If You're Out There(67)

For a minute I just cry, letting myself grow puffy and splotchy and sniffly. Because I’m hurt, and drained, and probably foolish by any reasonable measure. But as I watch her there, it strikes me—I’m not ashamed of caring this much. Because I’d rather live my life trusting in people. Even if once in a while, I’m dead wrong.

As I get up, I think Priya glances over, but I don’t wait to find out. I wipe my tears and take a breath. I need to find Logan. To get out of here. My feet drag against gravel as I work to calm myself.

Behind me, I hear a shuffle—a few sharp taps against the glass. With a heavy sigh, I turn around and walk back. I’m not sure I’m ready to face her, but I crouch down anyway, jolted by the moment her eyes meet mine.

I’m still crying, and I realize so is she. I throw my hands up and let her see me. What the hell? She says something I can’t quite hear and runs off.

“Priya, wait!”

I watch her at the couch. She comes back a second later with the journal, opens it to a middle page, and scribbles something quickly before slapping it against the glass.

HELP

My ears begin to ring.

She holds my gaze, waiting. I don’t understand.

And then slowly, slowly, I think I do. The singing stops, and her expression shifts.

I keep my eyes on her. Try to smile. Try to say, It’s okay. My hands tremble, tears on the screen as I start to punch in 911. It’s okay now, I tell her, my shaking finger over the button.

The song comes back and Priya’s eyes go wide.

What?

She shouts something I can’t make out. A slap to my hand sends the phone flying. No time to look up.

Sharp pain.

A blow to my skull.

I see black.



HELP

Shit. Okay. Evidence. This is evidence!

If anyone finds this, my name is Priya Patel.

Ben Grissom stole funds from my mother’s charity, the GRETA Fund.

His partner in Mumbai, Karim, sent someone after us because of a financial dispute and Ben has become increasingly paranoid.

He’s been holding me against my will for several weeks in his mother’s suburban home.

I just witnessed him strike my best friend, Alexandra Martini, from the basement window.

I hope she’s okay.

I hope this journal was not, after all, for posterity.

Shit, I think he’s coming downstai





Eleven


Friday still? . . . I think?

Time had passed.

How much, I’m not sure. The ground beneath me is firm but soft. Carpet, feels like. I’ve kept my eyes shut. Heard bits and pieces, in and out.

It was Priya’s voice that came first.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What did you . . .” There was a pause. “The email. But I checked. It was just garbled letters.”

“I’m sure it was the email among other things. You weren’t exactly a criminal mastermind through all of this.”

It went on like this for some time, as my heart threatened to leap out from my chest. But I stayed as I was, collecting strength, the pain raging at the back of my head.

Now, though, I feel hovering.

Warm breath on my face.

“I didn’t mean to hit her that hard.”

“You need to call 911. Leave before the ambulance comes, I don’t care. But all this? It’s going to come out. And you don’t want a dead girl on your hands.”

A few tense moments pulse by and I work to quiet my racing mind. I have to listen. To understand.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Look around you, Ben.” Priya’s voice is strangely calm. Delicate, even. “Use that Harvard brain of yours. You keep digging deeper every day. I’m not even messing with you right now. I swear. For your sake and everyone else’s, you need to end this before you bury yourself entirely.”

“Stop,” he says.

“Ben—”

“I said stop!”

All I want to do is open my eyes. But I stay frozen.

“What’s your plan here?” she says after a moment. “What are we thinking? Double homicide? In your mom’s basement? Huh.” I can actually feel her smiling. “You’d be like the ultimate loser of murderers.”

I have to work to keep my lips from curling up. I’ve missed that wit of hers. I know I shouldn’t, but I peek—just for a second—and see a jolt of recognition pass through her before I return myself to darkness. “I have a gun,” says Ben, making my insides clench. “Now might be a good time to show some respect.”

“Please. Maybe no one else was looking for me. But Zan’s family will notice she’s gone soon enough. The cops will find this place. All this carpet down here is basically a giant evidence sponge. And I highly doubt anyone’s going to be pointing fingers at the sweet old lady upstairs.” A lingering silence swallows up the room. “You’ve backed yourself into one hell of a corner, Ben.” A pause. “Get some cold washcloths. Maybe we can wake her up.”

He scoffs. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Alive girl, dead girl. Those are your choices.” After a moment, I feel him get up. “Not there,” she says. “You took all my towels for the laundry. Go upstairs.”