Page 15 of The Slug Crystal

The pattering of the rain slowly becomes a soothing, steady background noise, grounding me better than any breathing exercise ever could. I focus on that sound, letting it pull me out of the spiral long enough to dial Alina.

She picks up on the first ring, and before I can say anything, she’s already mid-sentence. “Did you find her? Did she give you a reversal? Is Jake still alive? Did this Ben guy try to kidnap you for his blog?”

I exhale, shaky. “We found Dottie’s. But Sarah’s gone. Venice, possibly.”

Alina gasps. “Italy?”

“Yeah. Dottie says she’s flighty, essentially.

She left a couple months ago. No one knows where exactly.

” My voice cracks on the last word, which is humiliating, but I plow ahead.

“I can’t do this, Lina. I can’t explain away a missing person.

I don’t even know if anyone’s looking, or if it matters, but I just—I can’t. ”

There’s a pause on the line, then Alina’s tone shifts to total war mode. “You don’t have to. I’ll call his office, say I’m his emergency contact. Tell them he’s taking care of a family thing in, like, Nebraska. They’ll eat it up. Nobody ever questions a Nebraska trip.”

I sniff. “You think?”

“I know,” Alina says, voice suddenly very gentle. “I’ll make sure nobody panics. I’ll text you my script in five minutes. You’re not alone, Em. ”

For a second, I think I might actually be okay. I manage a watery laugh. “You always save my ass.”

She snorts. “That’s why you keep me around. Also, for my cheesecake recipe, but mostly the ass-saving.”

I want to say thank you, but it feels too small for what I owe her, so I just listen as she rattles off a checklist. Call Alex’s work, contact his landlord, cover our own bases, maybe even post a cryptic “taking a break from social media” update on his accounts.

Alina is a logistics sorcerer, and I let her spell settle around me until my heartbeat slows back down.

The tight knot of panic in my chest loosens.

Jake squeezes my upper thigh, the pressure warm and steady. “See? We’ve got it. No one’s coming for us. Or him.”

I nod, lightly placing my palm against the top of his hand for a second.

He smells like sweat, rain, and the weird citrus body spray he always pretends not to use.

I want to live suspended in this moment forever, in this little sliver of time where everything is okay and my ex-boyfriend is not a snail. But the world keeps moving.

Alina, still on the phone, asks, “What’s next? Are you coming home?”

I look up at the sky, watching the clouds drift across the watery patch of streetlight. “I don’t know. Maybe we need to think. Maybe there’s another way to fix this.”

“Or maybe you don’t need to fix anything,” she says, surprising me. “Maybe you just have to figure out how to take care of Alex, how he is now. The rest can wait.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, even though I don’t agree. I created this mess, and I owe it to Alex to fix it.

We end the call with murmured goodbyes. Jake tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and I let him. I don’t push him away, even though the last few moments have been strangely… intimate.

Ben clears his throat from the backseat, and the spell is immediately broken. “Your friend is handling the details, creating an alibi?”

“Nebraska,” I say, smiling despite myself. “That’s where Alex is. Family emergency.”

Ben raises his eyebrows, then grins. “Midwestern disappearances. Classic.”

I simply nod.

He isn’t deterred in the least. One thing I have learned about Ben is that he has no problem carrying on a mostly one-sided conversation. “So, what’s the plan? Where do we go from here?”

Jake turns halfway in his seat and shoots a dirty look at Ben.

I’m sure he’s aware that I am a hairsbreadth away from another panic spiral, and I appreciate his non-verbal support.

I also don’t want them to start fighting, so I respond, “Jake and I should probably call into work ourselves. At least let them know we won’t be in for another day or two while we sort out if there are any other leads and give us time to drive back to Boston. ”

Turning his attention to me, with a much softer expression, Jake nods. “Why don’t you call first? I’ll call after.”

I nod, dialing my boss’s number. Since it’s an event planning gig job, she answers, voice harried and sounding busy despite the late hour. “Hi Emma. What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, falling into my Professional Voice, which is basically just my real voice but more apologetic. “I’ve had a family emergency, and I’ll need to take some extra days off. Can someone cover my upcoming shifts?”

She’s quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Take what you need. Just text me the details in the morning.”

“Thank you,” I say, then hang up before she can ask what happened. I guess it’s a good thing I quit my other job. A gig job is way easier to get days off. Most of my peers are several years younger and even less reliable than I am currently.

Jake calls next, but he has a more typical office job and no one is in office this late.

He leaves a voicemail. His hand returns to my thigh while he leaves his message.

“Hey, it’s Jake. Sorry for the late notice, but I’ve had a…

family emergency, and I need to be out for the week.

I’ll send an email to follow up with the details…

I’ll have my phone on me if you need any additional information. ”

Ben watches all this with a kind of morbid interest. “You two are scarily good at lying,” he says after Jake hangs up. “If this snail thing ruins your careers, you could go pro. I’m sure there’s some gig out there that needs more liars.”

I flip him off, but he only grins wider.

Undeterred, he chimes in once more. “Are we taking this adventure to Italy?”

Ben’s question sits there for a few seconds, lingering awkwardly in the silence as I exchange another look with Jake. The honest answer is, “We have no fucking clue.” But that’s not the kind of energy I want to project to a man who, until about six hours ago, was a complete stranger.

Jake’s jaw flexes, as if he’s holding back either a scream or a yawn. I’m suddenly, deeply exhausted, the fatigue pooling behind my eyes and in my wrists.

“What would you do?” I ask, surprising myself by wanting Ben’s opinion.

He shrugs. “If it were me, I’d find a place to crash, get a good meal, and see if the morning brings any better ideas.

” He glances at the terrarium, then at me.

“Honestly, I’d try the website again. Or the email.

Maybe your lady checks in every few days.

Maybe she’ll reply if you sound desperate enough.

I can also try to help you do another social media dive, and we can see what we find. ”

“What if we never find her? Or what if she doesn’t want to help?”

Ben considers this, then says, “Well, then we’re out a road trip, and you’re up one blue snail.” He says it lightly, but I can tell he’s trying to give me an out on my growing guilt. “Not the worst outcome I’ve ever seen.”

“Okay,” I whisper. Not knowing what else to say. I feel like I’m on a pendulum, swinging from optimism to despair at the slightest shift in the air. I square my shoulders and sit up straighter. We are going to fix this. I’m going to keep telling myself that until I believe it.

Jake turns the key in the ignition, letting the engine run while he scrolls through his phone, thumb jabbing at the cracked screen.

He’s probably searching for the cheapest motel in a ten-mile radius.

The rain outside has turned from gentle mist to a sheet of drizzle, heavy enough to make the truck’s headlights look like smudged halos in front of us.

“There’s a motel about two miles down the road. Let’s go check it out,” Jake says, confirming my suspicions.

I don’t protest, and neither does Ben. The silence is sticky and resigned as we pull away from the curb.

We drive down the blocks of Pittsfield’s main drag, past a Laundromat called Suds n’ Sins, a shuttered movie theater advertising a triple feature of last year’s Marvel movies, and an empty pizza place with a handwritten sign that reads, “Back at some point. Maybe.”

At the end of the main street, Jake points at a low, sagging building with a sign that says River Bend Motel: Wifi, HBO, Weekly Rates. There’s a pool peeking out from the lobby building, visible as we pull into the parking lot.

“This looks great. We can go swimming,” Ben says, already halfway out of the car before Jake even comes to a full stop.