Pulling out of the parking lot, I swerve Cherry sharply to the left, avoiding fresh, slick blood on the road. The sudden motion knocks Sheila's head against my shoulder.
"Holy sh-crap!" I say, glancing in the rear view mirror. "What the...heck was that?"
"Roadkill," Sheila says, rubbing her head.
We didn't encounter much roadkill in Inglewood, so the gruesome sight rattles me. The carcass of some abandoned, furry creature, matted with blood, its organs exposed like loose ribbons on gravel, was splayed on the ground with a face contorted into an open snarl.
It reminds me of Mercy.
A putrid stench that reeks of sulfur fills the car.
"Just a skunk." Sheila shrugs as though it's the most natural thing in the world. "That letter that was on your windshield, can I see it?"
Wrinkling my nose, I motion to the backseat where I flung the message. Between the dead skunk and the ominous note, I'm officially freaked out.
Sheila unclasps her seatbelt, retrieves the envelope, and reads. "I used to get letters like this," she says. "Haven't gotten them in a couple weeks now. They would turn up at the oddest places, telling me to keep it all to myself. But I guess since you're getting them, we've been grouped together!"
"That's comforting as hell," I mutter.
Sighing, Sheila shakes her head, "It's a compliment, I think. I'm not sure what it's all about, but don't worry. Just see it as the welcome wagon to Pachuck."
"You've lived here your whole life," I point out. "Why are they welcoming you?"
Wincing, Sheila says, "my letters said...other things."
Like what?
"This is the second one I've gotten," I tell her. "The first one was warm and fuzzy. This one makes me feel like I'm in Get Out."
Sheila doesn't seem to catch the movie reference. But I'm too wound up to care. The note rattled me, and if I wasn't leaving Pachuck today, I'd formulate a plan to make Bella Hardgrove pay.
Then I remember how bold Bella was, how easily she made me submit, and all bravado seeps out of me like an air mattress with a hole in it.
County Road is a long stretch of highway with a speed limit of 75. Slouching trees and open fields whiz by our windows. Brown leaves fall from their branches and ride the wind like limp corpses.
Sheila punches buttons on the radio. "Can we change this music?"
"You can try, but it won't work," I say.
"Why not?"
"The CD's stuck. My mom's ex-boyfriend installed this stereo. But he was always a little sketchy, so he didn't do it properly, and I think he might've stolen the radio."
Cherry kicks and rumbles underneath us as Sheila sits back, contemplating. "Well, can we at least turn it down?"
I chuckle. "What's wrong? No love for Cardi B?"
"I can't listen to secular music—make a right at County Road."
"Secular? What's that?"
"Anything that isn't Christian," she says with pride.
Really? She's chained to archaic beliefs and not embarrassed?
Making the right at County Road, I ask, "Doesn't that, like, suck? What happens at prom? You have to leave because they throw a Zayn song in the mix?"
This makes her neck flush. "I don't go to dances. My Nana won't let me."
This poor girl.
"I don't mind, though," Sheila breaks the silence. "I know Jesus has plans for my life which is far more exciting than any dance. Besides, I don't wanna be tempted with sex or nothing like that."
I almost roll my eyes. Something tells me that guys aren't lining up to steal her virginity.
"And," she continues, "with all these girls that go missing, it's safer for me to be indoors. That's what Nana says."
This statement reminds me of Ethan and That Awful Thing, and I consider maybe Sheila's on to something.
"What's up with all of the disappearances?" I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to keep the edge out of my tone.
"It's so strange." Sheila lowers her voice. "Girls have gone missing for a long time now. Some folks say it's all tall tales but my Nana blames witchcraft."
"No one's investigating any of this?"
"Oh, sure! Sheriff Colby has made it his mission to find out what's going on. I don't think he's having much luck though."
"Sheriff Colby?"
"Mmm-hmmm," Sheila nods with a self-satisfied smirk. "The Sheriff is Colt's daddy. Doesn't that make you feel safe already?"
It doesn't.
Sheila leans over the armrest like she's telling me a secret, "Most folks assume that the girls ran away. Pachuck ain't got a lot going on and some girls just want to get as far as possible from here. But Margaret Cheng wouldn't have done that. She's an exchange student from China! Where is she gonna go?"
Why on earth would anyone choose to leave China and study here? But more troubling, what are these girls running from?
"On days like this I have to remind myself this is the day the Lord hath made. I must rejoice and be glad in it. But sometimes it's not easy to rejoice, isn't it?"
"I'm not very...religious."
"I can tell," she giggles. "But that's ok, because you can come to Youth Group with me on Friday night. It'll be good for you."
They say kale is good for you too, but I hate the stuff.
"That sounds fun," I lie.
I plan on getting my ass out of Pachuck by Friday, so I'll tell her anything she wants to hear.
As we cruise upon Main Street with its one drugstore, shuttered VCR repair, local bank with a cracked, red awning, and movie theater showing only two movies, Sheila rambles about the virtues of her church, Pachuck Apostolic Ministries.
"One time, as a tornado swept through Pachuck," she says, barely stopping to catch a breath, "we hid in the basement of the church. God spared our lives that day!"
"Tornado?"
"Oh yeah. Tornado season is rough, though some years are worse than others."
"I'm not looking forward to experiencing any of that."
At all.
"What was life like back in California—oh wait, you're about to come up on Locust Drive. Make a left."
"It's sunnier. And people mind their business."
"You're so funny, Moriah!" Sheila chortles.
I steer Cherry down a street filled with modest, one-story homes surrounded by chain-link fencing. Dogs gallop in dirt yards, barking as we pass.
"My house is the third one on the right. It'll only take a second for me to wash up. Nana isn't home so you can come inside. You're gonna love the food at Silver's. Especially their mac and cheese."
My throat catches.
"If it's ok with you, I'll sit out here and call my mom." I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
Macaroni and cheese was Mercy's last meal.
Forcing a smile at Sheila, I ask, "Can I use your phone?"
She fumbles in her purse, extracting an iPhone. This girl wears secondhand clothes, can't listen to Cardi, but owns a rose-gold iPhone 8? Explain that one.
"I'll be quick," she says as I shift Cherry into park next to a nondescript beige house, a house as bland as Sheila.
She shrugs out of the car with one last smile. "I'm so excited to hang out with you, Moriah."
I almost feel a twinge of guilt for what I'm about to do next.
I know this looks screwed up, Mercy. But I'm desperate.
Once Sheila is inside her sad, little house, her front door shut and locked, I whisper an apology, shifting Cherry back into drive.
Keep your head down, Moriah.
No new friends.
And get the hell out of Pachuck.
As Cardi B hollers, "I can't believe they wanna see me lose that bad," I speed away from Locust Drive with Sheila's phone in my lap.