Cryer's Cross Read online

  “Well, maybe you should consider coming out that way too. Why do I have to be the one to stay around here?”

  Nico winces. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” She sits up. Closes her eyes and sighs. “But the truth is, I’m not going to get into Juilliard, and we both know it. So. Saturday I’m checking out State with you.”

  Nico grins. “Awesome.”

  Back in the classroom, though, Nico acts distracted. He rests his head on his desk, eyes half closed.

  Kendall pokes him when Ms. Hinkler is working with the sophomores. “Are you okay?”

  Nico turns slowly to look at Kendall, a faraway look in his eyes. “Fine,” he says. He faces forward once again, his fingers sliding across the edge of his desk.

  “You’re acting really strange.”

  “Shh,” Nico says, distracted. He shakes his head slightly and doesn’t answer further. Then he puts his head back down and closes his eyes.

  * * *

  At soccer practice Coach works the team hard. They run drills and suicide competitions. It’s hard work, but Kendall savors it. It keeps her mind busy. But as she runs, something Jacián said yesterday keeps repeating in her mind, a syllable with every step. Stay out of my way, then, if you don’t want to get hurt.

  Did Jacián say that to Tiffany Quinn, too, before he killed her? Kendall shakes her head, admonishing herself in jagged whispers as she runs the suicide drills. She glances at him. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Just run.

  She beats everybody. It’s never happened before, but Kendall’s in her groove today. Jacián comes in second. Eli is third, with Marlena grabbing his shirt trying to pass him, but she ends up fourth. Nico’s off his game, coming in seventh out of the eight. Jacián walks away, gasping for breath.

  Kendall smiles triumphantly before half the team shoves her onto the ground and piles on top. She gasps and laughs, trying to shield her face from kicking legs and waving arms. Briefly catches Jacián’s eye as he stands a few feet away, watching the congratulatory pileup. His eyes burn holes into hers. She flails and turns, and sees Nico, but he’s staring off at nothing.

  In a minute she wriggles out from under the pile as Coach yells for everybody to get back to work.

  * * *

  At 11:05 p.m. Kendall calls Nico. “What’s up with you?”

  “Huh?”

  “You missed the call. You almost never miss the call.”

  “Oh. Uh . . . I lost track of time, I guess. Got a lot on my mind.”

  “You want to talk about it? Please? You’re starting to worry me.”

  “No. No, thanks. I have to go.”

  “Okaaay. . . .”

  “Good night, Kendall.”

  Kendall pulls the phone from her ear and stares at it for a second, and then puts it back up to her ear again. “Are you kidding me?”

  But all she hears is a dial tone. Her stomach twists. Nico hung up on her. “Damn, boy,” she says. “This college thing must be huge for you, that’s all I can say.” She calls his private line again. Five times.

  All she gets is a busy signal.

  She checks her lock six times and then stares through the window, out over the front fields. Toward Nico’s house.

  All is dark.

  Kendall shivers.

  WE

  Touch Our face and you’ll hear Us again. You’ll wonder. You’ll let Us into your mind, your thoughts. Your soul. We whisper to you in a single melting voice—the voice you want to hear. You know that voice. You miss it.

  You want to save it.

  SIX

  The first week of school nears an end. The unspeakable absence of Tiffany Quinn is mostly forgotten, replaced by new assignments, new students, and a need for life to be normal. Kendall performs her morning routines—the wastebasket, the markers, the windows, the desks—and things are good. Mostly.

  Jacián still doesn’t speak in class unless Ms. Hinkler asks him a question.

  And Nico is completely lost in his own world, oblivious to Kendall.

  He won’t discuss it.

  Her brain goes into overdrive.

  * * *

  “Nico,” she says at lunch, outside on the grass. “Is it me? Is it something I did?”

  He stares at the sky. His lips move, but no words come out.

  “Nico?”

  He turns to look at Kendall. “What?”

  Kendall bites her lip, and tears spring to her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? Monday you were normal, and now everything’s really weird.”

