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EVERY SECOND I SEE HER. Danielle Price. Her iconic freshman yearbook photo on an off-white sheaf of paper, stapled atop a mess of colored flyers pinned to a community cork board in Jay's Variety. I printed it out an hour ago, I put it up a half hour ago. I walk away. I look, I hold her gaze, I wish I knew what Danielle was saying.
Her hair was longer, curlier, a deeper red; an old septum piercing; brown eyes darkly shadowed with a look of apathy.
It's an outdated photo, yeah, but neither Robert or Leslie volunteered anything else, and Dani hadn't had a yearbook photo since three years ago.
"Hey."
My thoughts jump and skitter. "Oh, it's just—"
"Me."
Ricky.
"What's up?"
Jay says Ricky and I remind him of him and his brothers, and I don't necessarily disagree. Stories I've heard, Jay and Kevin and Len ran rampant. I should probably be insulted. Oh, well. Jay had even taken a liking to Danielle. He'd let her hang around if I was on-the-clock, but slow, bored—Danielle would sit up on my bagging area, and I'd lean back against my register, and I'd flick rubber bands, and Danielle would chew on her lip piercing, disappearing and reappearing, and count pennies left behind.
"Nothing." I shrug. No Danielle. "You?"
"Nothin, I'm off," he says, shouldering by. I didn't realize I'd stopped dead in front of her. I'm staring at Danielle. Ricky seems hesitant, glancing back. "You okay?"
No.
"Yeah. I'm okay."
"Okay," he says, uncertainly. "See ya, sis."
I'll see her again when I leave. I'll see her when I leave at a lonely pace before anybo—
"Birdie!"
I roll my eyes, wishing Ricky had been a second slower. He's gone. Nobody will defend you, Birdie. So I spin around, pissed off, but immediately drawn to a dirty smirk from Kevin Livingston. Kyle and Zac are behind him, grinning. "What?"
"What happened? You saw a light, Birdie?" he coos. My fists clench subconsciously. It hadn't stopped since I left Back Bay Police Department. Everybody from Merrimack heard; underclassmen I didn't even know had popped in tauntingly all day. Here I was, easily tracked down, unarmed, without Danielle in my corner.
I was alone again.
"You saw a UFO?" Kev snickers. "Did aliens anal probe you, Birdie?"
"Fuck off."
"Wait, but Birdie, where's your girlfriend?"
"Shut the fuck up," I hiss. Whatever he'd heard had been misconstrued. I never should've trusted Officer Livingston. "You don't know shit, Livingston."
"I know what I heard, Birdie, and I know you sound crazy. Bet Danielle ran off."
"Hey!" Jay's voice cuts in, all throaty and agitated. "C'mon, this is a business, boys, and you are harassing my employee, you understand?"
Kevin backs up, holding his hands up innocently. "Whatever." Kyle and Zac follow, but only after a mimicking mumble: "They took her."
They took Dani.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, and I watch, glaring as Jay strays behind. My nails cut into my palms, and I finally unfurl my fists.
Had I told Officer Livingston I saw a light?
"It's okay, Birdie," Jay says, clapping my shoulder lazily.
"I blacked out," I tell him. I think. "I don't know what happened, Jay. I was with Danielle, and then... not with her. I mean, I saw her, and then— then..."
I couldn't find her.
He muses silently, combing his salt-and-peppered beard down his jaw. Surely, Jay would believe me.
"Birdie..." he sighs. "Were you drinking again?"
Did Danielle and I slip a case of Budweiser and down it while trekking to Gulls Rock again? No, not yesterday.
"No, I wasn't drunk. I was stone-cold sober, thank you," I say pointedly. I'm not a drunk. Jesus, it's summer, Jay, and Dani and I have been... well, having fun. We were, at least, until...
Nobody has heard from Danielle.
Nobody has found Danielle Price. Why?
(It's as if Danielle vanished.)
"Where did she go?" I ask sharply. "Why couldn't I find her? Why hasn't anybody found her, Jay?"
Why doesn't anybody believe me? Everybody really believes Danielle... what? Hitchhiked into New Hampshire? Ran away?
"You know, Leslie says Danielle does this, Birdie." His grimace is apologetic, as if I'm being let down easy. Danielle left Back Bay to avoid me? Why? Why am I being gaslit? "Danielle runs off. Danielle finds a new boyfriend and moves in and... always comes back, Birdie."
Always.
"What is she, a cat?" I sneer. He doesn't deserve it, I know. Jay is trying to talk me down, but I can't help but be disgusted by everybody's slight opinion of her. Danielle is quick, easily labeled, filed away. Troubled.
We're all a little bit troubled at 17.
Plus. Boyfriend?
"Listen, I... I'm, uh..." I need air. I need space. Jay knows. He nods, jerking his chin, kinda, giving me a go-ahead. I sling a stack of flyers haphazardly as I do.
"Come back, Birdie," Jay says sternly, earnestly, and I know he doesn't mean now, but... soon. Later. "Please." I also know he knows I don't have to listen to him.
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Downtown I go.
