Page 1 of The Followers

prologue

A heavy pounding yanks Liv from sleep.

Through bleary eyes, she glances at the digital clock on her nightstand: 12:14 a.m. She listens, holding her breath. All she hears is her younger brother breathing in the bunk below.

“Ollie?” Liv whispers into the muggy darkness. Most seventeen-year-old girls might find it annoying to share a room with their brother. Embarrassing, even. But Liv finds it comforting. She doesn’t like being alone in the dark, even here, in their grandmother’s quiet neighborhood.

No answer from the lower bunk. Her brother has always been a sound sleeper, which is a point of pride for Liv. He can relax at night because he knows she’s there.

More pounding on the front door, and Liv flinches.

“Open up. Hey, come on!” It’s a man’s voice, sharp as a broken bottle.

Footsteps on the old staircase; Gran is awake, heading downstairs. Liv hears the click of the deadbolt and the squeak of hinges as the front door opens.

“What are you doing here?” Gran doesn’t sound afraid, and Liv relaxes. Her no-nonsense grandmother will deal with this.

“I need Kristina’s new address,” the man says. His voice—too loud, like he’s not in control of his volume—sparks a flare in Liv’s chest. She knows to be cautious around men when they sound like that.

Slipping out of her bunk, she walks to the open window, squinting down at the front stoop. The man is tall and blond, his face illuminated by the porch light. It’s Sam, her sister Kristina’s ex-boyfriend. Liv’s only met Sam once, but she thought he seemed nice. Not now, though. He’s so tense that Liv stiffens with worry.

He and Kristina dated for a few months when Kristina was living in Ohio, but they broke up before she found out she was pregnant. Liv knows from Kristina that she and Sam have been arguing. Mostly about their daughter, Gabriela—Sam was asking for more time with her, but Kristina didn’t agree. So last month he called social services on Kristina and made up some ridiculous story about her using drugs. Liv can’t believe her sister would do that, not after everything they experienced growing up with their own mother, an addict who had three children with three different men and who has been in and out of prison for years. Sam’s call launched a whole investigation and Kristina was furious. After that, she moved to a new apartment and blocked Sam on her phone.

“Tell me where she is,” Sam demands, one hand pressed against the screen door that separates him from Gran.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Gran says. Still matter of fact, like she’s checking out a customer at the WaWa where she works.

“She’s my daughter, for Christ’s sake. You can’t keep me away from her.”

Liv tries to keep her breathing even. She’s thinking about Gabriela. Almost a year old, with arms so chubby Gran calls her a Michelin Man baby. One of the best parts of living with Gran is that they get to watch Gabriela while Kristina is working, and Liv loves getting her up from her naps. Her niece will pull herself up on the side of the pack ’n play and grin, mouth open like a baby bird, black hair sticking out in all directions.

“Sam,” Gran says, “listen to me. There’s no reason you need to go to Kristina’s right now. Go home, calm down. Come back in the morning, and I’ll help you reach her.”

“I’m not waiting until morning,” he says, louder. “I need to see her tonight.”

Liv presses her forehead against the screen, her breath coming in gasps.

But Gran seems perfectly in control, her short gray hair glistening as she shakes her head.

“It’s late,” she says. “You can go tomorrow.”

“It’ll be your fault if something happens to her tonight.”

Sam’s voice, a warning growl, sends a shiver down Liv’s arms. It’s a threat—but is he referring to Kristina? Or Gabriela?

She waits for Gran to rebuff him, but instead she sighs, says, “Alright,” and gives Sam the address. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Liv shakes her head. Kristina won’t be happy. But Gran hasn’t been happy with Kristina lately, either. Liv overheard them arguing in the kitchen, their words cutting off when Liv walked in. But not before she heard Gran say: You wanna end up like your mother?

Down on the front porch, Sam turns and jogs across the lawn to a white truck parked on the street. He peels out so quickly that the tires screech.

Behind Liv, Ollie stirs in the lower bunk. “Livi?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, g’night,” he mumbles, rolling over.

She climbs up to her bunk and lays on her back, staring at the ceiling. Sam’s words echo in her mind: It’ll be your fault if something happens to her tonight.

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