What's Left Unwritten

Hide and Go Seek

Pride.
Wrath.
Greed.
Sloth.
Gluttony.
Lust.
Envy.

The words were as dark in ink as they were in meaning. All the same, I kept writing.
The seven deadly sins. Those things banned from the life of the good and worshipped in the life of the wicked. Yet even those who are good are not pure. The touch of skin on skin sparks lust in even the most chaste hearts, the sting of a malicious blow igniting a burning wrath in once peaceful souls. These sins are unavoidable, yet we hate them, even fear them. They are like dark specters looming around us, lurking over us like living shadows, their icy claws slowly entangling us in their cold grip. Grips which, if only for a moment, feel blazing hot- the heat of passion just before the cold pangs or regret. It sends thrills down the spine and makes hairs stand on end. Yet, those who dare infringe upon these barriers, who dare cross into the land of taboo, they are merely making a rope to hang themselves with before they take that glorious, hedonistic and self destructive dive. But is it worth it? The warm touch of a companion, the rush of adrenaline, the swell of pride, the-
I leapt out of my seat as the cell phone beside my hand buzzed loudly, violently ripping me out of my focus and back into reality. I suddenly realized that my heart was pounding and sweat had dampened the back of my shirt. Picking up my phone I stood, striding over to the heating console while holding the phone up to my ear.
"Hello?" I asked, pinning the phone under my shoulder while fiddling with the knobs on the A/C. I could feel the sweat beginning to turn icy on my spine and shivered, tapping the glass display of the AC/heater pad with my fingernail. "Who is this?" I asked, not even realizing that I had been listening to silence in the other line for almost a minute now.
"Who do you think this is, the pizza guy?" Replied a familiarly sarcastic voice over the speaker. "Didn't you even recognize your best friend's number? What is up with you, Grace?"
"Sorry Sarah, I was working on the book, just editing my beginning a bit," I replied, turning around and pulling open my closet door. "Hey, remind me to talk to my parents when they get home that the AC's whacked."
"I'm more likely to forget than you, Chica," Sarah replied, making me chuckle. "Anyway, you mentioned the book. I've got my half almost done, based on what you sent me, and I worked in a kicker. You'll love it."
"Oh really?" I replied nonchalantly.
"Yup. You gotta read it, it scared the hell outta me when I wrote it, and believe me, this'll make the book even more awesome."
I nodded, wrapping a thick fleecy blanket across my shoulders and staring out my bedroom window. The book was a long time project we had teamed up on and had been collaborating on for about a year. A horror novel called "Seven Sins," it was basically everything a good old fashioned scare fest needs all jammed up in one book, in our own not so humble opinions. We both took writing in turns, building upon what each other wrote. Sarah had taken two weeks to write a huge chunk of the middle in which I could intersperse my own work. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, shivering slightly as cold air whipped through the vent over my head. I sighed and grabbed my humming laptop, snuggling down in a little nook in the farthest corner of my room.
"I believe you. Just shoot me an email with an attachment and I'll give it a read. I'll see what I can squeeze in there of my own stuff."
"Man, I can't believe it...." Sarah began, her comment catching me off guard.
"What?"
"That we are really almost done...we've been doing it for so long....and guess what, a year and 75,000 words later, we are almost done."
"Woah there, last I checked we were only at sixty!" I replied, knitting my brows. Normally we wrote about two thousand words each then sent it to each other, edited it, and built off it. We tried to switch off every week, but with school and other social arrangements, we sometimes missed a few weeks, but we had never gone over about five thousand words. Neither of us wanted to write over the other, and when one of us wrote too much the other tended to get...touchy.
"Yeah, well, I dunno what got into me, I just couldn't stop writing. I started at nine this morning and ended a few hours ago...."
I glanced at the clock and read the blazing numbers as it neared midnight.
"Did you even eat?" I heard Sarah mumble 'no' and I shook my head. "You know you have to eat something."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll go make myself a sandwich, mother. Happy?"
"I'm just trying to help out, okay?" I replied, rolling my eyes.
"Relax, I'm not gonna starve. I'll mail you the bit I wrote and then get a bite to eat. We still good for tomorrow, my place? We can walk to Danny's and chill there for a bit, grab a bite, hit on guys, the usual. You up for it?"
