Page 50 of Someone Knows

“Hello? Is someone there?”

I squeeze my cell tighter to my head, push a finger into my other ear. There’s definitely someone there. I can hear the faint sound of inhales and exhales. And as ridiculous as it sounds, my gut tells me the breathing isNoah’s. But why do I think that? Does his breathing have a unique pattern? I don’t remember noticing it when we were together. I’ve spent way more time with Sam and couldn’t tell you if he has a particular way of breathing.

I must be losing my mind, because it hits me that I didn’t give Noah my number.Sleep. I need some freaking sleep.I swipe my phone off, look around to see if anyoneis watching, and jog back down the stairs into the subway. The quicker I get to my apartment, the quicker I can pop a pill and conk out. Things will be clearer when I’m rested.

Luckily, the rest of the trip home is uneventful, at least until I shut my door and my phone buzzes again. This time, though, it’s a text, not a call. The person isn’t saved in my contacts, because no name comes up, only “Unknown” and a phone number—one with a Louisiana area code.

My pulse picks up as I click to open the message.

Unknown:Hey. It’s Lucas. Sorry it took me so long to reach out, but I lost your number. I’ve been searching for it since the day we saw each other at the hospital. Finally found it tonight. I must’ve put it in my lunch bag for safekeeping and somehow it stuck to the ice pack and I didn’t notice. It’s apparently been in my freezer for a week. Never thought to look there. I’ve been kicking myself in the ass for losing it. I really wanted to see you again. Any chance you’re still in town?

I let out a lungful of air, debate not responding. But Lucas is harmless, and the thought of him discovering my phone number in the freezer is actually pretty funny.

Elizabeth:Hey, Lucas. I’m already back in New York.

I watch the little dots jump around on my screen, happy for the distraction. I always liked Lucas.

Unknown:Damn. You think you’ll be back in town anytime soon?

Elizabeth:I’m not sure.

A frowning emoji appears before hisnext message.

Unknown:That’s too bad. Let me know if anything changes and you get back down. I really enjoyed seeing you. I always hated that we lost touch during senior year.

There’sa lotI hate about that year . . .

I nibble on my lip, thinking. Jocelyn used to fool around with Lucas. Maybe he knows where she is; maybe they kept in contact. Though I hate the thought of talking to anyone from my little town about her, and for some stupid reason I still don’t want to leave a digital footprint of me asking about Jocelyn. Which is absolutely ridiculous at this point, considering I’ve asked anNYPD detectivefor help, yet I decide against making waves with anyone connected to Minton Parish. Instead, I respond truthfully.

Elizabeth:I do, too. You were always a good friend to me, Lucas.

He responds right away.

Unknown:Doesn’t have to be past tense. Give me a call if you find yourself back in town. I’d love to see you.

Elizabeth:Take care of yourself, Lucas.

Unknown:You, too, Elizabeth.

I sigh and look around my apartment. I usually don’t go to sleep until eleven, but the pharmacy bag on my kitchen counter is calling my name. I tear it open, twist the cap off the bottle, and swallow two Ambien without any water. I’m determined to sleep tonight, so much so that I plug my cell into the living room charger, rather than taking it into the bedroom and using the one on my nightstand like Inormally do. The last thing I need is another call from the breather to wake me and keep me up all night.

Ten minutes later, I climb into bed and wait for the medicine to kick in. My mind races with so many thoughts.Does Noah know who I am? Who donated that Saint Agnes statue? How long does my mother have left? I need to break things off with Sam.But the question my mind keeps coming back to tonight is,Where the hell is Jocelyn?

CHAPTER

23

Iroll over and grasp the bottle of pills. Last night, I slept for eight straight hours. And tonight, part of me wants nothing more than to down another Ambien (or three) and get another good night’s sleep. But the moment I twist the lid off, I think of my mother. Her problems with addiction. It means I’m primed for the same problems, and the last thing I want is to become dependent on medication. I don’t even know if Ambien is habit-forming, but I’m not taking any chances.

Anything can grow addictive, can’t it?Anything.Even people.

I sit back up, scrub a hand over my face. A glance at my phone tells me it’s not even eight yet. I’m just so tired. Maybe I’ll watch some TV. I set my phone back on the nightstand, but as I plug it into the charger, the screen flashes with an incoming call—an unknown number. Again.

I shouldn’t answer. I should let it go to voicemail. But I can’tnotanswer. I can’t sit here, addingWho was that?to my list of unanswered questions. So I snatch it up, hit the green button.

“Hello?”

No response. Just . . . inhales, exhales.

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