Missing Abby (9 page)

I had longed to take a look inside ever since it opened, to be honest, but I knew Jo and Debbie wouldn't be interested. So I hadn't been, either. The three of us had passed by the shop loads of times, laughing about the sort of saddos who might shop there.

I pushed open the door and went in.

The walls were stone-clad, like a real dungeon, with metal stairs curving downwards. My footsteps rang against them as I descended into a brightly-lit room. Shining cases of figurines stood lit up like displays of diamonds, and there were shelves and shelves of books.

I stopped and stared at them for a moment, thinking of the box in my wardrobe and feeling almost hungry. Emma, stop it, that's not why you're here! I took a breath and went over to the counter, where a bloke with dull black hair and a straggly goatee was reading a magazine.

‘Is it OK if I put this up somewhere?’ I showed him the poster of Abby.

His stubbly face twisted in concern. ‘Oh, right … we've already got one, actually.’ He pointed to the wall beside one of the bookshelves. Abby's face looked out at the shop, smiling.

The guy rubbed his chin, staring at it. ‘Really sad; she's in here all the time.’

I tucked the poster back in my bag. As I was looking down, I said, ‘Um – what sort of things does she usually look at? I mean, what sort of books, or whatever?’

‘D&D, mostly.’ He nodded at the gleaming shelves against the opposite wall, where a boy in black jeans stood looking through the titles. ‘She was really into gaming … I mean,
is
really into. Hopefully.’

My stomach jerked as I realized what he meant. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.

And then, instead of leaving, for some reason I found myself going over to the D&D section.

It was incredible. There were
hundreds
of books there, all of them tall and shining, filled with the same glossy, gorgeous artwork that Abby's
Monster Manual
had had.

I pulled out the
New Player's Handbook
, and looked at the table of contents.
How to Create Your Character … Actions in Combat … Casting Spells …

I was reading about the different deities, completely engrossed, when the boy who had been standing there reached for a book in front of me. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Sorry.’ I glanced up, and both of us froze.

It was the boy with the pierced eyebrow from Sheila's house.

‘Oh—’ I started to say hi, and stopped. Like he'd want to talk to me after everything he had probably heard from Sheila! My neck began to burn as I fumbled to put the book back on the shelf.

‘Hang on – you're Emma, right?’

‘
Yes
, I'm Emma.’ The book completely wasn't cooperating. The space it had come out of seemed to have shrunk or something.

‘What are you doing in here?’ He was wearing a T-shirt that was like a tie-dye, only it was all in greys and blacks. And had skulls on it.

My cheeks were sizzling now, too. ‘I'm just putting up posters, that's all. Don't worry, I'm leaving.’ I finally managed to shove the book back into place, and grabbed for the bag at my feet.

‘Hey, hang on, don't rush off! I didn't know you were into this stuff, that's all. Are you?’

Clutching my bag, I paused and looked at him. He was a couple of inches taller than me, with light bluish-green eyes and a nice face. Like someone you could talk to. And I slowly realized that he wasn't being snide; he was honestly asking.

I lowered my bag. ‘No, not really. But Abby – mentioned it to me. Well, you know. And I was just curious.’

I was trying not to stare at his pierced eyebrow. It had a little silver hoop through it. I wondered if it ever got caught on things.

‘Right …’ Flipping his blond hair out of his eyes, he pulled out the book I had been looking at. ‘Well, this is sort of the basic book if you wanted to get started. Are you into fantasy at all?’

I hesitated, and then glanced at him again. ‘Yeah, I am,’ I admitted. ‘Well, more science-fiction, actually.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ His eyes lit up. ‘There's some games that are sci-fi based, you know – like Cyberpunk and SLA, and then there's one based on
Star Wars.
’

‘
Really?
I love
Star Wars!’

He grinned. ‘Original, or new three?’

‘Oh, both – but the first new one was sort of lame. “Can Anakin win the big race and save the day?” Nowhere near as classic as the originals.’

‘Yeah, no way. Jar-Jar Binks completely sucked …’ He opened the
New Player's Handbook.
‘Anyway, it's really easy. You create a character for yourself – see, this chapter explains all about it – and then when you start to play, a games master basically just tells a story. And you and the other players decide what's going to happen in it, by the way you play your character and the choices you make.’

