Page 37 of Good and Gone

“Itwasmy job.”

She glares at me intently. “But not anymore?”

“Things are different now.”

“In what way?”

I think about my work, my life before. My entire career, all the hours, the sweat equity, the literal blood and tears—all of it. I would have killed for this kind of attention. Had I known it would ruin my life, I would have thought better of it. It’s not the same, of course. I know that. Comparingthiswiththat.The pure spectacle that my life has become—pity versus the kind of attention that comes with accomplishment. Now, the idea that people might care about my workout routine, my eating habits, fills me with revulsion. I feel mortified. The positive feedback I used to get from the public about my body, about my so-called pretty face, about my success, has turned into something else. Something not good. I don’t want to be a role model any more. I want to be normal. I want to be anonymous.

“Hailey?” Dr. Bennett says. “I asked you a question. In what way is it different?”

“In every way.”

“I can tell you're not eating.”

“Can you?” Obviously, she can. My clothes hang off my body and not in a flattering way.

“How is that helping you? How is that helping anyone? Because it's not. It's hurting everyone.”

“I’m not eating because everything makes me sick.”

“This is common with survivors, Hailey. But we need to talk about it.”

“I don't think you understand,” I tell her. It bothers me she uses the wordsurvivor. Is this really surviving? “I don't think you understand me at all.”

“I understand you better than you think,” she replies dryly. “You can't change the past. You can't change what's happened to you. But you have to live in the present and plan for the future. You have people depending on you, Hailey. People that love you.”

“I know that,” I tell Dr. Bennett.

“What do you intend to do about it? That’s the question.”

I shrug, feeling even emptier than before. “Maybe I don't see it quite the way you do.”

“Maybe you should.”

25

John Doe

Isigh heavily as I stare at the legions of reporters and police officers swarming around Hailey Adams’s house. It’s a nice house, decent. Definitely upper middle class. Still, I get that familiar feeling of disappointment I got the first time I saw it. Just your standard custom Craftsman. Five bedrooms, three and a half baths. Cozy neighborhood. Tucked back on a tree-lined street. I would have expected more from her.

A crowd of neighbors are gathered at the street. How he thinks I'm supposed to pull this off with so many people watching her is beyond me.

I grit my teeth and run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how I will possibly get close enough with all these people gawking at me. The whole situation seems hopeless, and I dread having to go through with it. But then I think of the chilling message the boss sent me: If I do not follow through on this mission, I will meet a gruesome end. I will die. Filled with dread but determined not to fail, I steel myself for what lies ahead.

As I get closer to the house, I try to stay calm and focused, scanning the area for any weaknesses that I might be able to exploit. But despite all of my efforts, I know that there is no way this will end well. Still, I can't let fear overwhelm me now—not when my life hangs in the balance.

Tension knots my muscles, and my palms sweat as my mind wanders to the boss and the things I grudgingly admire about him. Even after all this time working for him, I still don't know much about him. But I do know that he takes care of his people. I try to focus on the good. Not what’s at stake.

Something scurries in the bushes to my right, and I look down just in time to see a cat dart in my direction. I take a deep breath and shoo the animal away with my foot.

A car speeds down the street and I duck into the shadows, watching as it passes by. It slows down just in front of the house, and a man walks to the front door and rings the doorbell. I recognize the man. He's been here before. Hailey’s mother answers the door. I know her from the press conferences. Hailey’s father stands in the doorway. Her parents seem fond of the man, and I wonder whether I might garner the same reception. He's a detective on the case, and I know that he's here to check on Hailey and try to get information. I consider following him home and then… I don’t know what. Whatever it takes to keep me out of prison, I guess.

I peek through the bushes just in time to see Hailey's father shake the guy’s hand. He holds the door open for the detective to come inside.

There’s no telling what kind of information she’s feeding him. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my muscles tense, and my breath comes in quick gasps. My stomach churns in distress. I have to get inside somehow. I scan the house, looking for an open window, when I see a shadow in the upstairs window. It's the curtains waving in the very back of the house, in what I assume is Hailey's bedroom. I squint my eyes to try to make out who it is, but the shadow is gone.

It makes me realize I need a new plan, one that involves finding a way inside that house. But how?

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