I considered it for a bit, weighing my options. Sarah was social to the point of irritation, but it was always at least amusing to watch her attempts at "flirtation". I really needed to get out myself, anyways. Being cooped up in my room was starting to get suspicious, and I reckoned my mom thought I was plotting murder or something equally dastardly with all the "alone time" I was taking for my writing.
"You know I always am," I said, letting the blanket slip from my shoulders and heading for my kitchen.
"Gotcha Chica. Well, I guess I should go eat now. I think I have some old Chinese in the fridge......" Sarah trailed off, and I could hear the telltale shuffle of cloth and rattle of wheels on hardwood floor as she pushed away from her desk.
"Bye. And remember, chow mien isn't supposed to be green and fuzzy, yeah?" I had time to hear an irritated snort before I pulled the phone away from my head and pressed the glowing "end" button. The line went silent for a moment before ringing with the telltale hum of an ended call. I set the phone on the charger and spun around, grabbing the handle to my fridge and yanking it open. I snatched an apple out of a plastic bin and shut the door, grabbing in turn a cookie out of my cabinet and stuffing it in my mouth as I clamored softly back into my room. At this time of night my parents were likely asleep, and my sister wouldn't be home for another two weeks. I had the place practically all to myself. Stretching my palms towards the ceiling I yawned, shuffling my fuzzy-socked feet across the wood floor as I quietly re-entered my bedroom and plopped myself back in my desk chair, swiveling to face my glowing screen. A small beep chirped from my speakers and a tiny "You have new mail!" Banner scrolled along the bottom of my screen. I sighed and stared at the words in front of me.
Pride.
Wrath.
Greed.
Sloth.
Gluttony.
Lust.
Envy.
Seven words, seven woes. Massaging my temples, I closed the document and powered down the computer, rubbing my watering eyes. Without even bothering to change out of my clothes I crawled into my bed, slipping under the voluptuous quilts and snuggling into a pillow. There was always time to read tomorrow, and I preferred to edit without the blur of sleep deprivation buzzing around I'm my skull, mingling with my irritation. I couldn't believe she wrote so much without telling me- this was ours. I pushed the thought from my mind-no use in stressing now. I let my thoughts drift, waiting for sleep to overcome me.
Fear.
What really scared people? Since writing "Seven Sins," I'd been asking myself that a lot. Drowning, burning, seeing loved ones lost. It wasn't the mode of death that scared most people- it was the idea of death itself. The mystery. The uncertainty. But of course you can only have so many deaths in a horror novel before it gets boring. You really had to dig deeper into what was truly terrifying. The fact was that it isn't monsters or beasts that scare us- its ourselves. We fear each other, but even more we fear what is inside our own souls. As you get older, you suddenly realize that you've stopped being scared of the dark, of what lurks under your bed and in the closet, and find that the real horror is that which resides in broad daylight. I wondered in which direction Sarah had tugged our book. I was always leaning more towards the psychological fear while Sarah was more into the visceral. I wrapped my arms around my pillow and squeezed, feeling the dreaded lurch of my stomach as my mind began to race. It was another nightmare tonight, I could feel it. My doctor said it was common for some people to have frequent nightmares, but for me it was always the same one, every night, and always starting with that aching anxiety eating at my gut. It was what the book was based upon after all. What could be more terrifying that being trapped in your own nightmare? Being trapped in someone else's. I reluctantly closed my eyes and let my breath slide from my lungs as I braced myself for sleep. It was gonna be a long night.
* * * * * * * *
I howled, lurching to an upright position in my bed and nearly slipping off the edge of my mattress. My legs were twined in my sweat dampened sheets and I could see three long tears in the back of my pillow case where I had clawed it open. I took a deep breath in, letting it back out slowly in a long, heavy sigh. It was the same nightmare as it always was, and ended the same way as it always did- me, sinking slowly into the sea, waves enveloping me like a thick blanket, stifling my mouth and nose, slowly suffocating me as I sank deeper into darkness. When I woke, I could still almost taste the salty brine on my lips. It was easily past ten o'clock when I finally forced myself out of bed and into a pair of jeans. I threw on a slouchy t-shirt and some ratty tennis shoes, hopping along from my room into the kitchen where my mom was sipping a mug of coffee.
"Hey, Grace, you want some?" My mother asked , raising her mug to her lips and taking in a deep gulp.
"Yeah, that would be great mum. Mind if I chill with Sarah today for a bit?" She shook her head as she poured a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to me.
