Page 58 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Max pressed the horn, and the loud sound caused the animal to bolt and run into the forest.

In a calm voice, he said, “The wolf is hunting you.”

My head whipped in his direction, remembering the words from my dream. “What did you say?”

Max stepped on the gas. “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

Max wrung the wheel and his eyes slowly slid in my direction, drops of water clinging to his dark lashes. “You know.”

My throat jumped. I stared at Max as he focused back on the road, his lips slowly unfurling into a small smile that made my heart frost over. “What do I know, Max?”

“We’re here.”

Frowning, I tore my gaze away from the side of his face and gasped, staring out through the passenger window at my house, the gate to the metal fence flapping in the fall breeze.

One of the windows on the second floor had been left open, and the curtains moved in soft sweeps. One of my old sun-bleached buckets and spades lay abandoned on the muddy ground. The grass had long since died, with only a few tufts of green remaining. In the fall months, the front yard turned into a big puddle we had to navigate carefully.

“How did we get here so fast?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the passenger window. “We nearly hit the wolf just now…”

“What wolf?”

I blinked at him, wondering if I’d heard him right. “The wolf, Max.”

Instead of answering, he lifted his chin to the house. “You should go inside.”

I flicked my eyes between his with a frown, wondering if I was still dreaming or if my hangover, combined with the drugs, played tricks on my psyche.

Max reached across me to unlock the door, then sat back and tapped his thumb on the steering wheel in time to an imaginary tune.

As I pushed the door open, he said, “See you at school tomorrow.”

I didn’t answer, exiting the vehicle and staring up at the wooden porch. My house was a shithole. It looked even worse this morning, framed by the darkening rain clouds.

I shut the car door and approached the metal gate, carefully avoiding the muddiest parts of the grass. The gate creaked open beneath my hand as Max drove off, leaving a cloud of exhaust fumes in the air.

After entering the house, I hurried upstairs to my room and pressed my back against the door, exhaustion weighing heavily on me as I scrubbed my face.

One glance in the direction of the clock on the bedside table confirmed it was just after lunch. I had a heap of homework to do.

I took my time in the shower, letting the too-hot water purge the last of the hangover. I felt like shit. No way would I ever party like that again.

Famous last words.

As I dried my hair in front of the mirror on the door, a thought occurred to me.

With my hair still damp and smelling of apple shampoo, I dug my phone out of my coat pocket. There were no missed calls or the usual text messages from Dustin.

It struck me as odd.

My eyes danced across the room to the heavy curtains, the desk chair, the stack of books beside the keyboard, and the cactus on the windowsill, which I’d forgotten to water this year.

Stomach knotting with unease, I recalled my nightmare and then quickly shoved the assaulting hazy images back down, blaming them on the stress at school and the fact that Nate had returned.

Chewing my lip, I brought up Dustin’s number and typed out a quick message.

We missed you at the party.

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