Page 61 of Unmask
There’s no way she’soneof those missing girls. I didn’t even want to think about it.
Not Kenny.
Not my best friend.
Not the girl who spent almost as much time at my house as I did. Not the girl I’d spent hours on the phone with when we were supposed to be sleeping, talking about the future and boys and stupid dreams.
I tried to remind myself that she was smart. She knew all the dos and don’ts, all the shit girls had to think about when they were alone. She couldn’t have been kidnapped. There had to be a reasonable explanation for her disappearance.
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the fluorescent under-cabinet lights buzzing faintly. I perched on the edge of one of the chairs, my hands clasped in my lap to stop them from shaking.
Kreed stood behind me. Carson leaned against the counter, arms folded, his face pale but resolute.
The officer, Detective Harris his badge read, pulled out a small notebook and clicked his pen. “When was the last time you spoke to Kenny?” His voice was surprisingly gentle.
“T-two days,” I stammered, voice scratchy. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I think. We texted that night. Just…normal stuff. Nothing serious.” We’d been talking about Kreed and Carson and how much we hated guys. If I had known that would be the last time we talked… No, I refused to go there.
Harris scribbled a note. “No mention of plans? Meeting someone?”
I shook my head. “No. She said she had homework. She was going to stay in.”
Another scribble. Another question. “Has she mentioned anyone new lately? Anyone she was seeing? Any new friends she was hanging out with?” He rapidly fired the questions.
“No.” But even as the word left my mouth, a shadow of doubt fluttered in my mind. The truth was, I had so much going on in my life that perhaps I missed any signs of trouble or change in hers. We hadn’t spoken as much since I transferred schools, but she’d been so fixed on Carson for so long, I never even considered there might be someone else.
The detective’s pen paused. His eyes lifted to meet mine, shrewd and calculating. “Has Kenny ever talked about running away?”
“What?” I recoiled, anger flashing through my fear. “No. Never.” The idea was preposterous. She loved her parents. She recognized how lucky she was and the privileges her parents allotted her. She’d never been a selfish person like most of the girls at the academy.
“That’s absurd,” Carson chimed in, mirroring my thoughts.
Kreed shifted behind me, the heat from his body seeping into my back, chasing the chill that had taken up permanent residency within me.
Detective Harris noticed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “We have to ask. Sometimes teens?—”
“She didn’t run away,” Carson cut in. “Someone took her,” he insisted. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
The detective’s mouth pressed into a straight line. “We can’t jump to conclusions, but we’re exploring all possibilities.”
What other explanation was there?
The cops had a few basic questions, but it seemed like they didn’t have much to go on, which was beyond discouraging. With there not much else we could do, Kreed, Carson, and I left the Greys’ household, promising Mrs. Grey that if we heard anything from Kenny we’d let her know immediately.
When we stepped outside, the ground was slick, covered in an inch of snow. My shoes crunched on the freshly blanketed white powder, leaving my imprint behind as we walked toward the car.
I glanced at the house I grew up in, the porch light casting a warm glow that once meant home. Now, it just felt foreign. Another family lived there. Another girl could be sleeping in my room, completely unaware of the memories soaked into those walls. My posters were probably gone, the scuff marks on the baseboards from my tap shoes painted over like I’d never existed. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I didn’t live there anymore, that I’d never walk through that door again, never tan in the backyard with Kenny, or crash in the theater room for a movie night with bowls of popcorn and old blankets. It wasn’t just a house… It was my life, and standing here now, watching someone else’s light in my window, I felt the grief in a way I hadn’t expected.
My phone buzzed. A single notification.
I frowned, pulling it from my pocket, seeing one message from an unknown number. The pit of my stomach twisted before my thumb even hovered over the screen. I halted as dread, pure, bone-deep dread, took hold of me.
The message lit up my phone with a quiet ping, unassuming. I shouldn’t have opened it, but I did, and the second the image loaded, the world tilted. At first, my brain refused to process it. Then it hit me all at once, like a punch to the gut, and I gasped.
Oh, God, Kenny.
She looked so pale, deathly so, and every ounce of warmth had been leeched from her. Her wide, terrified eyes were ringed with smeared mascara, staring straight into the lens like she knew someone on the other end might still care. Might still come for her.
She was standing in front of a wall I didn’t recognize, the backdrop nondescript and sterile. Hotel maybe. Warehouse. Wherever it was, it felt wrong. Cold.