"Not at all. Tell her mother I said hi, alright? And don't wander off, ok? Stay together and don't leave each others sight." I nodded and winked at my mother, who was grinning at me over the rim of her mug.
"I'll try to keep it to only three spooky, dark alley explorations today."
"Don't joke about that, Grace. I'm serious."
"Yeah, I know you are, and you know I'm always careful."
"And you know I always worry. Anyway, be safe and have fun. I'm guessing you're going to work on the book of yours?" I nodded and she smiled wider. "I better be the first one to get to read it." I laughed and with little warning she jammed a piece of rye toast into my mouth. "You know breakfast is-"
"The most important meal of the day, I know." I replied around a mouthful of buttery crumbs. I stuffed my arms into the sleeves of my hoodie and flew out the door, catching a glimpse of a small, battered, silver Volvo stuttering down the road. Perfect timing, as usual. The car screeched to a stop and the dented passenger side door swung wide open to reveal a ball of curly black hair sitting atop a wide frame dressed in jeans, boots and a grey band shirt from some obscure, hispanic punk band. Sarah turned to face me, her brown eyes glowing and a smudge of chocolate smudged on her cheek.
"Hey Chica, right on time! That's odd.... You know you're always so late, I bet you'd miss your own funeral." I laughed and hauled myself into the seat, punching her playfully on the arm.
"Sarah, you know I take pride in my lateness." Sarah laughed, throwing her head back and squinting her eyes shut. I loved the way she did that, the way her lips formed her chuckles, and how she almost rolled each "ha" with her tongue.
"Yeah, I know you do! You were late for my birthday party and you were the ONLY guest!" I shook my head, sighing with false shame.
"Will you ever get over that?"
"Nope."
I shrugged and tapped the windshield.
"Well lets go, we wouldn't want to be late now, would we?" I said slyly. Sarah shot me an amused look and pressed her foot against the accelerator. I caught a glimpse of my mother waving out the window as we pulled out of my driveway and onto the road. I rested my forehead against the passenger window, tugging at my seatbelt in annoyance as it cut into my shoulder. The window was icy against my warm skin, and my breath fogged against it. My eyelids began to flutter as the glass warmed to my cheek and my jacket hood formed a pillow under my head. I began to slip into sleep.
The window turned to water under my touch and I was floating-no sinking-into the darkness. My mouth flew open to scream but only a swirl of bubbles slipped from my lips. Suddenly, after much flailing, I was at the surface, waves battering the side of my head as I struggled to stay afloat. No...this couldn't be happening. The dream....it was different. I clawed my way to a shore I had never seen before, the gritty sand slipping under my fingernails and crunching between my teeth, and salty water rushing into my gaping mouth. I hauled myself out of the surf, digging my hands into the sand and hurling wet clumps of it behind me as I lurched forward. This couldn't be...it was too real, the icy water, the thick sand adhered to my fingertips like cement, the wet clothes suctioned to my skin, the breeze fluttering along my back and down my spine. I rolled onto my back, the ground sinking slightly beneath my weight as the sand shifted to conform to my body. Everything was in shades of grey, like I was immersed in a scene from a black and white movie. The sea continued to swell, but for the crashing of the waves all was silent. For the first time, I had not died, I had not been swallowed by the darkness. I was alive, and I was till dreaming. When I finally gained the courage to look up, I saw a house before me, one I had never before noticed in my dreams nor, had I ever even seen. It had the detail of a memory, every nook and cranny filled with architecture and murals that were unfamiliar yet obviously not possibly all of my own creation. The floorboards were firm under my bare feet and I shuffled across them, my hands still trembling with shock as I gripped the burnished brass handle and entered the home with trepidation. If it was my dream, I could go wherever I pleased, couldn't I? I closed the door softly behind me and turned to examine the first room. It was cold and barren, with only the simplest commodities-a wooden table, a few sturdy chairs, and dark grey curtain fluttering in the breeze seeping in from a shattered window. A picture of a prim man hung on the wall; he too was unrecognizable but hauntingly familiar, with cut, handsome features and pale lips that seemed to twitch into a smile with without humor or joy. It was an unsettling portrait, and I wondered why I had come up with it. Not wanting to risk becoming to Freudian in my observations, I continued on, walking past a staircase and trailing my fingers along the banister for a moment before leaving it behind and entering a second room. This room too was much like the last- in facts, it was identical but for the portrait. There was no hint of a smile in this one, only cold, hard, black eyes that bored into you with a single glance. I hurried to exit that room, for I had begun to tremble for no reason, my muscles tense and my body quivering, the flapping of the torn curtain making me jump.