  He just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  “Are we still going to Bozeman tomorrow?”

  “Bozeman. . . . Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure.”

  “Are you mad at me or something?”

  He stares for a minute as if he’s trying to comprehend the question, and then he takes her hand. “No, baby. I love you. Like always.” He looks into her eyes and brings her hand to his lips. But his look is vacant. He kisses her knuckles, drops her hand, gets to his feet, and walks back into the school.

  There’s no soccer practice on Fridays—not until games actually begin. Nico starts home after school without Kendall. She watches him, incredulous, and then she turns and walks up the street into town.

  The town portion of Cryer’s Cross consists of one four-way-stop intersection with a handful of stores, a restaurant, and a big indoor farmers’ market that doubles for whatever else might require a large organized space throughout the year. Kendall climbs the steps to the drugstore, in desperate need of tampons.

  Outside the building is a porch with an awning, and under the awning, sitting in aged wooden chairs, are old Mr. Greenwood and Hector Morales. Kendall grins and waves. The two men often sit together in the early evenings during good weather, not talking, just sitting. Old Mr. Greenwood is grouchy, but Hector brightens up when he sees Kendall.

  “Miss Kendall,” Hector says. “Come here, please.”

  Kendall goes over to the men. “Yes, sir?”

  “You are a good friend to Marlena at school. Thank you for that. You hear me?”

  Kendall smiles. Hector is such a sensitive man, so kind. She wonders how his offspring could have produced somebody so awful as Jacián. “Marlena’s a great girl,” Kendall says. “Really good at soccer.”

  “And Jacián, he is our soccer champion,” Hector says with a proud chuckle.

  “Yes,” Kendall says, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Yes, he’s really talented.”

  “He needs the friends too,” Hector says, a little softer, but somehow with more punch. “People need friends.” He glances at Mr. Greenwood, who shifts uncomfortably. “You’re a good girl. You give him a chance, okay?”

  “Okay,” Kendall says. What else can she say? “I’ll try.” And before she can help it, she adds, “And he should give everybody else a chance too.”

  Hector looks thoughtfully at Kendall, his finger on his lips as he thinks. “I agree, Miss Kendall. You are wise for someone so young, and I thank you.”

  Kendall can’t help smiling. She reaches and takes his hand, holds it for a minute. “Good to see you again.”

  She goes inside the shop and wanders around, looking at things. Thinking about Nico, and wondering what’s really going on with him.

  Then she pays and walks the mile home, looking over her shoulder every thirty paces. Walking alone always reminds her of Tiffany Quinn.

  Kendall does her chores and homework, mopes about Nico but is glad they’ll have a chance to talk things out tomorrow on the way to Bozeman. Her parents say good night and turn in. By ten thirty Kendall falls asleep on the couch watching music videos.

  WE

  You lay your cheek against Ours and whisper, “Who are you?” We feel your heart, your quickening breath. Your pulsing blood. Yes, We hear you. And We know what to do. Soothe. Beckon. Tempt. Capture, oh yes. We capture you. From the first touch, We had you.

  Come back tonight.

  Save me!

  Say nothing!


  SEVEN

  Kendall wakes up to the doorbell ringing. Once, twice. Bright sunshine streams in through the living room curtains—she slept on the couch all night. Crap, she thinks. Overslept. Bozeman today. She goes to the door in her pajamas.

  It’s not Nico.

  It’s Jacián. With a side of beef.

  “Delivery,” he says. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, and Kendall can’t see his eyes. She grips the placket of her pajama top in residual fifth-grade fear.

  “Oh.” She moves out of the way as he brings a box inside. She wonders briefly if she has morning breath. If it were anyone else at the door, she might actually care.

  “Freezer?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Downstairs. . . . Here.” Kendall runs her fingers through her tangled bed-head and leads him to the basement door, down the steps. It’s cool down here. Smells like rain and dirt. She opens the freezer door and hurriedly rearranges the containers of sweet corn she and her mother prepared and froze last month. She puts them into neat rows, stacking them just right.

