Chapter 2
A Piece of Me
My name is Celeste Brown. I live in Brooklyn, with my mom. I turned sixteen this year.
If my name is familiar, I guess you might have heard of me. It's not because I'm a celebrity or anything, or because I've ever done anything noteworthy. I haven't.
But I was once in the local news for a few days. Me and my older sister both.
About a year ago, the two of us went missing.
Our parents woke up one morning, and we were just gone.
When they opened the door to our room, all they found were a couple of empty, unmade beds. The cops searched for us. Our school held a special assembly where investigators interviewed all of our friends and teachers. But nobody knew anything. We'd just vanished.
That night, our parents didn't sleep. They just kept calling our phones, endlessly, but we never answered.
At dawn, my dad went back into our bedroom to search for clues.
And there I was. He found me asleep in my bed, lying on top of the covers.
I was fully clothed. And I was filthy, covered in splashes of mud and dust; bits of dead leaves and grime clung to my hair. My hands and arms were scraped and bloodied. I was missing a fingernail. Later the EMTs discovered a long gash along my thigh, still bleeding beneath my jeans.
But my sister's bed was still empty.
When my dad rushed to me and gently woke me up, I just stared at him blankly. I looked at my cut-up hands and torn clothing, confused.
I didn't remember anything.
