Page 53 of Someone Knows

This bathroom is too small, tightening around me, so I go out to the living room, open a window to let in some fresh air, and pace back and forth across the Persian rug I couldn’t afford but bought anyway, because I wanted a real one—unlike the knockoff in my mother’s living room.

I can’t live like this anymore, in a state of limbo, waiting to be exposed. I just want whatever this unknown person has planned for me to be done with. Turn me in, if that’s the ultimate endgame. At least then I could formulate a plan and figure out next steps. But this waiting, not knowing, being left to my own devices to imagine a dozen different scenarios of whatmightbe going on, leaves me feeling helpless. Without control. And Ineedcontrol. Otherwise, I have nothing.

I keep walking. Ten feet. Back and forth, the length of the rug underfoot, each journey only five steps before I turn around. Maybe if I keep moving, keep pushing, my mind will eventually follow along. Because right now it’s stuck. Stuck on that room. Stuck onwhere the hellJocelyn is.

My head hurts. I try to conjure up a picture of her that night when I found her, but it’s fuzzy—like I’ve been drinking and have to squint to make out her features, only squinting makes her face blurrier. Yet I can see that damn motel room clear as day. The same thing happens when I try to visualize Mr. Sawyer. He’s a blur, too, though I saw a picture not long ago at Noah’s. My brain is probably trying to protect me, considering what happened the last time I saw the two of them together, but I desperatelycraveseeing their faces.

A thought hits. It halts my pacing. Icansee their faces. In my yearbook. It’s buried in one of the boxes on the top shelf of my closet, along with other shit I don’t need but couldn’t bring myself to toss out when I moved. Like the Bible my mother gave me when I was a little girl.

I rush into my bedroom, grab the chair from my desk in the corner, and climb up to reach the boxes. I’m not sure which one the yearbook is in, and there isn’t apretty way to take just one box down. They’re crammed in tight, a house of cards that will fall apart when I pull the first one. So I don’t bother to attempt to be neat. I pry one box out and lean back out of the way as the two on top fall. The last I take with me when I climb down.

My heart pounds as I tear into the first dusty box, the sound of blood frantically swishing through my ears. Inside are things I don’t need—old photos, a tattered baby blanket, a purple stuffed elephant that I don’t recognize at all. I dig my way to the bottom, but there’s no yearbook. So I grab the next box. But it’s not in there, either. I’m just about to give up on the third box, which is filled with old sweaters, when I lift the last one, and my heart stops. There’s a flash of the old orange-and-black school colors.

Minton Parish High School

2004–2005 Yearbook

I feel myself shaking as I lift it out. It’s just a book filled with pictures, for God’s sake.Get ahold of yourself already, Elizabeth.But berating myself does nothing to make me calmer. So I dive in. The teachers’ section is first, so I thumb through the alphabetical, now-dated-looking photos, until I get to names that start with anS. As soon as I turn the page, my eyes meethis.

OrNoah’s.

Because their deep green irises are identical—same shape, same color, same tiny golden flecks surrounding the pupils. I hate the man, loathe him with everything I have. He took so much from me. From Jocelyn. It’s twenty years later, and I still can’t escape him. Yet—and on some level, I know this is incredibly fucked up—I can’t help but notice how attractive he is. Orwas. Square jaw, incredible bone structure, lips that women pay good money for these days. There’s something so undeniably masculine in his features. I staredown, feeling so much turmoil in my thoughts. Anger builds within me, and I flip the page with so much fury that it rips in half.

Oh well.I toss the paper aside without checking to see if his photo is ruined and move on to the student section. The senior class photos are a decent size. Three rows of three, nine faces to a page. I only need to thumb to the second page to find the names that start withB. But Jocelyn’s photo is missing. I check the names—Ballard, Bloom, Byson. No Jocelyn Burton. I scan the page a second time, reading all the names, and then flip back to theAs in case her photo is out of order. Finding nothing, I do the same with theCs. Could she have been absent during picture day? Toward the bottom of the page that ends with Daniel Cullen, there’s a gray box where there should be a student’s photo—Monique Carter. The wordsCamera Shyare printed diagonally across it. Underneath, the same information is typed as appears under the squares that aren’t missing photos.

Monique Carter

Nicknames: Moni, MC

Sports and Activities: Yearbook Club—Senior,

Soccer—Freshman, Photography Club—Junior and Senior Favorite Quote: “The sky is full of stars. There’s room for us all to shine.”

Even if Jocelyn had missed picture day like Monique, she should still have her information under an empty square, right? Maybe she’s listed on the wrong page or something. I thumb back to the beginning of the senior photos and scan each face, one by one. A few pages after the one Jocelyn should be on, I’m caught off guard when I run into my own face.

God, how young I looked. Such an innocent smile. Those pictures were taken mid–school year. It makes my chest hurt to think how I had no damn idea what was coming. Hownotinnocent I would be at the end. I stare for a long time, not even realizing I’m crying until a fat tear dripsdown onto the yearbook. It lands on my photo, right in the middle of my cheek.Fitting.

I wipe wetness from my face, clear my eyes enough to look below the photo and read what’s typed underneath. I can’t remember what I listed as my favorite quote. Though I never make it that far down, because my world unravels at the second line.

Elizabeth Davis

Nickname: Jocelyn

CHAPTER

26

Chapter 5—Hannah’s Novel

Lucas’s arm draped over her shoulder as Jocelyn laughed at something he said while they walked through the parking lot. It felt good. The attention, the warmth, the kindness. She’d felt so lost lately.

Chatter behind them drew her attention, and Jocelyn glanced back—a couple of juniors were shoving each other playfully. Her gaze returned to Lucas’s new car, a slate gray hatchback with an engine that clanked. It barely held together, but he’d picked her up, saved her from the mile walk this morning in the hot sun. And it was fun, riding shotgun with the windows down, blasting the music on the radio, feeling free. While other kids’ parents dropped them at the front door to the school, she usually arrived flushed, overheated from the Louisiana humidity.

“So, what are you doing after school?” Lucas asked.

Jocelyn kept step with him, and for a moment, it almost felt like they were a thing. A couple. Anitem.

“Oh, I have—uh, plans,” she began, trying to think of a lie that was better thanI’m meeting Mr. Sawyer at a motel . . .

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