Without warning, my vision went dark and I was back in the car, only instead of driving forward, we were flying sideways and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The glass in my window was exploding inward and Sarah's face was hidden by her curls of hair as she flew sideways. Lights blazed in my eyes from the headlights of a car mere inches from my face. Yet, through the entire scene, everything was silent, like the world had been turned on mute. I stared at the headlights and my eyes watered. I blinked and suddenly I was back in the house on my hands and knees, my wet clothes hanging from my hunched body as I shook. The horrible silence was broken by a soft sound. Like a gentle melody from a music box it sang through the room, drifting like a whisper on the wind, soft and lilting, a haunting tune that brought goosebumps to my skin as it played on. I had to escape it, I had to get out. I crawled to my feet and smashed through the next door. The picture frame had been thrown from the wall across the room, the frame itself split in half and the picture slashed by a knife, which lay glittering on the floor. Still the music played on, no louder than before; if anything it had gotten quieter, softer, like someone was whispering it in my ear. There was another blinding flash of light and I was in the car, hanging suspended from my seatbelt, blood dripping off my lips and down onto Sarah's limp form below me. The car had overturned, broken glass littering the areas around us, the body of the car twisted like a cage around our two bodies. Sarah wasn't moving, not a twitch nor a sound. This time it was not silent. I could still hear the haunting melody of the music box playing softly, gently. "No," I mouthed, the words not coming, as if all air had been sucked from my lungs. I struggled to free myself, my fingers fumbling over my seatbelt latch. Suddenly I was loose and falling, collapsing on top of Sarah's unmoving body. I could feel her hair slide over my fingers before something hit my back and I gasped suddenly jerking forward and feeling as if gravity had been reversed. I was now on my back, looking up at a grey, cracked ceiling. I had again collapsed, this time falling on my back. I could still feel Sara's curly hair in my hand and glanced to my side. A hunk of her hair was clasped in my fingers, the cuticles still attached as if they had been ripped from her head. I yelped in horror and threw the disgusting bundle away from me, slapping my hands against a wall and hauling myself up, shouldering through the front door, expecting to collapse on the beach, planning on crawling back into the ocean and letting myself sink into the release of its darkness. Instead I fell forward into the familiar room with the ruined painting and fluttering curtains. The face on the canvass stared at me, only one of the empty eyes still whole, a slash directed straight through it and cutting it down the middle down to its nose. Its neck had been slashed and a line had been torn across its lips, curving upwards like a smile cut into the cloth. I scrambled away and my back his something smooth and glassy. I spun around and found myself facing a tall mirror, edged in black wood carved into forms like writhing creatures, giving it the appearance of staring down through a portal into hell. The mirror fogged with my breath, and I began to slowly move back.
SMACK! I screamed as a handprint appeared in the mist left by my breath on the glass with a meaty slap. My heart roared in my ears, but it was still not enough to drown out the melody playing so sweetly nearby. The handprint faded but the mist didn't. It grew, as if someone invisible was breathing on the mirror as I had. I reached out and touched the glass with a tentative finger, then yanked it away. The mirror was dry-the fog was forming on the other side. Slowly words began to form out of the mist, as if an invisible finger was being drawn through the moisture.
HELLO THERE.
I couldn't move-it was if my palms had been nailed to the floor. The words faded and new ones were drawn in their place.
I'M GLAD YOU FINALLY MADE IT HERE.
Fear clouded my mind and darkness crept along the edges of my vision. I saw something move out of the corner of my eyes but couldn't turn to see what it was.
I WAS SO ALONE.
A numb tingling began to grow in my fingers, traveling up my hands and into my arms, slowly reaching across my chest like tentacles, converging on my fluttering heart.
NOW I HAVE SOMEONE WHO CAN PLAY WITH ME.
My eyes widened and my mouth opened by my throat was closed, aching as if holding back sobs of panic.
YOU WILL PLAY WITH ME, WON'T YOU?
I wanted to leave so badly my heart seemed to scream for it, as if I couldn't survive this torment for much longer. The original relief of surviving the ocean was gone and replaced for a desire to return to it.
THE OTHERS LEFT ME. YOU WON'T, WILL YOU?
