My phone is nowhere to be found.
A familiar wave of panic rises.
Nearly a decade ago I had just started my first job post-college. After-work drinks turned into closing down the bar. I didn’t check my phone for hours. When I finally fished it out of my purse, I had forty-two missed calls from my mom. All the breath left my body. I called her immediately, not bothering with the voice mails. She didn’t answer, so I listened to the first message. In it she cried that she couldn’t cope anymore and pleaded for forgiveness. She said she’d had enough, went on this way for three minutes until the carrier cut her off.
I stumbled into a taxi, trying her number again and again, squeezing my phone against my ear until my hand was white. It turned out she’d had too much chardonnay and passed out on the couch with her own device in hand. I put her to bed and vowed never to ignore my phone again.
Even now that Mom’s dead, even though I have no service on the island, I can’t stop the tightness spreading across my chest. I tell myself Kit will understand. I’ll have to admit I lied about not bringing my phone here, but she knows the history. Her new outlook on life doesn’t matter. She’s still my sister. She will help me.
I’ll never lie to her again. Let her be okay.
I dash back to her room, dodging hail the size of golf balls along the way. This time I don’t bother with the door, but go straight to the cabin window and gaze inside. The room is still dark. It’s eight p.m.
I trudge back to my room, resigned to the fact that most of the clothing I’ve brought to Wisewood is damp. I slump on the desk chair, wet clothes and all. The cafeteria will be closed by now. Who would be the most likely to help? Whose cabin number do I know besides Kit’s? I kick the desk and swear.
At nine I try Kit’s room again. No answer then or at ten or eleven. At midnight I give up, trying not to freak out. Where is she? I don’t know how, but I’m sure Rebecca is behind this.
After pacing the room for an hour, I give up. At this time and in this weather, I can’t do anything to get my phone back or find my sister. I’ll go to the cafeteria right when it opens tomorrow and demand to have my property returned. I will confide in Kit as soon as I figure out where she is. I lie in bed, vacillating between fear and anger. Sometime around two thirty, I lose steam. My eyelids grow heavy.
* * *
? ? ?
I WAKE TO a repeated tap on my forehead. A leak in the roof? I think groggily.
I open my eyes. The moon illuminates the room. Someone is standing over me. I scream and recoil from the intruder. The person is tall and thin and wears a bank robber’s mask.
“Who are you?” I pull the comforter up to my chin. Hail beats the cabin walls.
In a low tone the woman says, “Let’s go.” She’s dressed in all black.
“How did you get in my room?”
“Do you want your phone back?”
I start but there’s no sense in lying. Someone must have seen me trying to use it in the forest. Probably Raeanne. I curse myself for being so stupid, then nod.
Trying to blink the sleep from my eyes, I shrug on my parka and boots. The woman doesn’t give me time to get my scarf and hat before nudging me toward the door.
“I don’t have my key,” I protest.
She ignores this and heads off. I glance at Kit’s cabin when we pass, but it’s too far away to see inside. Snow pummels us as we pick our way through the circles. The cold is brutal, bone-chilling. A gale shrieks past us. None of it bothers the masked woman.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
She doesn’t respond. The obvious answer is Raeanne, but it could be any staff member; I’ve met only a few of them. What if it’s a guest gone crazy? I brush away the fear. How would a guest know about my phone?
We walk in the opposite direction of the big house. Maybe we’re going to this woman’s room. Soon after, we clear the cabins. Okay, my phone could be in the class trailer. When we pass the trailer without stopping, I lick my lips. There are no more buildings ahead, only the hedge.
The masked woman stops at the same Staff Only door that Raeanne yanked me through earlier in the day. Yesterday, technically. She unlocks it and motions for me to go through. Could they be keeping my phone in that schoolhouse? I freeze, rooted to the spot.
“Tell me where we’re going.”
She steps toward me. “Keep moving.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She pulls something from her pocket, twirls it once between her fingers. A button clicks, and a blade ejects: a box cutter.