Barbara bent over as the room began to spin. She was going to be sick. Her head was ringing.

That Sandy girl had been in their house. Could she have had her baby there? Oh my God: Cole. Had Hannah been lying all this time to protect Sandy? Had she chosen some worthless white-trash stranger over her own brother?

All Barbara felt was rage as she charged for the steps, Hannah’s phone gripped in her hand. Then there was a sound, the front door finally opening. Steve. Barbara didn’t care anymore why he was late or where he had been. She was just so very glad he was there now. She sprinted toward him, diving into his arms and pressing her face against his chest. She didn’t realize she was crying until she tried to speak.

“What is it?” Steve asked. But she couldn’t get any words out. He pushed her back. Shook her once, hard. As if trying to wake her. “What’s wrong, Barbara? Talk to me. Is it Cole?”

“The baby,” she said, waving the phone at him. “It belongs to that girl Hannah has been tutoring. I think Cole saw something. I think whatever happened to the baby, Steve, I think it happened here.”

“Barbara, what are you talking about?” His voice was raised—angry, alarmed, disbelieving.

Barbara didn’t want to believe it, either. Didn’t want to believe their daughter could be so unfeeling and cruel. Hannah had been acting upset about Cole, and this whole time she knew exactly what was wrong with him; worse yet, she was the one responsible.

Steve took the phone, his finger moving up and down the screen. His face hard and still. Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Where is Hannah now?”

“Upstairs,” Barbara said.

The look on his face was sharper now, the tired tinge gone from his eyes. He was in charge, a police officer on the case. Barbara felt such an enormous sense of relief. Steve was there and he was going to handle this. Her anger at him felt like such a silly, distant memory. Because they were in this together. They were in everything together. They always had been and they always would be.

“Wait here.” Steve took a breath. “I’ll be right back.”

Barbara was glad he hadn’t insisted she go along. Things with Hannah were always so much better without her.

Steve turned back at the steps. “This—Cole, Hannah, all of it—it’s my priority to get us through and make sure the kids are okay,” he said, staring at Barbara in such an unsettling way. “But once we get this all figured out, you and I will need to talk.”

He didn’t mean a casual chat.

“Talk? About what?”

“I think you know, Barbara.”

Barbara stayed there, rigid on the couch, holding her breath. Trying not to think about what Steve had meant. All of that—if that’s what he was even talking about—hardly mattered anyway, certainly not now. She listened hard for Steve’s raised voice, for the sound of Hannah crying, although she couldn’t imagine Steve ever yelling at their daughter, even now.

She braced herself for Hannah to come flying down the stairs, to run for the front door. To race off into the night. Barbara thought for a second about running out into the darkness herself. Disappearing. Because she was overwhelmed now by the most terrible dread. As though something, an actual thing—heavy and dark and hot—had crawled up her back and attached itself to her neck.

A minute later, there were heavy, fast footsteps on the stairs. And then there was Steve, his face tense and wide-awake as he moved swiftly across the room for his keys. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“What? Who?”

“Hannah, Barbara!” he shouted. “When was the last time you actually saw her?”

“I—I don’t know. I don’t remember. I was too busy trying to keep Cole together.” She scrambled to recall. It had been before dinner, at least. But she wasn’t going to tell Steve it had been that long. He would never understand how overwhelmed she’d been by Cole. “Maybe she went out for a walk. She does that sometimes, you know.”

“Without her phone?” He pointed to the counter where Hannah’s keys sat. “Or her keys? Her jacket’s over there, too.”

Steve seemed so angry, and at Barbara. Absolutely furious as he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

“Steve, where are you going?” she called as he strode for the door.

“I am going to do what you should have done hours ago: find our daughter.”

Frat Chat

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How are we going to get Aidan kicked out of our school before he brings a gun or something?

3 replies

He told me he had a gun in his bag last week.

He did. I saw it.

You guys are so bullshit.

Anybody who could do that to a baby could definitely shoot a bunch of high school kids.

1 reply

Kill Aidan Ronan before he kills us!

Someone should tell the school.

Anybody seen the girlfriend? Maybe she’s dead too?

2 replies

I saw her once, it would be hard to tell the difference.

Dead or not, she’s still hot.

Somebody should call the police and tell them.

3 replies

My mom told me the police already talked to his mom.

My mom can’t stand his mom. She’s a be-yatch.

My mom says HIS mom hits on MY dad. And my dad is totes disgusting.

Everybody send anonymous messages to the police today! Get Aidan before he gets us!

Molly

When I got home from the community meeting, Justin was asleep, a copy of Tender Is the Night open on his chest. I’d raced up the stairs, intent on telling him about Thomas Price. But once I was standing there, watching him sleep so peacefully, it occurred to me that he might not be thrilled to hear how I’d felt threatened enough that I’d fled Price in a panic. Or that I had been especially petrified, because of how utterly charmed I’d been by Price. He’d reeled me right in, just as he must have reeled in all those young women. And I wasn’t young. I should have known better. God, I’d actually been flattered that he was flirting with me. I felt nauseated, thinking of it again, my hands still trembling as I lifted the book carefully from Justin and set it on the nightstand, then switched off his light.

On my way downstairs, my phone vibrated in my pocket: Erik Schinazy.

“Hi, Erik,” I said, relieved it was him.

“Oh, hi, Molly.” He sounded surprised, as though I’d called him. “I’m on my way back to Ridgedale, driving now. Just wanted to check in about the community meeting. Anything new?”

He also sounded nervous. Or maybe I was just projecting. “Most of it was about the community DNA sweep they’re planning. As you can imagine, people in town are not happy about it. I can’t say I blame them.”

“No other updates? No mention of that woman they were holding in the hospital?”

“No, there really wasn’t anything new. There would have been nothing to talk about if they hadn’t had the DNA testing. The woman in the hospital is still missing, as far as I know. I think they’ve probably ruled her out as the mother of the baby, though, or they soon will. Her baby would have been several weeks old.” I pulled in some air, preparing to deliver the rest. It was going to sound insane. “But I do think there’s a chance that she was sexually assaulted by Ridgedale University’s dean of students. That maybe her baby is his baby—it’s just not the one they found.”