Lost Girls(5)

I tossed and turned while the sky outside my window burned bright and brighter, until finally it faded to murky gray. Night blossomed around me, the air turning chill, before I finally fell asleep. But my dreams never fully matured, as if they couldn’t decide whether or not they should be nightmares.





Chapter Four


The sun came up in the morning as if nothing had changed, thin April beams pouring in my open window through the smog that had collected at the base of the mountains. Sunlight glinted off bottles of perfume on my dresser, and carried the pattern of the lace curtains that hung on my window, big flowers that changed shape with each breath of wind.

Air filled my lungs and I remembered.

I was home. I was finally home.

Mom and Dad were chattering downstairs, their voices hushed as if they didn’t want to wake me, the rich aroma of scrambled eggs and turkey bacon and pancakes drifting up to my room. I dressed quickly, ready to head downstairs, although I wasn’t sure if I felt like eating.

My fingers ran through my hair—a reflex after tugging a shirt over my head—brushing my bangs out of my eyes. I vowed to dye my hair back to dark brown later today. Every time I saw myself, it caught me by surprise. I looked like someone else, my limbs too long and skinny. Granted, I had more muscles than before, but it looked like I never ate. Last year I had weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. I hadn’t been fat, not exactly, since I was five foot seven and danced about twenty hours a week. But I’d never looked like this.

Now, I was a hundred and eighteen. Maybe I was anorexic. Maybe that was why I didn’t have an appetite.

The smell of cedar and pine washed over me again.

My stomach twisted. My skin prickled. I felt trapped, like my hands and legs were bound. I needed to break free, to get outside, go for a run. I grabbed a sweatshirt and headed out the door of my room. Down the stairs, through the family room where Kyle slouched on the sofa, once again playing video games.

“I’m going for a run,” I said.

He glanced up and gave me a strange look.

My parents paused in the kitchen, Mom setting plates on the table, Dad in front of the stove, spatula in hand. Yesterday, I’d gone upstairs like I never wanted to see the world again. Now I was racing out into it.

“Rachel,” Mom called, her voice louder and sharper than I think she expected. “Don’t you want some breakfast?”

“Maybe later.”

She gave my father a look.

“Kyle, go with her,” Dad said, taking charge of the situation. Like he always did. “You’ve got your tennis shoes on and you could use some exercise.”

Kyle started to argue, but stopped. Like he realized he didn’t want to lose me again. He jumped up, right in the middle of a Spartan Op, and joined me at the door. I didn’t really want company, but if it had to be someone, my little brother was a good choice.

I was already out the door and jogging across our lawn toward the sidewalk by the time he caught up with me. I tugged on the jacket I was carrying, realizing it was one of Dad’s old sweatshirts. Even though it had been washed a hundred times, it still smelled like his aftershave. Wearing this always made me feel warm and safe, so I’d stolen it from the Goodwill bin when he was getting rid of it.

But when was that? Last month or last year?

The landscape of suburbia fell away behind us. Nothing looked familiar. There were more houses here than I remembered, the suburban sprawl reaching toward the 210 and then back toward the foothills. The Keefers must have remodeled their house, because it was almost twice as big as it had been last year. Every block we passed had countless foreclosure signs stuck in brown grass, houses abandoned.

“Did the Taylors move?” I asked, noting that the swing set in their front yard was gone and there was a FOR SALE sign in its place. I used to babysit their kids.

“Yup.”

I wondered if I’d had a chance to say good-bye.

I forced my attention on the road, knowing that the houses of Santa Madre would thin out eventually. My feet slammed pavement, Kyle keeping pace with me, as familiar hills rose around us. On our right, tangles of wild morning glory dotted the foothills with white blossoms, while flowering yucca spikes towered above them, waving in the breeze.

A trail appeared to our left.

“This way,” I said, jogging across the street toward a path that snaked up a San Gabriel foothill. We continued to run side by side, higher and higher, our pace slowing as we struggled to get up the switchbacks, until finally we were surrounded by trees that pushed the sky away, branches like thick arms with clawed fingers, pine needles on the ground and a sharp fragrance in the air.

This used to be one of my favorite places. Whenever I wanted to be alone, I’d hike up here. Half an hour in these wooded trails and I’d feel better, no matter what had been bothering me.

It wasn’t long before I realized I’d made a huge mistake.

Every step I took kicked up the smell of pine needles, making a fine cloud of dust that hung in the air, while my hands started to shake. The trees were pinning me in, blocking out the rest of the world.

I started running faster. Off the trail and into the forest, wending a crooked path through the trees, darting first one way then another, as if trying to get away from someone.

I forgot all about Kyle and the fact that my home was just a quarter mile away—

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