Freaks Like Us (11 page)

Mercer almost sounds relaxed when he throws out the next lure. “Her brother, Eli—he’s interesting.”

“Interesting is a good word,” Drip agrees and I still don’t say anything, because I agree with that, too.

Mercer stays quiet a second or two as we walk, and then he asks, “Is he a bully?”

“Sort of,” Drip says. “Maybe?”

“Not really,” I tell Mercer, and my voice still sounds off, but not as bad as it did when everything seemed dark and mean and scary, which it doesn’t right now. I don’t know why.

Because you’re stupid. Because you can’t see the truth any
more than you can tell it. Truth is creepy and spooky. Truth is truth. You should
always
tell the truth, Freak.

“You sound pretty definite on that point,” Mercer says to me, and I have to think a few moments to remember he’s talking about Eli, and the fact that I said Sunshine’s brother isn’t a bully.

“Eli takes care of Sunshine,” I explain, wishing I had a better way to put it. “He looks out for her. Sort of. When we were younger, he was a pain—but now, since he got back from juvenile—he’s different.”

Mercer lets this sit, and when Drip doesn’t say anything, he prompts with, “Any disagreement, Derrick?”

“Nah,” Drip says. “Eli’s a dill weed, but not to Sunshine.”

Yeah. Late dose of meds or not, Drip’s tired. I get that, because my brain’s misfiring like an engine about to throw a rod.

A strange sound bounces through the woods, and it makes me jump, then stumble. I bump against Drip, who doesn’t stop walking, and it takes me at least three steps to realize the weird sound was laughter.

Agent Mercer… laughed.

Crap. Maybe the forest
is
about to eat us.

“I think I could come to like you, young man,” Agent Mercer says to Drip.

“More than I can say for you,” Drip says.

Agent Mercer actually laughs again, and he asks Drip if he’s ever thought about going into law enforcement.

We leave the edge of the woods, walking into the park, and there’s a crowd ahead, a crowd full of the colonel and Dad and the lawyer and Drip’s mom and his brothers, and Drip’s mom is crying and the colonel’s holding her hand and they see us sort of all at once and sweep toward us like a flashlight tide, all talking at the same time—

“Where have—”

“What—”

“You found them! Thank—”

“What did you say to them? If no parents were present—”

“Derrick, I’m gonna kick your—”

And the colonel’s got me, pulling me to her, and Dad’s got me, too, and they’re smothering me, and hugging me tight, and I can’t hear much of anything and I hug them back until the colonel goes a little stiff because there’s a new voice in the mix and it’s a man, a strange man, and he’s saying, “Excuse me, sir. I think you should get back to the VFW. We found something in the girl’s room.”

NINE HOURS

Agent Mercer leads the way back to the VFW, along with the agent who came to find him. Drip’s on my right with his mom and two of his brothers, and the colonel and Dad are on my left. The lawyer’s behind us somewhere.

We found something in the girl’s room…

What did they find? Did Sunshine leave a note after all? The thought makes my pulse thump hard and loud in my ears. I want there to be a note. I want to know where she went. I want to know she’s okay.

But what if she—

We round the last bend toward the hall, I almost don’t recognize where I am. The VFW, it’s—

This isn’t the VFW. They’re lying to you. This is somewhere else. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere. Belong is wrong. Belong is wrong. Maybe you should belong?

—The VFW looks different.

Trucks have been pulled into the drive—big trucks. And there are two towers on the lawn, one with two satellite dishes on the sides. Mist rises around big glaring lights that have been set up on the sloping front lawn, almost like spotlights on the front of the hall. Everything is so white-bright it’s hard to make out the long tables lined with wide boxes, long yellow pads, and cups holding markers and pens. There’s a person behind each table, and a handful of people in front—mostly folks from town with faces I know but can’t name. They’re signing the pads, writing their names on big white tags, picking out orange vests from the boxes, then lining up in front of one of three women carrying clipboards. The women seem to be dividing people into teams and giving them something that looks like a cell phone or a small handheld radio.

It’s the government. They’re here. They’re here to get you, you freak, because they know all about you. Know and show. Know and show. Why don’t you tell the truth?