  “This is heavy,” Jacián says.

  Kendall stops arranging. “Just . . . set it on the floor. I’ll pack the freezer.”

  He sets the box down and heads up the stairs two at a time. “There’s another box,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “I should hope so,” Kendall says. “Or else it’s a really small cow. One of them mini cows.” Nobody hears her.

  A moment later Jacián is back. He flips his sunglasses to rest on top of his head, and he starts unpacking the box. Kendall blocks him from putting anything away. “It’s okay, really. I got it.”

  “My grandfather said I’m supposed to do this,” he says. “It’s part of the Hector Farms’ service.” His voice turns sarcastic at the end, and Kendall remembers her conversation with Hector.

  “It’s really not necessary.” Kendall is in the organizing groove, and she wants it done just right.

  “You’re doing it wrong, anyway. Put all the steaks together, hamburger together, roasts together. Not by size and shape but by category, or you’ll never know how much of one item you have left.”

  Kendall stops cold, stands up straight, and glares at him. She puts one hand on her hip and holds a two-pound package of frozen hamburger in the other. “Go force your condescending man-logic on the next house. You can go now.”

  He glares back and doesn’t leave. He works his jaw, like he wants to say something.

  Kendall’s mind flashes to Tiffany Quinn. She glances at the freezer, picturing it full of chopped-up abducted girls, and then looks back at Jacián, whose black eyes are on fire now. A wave of irrational fear moves through her chest, and she tries not to show it on her face. She’s down in the cellar with a kidnapper, nobody else home. “Go away. Please.”

  Jacián’s eyes narrow, then soften. “Fine.” He steps back, turns sharply, and walks up the stairs. Kendall hears his feet and the click of the front door closing.

  She glances over her shoulder nervously as she packs the beef in the freezer. By size and shape. It’s the only way she can stand to do it.

  She rushes through her shower and gets ready. Waits until almost noon for him to show up. And then she calls Nico’s house. Nico’s line is busy. Kendall hangs up and calls the home line instead. Mrs. Cruz answers.

  “Hey, Mrs. Cruz. Nico there?”

  “Kendall! No, haven’t seen him up yet this morning. Leave a message?”

  “Hmm.” Kendall thinks. “We’re supposed to go to Bozeman today. Maybe you should wake him up.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll have him call you in a minute.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Bye, hon.”

  “Bye, Mrs. Cruz.”

  Kendall hangs up and flips on the TV. The news anchor talks about that sixteen-year-old serial killer in Brazil again—the girl who killed twelve people. Wow. Just wait until she tells Nico. Makes Jacián the teenage kidnapper look just a little bit lame.

  Twenty minutes pass, and Kendall grows concerned that Nico hasn’t called. Just when she’s about to call him again, the phone rings.

  It’s Nico’s mother.

  “Kendall,” she says, her voice distressed, “Nico’s not home. His bed is made. There’s no note.”

  Kendall’s stomach jumps into her throat before she can think rationally. “Is his car gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s good, then, right? He’s probably just out somewhere.” Kendall’s tongue is thick. She swallows hard. Breathes.

  “Yes, that’s probably it,” Mrs. Cruz says, and then she laughs anxiously.

  Kendall whispers, “Maybe he went to Bozeman without me.”

  EIGHT

  They find the car. It’s not in Bozeman. It’s parked at the school.

  And Nico’s not there.

  After a cursory search through the town and all around the school grounds, Nico’s parents start contacting everybody they can think of, asking if they’ve seen him.

  There is no sign of Nico Cruz.

  Nico’s car engine is cold, and according to Sheriff Greenwood, there are no clues inside. Not in the car, or in the school. Still, they tape off everything as a precaution. After what happened with Tiffany Quinn, it’s never too soon to suspect a missing person. Everybody’s on edge.