‘It's like those
Choose Your Own Adventure
books!’ I stood looking over his arm. There was an illustration of a knight with his helmet off, looking weary.

‘Yeah, sort of …’ He turned the page. ‘Only there's a lot more rules, and you can cast spells and things. And anything can happen; you're not just limited to a couple of possibilities.’

‘Hey, look at this, you can play an elf!’ I sounded all burbly and excited, and I snapped my mouth shut as confusion swamped through me. I mean, A
,
what was I even doing here, and B
, what
was going on?

I reached for my bag again.

The boy's eyes widened. ‘What's wrong?’

‘Look, I don't even know your name. And – and you're a friend of
Sheila's
; you're supposed to hate me.’

His mouth lifted in a puzzled smile. ‘I'm John Kazinski, but everyone calls me Ski. Why should I hate you?’

‘Because of what happened between me and Abby.’ My voice shook. Did I have to spell it
out
for him?

Ski shrugged, looking down at the book again. ‘I don't know what
did
happen, only what Sheila said. And I think she's sort of jealous of you, actually.’

My jaw hit the floor with a thud. ‘Jealous of
me
? Why?’

‘I don't know. Because Abby talks about you a lot, I guess.’

I bit my lip. Oh, Abby. Suddenly feeling as weary as the knight in the drawing, I stared down at the carpet.

‘Um … I don't even know how Abby got to be friends with all of you,’ I said finally. ‘Do you all go to Balden Comp?’

Ski shook his head. ‘Wilkinson's. Year Ten.’

My eyebrows shot up. Wilkinson's is a private arts school; the sort of place I'd love to go if I had any actual talent. You have to be seriously good to get in, though. I wondered nastily what
Sheila's
great talent was.

‘So how did you meet Abby?’

He shrugged. ‘Last year Sheila's family moved the next street down from Abby, and they got to be friends. And Sheila's house is sort of central to where everyone
lives, so we'd all go there to play. Abby's really into D&D. I mean, she …’ He trailed off, swallowing.

There was a pause, with neither of us knowing what to say. Ski's throat worked; he shut the book and shoved it back onto the shelf. ‘I hate, I really
hate
not knowing what's happened to her. Not even knowing if she's alive or not.’

I had to look away, or I was going to cry. ‘Me too,’ I whispered.

‘Have you heard about the candlelight vigil?’ He could see from my expression that I hadn't. ‘The Ryzners’ church is organizing it. It's tomorrow night, in War Memorial Park. Everyone's supposed to bring a candle and – you know, pray for Abby's safe return. All her friends are going.’

Tomorrow night. Monday. That was when Debbie had asked me over, along with her new friend Karen. The scene in the café swept over me again, leaving me confused and miserable.

I nodded. ‘Yeah, I'll – I'll probably go.’

Ski smiled slightly. ‘Really? That's great.’

I must have looked confused, because he flushed. ‘I mean – well, it would be good to talk more, if …’ Now
his
cheeks were on fire. ‘Anyway, I'd better get home. See you tomorrow, maybe.’ He took off, hunched into his black jeans jacket.

Before I left, I bought the D&D book.

When I walked into school that morning, everything had changed. Suddenly I wasn't just Ems any more, the tall one with streaks in her hair – now everyone knew about Friday night's
Crimewatch,
and that I was the last person who had seen Abby. And they were gawping at me as if I had walked into school without my top on.

Whispers floated in my wake as I went into the main building. God, it was like being back at Balden! No, it's not. Calm, Emma, calm. No one's out to get you. Look, do you see Karen anywhere? No.

I didn't see Jo and Debbie anywhere, either. Which wasn't surprising, since I had gone in early on purpose, to avoid them. My throat tightened, thinking of the café. And they were supposed to be my friends!

Steering well clear of the trophy case, I went out to the inner courtyard, which is where the Year Tens usually hang out before class. Leaning against the rough brick wall, I closed my eyes and let the sun bathe my face like a warm flannel.

‘Ems?’

My eyes flew open. It was this Year Ten girl with bright ginger hair – Sara something. She touched my arm, looking anxious.

‘Ems, I saw you on TV Friday night … are you OK?’

