Read The Vanishing Game Online
Authors: Kate Kae Myers
The Vanishing Game
KATE KAE MYERS
To my family
Life is a series of shallow breaths. And in any breath, everything can change
.
Breathe in.
Eating the last of the cereal with my brother, Jack. Running away from home
.
Breathe out.
Joking around while we washed dishes. Firing a gun
.
Breathe in.
Taking boring notes in history. Getting pulled out of class by the school counselor. Hearing the news about my brother
.
Breathe out.
All in a shallow breath
.
The high school parking lot of Troy Tech filled with kids hurrying to their cars. They were eager to beat each other
onto the street but desperate to get ahead of the buses. Since it was the Friday before spring break, the general feeling was of being paroled from prison. Lucky for me I'd gotten out of the counselor's office a couple of minutes early, which meant there were only three cars ahead of my beat-up little Civic. I inched forward, wanting my freedom like everyone else. Maybe wanting it more.
My cell phone hummed and I checked the text. It was from Brooke, wanting to know if I was going on the camping trip. Six of us roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. Telling ghost stories. Trying to make each other laugh. Could I ever laugh again? I didn't think so.
If Jack were still alive, we'd both be going. But three weeks ago my twin brother was in a fatal car accident. Since then, everywhere I went the pain of losing him went with me. It wore me like a backpack, slapping a rhythm of heartache against my soul with each step.
I didn't really want to go camping, but the thought of hanging around all week with my foster family depressed me. Even worse, I knew the memories of Jack's presence in the house would cause a constant grieving whisper.
The car ahead of me turned onto the street and I slid through the stop sign after it. Ten minutes later I pulled into the driveway of the large two-story house where my brother and I had lived for the last three years. Going through the door, I heard the sounds of a cooking show on TV and little kids wrestling with the family dog. It smelled like oatmeal brownies. Jack's favorite.
“That you, Jocelyn?” my foster mom called from the kitchen.
Before I could answer, Marilyn peeked around the corner, an oven mitt on one hand and a spatula in the other. She blew at her bangs to get them out of her eyes. “Did you decide if you're going camping?”
“Yeah. I think I will.”
“Good.” A timer beeped, drawing her back into the kitchen. She called to me over her shoulder. “Hey, a letter came for you. It's in your room.”
I opened the hall closet, grabbed a sleeping bag, and headed upstairs. Going into my room, I dropped the bag on the floor. My mind was on the camping trip; what to pack, what to wear, what to avoid talking about. I noticed the letter. Probably more college stuff, I thought.
Picking it up, I stared at it, my lips parting in a silent gasp. A tremor passed through me: the aftershock following an earthquake.
It was from Jack.
Marathon
Staying in the shadows of buildings whenever possible, I ran along the sidewalk. The soles of my shoes slapped the wet concrete and beat out a desperate chant:
get to him ⦠get to him â¦
as car engines droned in the distance. I wove my way down side streets and across open walkways, out of breath by the time I turned onto Arsenal Street, which connected with Watertown's public square. Caught in the muted circular halos of the streetlights were swirling spirals of rain. They reminded me of Van Gogh's
Starry Night
, my brother Jack's favorite painting. At any other time I would've appreciated the abstract beauty, but just then all I could think was,
it's way too bright out here
.
Rain soaked me to the skin. Blinking through a blur of watery mascara, I stepped up the pace. A bank sign displayed the time: 10:07 p.m. I was three hours away from the safety of home, and more afraid than I'd been since
leaving this upstate New York town nearly five years ago. Even as the rain plastered my T-shirt to my body and stung my face, my mind was somewhere else. The white noise of fear blocked out any pain.
Two cars were coming down the road, their low beams like penetrating flashlights. I stepped back into the shadows, my heart hammering and lungs aching. After they drove by, I bolted across the wide street. Entering the public square, I ran past the Lady Spray fountain, its water hissing under the rain. I skirted the large brick buildings that faced the central plaza and felt less vulnerable in their deep shadows. A few seconds later I darted down an alley, then crossed the deserted parking lot of a bank. Only two more blocks! As I ran, one desperate question kept circling through my head: will he still be there?
Noah Collier was a guy of habits, and because of those habits I knew there was a chance I'd find him. A minute later I rounded a corner and caught sight of my goal: a poorly lit parking lot. My eyes tore around the lot and relief surged through me when I saw his black Jeep Cherokee.
I studied the gray-stone building. He was still inside, sparring at his martial arts dojo, but there was no way I could simply walk in and try to find him. Instead, I'd have to wait. How long, though? I couldn't just stand around and be a target for whoever had been following me. I hurried to his car and pushed aside the wet strings of hair that hung in my face. I grabbed the door handle. It was locked. Then I thought about last night when I'd been spying on him.
He'd hauled several boxes out of the back end of the Jeep. Going to the rear, I opened the hatchback.
I shoved away a case of bottled water and climbed in. It wasn't easyâat nearly six feet, I was tall for a girl. I curled up on the floor and shut the door, then lay in the dark, trying to catch my breath and listening to the rain pummeling the roof. Maybe this was better anyway, since he probably wouldn't like finding me in his passenger seat.
Although it was a relief to be out of the rain, the sense that someone was following me brought more anxiety as I realized what a vulnerable position I was in. Crammed beneath the hatch with no weapon and hardly able to move, I couldn't defend myself. I strained my ears for the sound of approaching feet through the downpour. If I'd been tailed, then whoever was out there would be here in the next few seconds. My adrenaline surged again, and I seriously considered peeking out the window. I didn't, though, and after a couple of minutes it seemed possible that I'd gotten away.
Now that I was lying still my body started to cool off. It didn't take long to get chilled, and I found myself wishing Noah would get here soon. Of course what I'd do then wasn't exactly clear, since he might not give me much time to explain. Shivering, I tried to get comfortable. While I waited, my thoughts were a dazed blur. How had this happened?
During the entire day that I spent spying on Noah, I hadn't planned on actually talking to him. But less than an
hour ago my car had been stolen from the parking lot of an Internet café. Inside it was nearly everything I'd brought with me when I traveled from my foster parents' house in Troy, including my money, clothes, cell phone, and net-book. Now all I had left in my pockets were a couple forms of ID, the key to my missing car, and the envelope that had made me decide to come here in the first place.
Even more unnerving, instinct said someone was following me. Instinct, it seemed, was honing its blade on my nerves, warning me that whoever had taken my car wasn't going to let it end there. Asking Noah for help was the only plan I could think of, since going to the local police was not an option.
The sound of a lock springing open startled me, and I caught my breath. Was he finally here? The driver's door opened and a harsh white light glared from overhead. I squinted and scrunched lower. What now? I already knew Noah was a guy who wouldn't react calmly to my hiding in his car, no matter what I had to say. Jumping up from the back of his Jeep when he didn't expect it might get me a fist in the face, or worse. I decided to keep still.
He climbed in and slammed the door, extinguishing the dome light. The engine started and a song I didn't recognize pounded from the radio. The Jeep pulled out of its parking space and moved from the lot into the street. We accelerated. Shadows began to glide in and out of the windows like dark, filmy bats. If I'd been uncomfortable in the cramped back end before, once we got moving the jostling
made it even worse. The luggage area of a Jeep wasn't exactly meant for passengers, and I needed to move because pins and needles were starting in my feet. I didn't dare rise high enough for him to catch sight of the top of my head, so I carefully tried to readjust my position. As we turned a few sharp corners I had to brace myself. It was also stinking cold in the back, and if he happened to be running the heater up front, none of the warm air was reaching me.