Come Find Me(51)

I don’t answer, because that is what I tell my father. But it’s a lie. I have been there maybe three times in my entire life. Enough to know the name and location. Enough to use it as an excuse. I pass it every day on the way to Freedom Battleground State Park.

“The IP address,” Agent Lowell continues, “was from the library.”

“What?” I push back the chair abruptly, facing them all.

My father repeats it, in case I haven’t heard. “The email to Abby’s college account with that photo of Liam. It was sent from there.”

My mouth drops open, and I’m shaking my head, desperately trying to process. “I’m sorry, and you all think I did this?”

    My mother still won’t look at me. One freaking suspicious testimony, and two years later, I still can’t escape it.

The problem with a missing-person investigation is this: Everyone is under suspicion. If they were taken, it’s most likely by someone they know. A disappearance could be reported in order to cover something up, something worse. Some of those children on the wall are probably dead. I know that. This is what I’ve learned after being at the center of this house for two years.

But this is different. Liam was there, and then he was gone, along with the dog. Like he slipped from this dimension, like something took him from us. It’s not the same thing.

“It wasn’t me,” I say. “I don’t really go there. I don’t use the computer. I swear. Check the cameras.”

Agent Lowell shakes his head. “They don’t have cameras, which I’m assuming you realized.”

I feel sick. The library. I pass it every day, and someone else was sitting there, sending this picture….

“Mom, Dad, I was lying, okay? I don’t tutor. I don’t go there—”

My father reaches out to grab my arm, and his grip is too tight. It’s not kind. He’s angry. “Where did you get this picture?” he says, his voice sounding hoarse and raw.

“I didn’t,” I say, yanking my arm back.

Even Agent Lowell looks alarmed by the change in my father’s behavior.

My mother looks from him to the agent to me. There are so many levels of worry going on right now. We were all together when Liam disappeared. They should vouch for me. They know. They know.

    “It’s a mistake,” I tell them. “We were all together. During the search. We looked for Liam together.”

“Listen,” Agent Lowell says, “we’re not implying anyone did anything. Only that you might know more than you’ve let on. If you sent this picture to Abby to get our attention, Nolan, you have it. Even if you didn’t take the photo, did someone send it to you, after the fact?”

“No one sent this to me,” I say, practically yelling myself. “I’ve never seen it before.”

It’s then I hear the footsteps overhead. Two men come down the steps, carrying boxes in their outstretched arms. “What…” I stand, stepping closer, until I can see into the boxes as they pass: my computer, my bag, my things.

“Dad? Mom? What did you do?”

Agent Lowell steps into my path, preventing me from getting any closer. “They didn’t do anything, Liam. It’s our job to track down anything that might help us. We’re going through your computer and electronics right now, to see if there are other copies of the photo.”

I moan. What they will find on that computer is a mapping of the park where my brother disappeared. Articles about the Jones House. The documentation of my search for the unexplained in Freedom Battleground State Park, and more. It should clear me, but I worry it will seem like something else. Like I’m looking for something instead.

“One more thing. We need your phone,” he says, holding out his hand.

    “No,” I say.

“Nolan,” my dad says. “It’s not yours. It’s ours.”



* * *



—

I have no more connection to the outside world. The bathroom fills with steam from the shower, my image disappearing in the glass. I catch a glimpse in the fog, and it’s Liam instead.

I look down at the sink and imagine him that day.

Standing in the bathroom, the drop of blood in the sink. The hiss. The razor clattering.

The tension rises, like there’s static, like something’s going to burst through this room. I keep picturing it, over and over. Like Liam is there, showing me something.

I’m cold and shaking by the time I leave the bathroom, my hair nearly dry, like I’ve lost a gap of time.

I feel like a prisoner in my own home. My things are gone. My connections to the outside world are severed. No one here wants to believe me.

I need to talk to Kennedy.



* * *



—

I’d call her, but my phone is gone. I don’t know her number by heart. At least I have my car keys. The sky is dark, and I’m only half-concentrating, and by the time I park in front of their ranch house, it’s almost ten at night.

But I’m not of sound mind to stop myself. I ring the bell, and it’s Joe who answers.

“I need to see Kennedy,” I say, but he stands firmly in my path. “I know she’s grounded. I’m sorry. Please, I need to see her.” My voice cracks on the word please.