“This is the last time I follow you into a lake,” he said, but he was smiling, and he took my hand and didn’t let it go until we said good-bye.
Alvin’s hand was shaking. It was shaking so much he could hardly make out the words on the paper, words scratched haphazardly, tripping over themselves in their rush to be read:
I HAVE YOUR SISTER.
TELL NO ONE.
But that didn’t make sense, Alvin’s brain insisted. Margo was safe. Margo had gone to school. Margo would be walking in the back door any minute now. Whoever had written this letter was very confused.
And though nowhere on the letter did it actually say who its author was, somehow Alvin knew.
He knew who had written it.
He knew his sister was not going to walk in that door.
He knew the Overcoat Man had her.
MEET ME AT THE HOUSE IN THE WOODS.
ONCE I’M INSIDE, YOU’LL GET YOUR SISTER BACK.
Alvin wasn’t worried for his sister’s life. That was safe, protected, not in danger.
But there were still so many ways to hurt someone who couldn’t die.
He had to get her back.
—fromAlvin Hatter and the Overcoat Man
16
In an effort to take my mind off Sam’s cryptic answer from the night before, I read Aunt Helen’s next letter before I had to leave for school.
Lottie,
I certainly hope you aren’t reading this from a jail cell.
Kidding! (I hope.)
I’ve been spending so much time alone lately, so much tying-up-loose-ends time, so much letter-writing time, that I think I’m starting to get a little stir-crazy. There is a fine line to walk between too much quiet and just the right amount.
There can be good that comes out of being alone, of course, but I think at this current moment I am doing myself no favors.
I know you also have a tendency to pull away from others when things get hard, and I challenge you now to do the complete opposite. Let others in. Embrace a crowd. Find somewhere where it is impossible to be alone, and see what comes of it.
I think I will do the same.
Love always, H.
I texted my mom as soon as I finished reading the note:
Not feeling great. Don’t think I’ll make it to school.
I knew she was at the hospital and that she kept her phone on her for emergencies. Her reply came almost instantly:
OK? Should I worry? Need IV? Blood transfusion? MRI? I love you?
Just a headache. ILYT.
