That day, my ache for Bo seemed to be worse than ever. I felt detached from him in a way I hadn’t experienced before and it both terrified and distressed me.
That bond we shared, that connection, had been the only thing that had kept me sane since his “disappearance” and it seemed to be fading little by little as the days wore on. I couldn’t help but wonder if that bite had something to do with it.
By lunchtime, I found myself sitting at Summer’s table, surrounded by people I’d known most of my life, all strangers now. At least that’s what they felt like. I fiddled with my napkin as I gazed longingly across the lawn to the picnic table I’d shared for a while with my friends. And with Bo.
My heart twisted painfully with thoughts of him. I slid my eyes over to the tree where we’d enjoyed several sunny days together, alone.
In the very pit of stomach, I felt that oh-so-familiar tug and I latched onto it, closing my eyes to savor the tiny tingle that danced along my nerves. I’d felt it several times lately, so I knew he was somewhere close enough for me to feel him, yet still not close enough.
But when that feeling grew stronger, more intense, I knew Bo had to be closer than usual. Sure he must’ve been standing right in front of me, I raised my lids to look around. I didn’t have to search for him, didn’t have to look anywhere but straight ahead, at the very spot I’d been daydreaming about.
The wind blew through the branches of the big tree, dappling the ground beneath it with bright spots of sunshine, and for just an instant, I saw something shimmer in the light. Knowledge and recognition swelled inside me. It was Bo. He was here, at school, watching me, closer than he’d been in recent days.
Just like he’d promised, Bo wasn’t far.
I don’t know why he chose that day to take such a chance. It was like he knew how desperately I needed him—to see him, even if it was only a hint of him—
and he’d risked exposure to show me that he was thinking of me, that he needed to be close to me, too. Or maybe he’d felt the growing distance between us as well. I had no way of knowing.
A relief so profound it nearly brought me to tears washed over me, and I felt the renewal of our bond pouring through my veins. That one moment in time, that one instant, was enough to keep me going for a little while longer. For now, it was enough.
Carried on the wings of Bo’s visit for the rest of the day, I felt bullet-proof, like nothing could bring me down. That’s why later, I decided that I’d pay Lucius a visit. I needed to talk to someone about what I’d learned at Bo’s house, as well as the translation I’d found at Sebastian’s.
Thinking of Sebastian made me wonder again, uneasily, about the time I’d lost there. I had no idea what to make of it and I was hesitant to mention it to anyone. A tiny seed of fear had begun to take root deep inside my mind, a kernel of dread that I might be starting to experience the effects of Bo drinking from me.
What if blacking out was the first step to losing your mind? The first step to what the authorities were mistakenly labeling Mad Cow Disease?
Pushing the disturbing ruminations aside, I brought my focus back to Bo and his visit. Though thinking of him did make me feel better, acknowledging my concerns about my health had still managed to dampen my spirits in a way that not even my prior elation could fix.
At home, I unlocked the door and went to change clothes before heading to the forest to see Lucius. Looking at the sparse selection in my closet made me realize that I needed to do some laundry, and what better time than on a Friday night?
“That’s right, girls of the world. I lead the most enviable life imaginable,” I said aloud to the empty bathroom as I separated colored clothes from white.
My words echoed flatly back to me, bouncing off the walls of the tiny room.
It was then that I noticed that the other bathroom door, the one that adjoined Izzy’s room, was closed, making the already small room seem claustrophobic.
As I straightened, unease raised the hairs at my nape. Walking quietly, cautiously, to that door, I grabbed the knob and twisted it slowly. When I pushed it open, I reached out with all my senses for anything amiss.
Everything seemed exactly the same as it always did. It still smelled vaguely of Izzy and, as I made my way around the room, I didn’t see where anything appeared to be missing.
I let my fingers trail along the edge of the jewelry box and the decorative tops of the perfume bottles that dotted the surface of the vanity. I ran my hand over the silky comforter that covered the bed and I ruffled the curtains as I passed. When I got to the bookshelf that sat in one corner, I mentally cataloged every item I knew to have a place there. Nothing was gone.
I turned to head back to the bathroom when something struck me. I stepped back to the bookshelf and examined a silver-framed picture. It showed me and Izzy at the beach, posing in our bathing suits when we were about six or seven years old.
I smiled as I took in Izzy’s cheeky grin and her sparkling eyes and chestnut hair, so different from my own nearly-black hair and equally dark eyes. But then I saw the fingerprint smudge that marred the perfect sheen of the frame.
I didn’t need to wonder if it was already there. I knew it wasn’t. It had been left recently. Someone had picked it up to look at it and then set it back down a little to the left of where it normally sat. I could see a blank space in the dust from where the picture usually was.
Who would go into Izzy’s room? Everyone in my family knew that nothing was to be touched. Ever. Whoever it was didn’t belong there, didn’t know the rules.
And they’d gone through my room to get in, because they’d closed the bathroom door behind them.
A chill ran through me. I thought of the woman who’d attacked me the other night. Had she been in my house since then? Could it have been her? Who was she? What did she want with me? And my sister?
Taking one last look around the room, I went back for my laundry and headed to the washer, my thoughts still on Izzy.
As sisters, we’d been close, had always gotten along pretty well, which just made it that much harder when she was gone. Izzy had always been a bright spot.
She laughed a lot, as did I. It was something that I missed terribly.
I smiled as I remembered that she couldn’t even stop laughing long enough to record a serious outgoing voice mail message on her cell phone. She’d done well up to the very end, when she’d punctuated her greeting with a giggle.
With a sigh, I wished once more that they’d been able to find her cell phone.