Page 16

FIFTEEN

After the police arrive, the hours pass in flashes.

Joanna, Mr. Lake and Coach Reynolds join me on more frantic searches of the school building. The four of us take turns questioning the girls again, all of whom insist they have no idea where Evie is. Eventually we start calling the girls’ parents. We don’t give them details about what happened, but tell them they need to retrieve their daughters as soon as possible.

By the time parents start showing up, the parking lot is littered with police cruisers.

“What’s going on?” Beth’s mother is the first to arrive. She approaches the school slowly, as though she’s afraid of what might have happened during the hours she was away.

“We’ve had an incident,” I say, walking toward her.

“What kind of incident?” Melinda Terry approaches me next, panic in her voice.

Lynette Nichols stands beside her, clutching her chest. “Are the girls okay?”

“They’re fine,” I say, but am quickly ignored.

The girls exit the school building, each of them searching the parking lot for their loved ones. When Beth’s mother spots Beth, she can tell she’s been crying.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she says, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“It’s Evie,” Beth says between catching breaths. “No one can find her.”

“I’m sure there’s some kind of explanation,” Beth’s mother says, looking at me for answers.

That empty feeling in my stomach expands as I gear up for the speech I’ve been preparing.

“When we woke up early this morning, Evie was nowhere to be found,” I say. “No one seems to have seen her since last night. And she’s nowhere inside the building.”

“I don’t understand,” Melinda says, stepping forward. Amber stands beside her, her duffel bag over her shoulder. “Where could she have gone?”

“We don’t know,” I say, raising and dropping my hands. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“The police are involved,” Lynette says, stating the obvious. We watch as uniformed officers approach some of the other girls and their parents. “You think someone might have taken her?”

“We’re exploring all options,” I say, hating the fact I sound like a politician dodging a question.

“How would someone get in the school?” Melinda says. “It’s a lock-in. Everyone is supposed to be kept safe.”

“You’re right,” I say, trying to acknowledge my faults. “Evie must have stepped away while we were sleeping.”

“How could you let this happen?” Lynette says, her voice reaching a startling pitch. She has her arms around Beatrice now, holding her close. “You were supposed to be watching them.”

“I was… I?—”

“Ladies, I understand how alarming this must be,” Mr. Lake says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I can assure you we’re doing everything in our power to find out what happened. We’ve involved the police as an added precaution.”

Melinda grabs Amber’s hand, caressing the top of it with her thumb. “Nothing happened to the rest of the girls?”

“None of them have admitted to seeing anything,” he says. “Whatever happened likely took place while the girls were sleeping.”

“Is it possible she ran away?” Lynette Nichols asks.

“Evie could have decided to leave. We’re trying to contact her mother. Hopefully, this will all be sorted.”

Mr. Lake is only proposing this theory to appease the parents in the moment. All of Evie’s belongings were left behind, including her cell phone. If she’d run away, she would have at least taken that with her.

“Is there anything we can do?” Beth’s mother asks, looking back at me.

“Stick around a little bit longer. The police officers would like to make contact with all of you,” I say, repeating the orders they’d given us before the parents arrived. “And if you hear from Evie or know anything else, let someone know.”

The women pull their daughters closer and walk toward the school, in the direction of the officers. I can’t help wondering if they’re just trying to get away from me. Based on their tone alone, it sounds like Melinda Terry and Lynette Nichols already have out their pitchforks. Even Beth’s mother eyes me with suspicion, like she can’t believe something so horrible happened under my watch.

“This is a nightmare,” I say.

“Police say the surveillance tapes will be able to be restored,” he says. “It will take some time though.”

A small, selfish part inside me celebrates. For the time being no one will be able to see me going to the computer lab. Then I think of the larger repercussions. No one is able to see what happened to Evie. If she left, if she was taken, if she was harmed.

“How long until they’re able to watch the footage?”

“No idea, but we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Mr. Lake says, crossing the parking lot to join Joanna and Reynolds. I wish there was more confidence in his voice.

After they’ve spoken with everyone, the police allow the parents to leave. One by one, they shuffle their sleep-deprived daughters back to their minivans and SUVs. But no one comes for Evie. I wonder if she’d planned on walking home, as she usually does after practice.

I try calling Evie’s mother over and over again, hoping for a simple solution. Maybe, like Mr. Lake suggested, she left the lock-in sometime in the night, or early in the morning. There could be a logical explanation for her absence, something we know nothing about, but there’s no answer when I call. When I dial the second and third emergency contact numbers on her file, both of those lines are no longer in service.

