But the world doesn’t change.
I stay right where I am.
I give the seed a nudge.
Still nothing.
My phone vibrates.
Twig and Kate have arrived at the hospital. He wants to know if I’m on my way.
I pocket the seed and dial Jude.
He was with me on Halloween night, right by my side. We witnessed everything together. He knows Lainey Sikes can’t be alive. The very idea is impossible.
Funny thing, though—that word.
If the past few weeks have taught me anything, it’s how very possible impossible things are in Foggy Hollow.
2
THE RETURN
Reporters call out questions as I hurry past them—the same greedy hoard that was present on Halloween night. A security guard holds them back as the front doors of the hospital slide open. I rush inside to a waiting room that crackles with tension. The phone at the front desk rings. The receptionist barely has time to field the call before another comes through.
A male police officer stands in front of the doors leading to triage. Mrs. Winslow—mother of Ivy Winslow, the other girl I watched combust into flame—pleads with him. Her eyes are sunken, her cheekbones sharp, her mouth drawn tight like a prune. The poor woman looks to have lost twenty pounds over the last week.
“Please,” she begs. “I just want to know if she was with my daughter.”
The officer gives nothing away, which is probably policy. But sometimes, policies are cruel. If he has any information about Ivy Winslow, then screw protocol. He should tell her what he knows.
Mrs. Winslow clutches his arm. “Please just tell me. Does she know where Ivy is?”
“Ma’am,” he says.
But before he can finish his thought, Griffin Tate steps into the scene—Lainey’s ex-boyfriend, his face red, his fists clenched.
The officer holds up his beefy hand. “I’ve already told you, son. Only family are allowed back at this point.”
“But she came tome. She came tomyhouse. She wanted to speak with me!” And then, before Mrs. Winslow can get out a word edgewise, Griffin turns to her with a note of compassion. “And no, she didn’t say anything about Ivy. She hardly had time to say anything at all before these guys showed up.”
The doors behind the officer slide open.
A nurse steps out with a clipboard and a paper chart.
Mrs. Winslow and Griffin lean toward her hungrily.
But she only calls out for someone named Kathleen.
A woman with an ice pack pressed against her cheek stands from her chair. When she moves, I catch sight of Kate Calloway, gathered in a huddle with a handful of friends.
Kathleen heads back with the nurse.
Griffin attempts to follow, but the officer blocks him and the doors close. He lets out a roar of frustration and marches back from where he came, barreling through Kate and her group of friends, who scatter and split like bowling pins. He takes an angry seat near Twig.
Gloomy sunlight spills through the windows, illuminating my tall, lanky friend. He’s folded himself in half with his elbows propped on his knees, a cast on one arm, a boot on one foot, his opposite leg bouncing.
Twig has gone through the wringer as of late.