My alphabet voices yell so loud it makes me blink. As we start up the main sidewalk, I have to work not to shake my head and work harder to shift my focus from all the lights and people and tables to Agent Mercer.

He says, “People are responding to the Amber Alert and our requests for volunteers. We’re organizing a grid search of the area to begin at dawn.”

“Maaaa-aaan,” Drip mutters, his head swiveling like he’s got ball bearings in his neck. His mother has him by
the arm, which is probably good, or he’d be heading straight for one of the towers and trucks to poke at it and pull at wires and figure out how everything works. Drip can take anything apart. It’s the putting-it-back-together phase that gives him trouble.

“You’re organizing a search,” I echo, not sure I heard Mercer correctly, but scared and excited all at the same time.

“Television, radio, e-mail, online social networks, highway information signs.” He nods. “Everywhere we can send the alert and the requests, we do.”

“Oh.” Yeah. So, maybe I’ve been being an ass to him for no reason? Well, not
no
reason, but—okay. This is pretty impressive and more what I had been hoping for when the FBI got called. A search. They’re going to search. We’re going to search—with lots of people and some organization and maybe, just maybe we’ll find her. We have to find her.

Tears pop to the corner of my eyes. I want Sunshine back so badly my whole insides hurt.

“I know it feels like we’ve been doing nothing but harassing you, your friends, and Sunshine’s family, but that’s not the case.” Mercer sounds almost smug, but I ignore it because he’s doing something and we’re going to look for her and that’s fine by me.

“Can we search, too?” Drip says, loudly. “Can we go? Now?”

His mom pulls him along and Dad comes around to my right to help her. When we get close to the front door, I see a roped-off area where arriving volunteers are directed until they go to the tables to sign in, and a big banner hanging on the VFW wall behind the tables reading SEARCH COORDINATION.

Everything seems too big and too bright and too sudden and too much and then we’re in the door, into the VFW, and—

Even more people in here. New tables. Uniformed local officers. People with FBI identification badges like Agent Mercer’s. We’re standing on the edges of a pretty big crowd. I recognize kids from school, kids from class, and Mr. Watson with his screwball hair and calm-clown expression. I don’t see Sunshine’s mom or Mr. Franks, but I’m figuring one of them is here while the others are waiting at their place in case she calls or comes home. That bothers me a little bit, the thought of her getting home to just them and me not being there, but that’s stupid, I guess. Home would be home. Just let her come home.

Roland’s still in the hall, and now his pal Linden’s with him. What was it Mercer called Linden? The little gangster? Fits him. He’s lounging in a chair next to Roland’s, only Linden’s got his tipped against the wall, his dark hair in his eyes, chewing on something, maybe a straw. He has one person standing beside him, an older guy with silver
streaks in his dark hair, dressed in black jeans and a black tank. He’s fidgeting and glancing at the door like he wants a cigarette. Linden and Roland don’t look nervous. They don’t look like they have anything to hide.

It’s you who needs to hide. You’re a freak. You’re a horrible freak. You know somebody was hurting her. You were hurting her. You hurt her, hurt her, hurt her. Maybe you only hurt her a little bit?

“You ever think it’s weird that hard cases like Linden Green have parents?” Drip whispers, making me jump.

I shake my head, then rub my temples, wishing I could crush my alphabet voices or at least make sense of them. I know they’re lying. I know they aren’t real, but sometimes they sound so real and they feel so real and they say the stuff I’m worrying about.

You know somebody was hurting her….

Do I know that for sure? Do I really remember that?

I know you’ve wondered everybody wonders why I don’t talk much but it’s better I don’t say anything can you understand that because I need somebody to understand and you’re the one who understands things Jason I know you don’t show it that you can’t show it but I trust you so much and her fingers twine around her locket and

“Yeah, that’s bizarre,” I tell Drip, but my voice comes out cracked and dry and I shiver because I probably sound
like the dark, grabbing trees in the woods. Drip gives me a strange look and I glance down at my body. Am I turning into a tree?

Drip’s mom yanks him away. Her expression has none of her usual tolerance and irritable sort of patience. She seems… wary. Maybe scared.

