The sound could have easily triggered a nerve and sent me to the most vivid places in my mind. Places I never knew existed. But then again, it could be the same person who broke into my house.
One thing I am sure of. I know what I heard. That scream rang familiar to my sister Sadie’s. I know her scream well. Heard it day in and day out while we were locked up.
As I wait for Dr. Gardingdale to finish the police call, I check my email again. The screen is cracked from dropping it onto the asphalt, and I have to press each button at least five times just to get online. I open the browser and hold my breath as I scroll through the messages. My heart stops when I reach the fifth line down in my inbox. A message from Rebel Tonic. I open it, praying that he’s been able to find her.
Sorry it took me so long to get this to you. For some reason there was no record of a Sadie Stephorson in the social service’s records. I did manage to track an address through her school records, but it took a long time since there are so many districts. The last place she was listed living at was 40499 Faring Lake Ave. Street in San Diego. Hope that helps and good luck.
P.S. Remember to delete this message from your email when you’re finished.
I do a map search on the Internet for the address. It’s fairly close to where I am now, on the route home if I take the long way.
I do exactly as he instructed. After I type the address in the note section of the phone, I delete the email. Then I wait very impatiently for the doctor to finish up his call.
After he chats with the police, he calls my parents to update them on what happened. When he hangs up, I receive a text message.
Lila: Ayden, Dr. Gardingdale is going to walk you to your car. Lock the doors and drive straight home. And if you see anything that’s suspicious, call me.
I’m getting ready to put the phone away when another text comes through.
Lila: Better yet, just stay there. I’ll have Ethan come get u.
Me: I’ll be fine. It’s a ten minute drive.
Lila: Just check the backseat, okay? Sometimes people can hide back there.
Me: You’ve been watching too many horror movies.
Lila: Maybe so, but u still need to.
Me: Okay.
I close up my phone then the doctor walks me to my car, telling me that the police will probably be in touch with me sometime tomorrow after they’ve done some investigating around the area. He waits near the curb as I check the backseat, climb in, and turn on the engine. Then he starts for the door as I drive out of the parking lot and onto the nearly vacant street.
My fingers thrum restlessly as I steer past stores, houses, and gas stations. The closer I get to the address the more jittery I become.
Ten minutes later, I near the location of the address. I’m not positive what I’m even going to do when I arrive. Knock on the door? I wasn’t even supposed to take the detour let alone leave the vehicle. And it feels wrong to put myself into danger by getting out of the car at night in some strange area. I should just drive by then maybe return during daylight. Perhaps bring Lyric with me.
Just a quick peek then it’s home for me.
Faring Lake Ave. Street is in a subdivision near a shopping mart and a park. When I turn down the road, the first thing I notice is that a lot of the single story homes are abandoned. A lot of the structures appear old and outdated, paint peeling off the siding, mailboxes knocked down. I don’t think too much of it until I pull up to the house with the numbers 40499 next to the door. Like the other homes, this one appears vacant. Shingles are missing from the roof, the porch is collapsing, and the windows are all covered with plywood.
I start to choke up, the wind getting knocked out of me as I turn around and the headlights beam across the home. Painted across the wood, in various colors are circular marks.
Marks that resemble my tattoo.
Chapter 16
Lyric
“You seem really happy,” my dad remarks as he stuffs half a roll into his mouth. “Like extra happy.”
“You really do,” my mother agrees as she adds a glob of butter to her potatoes. “I wonder why.” Her tone insinuates something. What, I’m not sure.
Either she’s speculating that I might be bipolar, or she’s trying to get me to fess up as to why I’ve been almost stupidly happy over the last couple of weeks.
I shovel a spoonful of corn into my mouth. “I’m a normal happy, you guys, so don’t start.”
“We weren’t starting.” My mother works with a knife to slice her steak. “And I’m sorry for ever bringing that up. I’m really sorry about that, Lyric. I should have never said anything.”