Page 19 of After All The Wreckage

I’d searched the entire apartment before the reality set in.

He wasn’t there.

I squatted down in front of her. “Where is he?”

Ivy frowned, and that’s when I saw it—the blank look she got after she’d had her own vision. She was tied to us somehow through Demi’s abilities. When Monte or I were really upset or hurt, Ivy sensed it. She’d go into an almost trance-like state, telling everyone how we were feeling, and when she came out of it, she hardly ever remembered it.

“Go turn on the television,” I told her. “I’ll be right there.”

I jogged back into our room, grabbed my phone from the charger, and hit Monte’s number. It rang and rang and rang. When I got no response, I jotted out a text.

ME: Call me. Ivy had a little episode. She’s worried about you.

I hit the restroom, splashed water on my face, and then went into the kitchen to start the coffee. The place was small, too small for the furniture we had shoved into it. But I’d been determined to bring as much of Dad and the feel of home with us as I could. The old walls and wooden floors were now covered with antique furniture and knickknacks gathered by generations of Palmer families that had once been in the Victorian. The only modern pieces were a cushy couch you sank into and a television so big it barely fit on the claw-footed buffet table that did double time as a television stand and linen cupboard.

I dialed Monte’s number again, and he still didn’t pick up.

Panic washed over me worse than when he hadn’t shown up at the school on Friday. This was an entire weekend’s worth of feeling like something was wrong, topped off by the cherry of Ivy’s vision. So, I did the thing I promised I’d only do in an emergency or if he fucked up and lost my trust. I called India.

She answered groggily. “Hello?”

“India, it’s Gage. I’m sorry to call so early, but I need to talk to Monte. Did his phone die or something?”

India was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her confusion made every kernel of anxiety that had been residing inside me pop and bloom. “Isn’t he with you?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“He told me he was with you, working on your science project.”

Where the hell was he? Where had he been all weekend while lying to me, sending me texts, pretending everything was okay? Anger and frustration blended with my fear.

“We finished our project at school on Friday because I was going out of town with my parents for Thanksgiving.”

God damn it.

India was the one to speak again, and this time, concern bled into her voice as well. “He’s not with me, Gage… If he’s not with you either, where is he?”

With a sinking feeling, I knew exactly where he was. Exactly where I’d thought he’d gone on Friday when he hadn’t turned up in the car line. He’d gone to D.C.

As if sensing my emotions, Ivy came into the kitchen and wrapped her tiny arms around my leg, pushing her face into my thigh. My hand went to the top of her head, trying to reassure her, while pure adrenaline laced with terror slid through me.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll let you know when he shows up,” I told her before hanging up and jabbing out another text.

ME: India says you’re not with her. Shit Monte, please tell me you didn’t go to D.C. Where the hell are you?

No response. My chest felt like it was going to break apart.

I picked Ivy up and pulled cereal and milk out. Normally, I made my siblings a big breakfast on the weekends because weweren’t scrambling out the door to get to school, but today, I could barely think about feeding her.

Monte had felt useless and desperate all last week. He always felt that way with the visions. It had only gotten worse after our few futile attempts to do something about them. When we’d first gone to the authorities, no one had ever taken us seriously, and the one time they had, it had backfired on us. I’d taken Monte’s visions to the police, making it seem like they were mine so I could protect him from the backlash. But instead of them thinking I was actually giving them a warning, they’d thought I was some wackadoodle sharing my threats ahead of time. I’d almost ended up in prison.

Now, every time he had the visions, we did nothing. He’d be a fucking mess until they were over. Until whatever god-awful event played out, this was his life—our lives. He’d get very little sleep with the images growing more intense the closer it got to the tragedy happening. It wasn’t like his dreams gave us a specific location, time, and place. No. That would be too easy. Instead, he just had vague descriptions and a horrific glance at blood and guts and bones.

My phone buzzed and relief started to coast through me before I saw it was India.

INDIA: I just texted him, and he didn’t respond to me either.

Trails of sweat slid down my back, and my hands shook as I messaged her back.