‘I— Oh, sure, I guess so.’

‘It's so sad … you must be really scared for her.’

She didn't have to say Abby's name. I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself.

Three more girls came over. ‘Ems, you poor thing …’ Suddenly I was the centre of a small crowd. Girls I hardly knew were pressing close around me, squeezing my arm and even hugging me.

‘I'm fine.’ I wiped at my eyes, being careful of my mascara and trying to laugh. ‘Really, I'm fine.’

Sara smiled sadly at me. ‘Oh, Ems … you don't have to pretend.’

I just looked at her. I couldn't say anything. Wouldn't it be nice if she were right?

The candles in War Memorial Park that night were hundreds of flickering stars, each one lighting a worried face. TV cameras crouched on the sidelines as more people trickled in through the park gates, silently joining the others. Everyone stood hushed, waiting. On the bandstand at the park's centre, a vicar stood talking with Abby's family.

Jenny and I edged our way through the crowd. I gulped when I saw the Ryzners. Would they even want me to be there? My stepmother touched my shoulder.

‘Where do
you want to stand?’ she whispered. ‘Do you want to get up front, and say something to the Ryzners?’

I shook my head quickly.

‘Well, let's get just a bit closer, then,’ she said. We made our way towards the bandstand, pushing through the crowd as politely as possible. Before I realized it, we had practically walked right into Sheila and the others. Rob, looking gangly and gaunt in his black trenchcoat. Tall, heavy-set Gail in a velvet Goth dress. Ski.

‘Oh!’ Sheila and I stared at each other. She was holding a candle, tears streaming down her snub-nosed face. She looked so vulnerable, her spiky hair almost child-like.

Coming up behind me, Jenny handed me a candle from her bag. ‘Is here OK?’ she whispered. I nodded. The candle felt slick against my hands.

Ski's eyes were red. He leaned over and lit my candle from his, his fingers brushing against mine as the gradual golden glow took hold. I tried to smile at him, but I couldn't.

I looked at Sheila. She was staring at me like she had never seen me before.

‘Do you – do you mind if I stand here?’ I whispered to her.

She shook her head, and then looked away, wiping her eyes. I clutched my candle. I couldn't see the Ryzners through the crowd from here, and I was glad.

A crackling came from the microphone, and suddenly the vicar's voice boomed out over us, sounding gentle even though it was so loud.

‘It is difficult to know what to say at a time like this, when hope is hard to come by, yet must be held on to. We are all touched by the fearful uncertainties of Abby's disappearance. It is at times like these that we realize the reality of community; the reality that we are all bound together, and that the disappearance of one child affects us all.’

A rock lodged in my chest. Jenny stared up at the bandstand, her face streaked with tears.

‘
Dear Lord, please keep Abby safe. If she is alive, then help her find her way home …’

There was a rustling beside me as Rob put his arm around Sheila, who was sobbing. On her other side, Gail put an arm around her too, and then suddenly turned and drew me and Ski into it, making a circle.

We pressed together as the vicar's words went on. I think all of us were crying by then. Slowly, Ski held his candle out into the middle of the circle. The rest of us did, too, holding our candles together so that they almost made a single flame.

I screwed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of the others and trying not to sob.

Abby, please, please, be all right.

Afterwards, when the crowd started breaking up and the sea of candles was drifting towards the entrance, I saw the Ryzners again, talking to the vicar on the grass. Sheila and the others hurried over to them, hugging, offering comfort.

‘No!’ I tugged at Jenny's sleeve when she started to join them. ‘No – Jenny, please, let's just go home.’

‘… Police say they cannot discount the possibility that Abby went off with someone she knew, as any struggle would have been noticed by passers-by … meanwhile, huge photos of Abby have been put on the sides of lorries, in the hope that they will jog memories.’

Local news broadcast, Tuesday 14
^th
September

I sat in English class leaning my head on my hand, staring down at my exercise book without seeing it. The vigil wouldn't leave my mind. I kept seeing the hundreds of flickering candles, like fairy lights, and hearing the vicar's words about holding on to hope. Did he know how incredibly
difficult
it was, though?

At the front of the room, Mrs Patel was going on about that passage in
Beowulf
where he hacks Grendel's mother to bits.