Page 48 of The Missing Half

And then, after another few minutes, I spot something I recognize from the time Jenna drove me here—a dense copse of trees she mentioned she liked because it made her feel surrounded by nature. I take a right at the next street then turn left into the neighborhood behind it. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but I think this looks right.

“Come on,” I mutter as I pass by house after house. “Where are you?”

And then I see it. The little white house with the towering tree out front. I skid my bike to a stop, the rubber tires squealing against the pavement. But my excitement is short-lived. There’s not a single light on in the house, and the driveway is empty. The garage door is closed, so Jenna’s truck could be inside, but there’s no way to tell.

I launch myself off my bike, letting it crash into the yard, and race to the front door. For a fleeting moment, I think how Jenna would hate this plan—or rather, lack thereof. I haven’t thought through anything. But there’s no time to worry about that now. I lift a fist to the door and pound.

Nothing. No lights turn on. There’s no noise beyond the door.

“Shit,” I hiss.

I knock again, louder this time, but again there’s only silence.

There’s a hedge on both sides of the door, lining the outside walls beneath two symmetrical windows. I step off the concrete stoop to the right and squeeze my body between the plant and the side of the house, the stiff twigs scraping my bare thighs as I inch toward the window.

Suddenly, a light flicks on, and I freeze. I hear the sound of a deadbolt and turn to see Jenna’s front door creaking open.

“Nic?”

I hear her voice before I see her. Then, from the sliver of darkness in the doorway, Jenna steps onto the stoop and into the light.

“What’re you doing?” she says.

“Jenna?” She looks…fine. She’s wearing a robe over pajama pants and a T-shirt, her hair dripping against the worn terrycloth. She hadn’t been kidnapped. She wasn’t being held prisoner in her own home. She was in the shower. “Jesus,” I breathe. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Her gaze flicks around the shadowed yard. “What’re you doing here?”

“You didn’t show up at my dad’s tonight.” I inch my way around the hedge and step back onto the stoop. “You haven’t responded to any of my texts or answered a single one of my calls. I’m making sure you’re still alive, that’s what. Now, can I come in, or are you gonna make me stand here all night?”

She hesitates, and I notice a look in her eye I can’t quite place. Wariness, maybe. Or fear. And that’s when I realize that, although she is safe and unharmed, I wasn’t wrong to worry. Something’s happened.

“Jenna? What the fuck’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she says a little too quickly. “Sorry. Of course you can come in.”

I slip through the doorway and into her dark house. She closes the front door behind me and flips on the light. I catch a glimpse of that wall covered in research as I turn to face her. Jenna doesn’t normally wear much makeup, but now her face is completely bare, and it makes her look older, tired.

“What happened?” I say. “Why didn’t you show up tonight?”

She starts to respond, but then she glances down and stops. “Whoa. Nic, you’re bleeding.”

I look at my leg to see the cut looks far worse in her bright house than it did in the dark. It’s about two inches long and deep. Luckily, it’s stopped bleeding, but a long swath of skin, from my calf to my ankle, is painted in sticky-looking blood, and it’s pooled in the top of my sock.

“It’s fine,” I say, even though the sight of it has made it start throbbing again. “I’m more worried about you. What happened tonight?”

“You need to get that cleaned. Let me go get some stuff.”

I start to protest, but she’s already walking out of the room.

“Jenna,” I say when she reappears a moment later, holding a wet, folded paper towel in one hand and a plastic caddy with gauze, Band-Aids, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other. “Forget about my fucking leg. Why didn’t you meet me at my dad’s earlier?”

She sighs, not quite meeting my eye.

“Did someone threaten you?” I say. “Like they did to Lauren?”

“No.”

“Well, I can tell something happened. So, please, just—”

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