I wonder, will a police cruiser arrive at Evie’s house? Is that how her mother will receive the news that her daughter is missing?

Every so often, Mr. Lake steps away to make a phone call, likely to someone above my pay grade. As the morning drags on, Joanna and Reynolds say less and less, our silence somehow easing the shock of the situation.

All the while, my mind keeps trying to piece together what might have happened. Innocent explanations lose their likelihood with each passing minute. Maybe she is injured, I think to myself. Unconscious and unable to respond. Maybe she got into a fight with one of the girls and took off without them knowing. All these possibilities arise inside me to drown out the one question I keep asking myself, over and over again:

Could Nadia be involved?

I revisit the computer lab in my mind. All that technology and equipment, still sitting there. Hadn’t that been the reason for Nadia’s heist to begin with? The reason she threatened me to get involved? The reason she continued to pester me with instructions and questions?

All that’s missing from the school is a very young, very impressionable girl, and I’m responsible. Evie is one of my players. And I might have put her in danger by opening that door, even though I don’t want it to be true.

It’s been over fifteen years since Nadia and I last spoke, and I know little to nothing about her life in that time. What she told me was likely a lie. I think of her expensive jewelry, her nice clothes. Maybe she’s funding her lifestyle by doing something a lot worse than ripping off local schools.

Every time I call Nadia, it goes directly to voicemail. Her phone is off, or she’s avoiding me. Either way it stops me from getting the answers I need.

“Cass?” Mr. Lake is speaking, but my mind was elsewhere. There’s no telling how long he’s been trying to get my attention. “Is there any other information you can give the officers?”

“Not right now,” I say, struggling to get out the words.

“Has anyone gotten ahold of her family?” Joanna asks. She stands beside me, arms crossed, as flustered as I am but seemingly less distracted.

“We have people going around to the house as we speak,” an officer says.

I’ve tried avoiding the police as best I could. They make me uneasy, as though they’ll be able to see right through me, know that I’m hiding something.

Part of me wants to tell them about Nadia, but I can’t. All that will do is incriminate me in Evie’s disappearance, and regardless of what Nadia had planned, I never would have gotten involved with something like that. I step away, dialing her number again, but it goes straight to voicemail once more.

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” Mr. Lake tells me. The officer has walked back to his police cruiser as though getting ready to leave.

“What do the police want us to do? Should we start searching the area?” I ask.

“Or maybe there’s more people we can contact?” Joanna asks.

“They’re still gathering information,” he says. “I’d say the best thing you can do is get some rest. Neither of you could have gotten much sleep last night.”

I scoff. “There’s no way I can rest. Evie is out there, and we have to find her.”

“Let the police talk to the family,” he says. “We’ll go from there. And keep your phone nearby, in case there are any updates.”

Before I can respond, Mr. Lake is gone. His behavior since he arrived has been hard to read. Clearly, we’re all rattled, but I’m used to him greeting me with warmth. That familiar demeanor has been replaced with a harsh coolness. He blames me for what’s happened, and he might be right.

“We should go home,” Joanna says. “They’ll contact us with updates.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait,” I say.

“What else are we going to do?”

The hopelessness in her voice is frightening. And I lack any power to improve this situation.

Outside, the rain is beginning to pour. My mind wanders, again, to where Evie might be. I wonder if she’s injured or endangered, if she’s cold and afraid. The rain only beats harder along my drive home, and by the time I do arrive at my house, I’m soaked from the short trek from the car.

Connor isn’t home. He’s likely at the gym, getting in a lengthy sweat session before the lazy weekend takes over. I wonder if he’s heard about what’s happened yet, if it’s as important to the rest of the world as it is in my own mind. I grab the remote and turn on the television, just in time for the news update.

Sure enough, she’s on there. Her name and face, the details of her last known whereabouts. Gone missing from an overnight school event. That’s the phrase they use. She was supposed to be safe there, under my care, and yet now she’s missing.

I turn off the television, a sickening realization arising: This is all my fault.

I pull out my phone again and call Nadia.

This time, instead of going to voicemail, the call refuses to connect. The number has been discontinued. My cheeks flush red, anger and rage coming in full force. Nadia lied to me. Nadia is avoiding me. And I’m not going to wait another fifteen years to find out why.

Gripping the car keys in my fist, I walk out of the house, back into the pouring rain.