The music stopped abruptly and was filled with the void of silence. Not even the crashing of waves was now audible. Only the steady pound of the quivering heart in my chest, which seemed to be on the verge of giving out.
YOU LOOK NICE. I JUST WANT TO PLAY.
The words were cut through and the period trailed off, as if whoever was drawing it was shoved out of the way just as they had placed their fingertip in the cool condensation.
THE MIRROR LIES.
THE MIRROR LIES.
THE MIRROR LIES.
DON'T LISTEN TO THE MIRROR'S LIES.
They are just words, I thought. Word's can't hurt you, they are just words and this is just a dream.
YOU LIAR!
The words were written sloppily and slanted, and I could almost hear the sound of something being presses against the glass.
WORDS ARE POWER. YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW.
WORDS. WORDS. WORDS.
WORDS KILL.
I tried to close my eyes, to shut out the mirror before me, the words scrawled in mist in the glass inches away from my nose, but it were as if someone had taped my eyelids open, forcing me to watch as more words were drawn in the condensation.
YOU THINK THIS IS A DREAM?
I could see the finger now, pale as paper and outlined in dark red. As the dot of the question mark was pressed into the glass, a single drop of crimson flowed down the glass like a red teardrop. This time the words didn't vanish but were followed by several more below.
HA. YOU THINK THIS IS A NIGHTMARE? YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WAKE UPAND LEAVE THIS BEHIND?
I thought my heart would burst from the speed at which it was pumping, my chest heaving and my head aching. I had to get out...had...to...get...out...
WHICH IS THE REAL NIGHTMARE?
My head was wrenched back and I saw something glittering out of the edges of my vision. A hand twisted into my hair and drew my head back further, exposing my neck. A finger trailed softly along my throat, tracing a line up my jugular slowly, bouncing up and down with my throbbing pulse. In his hand was a shard of mirror, and when I looked back I saw that the one before me had shattered, as if someone had burst from it from within. The thing holding my head pulled its finger from my throat and placed the glass piece in its place, quickly and swiftly drawing it across my neck in one swift stroke.
I never thought bleeding out would feel so...cold. Like every last drop of life and warmth was flowing out with your blood. They say when you die in a dream, the dream just ends. But I could feel it all, the heavy thud as my body fell to the floor, the wetness of the blood pooling around my head. But most of all, I could see the black leather clad shoes of my killer, and that was all I could see, except for fragments of my reflection in the jagged remains of the mirror. Before I died, the man, for I assumed by the shoes it was a man, knelt beside me with the glass shard and pressed it against the corners of my lips, cutting out towards my ears. When he was finished with his gruesome task he stood and left. The last thing I saw was the ling, thin, red line my mouth had become. Like the picture in the frame, he had cut me a new smile. The last of my blood trickled from my veins and my eyes fluttered shut, the image of my shattered reflection and bloody grin burned into my mind.
******
I jerked awake, screaming so loudly that the car swerved to the left and narrowly avoided hitting a van in the right hand side lane, making me howl even louder.
"Get a grip on yourself, Grace!" Sarah yelled as she whipped into the parking lot of a grocery store and quickly turned off the car, swiveling to face me. "What the hell Grace, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Sarah asked angrily, staring at me. I sat there, my hand pressed against my throat, my fingers searching for the deep incision I was convinced was still sliced there. I turned to look at her, my eyes so wide that she started, her face contorting into a mask of worry.
"Take me home," I said softly, in almost a whisper.
"But Grace..."
"Now," I said, cutting her off.
"It was the nightmare again, wasn't it?" Sarah asked in a tone which I couldn't identify as pity or irritation, but seemed to be more of a co-mingling of both. And to be honest, I couldn't tell you which would have pissed me off more. "They aren't real you know. I can help if you just-" before she could say another word I was out of the car and walking through the parking lot, heading into the store, anywhere to be away from Sarah's prying questions and pitying eyes. I must be some kind of freak, to have dreams like that, in such vivacity and detail. I still felt chilled, as if the blood had been pumped out of my body, through an ice chest and back into my heart.
WAKE UP TO THE REAL NIGHTMARE.
I gripped the handle of a massive glass freezer door and fingered a jug of milk, simply going through familiar motions to calm myself. I shut the door with a slap and stared at the foggy glass. To my horror, words began to cut through the fog.
WAKE UP GRACE.
IT'S TIME TO PLAY.
I spun on my heel and dashed down an adjacent isle, muttering useless words to myself.