  * * *

  When Kendall hears the news about the car, she runs the mile from her house to the school. The car looks so lonely sitting there, surrounded by onlookers. Air crushes her chest. She sinks to her knees, can’t catch her breath. People start crowding around her to see the car, the school . . . as if there is something to see. But there’s nothing. Just a car, a building. Yellow tape.

  “He could be fine,” someone says. “Maybe we’re all overreacting. He’s practically a grown man. Maybe he’s out for a hike.”

  “Maybe he’s hunting back in the woods.”

  “Maybe his car ran out of gas and he pulled in here.”

  “Yes, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  But the other whispers are there too, growing louder. “Another one. What’s happening to our safe little town? All the children are disappearing.”

  Kendall tries, fails to tune them all out.

  It’s all she can do to just breathe. And count.

  Count breaths: thirty-six. Count stones in the dirt: more than fifty. Count people saying stupid things: all of them.

  Count all the days she’s known him: infinity.

  Maybe he’ll be back before she’s done counting.

  Maybe not.

  * * *

  The buzzing noise of the people grows louder and louder, and Kendall can’t think. She can’t count with so much distraction. She stands up and shoves through the crowd, screaming, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! All of you just shut up!” Tears blur everything.

  Someone grabs her sleeve. Blindly she whips her arm away and runs, runs like hell. Runs almost all the way home, until her feet can’t keep up with her and she plunges forward, down onto the gravel, shredding her palms and knees. And then she just lies there as a huge splash of hurt rips through her body, and she’s so grateful for the pain, because she can feel it. It lets something else loose. She sobs. There in the gravel on the side of the road in front of Nico’s farm, she sobs, under the old rusty mailbox where she used to put notes for him, grasshoppers and bees fly and buzz around her in a panic.

  It’s not long before she hears feet crunching on the gravel. When the sound stops next to her, she lifts her head and looks up, squinting into the sun. Her lip starts quivering again. “Mom,” she says.

  “I couldn’t run quite as fast as you,” she says, “but at least you ran in the right direction.”

  Kendall slowly pushes herself up to her feet. Tries to wipe the gravel out of her hands and knees, but some of it’s stuck hard. She starts crying again and gives up as Mrs. Fletcher wraps her arms around the girl.

  “Come on inside,” Kendall’s mom says. “Let’s get you c
leaned up. Sheriff Greenwood is coming over in a few minutes. He wants to talk to you.”

  Kendall jerks her head up. “Why?”

  “Just to get an idea of who saw him last. Nobody thinks you did anything. They think he left the house late last night.”

  “Why would he do that?” Kendall limps up the long driveway to their farmhouse. “I think my brain is going to burst,” she says. “My OCD is going crazy.”

  “I know, honey. This is hard. But we’ve got to stay hopeful, okay? He’s a big strong guy. He can take care of himself. We just need to figure out what happened. Find out where he is.”

  Kendall nods. Inside the house she works on cleaning her wounds. Mrs. Fletcher turns on the news, but there’s nothing about Nico yet. Takes a while for word to travel to civilization from way out here.

  Sheriff Greenwood arrives, cowboy hat in hand. With him is someone Kendall doesn’t recognize.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher, Kendall. This is Sergeant Dunne from the Montana State Police. He’s here to help us find Nico.”

  “Hello, please sit down,” Mrs. Fletcher says, pointing to the dining table. She walks through the great room into the kitchen, gets cups, saucers, and the coffee pot, and pours coffee automatically, as if the two cops come over for coffee every day.

  They sit at the dining room table, and Sheriff Greenwood takes out a notepad. “For the sake of time, we’re going to get right into the questions here, okay?” He continues without looking up to see the nods. “Now, Kendall, can you describe your relationship with Nico Cruz?”

  Kendall is immediately flustered. “What do you mean? We’re neighbors, best friends since we were little kids. You know that.”

  Sergeant Dunne leans in and says, “Are you all dating?”

  “Yes, I guess so. I mean, we don’t really go out all that much, but yeah . . . sort of.”