Page 182 of Sins of the Hidden

"We'll be happy again," I promised. "Anne, do you want me to come over? I can?—"

"No, no. I'm fine. Just feeling sentimental tonight. I should go." A pause. "I love you, Oakley."

Before I could respond, the call dropped.

I tried calling back. No answer. I tried again. Still nothing.

I kept calling. Each time rang longer than the last.

Without thinking, I grabbed my mom's car keys from the hook and rushed out of the house in my pajamas. I kept trying to call her as I drove, taking corners too fast.

"Please," I begged to no one and everyone. "Please, please, please."

Streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow through my tears. I was just being paranoid. My gut would be wrong. I was worrying for nothing and Anne would be sitting on her laptop playing the dress up game we loved to play together online.

The car lurched as I veered onto her street, tires screeching in protest.

I screeched to a halt in front of Anne's house, leaving the car door hanging open, keys still in the ignition.

"Oak and Anne against the world, remember?" Her voice, from just last summer, echoed in my head as I pounded on her front door with both fists.

Anne's mother answered, blinking in confusion at the wild-eyed girl on her doorstep at midnight. "Oakley? What's?—?"

I shoved past her without explanation, nearly knocking her into the wall as I bolted up the stairs. My bare feet slapped against the hardwood, pulse pounding violently behind my eyes. I grabbed the banister and swung myself around the corner, taking the last half-dozen steps in two leaps.

"Anne!" My voice echoed down the hallway as I sprinted to her room. I twisted the knob. Locked. I pounded on the door with both fists, the wood vibrating under the impact. "Anne! Open up!" I threw my shoulder against it, the solid thud reverberating through my bones. Pain shot down my arm, but I backed up and slammed into it again. The frame creaked but held.

Anne's parents scrambled up behind me, her mother clutching her robe closed, her father still fumbling with his glasses.

"Oakley, what on earth?—"

I whirled around, my hands shaking. "S-Something's wrong with Anne!" I rammed the door again, the impact forcing a grunt from my lungs.

Anne's mother lurched forward, grabbing the doorknob and rattling it violently. "Anne! Anne, honey, open the door!" Her voice rose with each word, escalating into something frantic and primal.

Her father pushed us both aside, positioning himself in front of the door. "Stand back." He tested the knob once more, then backed up three steps. He lunged forward, driving his shoulder into the door. The wood groaned. He backed up again, lifted his foot, and kicked hard next to the handle. The frame splintered but didn't give. He kicked again, harder, his bare heel connecting with a crack that seemed to split the air itself.

We all halted in the doorway when we saw her.

Anne hung from her ceiling light, suspended by the same brown leather belt they had used to bind her wrists that night in the barn. Her bare feet dangled above her desk chair, which lay overturned beneath her. The ceiling fan decorated with butterfly stickers we'd stuck on there in elementary school along with the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars her parents had put on the ceiling for us to stare at.

Her face was already turning blue, her eyes slightly open but seeing nothing. The friendship bracelet from sixth grade dug deeply into her wrist, the frayed blue and green threads stark against her colorless skin. Her sweater twisted loosely around her torso, as if she'd tried to free herself at the last second. Her lips were parted slightly, like she'd been about to tell me one more secret. One last joke. One more I love you.

The scent of Anne's perfume still hung in the air—strawberries mixed with the faint, chemical sweetness of shampoo. She always overdid it before seeing Karson.

I stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe. Time collapsed. The world narrowed to this single, impossible moment—Anne suspended in air, no longer the girl who'd shared her lunch with me every day for ten years, but something vacant and wrong. My limbs turned to stone, my voice trapped in my chest like a bird in a cage.

Anne's mother's scream tore through the room, a primal sound that seemed to come from somewhere beyond human. Her father appeared with a knife, frantically sawing at the belt. Her mother collapsed beside us, stroking Anne's hair and begging her to wake up. "Baby, please. Anne, please. Open your eyes. Please, baby."

Her ribs cracked sharply beneath her father's palms, vibrations echoing through the room with every desperate push. Each compression pleaded for her heart to start.

"Annie, baby, please," he begged between compressions, tears falling onto her still face. "Come back to us. Please don't leave us." One-two-three-four. "You can't go. You can't." One-two-three-four. His voice broke as he continued the rhythm.

His arms worked tirelessly, elbows locked. He didn't stop. If he stopped, it meant she was really gone. One-two-three-four. Please, please. His shoulders heaved with exertion, face contorted in determination and grief. Sweat mingled with his tears, dripping onto her face as he counted, counted, counted, refusing to acknowledge that the daughter beneath his hands was already gone.

I stood rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as her father performed CPR. My tears fell as I witnessed him fight to revive his only child.

But her body was unresponsive.

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