Page 18 of If Anything Happens To Me

What if

What if

What if he had written those unanswered texts to my sister after he had killed her? What if he had invented an alibi and gotten someone to lie and back him up? He had that handsome-boy way about him; his smile could melt hearts—and he knew it.

I tried to push these thoughts of Chris away. But they wouldn’t leave. They lodged in the part of my brain that held instincts and suspicion.

“Do you remember anything else?” I asked Iris.

“No,” she said. “I can’t get hold of the thread.” She tilted her head. “A thread! Or a string . . . something about a string.”

“You’re doing great, Iris,” I said. “Letting little bursts come through. Your name, Hayley’s name. The paintings of those girls. Someone in a white dress. Cats. Birds. A string. It seems like your memory is starting to come back.”

“I hope so,” she said.

Something occurred to me then. “What if we drove around, starting where I found you?” I asked. “Then we’d work our way out, in wider circles. We might see things that could help you remember more.”

She nodded, resolute in a way that showed me she thought it was a really good idea. “Do you have a car?” she asked.

My grandmother’s old Volvo was parked in the driveway outside our house. I had my license, but the car battery was dead and one of the tires was flat.

“I do, but it isn’t running right now.” I paused. The perfect solution came to me. I gave her a smile. “Don’t worry, though. I know someone who can help.”

Hi Matt

As soon as I sent the text, my heart literally began skipping beats as I waited to hear back. His reply came quickly.

Hey Oli.

Are you busy?I wrote.

No reply for a whole minute. Then he wrote:

w Chris and Fitch at the blind.

OK never mind,I wrote.

What’s up?

Suddenly the whole idea of telling him seemed impossible. I both wanted to tell him everything and also hide it from him—because how could a normal boy deal with anything this bizarre and dreadful? How could I, for that matter?

It’s OK. Hope you see some good birds, I wrote.

Won’t be much longer. Call you in about 30 mins.

Sure, I wrote.

He sent a smiling emoji.

I double-checked that the ringer was on and put my phone in my pocket. My heart kept doing that weird skittering thing, and I knew it would keep doing that for the entire half hour, till he called—although, considering he was birding with his friends, it might be longer. It was easy to lose track of time when you were bird banding. I knew how into it we all got.

The nature club had stopped meeting after Eloise died. The group, as we’d known it, had drifted apart. We were all still friends, but we didn’t get together the way we used to.

And I had mostly stayed off social media since Eloise died. Tried to avoid the internet entirely, even. I couldn’t stand what people were saying on there—some blaming our family for not paying enough attention to Eloise, others showering me with phony, even saccharine, sympathy.

“Who were you texting?” Iris asked.

“A friend,” I said. “Matt Grinnell. He has a car so he could drive us around. Iris, we have to do something. You have to remember. It’s the only way we’ll find Hayley, and solve the mystery. We have to go searching for your memory.”

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