Page 70 of The Missing Half

Peering through the darkness, I can just make out Jenna’s figure walking across the yard, about forty feet from the road. My plan was to confront her once we got wherever we were going, but I can’t call out to her now without revealing both of us to McLean. I’ll have to follow her.

My body seizes with panic at the thought. What the hell am I doing here, in the middle of nowhere without a plan? Maybe I should just find the nearest gas station and ask them to call me a cab. I could do it. No one knows I’m here. But then I think of Jenna. I think of the money she took out for my bail and the rides she’s given me so I don’t bike home alone in the dark. I think of all the lies she told just to keep me safe, and I know I won’t abandon her—not now when she needs me most.

My mind flashes to the hammer tucked inside my backpack. The thought of using it as a weapon floods me with fear, but I’m not going to confront McLean unarmed. I unzip my bag, pull it out, then quietly crawl over the side of the truck.

As I step onto the gravel road, the yard near the garage apartment is suddenly bathed with light. I flinch, then quickly duck behind the truck bed. Peering over it, I see the source—an illuminated bulb on the side of the building. It’s clearly motion activated, because Jenna stands frozen in its beam. She’s wearing loose-fitting jeans and a gray T-shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail. Beside her is a wooden staircase leading to a door on the second level.

Jenna slips out of the beam of light. After a moment it goes off, and the yard is black again. I inch gingerly around the truck, the hammer heavy in my hand. As my eyes readjust to the dark, I can just make out Jenna stepping onto the staircase. I don’t want to startle her, but I can’t let her walk up to McLean’s door alone, so I plant my next footfall in synchronization with hers, the sound of her step masking my own. Slowly, I pick my way through the overgrown lawn, moving whenever she does.

Jenna is almost at the top landing by the time I make it to the garage door, carefully avoiding the spot where she activated the light. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, a loud knock reverberates through the night.

This is it.

McLean is about to answer the door, and I still don’t know what I’m planning to do. The idea of Jenna pulling the trigger, of McLean’s brains blowing out the back of his head like bloody confetti is so violent, I can’t wish that upon her even if I can wish it upon him. I can’t intervene now though; startling Jenna when she has a gun would be akin to suicide.

Before I can do anything, she knocks a second time. It’s louder now, urgent and angry. Yet again, there’s only silence. Maybe he’s not home. Maybe Jenna will turn around and I can confront her without the threat of McLean. We can go to the truck together and talk through what we want to do next.

But then a light turns on, washing Jenna in a white glow, and I hear it: thethunkof a deadbolt flipping, the door opening.

I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating the gunshot, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I hear someone say, “Can I help you?” and my body goes cold.

The voice is so familiar to me, I could pick it out of a lineup of a thousand. I just never thought I’d hear my sister speak ever again.

Chapter Thirty-nine

An enormous wave crashes inside me. It should be relief, but it is far too visceral, too violent for that, and in some dark, far-off part of my brain, I realize that it is love, deep and bottomless, for the owner of that voice. For Kasey, who plastered her walls with posters of musicians, Kasey, who saved me from the world’s worst self-inflicted haircut, Kasey, who gave me medicine the first time I was hungover, who stayed in bed with me and watched nineties rom-coms till finally I felt better, Kasey, who wanted to be a nurse, to help people when they were sick, Kasey, who felt too old for her age and too big for our town. Kasey, my sister, the greatest love of my life.

She was dead. For seven years, she was buried in the ground.

For a moment, I think I must be hallucinating, but then I hear her voice again—cautious this time—and I know I’m not.

“Who are you?” Kasey says.

But Jenna seems to be frozen and doesn’t respond.

I never allowed myself to imagine a reunion with my sister. The comedown from a fantasy that bright would have simply been too painful to bear. If I had, though, I would have envisioned something soft and shimmering: Kasey sitting on the back of an EMT truck, a foil blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a tin mug of coffee inher hands. She’d lift her head to see me running toward her and give me a weak smile. I’d launch myself into her arms and only let go when somebody pried me off.

But some deep instinct tells me to stay hidden now, because something is wrong about all of this. Something isn’t adding up. This clearly isn’t McLean’s house, not with my sister opening the door. And Jenna doesn’t seem confused or even surprised to find her here. If I could just see Kasey, maybe I could understand. But from my vantage point at the bottom of the staircase, I can only see Jenna. Her body is so tense, it’s vibrating.

“Who are you?” Kasey says again.

Jenna finally finds her voice. “I’m Jenna Connor. Jules was my sister.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”

Kasey must start to close the door, because Jenna throws out a hand, her palm slamming hard against it. “Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t do that.” Her snarled tone prickles up my spine like the edge of a knife. What the fuck is going on?

“I don’t know who you’re looking for,” Kasey says, “but you have the wrong—”

“Stop it!” Jenna shouts. “Stop doing that. I don’t have the wrong person. You may have cut your hair, you may be going by your middle name now, but you’re Kasey Monroe.”

Kasey says something unintelligible, but Jenna barrels through it.

“You were born in Mishawaka, Indiana, you were in nursing school at Arizona State, you were one of the two Missing Mishawaka Girls—you and Jules. This whole time, everyone thought you were dead, but really, you were just working at a record store in Nashville, Tennessee.”

I am in a fun house. A carnival ride that scoops out your stomach every time it dips.

“How…” My sister’s voice cuts out. “How did you find me?”

---