"Gotta get cereal...cereal...cereal..." I snatched up a box of Honey O's and ran up to the cash register, a bundle of small bills already in my hand. I dropped the four dollars on the counter and snatched up the box just as the astonished cashier rang it up. I didn't bother to collect my change, I just snatched up the box and ran, clenching the flimsy cardboard so tightly I could feel the little cereal pieces begin to crunch and disintegrate under my fingers. I paced back to Sarah's car, reluctant to face her again and still steaming with anger. To my luck-and my dismay- she wasn't there. The driver side door hung open as if she had just climbed out only a few moments ago, and the seat was still dented where she had sat.
"Sarah?" I called out, searching the area around the rumbling mammoth of a car. Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but there was something tucked near the steering wheel, flapping in the slight breeze. I hesitantly reached out and plucked it from the nook it was wedged in, unfolding what turned out to be a small piece of lined paper seemingly ripped out of a notebook. As I looked at the words on the page my eyes glazed over and my mind stopped functioning. The strip of paper fluttered from my lifeless hands and onto the floor of the car, where the large, capitalized black words stood out painfully in the light.
LET'S PLAY HIDE AND GO SEEK.
No. no, no no... it isn't real, I thought to myself, wringing my hands together. Then I noticed that smudged in the corner was a streak of red, only just turning black and dry. I ran my finger over it, realizing as it flaked off under my fingertips that it was a streak of blood. I ran out into the parking lot, screaming Sarah's name into the sky and searching in every car. I caught countless strange looks, some of fear, others of pity and, more than anything else, of confusion. One man stopped his car beside me as I frantically dashed across the street.
"Do you need help, kid?" the man asked, looking at me with concern. I whipped around to face him, tears streaming down my face and my eyes blazing with rage.
"Did YOU take her?" I screamed at him, slapping my hands against his windows and making him reel back in his seat.
"Take who?" the man asked in a panic. He actually seemed quite young, about my age, and momentarily stunned by my actions.
"Sarah!" I exclaimed incredulously, as if he should obviously know who I was looking for. "She...she was in the car when I went to the store and now she's gone... oh shit..." I rubbed my stinging eyes with my palms, arching my head to the sky and trying to calm myself. I was panicking, letting irrationality and fear consume me. This guy probably thought I was a psycho, and my wild expression certainly couldn't be helping. I took a deep breath and composed myself, my heart still pounding in my chest.  I could feel the anxiety knotted in my gut, that familiar build of bile boiling in my stomach. Nervousness crept over my body, shadowing my mind, and I continued to twine and untwine my fingers, forcing myself to stay calm.
"If this girl, Sarah you say, was abducted, then you should tell the police right away. I'll give you a ride-"
"No," I snapped angrily, immediately regretting it. "While...while I appreciate your offer, I think I would be better off going myself," I replied, cautiously articulating each word. I couldn't panic now, not when it mattered to be calm, but I could feel the sensation growing, could feel my chest tightening like a cage around my lungs, squeezing the breath from them. I turned and ran back to the car, panting and forcing myself to slow my breaths. The keys were still in the ignition and I twisted them with all my might, nearly snapping the key off in the slot. The car hummed to life and I slammed the door shut, pausing long enough to even attempt to compose myself further. I closed my eyes and counted slowly, measuring my breaths, making my muscles loosen. The vibrations of the car were familiar and comfortable to me, as were the motions. Avoiding doing the one thing I wanted to- driving at a breakneck pace out the entrance to the parking lot- I pulled out of the space and drove home and back the way we had come trembling the whole time, images of the dream car crash flashing in my mind at every stoplight.
It was a rather small town, and I was able to make it home with relative ease and speed, though I drive felt like it took and eternity. I pulled into my driveway and sprinted into my room without a word, refusing the nagging voice in my head that told me I had to face my mother, to tell her what happened. Alone in my bedroom, I slipped my cell phone out of my back pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
"Hello, 911, what is your emergency?" sang out a cherry tone from the speaker.
"Yes...911?" I replied slowly, uncertain of exactly what to say. "My friend, Sarah...I think she's been abducted."
"And why do you think that? How long has she been missing?"
"Uh, about half an hour," I replied, measuring my words again. With the anxiety came the self doubt and uncertainty; maybe this one of Sarah's stupid practical jokes gone terribly awry,maybe she was just screwing with me like she loved to do. But somewhere within me I knew that was a lie: she would never go this far. She knew how I was, how I felt, and she wouldn't put me through this.
