Page 1 of Good Half Gone

Chapter1

“911,What Isyour emergency?”

“Hello? Help me, please! They took my sister! Please hurry, I don’t know where they are. I can’t find them.” *rustling noise* *yells something* “Oh my god—oh my god. Piper!”

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down so that I can understand you.”

“Okay…” *crying*

“Who took your sister?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know them. Two guys. Dupont knows them, I—”

“Miss, what is the address? Where are you?”

“The theater on Pike, the Five Dollar…” *crying* “They took my phone, I’m calling from inside the theater.”

“Wait right where you are, someone is going to be there to help shortly. Can you tell me what your name is?”

*crying*

“What is your name? Hello…?”

*crying, indecipherable noises*

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Iris…”

“What is your sister’s name, Iris? And how old is she?”

“Piper. She’s fifteen.”

“Is she your older sister or younger sister… Iris, can you hear me?”

“We’re twins. They just put her in a car and drove away. Please hurry.”

“Can you tell me what kind of vehicle they were driving?”

“I don’t know…”

“—a van, or a sedan—?”

“It was blue and long. I can’t remember.”

“Did it have four doors or two… Iris?”

“Four.”

“And how many men were there?”

“Three.”

“I’m going to stay on the line with you until the officers get there.”

He leans forward, rouses the mouse, and turns off the audio on his computer.Click click clack.I was referred to Dr. Stanford a year ago when my long-term therapist retired. I had the option of finding a new therapist on my own or being assigned someone in the practice. Of course I considered breaking up with therapy all together, but after eight years it felt unnatural not to go. But I was a drinker of therapy sauce: a true believer in the art of feelings. I imagined people felt that way about church. At the end of the day, I told myself that a weird therapist was better than no therapist.

I disliked Allen Stanford on sight. Grubby. He is the grown-up version of the kindergarten booger eater. A mouth breather with a slow, stiff smile. I was hoping he’d grow on me.

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