The Sight (9 page)

"Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Diego says, after I explain the connection. “Emily and Kendall both knew Marcus. So what?”

“The coincidences are piling up,” I argue. “What are the odds of two girls disappearing when they know the same guy? And the person who wiped those computers was an expert. It went way beyond sending stuff to the recycle bin.”

Diego sighs. “We have to be careful, Gracie. You were certain about Zed.”

He’s right. But that doesn’t mean I like hearing it. Time is running out for Emily. I can feel it now, and I realize it’s been there the whole day. While we were driving to Seattle, while we were talking in the car, I was feeling it.

She’s giving up.

She’s slipping away.

And the answers are in front of me. I’ve seen the clues.

I’ve been inside his head.

“She’s given up trying to be brave,” I say. “She’s given up waiting to be rescued. She’s…fading.”

“What?” Diego asks.

“Emily. I feel her emptying out. So that”—my mouth is dry—“so that when the worst happens, she won’t feel it.”

Diego looks shaken. “Maybe if you had something of Marcus’s, something he owned…”

“Maybe I’d get a vision!” I say. “It’s worth a shot.”

We’re only blocks from the computer camp, and I know they don’t start until noon. Diego and I hurry toward it. We push through the doors and run up the stairs to the second floor. All the classrooms are locked.

“What now?” I ask, frustrated. “Should we try to break in?”

Diego sighs. He raises his hand and knocks.

“Or I guess we could try knocking,” I say.

The door opens. Ryan’s head appears. He brightens when he sees me, then frowns when he sees Diego standing next to me.

“This is my cousin Diego,” I say.

Ryan brightens again. “I came in early to get some work done. Come on in.”

“How come you have a key?” I ask.

“The instructors give us one if we ask,” Ryan explains. “You have to sign in and stuff. Hey, what brings you here?”

I hadn’t had much time to prepare a story, so I thought a mixture of truth and fiction was best. “I’m really worried about Emily,” I tell him. Truth.
“I guess I was kind of distracted yesterday. I think I left my sunglasses here.” Fiction. “Can I look around?”

“Sure. Can I help?”

Diego smiles at Ryan. “That’s okay. We don’t want to interrupt.” He says this firmly, and disappointed, Ryan sits back down at his computer.

I pretend to look around, and Diego stays between me and Ryan so Ryan won’t have a good sight line. I drift toward the desk where Marcus had been working, but it’s clear of anything, even empty soda cans. Then I see a row of mailboxes with names on them—the names of the instructors. Marcus’s is full to overflowing.

Bending down and pretending to look on the floor, I rifle through the pages. Memos, mostly, and takeout menus, and assignments handed in by the students. Then I see a corner of a photograph. I slide it out. It’s the same photograph Ryan had given me.

Something clangs in my head. Something’s wrong. Somewhere behind me, I can hear Diego sneezing, and I wish he’d stop, because I can’t concentrate.

Suddenly, Ryan reaches down and takes the photograph.

“It was on the floor,” I say.

His face is red, as though he’s angry. “Jonah Castle gave us each a copy,” he says. “This must belong
to Marcus.” He quickly stuffs it back in the mailbox.

Diego knocks over a pile of circuits, and Ryan yells, “Hey!” and runs over. Quickly, I stuff the photograph in my purse. I dig out my sunglasses.

“Found them! I must have kicked them under the desk. Thanks so much, Ryan.” I pour as much flirtatiousness as I can manage into my thank-you, but Ryan doesn’t respond. His head is down as he reassembles the circuits, and he mumbles a good-bye.

As soon as we’re outside, I turn to Diego. “You could have warned me Ryan was coming.”

“I did! I sneezed!”

“What kind of a signal is a sneeze?”

"A clever
one.”

“A sneeze isn’t a signal; it’s an allergic reaction.”

“Great. Next time I’ll fart.”

Suddenly, I realize what it must be like to grow up with an older brother. I take out the photograph.

There’s something different about it. What?

And then I get it.

“Emily’s not here,” I say. I shake my head, confused. “She’s gone.”

Diego looks over my shoulder. “Where was she?”

“Here, next to Ryan. Now there’s just empty space.”

“So they took two photographs that day,” Diego says.

“But everyone has the same expression. And Jonah Castle is still holding the cell phone in the same position. No, this is the same one.” I look up at Diego. “Someone digitally altered it. They
removed
her.” I shivered.

“The question is, who?” Diego says.

“It was in Marcus’s box.”

“But Ryan looked really freaked.”

“He always looks freaked.”

We walk to the car and get in. Diego starts the engine. I stare back down at the photograph. The absence of Emily registers as a presence. It’s like the ghost of her is there, the ghost of the Emily that is fading, and it’s saying,
find me.

