The Writing Retreat(60)

“I need to see.” Taylor hurried down the steps but Yana and Wren stayed. Wren’s face was blotchy, her eyes red. Yana looked the same as Chitra: lips pressed together, eyes opaque and calculating. She kept smoothing back her tight ponytail.

“This can’t be happening,” Wren said loudly.

I went to the window and looked out. Had Poppy made it to the trees? If so, her trail was long filled in. The only reason the footprints were still visible was because the concrete steps down to the basement were partially protected from the wind. I felt detached, like we were working on a math problem: If a 98.6-degree human wanders out into subzero temps in a drug-altered state, how long before they slip into unconsciousness?

“We need to go look.” Chitra watched Yana as if she were the leader. “Right?”

Yana gave a brief nod and left.

Steps pounded up the basement stairs.

“Okay.” Taylor burst in, energized as an action hero. “We need to do a search. We’ll get Roza and Keira and then we’ll split up the yard.”

In the front hall, Yana was bringing out our boots and coats and leaving them in a pile. Chitra and Taylor hurried upstairs to get the other two.

Wren and I sat on the floor to lace up our boots.

“This is so messed up,” I muttered.

Wren stared at me, her blue eyes glassy. I’d seen her look like this only once before: when she’d gotten the call about her second cousin. The one who’d gone to bed and never woke up, clutching an empty pill bottle.

“We’ll find her.” My words sounded false even to me.

Wren gulped. “But what if she’s dead?”

If she’s outside, then, yeah. But I couldn’t say it, nor believe it. Maybe there was a chance. Weren’t there stories of people making little igloos for themselves, surviving snowstorms overnight?

Chitra and Taylor came back down the stairs, followed by Keira and Roza. Keira was still in her pajamas—pants and a button-up top covered in stylized English bulldogs. She looked dazed. Roza hurried a few steps behind, fully dressed, her brow knit with worry.

“How long has she been out there?” Roza grabbed her boots.

Wren choked back a sob.

“We don’t know,” I said. “We just saw those footsteps going outside. Maybe she circled back? The front door?”

“We keep the front door locked,” Yana said.

Keira turned to Roza. “Did you call the police?”

“The phone’s out.” Taylor stood, bundled up and ready to go.

“Radio?” Yana glanced at Roza, who nodded. Yana hurried out.

“What is happening?” Keira muttered. She held her face in her hands, then cried: “You happy, Roza? Is this enough suffering for you?”

Heading to the door, Roza didn’t respond.



* * *



Three hours later, we sat in the parlor drinking coffee. It felt wrong, too eerily sedate, after the panicked activity of the morning and early afternoon.

We’d searched outside first. The fresh snow was powdery and we sank in up to our knees. It was almost impossible to walk around. We checked around the basement steps, but found nothing: including, thankfully, no human-sized, snow-covered masses.

I’d perked up briefly when Yana—wearing snowshoes she’d somehow come up with—went to check the garage, a separate building from the mansion. But she came back alone. Eventually we went back inside, then searched the house, just in case Poppy had come back and passed out somewhere. We checked every closet, every bathtub, behind every curtain. It had been strange searching rooms I’d never before gone into: extra bedrooms, decorated similarly to ours; another study, outlined in bookshelves.

Yana had offered to search the attic, a space that I hadn’t even considered. Taylor took the basement. Both came back grim, covered in dust and spiderwebs.

No Poppy.

Yana had radioed the police and they said they’d be here as soon as they could. Now Wren was crying anguished tears while the rest of us sat stone-faced, staring into our coffee cups. Taylor held a cookie halfway to her mouth, forgotten. Chitra had returned to the kitchen but Yana remained, standing by a window, peering out as if Poppy might suddenly appear. Roza stared into the fire, her eyes rimmed with red. She’d barely said a word the entire day. Keira was glaring at her through smudged lenses.

“This is your fault, you know.” Keira’s low voice broke the silence.

Roza’s eyes flicked to her.

“Keira.” Taylor sounded weary.

“No.” Keira’s eyes blazed. “I’m done keeping things in. I knew something was wrong here. And now look what’s happened.”

“It was an accident,” Roza said softly.

Keira shook her head. “If she hadn’t been drugged, she wouldn’t have wandered outside.”

“She might’ve.” The words popped out. Everyone turned to me. “I mean,” I went on, feeling slightly embarrassed, “I’m just thinking about that night she sleepwalked into the basement. Maybe she sleepwalked outside.”

“That’s right.” Taylor gazed at me thoughtfully. “You followed her into the basement that night. And…” She cocked her head. “Were you with her last night, too?”

“Yeah.” Everyone was now watching me, even Yana from the window.