Page 80 of Where the Darkness Goes

Blink. Blink.Yes.

I look down at the paper, planning to start a new note, when suddenly it clicks.This is the same paper.Did the person use this particular notebook paper to write the note because it was here? Or were they, too, trying to get Mom to give them a message? Maybe they were even the one who brought the notebook in the first place.

Carefully, I scratch the pencil across the page, shading it lightly in hope there will be a message there, indented in the paper. I hold my breath, looking for a single letter to appear, but there’s nothing.

I rush back over to the notebook in the drawer, skimming through the blank pages in search of a sign or a clue about who it might’ve belonged to, but there’s nothing. Refusing to give up, I sit by Mom again with the sheet of letters.

“Who wrote the note, Mom?” I scan the letters again, and when I reach the T, she taps her finger.

T.

Already, I’m thinking of every person I know whose name starts with T.

E.

Terrence Fisher, the owner of the local hardware store? Teresa Hazelwood, my third grade teacher?

L.

T-E-L

L.

W.

I groan, patting the paper. “Yes, I get it. Tell Will. I will tell Will, I promise. But give me something else, please. Who wrote the note?” I scan the page again.

T.

E.

L.

Forget it.“Okay.” I sigh. “Okay, Momma. I will. I’ll tell him.” I squeeze her hand, pressing a kiss to her skin before I stand up and put the paper back, frustration rattling me. When I return, Mom’s eyes are closed, and whether or not she’s asleep, she’s apparently done with today’s visit.

CHAPTER FORTY

GARRETT — PRESENT DAY

When I hear a car pull up outside a few hours later, I assume Tessa’s back from wherever she went. It took everything in me not to follow her, to keep her safe, to beg her to forgive me, but I didn’t. She needed space, and I can’t blame her for that.

I read something once about how you’re supposed to sleep with your head pointed in a certain direction for better health. South, I think. Maybe east. It had something to do with Earth’s magnetic poles and the iron in our body. When you sleep in the wrong direction, the iron in your blood pulls toward the opposite pole, causing a heap of problems, if the study is to be believed. I don’t know. It’s probably complete crap, but the message stuck with me because it’s the closest thing I’ve ever heard to describing the way I feel about Tessa.

Like everything in me—my blood and cells—are drawn to her. They push against my skin to be closer to her, as if we were magnets. When I’m not with her, I’m on edge. My axis is off-kilter. I buzz with an uncomfortable energy that can only be calmed when she’s around. She’s a part of me, in my very tissue and running through my veins. I need her like I need oxygen, and right now I’m terrified my supply is about to be cut off again.

When the front door opens, I’m waiting in the living room as Will enters. He drops his bags down on the floor and gives me a look I can’t quite read.

“I didn’t think you’d get back until tonight.”

“Advantage of driving, I guess. I didn’t have to wait for a flight.” He scans the room. “Where is she?”

“Out.” I jut my chin toward the door.

“Don’t like the sound of that.”

“I told her about the jewelry.”

“What?You swore?—”

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