She scrubbed her face with a washcloth. Her skin burned angry pink.
Swaying on her feet, she grabbed the edge of the sink, trying to focus on her own face. There was an afterimage of something superimposed over her left eye. She blinked, trying to see it clearly—Flash! Flash!—no good. The rush in her ears grew louder and wilder. She felt faint.
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. She wouldn’t let it.
Joy slapped off the lights as she stormed into the kitchen. She scooped up the card with Officer Castrodad’s number and snagged one of the handheld phones, dialing on the way back to her room, letting her feet fuel her anger. The phone rang as she paced.
“Castrodad speaking.”
“Hello. This is Joy Malone.”
“Hello, Joy. How can I help you?”
She stopped suddenly, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m the one with the broken window at one-forty Wilkes Road....” She trailed off, wondering where to begin.
“I remember,” he said. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Forty-eight Deer Run,” Joy said.
“I’m sorry?”
“It was written on the window. Forty-eight Deer Run. Midnight. Tell Ink.” She improvised innocence. “I think it’s an address for someone named Ink.” The spear of light flinched in her eye: Flash! Flash! She thought she saw something move. A shadow danced. She shut her bedroom door with a slam. “And today, there were two weird texts on my phone.” Joy crossed the room, hugging herself with one arm. “And a funny envelope and another message just now—something about a meeting at the foot trail of Grandview Park, tomorrow at 3:16.”
She could hear him scribbling. “Who told you this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know any of them!” Joy realized, dimly, that she was pacing again. “They just...show up.”
“Would you recognize these people if you saw them again?”
Joy snorted. Like she’d forget? “Yeah.”
Officer Castrodad kept writing and talking. “When did this happen?”
“Right now!” She sounded a little hysterical. Maybe because she was. Joy lowered her voice and locked her door. “Like, a minute ago,” she added. “Maybe two.”
“Are you alone in the house?”
Joy nodded, which was stupid since she was on the phone. “My dad works till ten.” Then it clicked why he was asking. “Wait! Don’t come out here! Please? I don’t want him to...” She knew she should say worry but what she thought was find out. “I just thought you should know.”
“No one’s going to be upset with you, Joy,” Officer Castrodad said. “We just want to be sure you’re safe. I’ll send a car around to check out the neighborhood. Stay in a room with locks and a phone. If anything else happens, I want you to dial 911. Got it?”
Joy rubbed her arm. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Call again if you need to—for any reason. I know this is scary, but we’re on it.” Officer Castrodad’s voice shifted from official to empathetic. “You’ve done a brave thing, Joy. Don’t worry. Have you got anything to keep your mind occupied?”
“I’ve got a history test,” she muttered.
“Okay. Go study,” he said. “And good luck on your test.”
Joy sat on her bed, blinking. Flash! Flash! “Yeah...right.”
She hung up and flumped against her bed. Studying was out of the question. Fear quivered under her skin—that jumpy fright-flight adrenaline dump she knew like an old friend, the rush before a competition. It made her want to run laps or do back handsprings, hard and fast, and instead here she sat, trapped in her room, with it percolating in her bloodstream, threatening to explode.
She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand sitting still. She couldn’t stand the quiet. It sounded too much like the Dark Days of Dad’s depression when she’d haunt the house on eggshells and hide in her room. The only laughter had been Stef’s. She missed him! His inside-out shirts and dorky glasses and snarky sense of humor. How could he leave her alone like this? How could she be so homesick when she was the one at home?
Joy auto-dialed Stef’s dorm room, hugging her knees to her chest, stretching her legs one at a time, widening slowly into a split. She felt the burn where her muscles strained against denim. Joy bounced her feet impatiently as the phone rang, one yellow sock with smiley faces and one green sock with shamrocks. Joy needed to hear his voice. She needed to know that he was okay. She needed distraction and a little encouragement, like at State when her brother would say, “You can do this,” and she’d say, “I know I can,” as if saying it aloud made it true.
The phone picked up after the fourth ring.
“Hey.” It was Stefan. Relief washed through her.
“Hey, Stef,” she said gratefully.
“Hello?” He sounded uncertain. Joy’s smile froze.
“Stef?”
“Hello? Hello?” Now Stef sounded anxious. Joy sat up, heart pounding. Had something happened?
“Stef!”
He laughed. “Ah, well, I guess I can’t hear you because I’m not home right now. Please leave a message after the beep.”
At the beep, Joy screamed, “Stef! That wasn’t funny! I was calling you to talk about...something important....” Although now Joy couldn’t decide what was most important: the creepy stalker stuff, getting stabbed at the Carousel or having just called the police. “Gimme a call when you get this, or text me before midnight. I’ll be up.” She eyed the window and closed the curtains. “I miss you.” She hung up and drummed her feet against the sideboard.
She needed to run.
She needed to scream.
She needed to totally let loose.
Instead, Joy sat in her room, twitchy and alone.
She didn’t answer the door when the repairman came; she heard the callback card slide across the tile as she watched the room grow dark. Shadows crept over the ceiling, reminding her of the plant thing spread over the ceiling at Deer Run. She didn’t turn on the light. She didn’t turn on her music. She wanted to keep an eye and ear out for anything. Everything. Just in case.
Flash! Flash!
What was going on? Who was Ink? And what were these...people...doing leaving messages, coming to her home? How was she supposed to find out anything when she didn’t know anything?
She lay in the dark with the phone on her chest, scared to death, listening.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU LOOK LIKE crap,” Monica said.
“Thank you,” Joy grumbled as she spun the dial on her locker. She’d waited half the night for the police to come knocking or Officer Castrodad to call back or, better yet, Stef. But no one had called. Not even monsters. She shook her head against the fog in her brain. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Aww. Well, at least you have both eyes half-open,” Monica said. “That’s an improvement.”
Joy glared at the lock. Flash! Flash! She sighed.
“There’s something wrong with my eye,” she said. “I keep seeing these bits of light. It’s annoying.” Joy resumed twisting her