Downtown, Wanda says. T-i-j-e-s-t-o-’s.
The pizza place? O-k, try this one.
She feeds Wanda the second string.
East Colson, Wanda says, looking at the map. If it is about implants, could be the clinic. Colson Children’s?
But what would they do there?
I don’t know. Protest? Sit-in? Didn’t you just teach your kids DPN?
Zoom in.
Wanda does. At first the map still looks blank, but when she double-clicks, the small orange icon that signifies a destination appears. When she hovers over it, the pop-up says, “The Gas Can. Hours: Permanently Closed.” There’s no other information about the place—what is it and when did it shut down?—but the name is enough to make February nervous.
Do you think we should update the cops?
Wanda shakes her head, picks up her purse.
We should get to them first.
VLOG 87: SERIAL KILLER IN COLSON?! #SAVECOLSONSKIDS
HTTP://YOUTUBE.COM/?GABBYSDEAFWORLD/?WATCHV_87
Hey, guys, how you doing out there, and welcome back to Gabby’s Deaf World.
This morning I’ve got some breaking news and I’ll be honest with you, I am pretty terrified right now: last night, three of my very best friends were kidnapped right from their beds here at River Valley School for the Deaf.
Obviously, I’m really shaken up and scared. What if there’s, like, a serial killer wandering around campus? It could have easily been me, or any one of us. You know, I just love my friends so much.
[Gabriella dabs at her eyes with a tissue.]
I can’t bear to think of what kind of perv might have taken them.
Thanks to all of you who’ve been reaching out in the DMs to check on me. We all know how bad Austin broke my heart, but I’ve decided to be the bigger person and put it behind me, because now’s the time for us to really band together.
If you have any information about my friends’ disappearances you can call the Colson County Sheriff’s Office, or message me and I will pass it along for you.
O-k, I think that’s it for today. Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe to my channel, or check out my Insta stories for live case updates. Stay safe out there!
slash says they’ll only need a couple hours to finish up, though they’ll have to wait until it’s dark again to move. Lem and Slash fight about whether they can use some kind of private internet browser to look at a map, but Slash is adamant that they don’t.
If it were just us, maybe, he says, but—
He gestures at Charlie.
Instead, he commands Charlie to draw a map outlining the route from the house to the plant as best she can. They all memorize it so there’s no confusion later and they don’t have to risk signing in public.
Afterward, she sits in front of a small pile of plastic baggies. Each contains an assortment of screws and nails that will be useful, Slash has told her, though the cooker will be its own best shrapnel. The job—opening them and sorting them into equal sets—allows her eyes, and her mind, to wander.
In her mother’s version of things, love was always singular—if not everlasting then at least in turn, with one love growing up from the place where another before it had died. Now Charlie sees that love can be plural, even concurrent. She watches Slash and Austin, each handsome in his way, as they solder new connections. She marvels at the way life has brought her exactly what she needs.
When it’s time to go, they climb the basement stairs solemnly, each carrying a cooker in a wraparound embrace. Before the front door, Charlie gingerly sets hers down to double-knot her sneakers. Slash lifts the plywood and ushers them outside.
february drives them into Colson, Wanda directing via Google Maps. The long shadows intensify the grim cast of the streets’ disrepair.
Turn here! Wanda says, unexpectedly.
She motions to a one-way street off Vine and February cuts the wheel just in time.
Sorry. I was just—this drive brings back memories.
I get it, February says, though she doesn’t.
She knows Wanda is not from here, though it’s likely East Colson has a host of doppelg?ngers across the Rust Belt, the country. It dawns on her that she and Wanda have not spoken much about their childhoods. February finds Wanda’s presence so all-consuming that whenever she is with her, it’s difficult to think beyond that present moment. This is what she loves about Wanda, just as her intricate knowledge of Mel’s every childhood triumph and mishap is why she loves Mel. She cannot decide whether the heart’s craving for opposites—not only from itself, but from the others it loves—is its greatest strength or biggest failing.
She parks the car and they continue down the block on foot, until Wanda points across the street at an all-black building, THE GAS CAN hand-painted directly onto its parapet. When they enter and find a bar, February feels a moment’s hope that the children’s disappearance is some run-of-the-mill beery mishap, albeit against a dismal backdrop.
We don’t serve minors, the bartender says with tight-lipped courtesy when February inquires.
Or talk to the pigs! someone shouts from the galley.
We’re not pi— We’re not cops, says February. We’re actually from the Deaf school.
Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cops, says the bartender. I would have noticed if there were a crew of deaf kids in here.
See, that’s not really an answer though, is it, says February.
Guess not, he says.
February relays the conversation as she and Wanda return to the car, though Wanda has gotten the gist. They drive to the children’s hospital and loop around the campus and parking garage, but there’s no sign of the kids. In fact, they don’t see much of anybody at all. Wanda slumps in her seat.
I really thought they’d be here.
She is a woman of formulas, of calculations. She hates being wrong. February reaches over and rubs her shoulder in consolation.
It’s dead out here. Not exactly ripe for a protest.
Unless they want it that way.
Why stage a protest no one will see?
Wanda’s smile is small, but there’s a little mischief along its edges. February is overcome with the urge to touch her, and brushes a finger along her cheek. When she does, she sees her own wedding band, and drops her hand back into her lap.
Why would they want it to be empty?
I don’t know. Maybe if they were going a different route. Like graffiti, or flaming bags of shit or something.
Vandalism?
February tries to keep her face calm, though inside she finds this idea frightening. She does not want her students and the cops to meet. Even for a bag of shit, the potential for deadly interaction is there, so long as the police are free to list “failure to respond to verbal commands” as a justification.
Don’t look so scandalized. They’re teenagers. And anyway I was wrong.
Wanda gestures to the empty campus.
Maybe they really are just out getting drunk in the woods somewhere.
Maybe, February says.
She doesn’t believe it, though. Wanda’s theory has resonated. At first, she can’t put her finger on why, but now she runs over her last conversation with Charlie again and again in her mind, notices the sparkle in her eye when February explained what “hot-wire” meant.
Let’s go check the district admin building, just in case.
S-w-a-l-l deserves a flaming shit bag as far as I’m concerned, says Wanda.