More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost #2)(5)

I lift my phone again. I start a new e-mail. Add my father’s e-mail address.

I type Leave me alone in the subject line.

I don’t type a message.

I just press Send.

And then I walk, letting the darkness swallow me up.





THREE

Emma

The night air is crisp, just a hair too cold to be perfect. If we’re lucky, spring is around the corner. Texas trots along beside me, tail gently wagging. We’ve been walking forever. I should be enjoying the peace and quiet and fresh air, but instead, I’m replaying the interaction with Nightmare.

I’ll keep my promise to shove something in there.

She can’t game.

You suck.

My eyes grow hot again, and I’m not ready for it. I give a hitching breath before I get it together.

My phone chimes with an e-mail. I loop the leash around one wrist and fish my phone out of my pocket.

It’s a message via 5Core. From Ethan.

Thursday, March 15 6:46 p.m.

From: Ethan_717

To: Azure M

Hey, here’s the screenshot I promised.

Also, that guy was an ass. I booted him. I’m really sorry. Message me if you get back on.

The message chases away my tears. I smile.

I pull up the screenshot Ethan sent.

At first it takes a moment to see what I’m looking at, but when I figure it out, I giggle. His burly hero character is bisected by the slope of a mountain, and one sword-heavy arm is lifted in the generic wave command. In the image, he looks like he’s waving for help.

I’ve come to the corner by St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, and there’s a huge open stretch of grass in front of the parking lot. When I was a kid, we used to come to Mass here as a family, until one day Mom and Dad stopped bothering. It seems like an extra kick in the teeth that we let the dog crap on their lawn. I bring bags. Does that count?

The street is a well of silence, so I stop under the streetlight to let Texas off the leash to do her thing. While I’m waiting, I tap out a reply.

Emma: Thx. I’ll fix it when I get back from walking the dog. Around 9?

He must be online now, because his message comes back almost instantly.

Ethan: 9 is good. No d-bags this time.

I smile at the face of the phone. “Come on, Tex. We’ve got a date.”

Texas doesn’t come.

I lift my head. The field is empty.

I look around. The street is empty. A faint light glows from inside the church.

A breeze rushes through the trees, sliding under my jacket to make me shiver. The air smells like rain might not be far off.

I listen for Texy’s dog tags to jingle. Nothing.

“Tex!” I call. “Texy! Come!”

How could I lose a nine-year-old dog in less than thirty seconds?

Get away from that technology.

Mom is going to kill me.

Then I hear it, the faint jingle of dog tags in the distance. She must have gone around the corner of the building. I break into a jog and spot her down by the back of the church, under the stained glass windows. It’s nearly pitch-black out here, but she looks like she’s eating something.

OMG. If she’s found a dead animal, I am going to throw up.

“Texas!” I shout, sprinting in the darkness. “Tex. Get away from that!”

“She’s okay,” says a male voice. “I gave it to her.”

I give a short scream and skid in the grass, coming down hard.

“I’m sorry,” the guy says, and his voice is quiet. Now I see him, a dark huddled shape beside the church wall. He’s wearing dark jeans and a hoodie, and the hood is large enough to put his entire face in darkness. I feel like I’m talking to a Sith lord.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.”

I scramble and somehow manage to find my feet. My phone went somewhere in the grass, and I have nothing with which to defend myself.

I can’t believe I’m worried about my phone.

“Who are you?” I demand breathlessly. “What are you doing to my dog?”

“Nothing! They’re chicken nuggets.”

To the guy’s credit, Texy looks thrilled. Her tail is wagging, and she looks up at me, chomping happily.

My pulse isn’t ready to take him at his word. “So you’re just randomly sitting beside a church eating chicken nuggets?”

“Yes. Well, the random sitting. Your dog is eating.” His voice is dry and quiet. He hasn’t moved.

I swallow my heartbeat. “Those aren’t laced with rat poison or something, are they?”

“Of course not.” He sounds offended.

“What are you doing here?”

“I like it here.”

“A good place to bury a body?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Texas finishes her nuggets and goes to him, nosing at his empty hands. Traitor dog. He rubs her behind her ears and she flops down next to him. Something is familiar about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I lean in a bit. “Do I … do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.” The way he says it is almost self-deprecating. “But maybe. Do you go to Hamilton?”

“Yeah. You?”