Shay makes spinach lasagna that night. I eat two helpings and then drag myself to my room, ready to fire up Google once again.

Shay appears in my doorway. “Want to catch some mindless TV for the masses?”

“No thanks,” I say. “I’d rather use the computer.”

“Okay.” Shay smiles, but I can tell she’s disappointed. I almost feel like changing my mind and losing myself in a laugh track, but my brain is burning to hit the Internet for info, and I just can’t take a detour. The feeling I got today about Emily pushes out everything except this need to find her.

I’ve turned Shay down for so many things over the past months. TV, movies, Scrabble, hikes, pedicures at the day spa. I don’t know why tonight I feel badly about saying no. I guess it’s because she keeps trying.

I log online and plug Marcus into the search engine. I don’t exactly hit paydirt. I get the website of the computer camp, but I knew that already. And apparently, Marcus writes for the campus newspaper, because a bunch of articles pop up, but none of
them look as though they have even a remote connection to Emily or Kendall, dull stuff about school policy, off-campus lectures, and a couple of film reviews.

Then, back in July of last year, I see something interesting.

Interview with Jonah Castle.

At least I might learn more about the computer camp. I click on the link.

I quickly scan the article. It’s all about how Jonah Castle funded the computer camp to help gifted students. Out of all his charities, this is the one close to his heart. He was a prodigy and he knows how lonely it can be. Blah, blah, blah. It all sounds so canned. Potential. Encouragement. Leadership. Synergy. Dreams. Values. The usual.

Q: You had an unusual childhood. You were home-schooled, you had eleven brothers and sisters, and your family lived on a private island in Puget Sound. Has your upbringing influenced the way you look at education today?

A: It’s funny. I don’t see my childhood as unusual. Does anyone? It’s your reality, and you don’t have anything to compare it to. I consider myself lucky to have been home-schooled by my parents, who were brilliant scholars and imaginative teachers. Each of my siblings was encouraged
to develop a specific skill. My sister Frances was an accomplished vocalist. My brother Tate was an outstanding mathematician. Another sister played the clarinet. Our playtime always involved our studies, and our family fun always had an educational element.

Q: In other words, you weren’t hanging out watching
South Park.

A: No, we were reading aloud, or putting on our own entertainments. We were off the grid, anyway.

Q: Sounds like a pretty cool childhood.

A: It was.

Sorry, Jonah Castle, but your childhood sounds like a snooze fest.

Diego pops his head in the doorway. “Eureka, I found it.”

“Found what?”

“The original photograph. Megawall has its company newsletter archived online. I printed it out. Here.”

He hands me the photograph. It’s identical to the one I took from Marcus’s mailbox. No Emily.

“So what does it mean?” I wonder. “Did someone scan Emily
in
or scan her
out?”

“I’ve got one way to find out.” Diego hands me the phone. “Call Ryan.”

“But if he’s involved, he’ll lie.”

“We’ve got to take that chance. At least, we’ll be doing
something.
”

I read Ryan’s number off the back of the photo he gave me and punch it out. He answers on the first ring. When I explain who I am, he says, “Wow, I never thought you’d call. I mean, I hoped you’d call. But I never—”

“Ryan, I saw the photograph today in Marcus’s box.”

“Yeah,” he says cautiously.

“Emily isn’t in it, but she’s in the one you gave me.”

“Yeah.”

I wait.

“Okay. We got a pile of photos from Megawall? And they had edited out Emily because she wasn’t in the camp after all? The photo goes out for publicity and everything, so I guess they wanted it to be accurate. So that made me feel bad, and I thought that it would be a nice present if I gave her a photograph with her in it. I’d taken a photo of her that day wearing the shirt. So I scanned the photo and scanned her in. It was just to make her happy, okay?”

“Oh. Okay. I was just wondering. So, she was in the original picture?”

“Yeah, she was standing on the right, next to Marcus. I just moved her over next to me. You know, I don’t want you to think that I’m still in heavy crush over Emily. I’m, you know, available.”

“That’s great, Ryan.” I make a sign to Diego that we’re back at square one. Emily’s disappearance from the photo has nothing to do with the fact that she’s missing. It was just a publicity decision.

“What I mean is, we could have coffee or something.”

“Great. I’ll call you.” I hang up. I toss the photo on my desk and tell Diego about the conversation.

“I guess it’s slightly demented, but normal,” Diego says. “He’s a geek with a crush. That’s why he flamed out when you found it—he was embarrassed, that’s all. We just need to keep digging. Something will turn up.” Diego ducks out again.

I reach over for the photograph again. I stare hard at Marcus. Emily had been standing next to him in the original. Now she was gone. Could Marcus have had something to do with it, despite what Ryan said? I wish I could get a feeling that was true. All I feel is confusion.