Why doesn’t she want Drip talking to me? Is that real? Am I making that up or imagining it or alphabeting it? Maybe something’s wrong. Or maybe something’s worse wrong with me than usual.

I look at myself again. I’m still not a dark, scary tree. At least I don’t think I am. Maybe Ms. Taylor is afraid Drip and I will take off again, but the VFW’s turned into Search Central. No way we’re going anywhere except out with an orange vest and a piece of the grid to explore.

Everybody seems alert. Everybody seems to know the FBI search team found something in Sunshine’s room.

I lurch toward the murmuring, muttering, milling VFW crowd because I really don’t know what else to do or where else to go, but hands grab me and I almost scream because maybe the trees followed me here but it’s not trees. It’s my parents and some part of my brain knows this but the trees still scare the hell out of me and I grab the wrists and hands and fingers expecting branches but when I turn I don’t see black bark it’s Dad and—

“Breathe, Jason.”

I’ve got hold of his wrists. Both of them. I’m digging
my fingers in hard and my eyes are probably wide but it’s Dad, not a tree, so I breathe.

“What are you seeing, son?” Dad’s voice comes out calm and his face is calm, but his eyes—still not right. Not totally him.

“I’m seeing you,” I tell him.
You and your wrong eyes
.

“You sure about that?” He’s keeping his voice low, and I know he doesn’t want anybody else to hear what we’re saying.

I don’t want to tell my father I thought he might be an evil tree, especially not with my mother standing right behind him looking as wide eyed as I feel, so I shake my head and wonder vaguely where the lawyer is, then go back to thinking about why we came back to the VFW.

“They found something in Sunshine’s room,” I tell Dad, and give the colonel a quick glance so she knows I’m talking to her, too. I try to make myself smile but I’m not sure it’s working. Stupid alphabet. My father isn’t a tree.

“I know,” Dad says. “Captain Evans has gone to get more information.”

Captain Evans
. Oh yeah. That’s the lawyer’s name. But why is she going and not us? I let go of Dad’s wrists, and he lets go of me, and I ask my question out loud.

“Why is Captain Evans getting more information? Why aren’t we going?”

Dad and the colonel exchange a look.

Dad says, “Things like this can get tricky, son.” He takes a breath. “It’s best to leave the heavy lifting to the guys with the muscle.”

The Dad-ism thunks against my awareness. Heavy lifting. Guys with muscle.

Tricky?

Dad’s smile seems fake, which is something my father never does. Dad’s always been real. Straight-up. So what—

Images of the trees blare through my brain. He could be possessed. Maybe the trees got him and—

That’s not real, Jason…

Sunshine’s voice. Just a whisper, something she’s said a million times, and I always believe her even if she’s not here right now because maybe she is, a little bit, at least in my head. My palm tingles again, right at the center, a locket-shaped spot like she’s just pressed it into my hand to hold and banish all my bad thoughts, and I know I have to banish them on my own, at least until she makes it back to me.

Dad’s not a tree, and he’s not possessed by a tree. But something is wrong with him. There’s that thing in his eyes, a glimmer of sadness, of worry I’ve never seen before, and it makes my stomach flip-flop. He could be scared and worried about a ton of stuff, like whether or not Sunshine’s okay, or how the colonel’s bringing the lawyer makes me look even more like a freak, or stuff from work I don’t even know about—but I don’t think
that’s it. He’s worried about what they found in Sunshine’s room, but it’s more than that. He’s worried—oh.

Oh no.

He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he KNOWS, he knows, HE knows, he KNOWS, you FREAK.

This time I look him straight in the face, and my words come out slow and very, very clear. “Dad, whatever they found in Sunshine’s room, it’s okay. I didn’t do anything to hurt her.”

Are you telling the truth? Because you’re a liar. You know you’re a liar. Liar, liar, house on fire. Maybe your house is on fire?

New expressions cross Dad’s face, and I pick them out, one by one. There’s guilt, then more worry, then… something like distance. Like he’s stepped back from me in his head, and he’s studying me like some of the FBI agents, who are watching us, all of us, and that’s real and definitely not coming from my alphabet, but I can’t care about the agents watching us right now.

“I didn’t hurt Sunshine,” I tell Dad, who doesn’t react, but the colonel does.