I borrow Jay's staple gun, stapling Danielle on anything I can on Main Street. I staple her on top of old flyers, old ads, pull-me tabs for piano lessons: Danielle Price—Missing since August 5th, 2008.
I know I look crazy. I sound crazy. I probably am crazy.
But Dani didn't care.
So I don't, either.
"Hey, Birdie! Hey!" Sabs is waving me down, sprinting up Main. "Hey! I heard about— Well, what happened, Birdie?"
I hadn't seen Sabrina since May. Danielle and I had been avoiding everybody. We'd been healthier, happier.
"Where is Danielle?"
I wish I knew.
When I swivel, I wince, glint-gleaming haziness. My vision swims. "Do you... see a light in the sky?" I murmur, looking up, shielding. "Hm..." Dusk is beginning to fall again, again, again.
Danielle is gone. But why would Sabrina care?
"What, is it true? Did you see Danielle get abducted?"
I repeat it: "Abducted."
Thought Danielle ran away.
"No, I didn't see— I didn't see... anything. Who..."
Who is saying Danielle was abducted?
They took her.
Numbly, I pass by Sabs, ignoring a frantic cry. Birdie! No. I can't keep fielding questions about Danielle. Down past McMacnoy Library and near O'Reilly's Bakery, I slow. Down Main. Further, it gets... grungier, dirtier by Pins and Needles. There are empty storefronts abound, winding down, broken up by a hub—Tapatios, a skeevy dive bar known for serving late-night burritos and underage girls, and Go-Go Records, a weird hole-in-the-wall record shop known for its dusty display and barely alphabetized rows of used vinyl. Danielle and I hung out at Go-Go a lot, rifling through aimlessly, until streetlights blinked on, and Main closed down.
Talia Devine would be behind a counter, bobbing her head distractedly. Headphones—wires lining down a shoddily cut V. Her gaze down. There was a leftover trace of wild pink in her electrically charged blonde tresses.
When I slip in, a bell dings quietly. It's... disorganized chaos coated in dust. Clearly, Talia is doing anything but her job.
"What, you were high?"
My foot slips. I kick a CD player under a shelf of records, scuffing awkwardly.
"No, I wasn't high."
Thump. Their voices in back, behind a glass partition, a closet of bulky, half-broken electronics. Radios? Something is buzzing.
Her hair is a shock. It's faded-neon among faint darkness. Air feels hazy, smoggy. Heat. Trapped.
"I lost... time, Lee."
Lost. Time.
"What, you checked your watch, Lia?"
"Yeah, and an hour and a half, I don't remember," she hisses sharply. "I woke up half-dressed at the old baseball field by Trenton."
Creak.
My foot wavers; trips too hard. Carpet. Shuffling. Wood whining. Suddenly I'm aware of a stiffness, an awkward quietude creeping in. Talia and Lee? I duck and grab—whatever is stacked below a shelf in my immediate vicinity—an FM radio cassette player with a dented antenna.
When I straighten, Talia is right across from me. Talia is on the other side of a bunch of Bruce Springsteen records, and I can't breathe.
Her lips are perfect.
Damn.
Her narrowed gaze—soft-burned bitchy.
Her chin jerks. "Hey."
"Uh, just browsing," I mumble, kinda shrugging. It comes off weird, though, and I look away, look down. Heat fans my cheeks, and I begin to drown. It is so hot. Their door stuck open when I walked in. Air wafts in like a damp, dense washcloth across my flesh. August.
Talia swats at a mosquito on her arm; grins a sweet grin. "Yeah?"
So I saunter around, breathing deeply, discreetly. Inhale. My eyes flutter closed. Ex...hale.
Talia doesn't fully spin, only half-wrung, in hushed whispers with Lee. My throat goes dry. Talia is... an odd rarity of slender, muscular curves, harder angled, built by a rougher hand. Skateboarding? Snowboarding? I couldn't remember.
Talia Devine, all fading pink hair and smoky lashes, septum piercing, old ripped Def Leppard shirt, smirking coyly. Her gaze half-left behind, lingering. Talia wants me to hear.
"Time just... disappeared."
I will not ask Talia. No. Talia is off-limits.
Talia Devine is crazy.
"Hey. Hi." I... "Shit." Wait. No.
I'm in front of her. Talia hops up on her counter, knocking a glass jar of guitar picks, and shucks her hands under her legs lazily.
"Hey."
It would be so easy. I could just... dip an inch closer, rea—
Her chin juts again. "Hey."
We'd already...
"Can I put up a flyer?" I ask breathlessly, flashing Danielle's yearbook photo at her. "Anywhere?"
Talia nods slowly. Her gaze seems foggy.
"How..." I hold up the FM radio, avoiding looking down, down, down—her legs crossing, her frayed denim shorts rippling, her leaning back so casually. My breath is absolutely nowhere. I'm a fucking idiot. I'm hopeless. "How much?"
Her brows raise. Her lips quirk. "$5. For you."
My heart does a stupid kickflip.
"You used to go to Merrimack, yeah?"
"Yeah, got shipped off to Pratt Falls back in February."
Pratt Falls. Behavioral.
With Danielle.
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