I try to walk my brain outside what I know. I try to tune into what I feel, or rather, what’s
beyond
what I feel. I have to get control of the visions. I’m tired of them sneaking up on me and giving me a wallop. I have to make it happen, not wait for it to happen.

I stop staring at the photograph. I just look at it. I push every fear, every thought out of my mind and replace it with…nothing. Not even static.
The photograph doesn’t make sense anymore as people and desks, just as shapes and colors.

The photograph dissolves into dots. The dots jiggle and swim. It’s a jarring thing, and nothing comes into focus for a moment.

Then I’m walking on a beach. I’m surrounded by mist. I am carrying something. It is heavy.

It is a body.

I am chilled to the bone. I look down at the face of the girl.

She is sleeping. Please let her be sleeping.

Then the girl sits up and smiles. Blood drips from her mouth.

I scream and drop her on the shells. The sharp edges cut her skin. She bleeds and smiles.

And then the scene shifts, and the shells turn into grass, and I see small children running. They are bending to look at things: flowers and bugs. There is a garden, and a bench. It’s like I’m watching from a distance this time. A girl is sitting on the bench. Not Emily, but someone I know. I can’t see her face, but she is familiar to me. She is waiting for someone. I see the shadows of the trees fall on the grass. There is something white on the bench next to her—it looks like a party hat.

He is watching her, too. He is waiting.

Footsteps approach her.

Run,
I tell her.
Run.

I know something terrible will happen. I am watching now, but I can’t move. She sees someone coming.

Run. Get out of there!

But she doesn’t move, and then suddenly I see water churning, close-up, and I smell gasoline, heavy and sweet. I feel sick, and my face is wet and my hands are wet. I touch my tongue to my lip and taste blood…

“Gracie.”

The word penetrates the mist. I grab onto the word as if it is a grasping hand and can pull me up. “Gracie!”

I am looking up at Diego’s face. He is directly over me. His eyes are so black, so dark. I am afraid I will fall into them the way I fell into the mist. I’m afraid I will never come back from his gaze.

He grips my arms. “You scared me. What happened? What did you see?”

I realize I am lying back on my bed. My face is wet with perspiration. My neck is wet. I touch my lip and then look at my fingers, but there is no blood, of course. I shakily try to sit. Diego helps me.

“What did you see?” he asks urgently again. There is fear on his face.

I tell him what I saw, trying to remember every detail.

“You couldn’t see the guy’s face, or anything? Think. His shoes? His hands?”

“Nothing. Just his shadow.” I cover my face with my hands. “When I saw the girl, the dead one, on the beach, I was seeing through his eyes. It was horrible. I think he killed her, Diego!”

He bites his lip. “Was it…”

“It wasn’t Emily. It could have been Kendall. I don’t know!”

“Was it the future, or the past?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about when you smelled gas, and you touched your lip…who were you then? Emily?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know!” I tell him about the other vision, about the fists beating against the window of the boat.

“Was that Emily? Remember, you saw her on the boat.”

I’m tired of saying “I don’t know.” So I just look at him helplessly.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Diego pats my shoulder lamely. “It’s just in your head.”

“Isn’t that where all the bad stuff is?” I whisper. “Just in our heads?”

Diego clears his throat. “Let’s analyze what you saw. What about the party hat? What could that mean?”

“Who knows? I just know that she’s his next victim, whoever she is. He’s going to take another
girl. I saw her.” Diego is trying to be logical, but I’m frantic. Panic thrums inside me like vibrating strings. I clutch his arm. “We have to stop him. It’s up to us.”

“We’ll go to the police…”

“With what? A vision? A photograph?” I shake my head. “We have to get to the girl before he does.”

Diego shakes his head. “Gracie, I don’t know. This has gone far enough. We should…tell someone again. Shay…”

“They won’t listen to me! And I know it’s going to happen again.”

“But you don’t know where or when.”

But even as he says this, the knowledge roars into my brain. “Yes I do. It wasn’t a party hat,” I say. “It was a Sno-Cone.”

“A Sno-Cone?”

I am already reaching for the computer, typing fast. I run the search engine and find the site I’m looking for.

“Gracie—”

The official website of Seattle Parks and Recreation. I quickly click and scroll. Then I push the computer toward him so he can read what’s on the screen.

Toddler Nature Hunt. 11 A.M. Saturday. Commodore Park.

“The park by the fish ladder,” I tell Diego. “That’s the place. They sell Sno-Cones there. It’s going to happen this Saturday. That’s where he’ll be. I know it, Diego. I know it.”

This time I am certain. And I know I have to be there, too.