Page 16 of Lost in the Never Woods

That no one had hope of finding John and Michael.

The detectives didn’t mention it as a possibility. Her mom hadn’t shown any sign of relief.

Wendy looked down at her hands, remembering the blood caked under her nails.

No. No one else would expect to find them alive, but Wendy held out hope. There was something in her that knew they weren’t dead. It was a gut instinct. Wendy didn’t believe in much, but she believed in that, and she held tight to the feeling—the faith that they were out there, somewhere, even if no one else agreed.

Right now, she couldn’t stand listening any longer. She needed to get out of there. To get some fresh air and clear her head.

Wendy pushed back from the table and stood up. She made for the front door, but her father’s arm shot out, a finger pointing at her. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

Everyone was staring at her again.

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her shaking hands. “Jordan’s,” Wendy croaked.

His eyes bored into hers. “Don’t go anywhere else.” Wendy nodded and sprinted out the door.

She wanted to get away and get to Jordan. She was the only one Wendy could go to. Jordan never doubted or questioned her. She listened to what Wendy said and believed her, unlike everyone else in town.

“Wendy, you okay?”

The sudden voice made her jump. She turned to see her neighbor, Donald Davies, picking up his newspaper from his front porch in a dark red robe. He was a tall and slender man who only wore flannel shirts in various shades of red plaid when he wasn’t in a business suit. He had curly brown hair and a thick, dark beard. Mr. Davies and her dad worked at the same bank. Wendy had been babysitting his boys—ten-year-old Joel and seven-year-old Matthew—for years. He always gave her a big tip, and whenever she tried to give it back, Mr. Davies insisted she use it for her college fund.

“Mr. Davies, hi,” Wendy said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She glanced down at the newspaper in his hand. Ashley Ford’s picture smiled at her from the front page.

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Davies repeated, stepping down from his porch. Wendy could only imagine how she looked. Probably like she had just seen a ghost. Mr. Davies looked pale and his eyes kept cutting over to the police car parked in front of their house. He squeezed the newspaper in his hands.

Wendy forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, already starting toward the Arroyos’ house again. “I’ve gotta go, though—I’m late to meet Jordan.”

Mr. Davies blinked. Wendy was usually very neighborly and would stop and chat with him if she had the time, but right now she didn’t have the energy for it.

Her mind buzzed. She needed everything to slow down so her head could catch up. Her own skin felt suffocating. She wanted out. She wanted to run away. She didn’t want to be met with more stares and whispers when she went into town. She didn’t want to pretend she was fine.

But Wendy refused to let herself cry. It had taken so long to board everything up the last time. Wendy didn’t think she could manage it again.

The six months between running off into the woods and being found were just a black void in her mind. When she was in the hospital, the doctors had tried to get her to press against it, to poke and prod and see if she could remember anything, but she couldn’t.

Of course she wanted to remember. If she could just remember what had happened, then she could find her brothers. Those lost memories held the secrets to finding them.

All that she had been left with were horrible dreams that made her wake up in the hospital screaming and left ghosts of images in their wake. Trees, Michael’s smile, John’s shoes, screams of laughter, and a pair of eyes like stars.

CHAPTER 5

The Arroyos

The garage door at the Arroyos’ house was open, revealing shelves of tools and car parts. There were two cars in the garage. One belonged to Jordan—a beat-up sedan with a rusting hood that fit in well with the greasy car parts surrounding it. And then there was Mr. Arroyo’s sleek, silver crown and glory next to it. Any time Wendy had problems with her truck, Jordan and her dad were the ones to help her out. She would need to enlist their services for her dented hood and scratched windshield, but right now, there were more earthshaking matters at hand.

Wendy half ran up to the porch and rang the doorbell. A large knot lodged in her throat.

Jordan opened the door. She stood, shoeless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. One arm stretched above her head, scratching her back and pulling up the hem of her beat-up Red Cross shirt. While Wendy always got up early—both every day during the summer and on the weekends during the school year—Jordan had the sleep habits of a very lazy house cat. Jordan had a piece of toast sticking out of her mouth, a sleepy smile playing on her lips. Her brown hair was a pile of springy ringlets framing her heart-shaped face.

“Hey, you—” Jordan cut herself off, brows furrowing as soon as she got a proper look at Wendy.

Wendy rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, wringing her hands.

Jordan’s arm fell to her side. “What’s wrong?” she demanded through a mouthful of toast.

Wendy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt her lower lip wobble.