"Well I can't officially make it a missing person's report for twenty four hours unless you witnessed this abduction. Did you?" The voice replied tiredly. I bet they thought I was just some silly teen worrying about something barely worth their time. I was quite sure, at that point, I was holding up the line, consuming the time of someone who desperately needed help, but I couldn't just let this go.
"No, I didn't see it myself, but they left a note."
"Is it a ransom note or anything of that sort?" the man asked, his interest clearly peaked. "Who was this note addressed for?"
"I...I think it was for me," I said, slowly laboring over each word as I spoke it, and feeling stupid the whole time. This wasn't something that just happened to people- not, it happened in movies and books and shitty blockbusters you see once and gag a little over because they're so cliche and impossible, but it didn't happen here, not now. Icy shivers ran down my back.  "Look, it said 'let's play hide and go seek.' I don't know what it means, but it can't be good, can it?" There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and I was afraid that the operator had hung up. Then the voice returned.
"I see. What was the last name of your friend?"
"Dashner. Her name is Sarah Dashner."
"Alright. We will be contacting the Dashner residence to check if your friend is there. If not, then we will send out an APB on Sarah, ok? Was there any other signs of a struggle or violence?"
"There was blood on the note."
"Ok. And you still have the note currently in your possession?"
"Yes."
"Alright, that was smart. Give me your name and address, and someone will be on their way to talk to you and collect the note and give you more information."
"That's it?" I replied incredulously. "She could be dead or dying right now, and all you can tell me is 'someone will be over'?"
"This is a delicate case miss...?"
"Grace."
"Miss Grace. There is protocol, and though I wish I could send out the whole army to look for your friend, I have to follow the rules like everyone else. I will do all I can, alright?" I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my mind a rushing blur of incomprehensible words. I had to remain composed.
"Alright. Thank you. I'll be waiting for whoever comes." I gave the operator my full name and address, and he detailed what sort of vehicle and officer would be arriving to collect "the evidence."
"I try to do my job, Miss Grace, the best I can. I do hope we find your friend." And with that the line went dead and my ear was filled with the hum of a disconnection.  I resisted the urge to hurl my phone at a wall, to watch it smash to bits and crumble to the floor. Shaking, I pressed my hands over my ears and huddled in a corner, still hearing the man's hauntingly flat voice echoing in my head. She could be dead, or she could be being raped or tortured or anything. It could be anything. I shifted and heard the crinkle of paper under me and shoved my hand in my pocket. I felt a slip of paper and slid it out, holding it before my face.
LETS PLAY HIDE AND GO SEEK.
It was the paper I had found in the car, still streaked with a single drip of crimson blood. I resisted the urge to crush it in my fist, to tear it to shreds and burn it so nothing was left. No. Instead I held it with only my fingernails- though if I was trying to keep it clean of my fingerprints the damage was already done- and laid it flat on my desk. I retreated back onto my be, my arms wrapped around my knees and curled back into my chest. I turned to look for a blanket and my eyes stopped over my laptop. I sat frozen for a moment, hardly daring to breathe, thoughts suddenly flowing less like a waterfall and more like an icy river through my mind. Slowly, almost painfully, I rose to my feet and moved sluggishly to the computer, for the first time since buying it, dreading opening its gleaming black top.
I flicked open the tiny latch with my thumb and powered the machine up, the screen glowing eerily in my darkened room. I softly slid my finger over the mouse pad, launching a web browser and pulling up my email. I saw a message from Sarah blinking cheerily in my inbox and clicked it. The message had no subject and no text, only a large text file attached to a blank email. When I selected it, a pop-up blinked onto the screen and read "Would you like to open, save, or close this file?" I clicked save and leaned back in my chair as my computer buzzed busily, downloading the large document. My fingers had begun to shake, and I didn't know why reading what Sarah had written suddenly filled me with such dread. A blindingly bright window appeared, proclaiming that the download was complete, and that the file would automatically open once the window was closed. I pressed my lips together, closed the tab, and waited. I could have been only a minute, or it could have been hours before the software opened and the screen was filled with words, and it would have been the same to me. So often words had been my comforter, my secret hiding place. They formed a wall of black and white for me to hide behind, weaving a cloak of invisibility to disguise me. Now they seemed poisonous, toxic, as if they would slither off the page like a snake and strangle me.