Heading to the door, Roza didn’t respond.
* * *
Three hours later, we sat in the parlor drinking coffee. It felt wrong, too eerily sedate, after the panicked activity of the morning and early afternoon.