“N…” I try, but I don’t have enough air to say the word. My ribcage feels like it’s sealed in a concrete mold. “No,” I say. “I… need to… calm…”
Sean gets it and his tone evens out. “Shh, Lizzie, just breathe,” he says into the phone. “Put your hand on your heart; imagine that it’s mine. I’m here for you. You’re okay; just breathe.”
I hear a car honk; I picture him flipping an illegal U-turn to come and help me.
“Breathe with me,” he says before taking a deep inhale, then exhaling. My palm is still firmly on my chest—not pressing, but resolutely planted there. I pretend it’s his.
“Take a breath,” Sean says before inhaling and exhaling again. Once more, and my heartbeat starts to slow. Another time, and I start to breathe with him. A few more breaths, and I’m back to normal.
“Whoa,” I say when I can talk again. Only then do I realize I’m on the floor of my mom’s office. I start to stand up but feel woozy, so I stay put for now.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It felt like a panic attack or something. I have no idea why….” My voice trails off; I’m preoccupied by the fact that even though I’m breathing normally now, I’m still feeling very unsettled. I’m jumpy. I snap my head in the direction of the doorway. No one’s there.
“What’s happening?” Sean asks, sounding worried.
“I don’t know,” I repeat. “I’m… I wonder if someone saw me come here?”
“Your mom’s going to find out soon enough, right?”
“I guess, but… I just have this weird feeling right now. It’s like suddenly, I’m… afraid. Not of Mom, but of something….”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says sweetly. “You’re totally safe.”
That’s when it hits me.
“I have to go,” I say urgently.
“What now?” Sean asks. “What’s happening? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “But I get it now. I may be safe, but the others aren’t. Ella and Betsey are in trouble.”
I call home five times on the way, but no one answers.
“Please be okay,” I say out loud, feeling strongly that something is seriously wrong. “You have to be okay.”
I go through it in my mind as I drive. Sean said that Mom got a call, that she abandoned her shopping cart at the store on the day before Thanksgiving and returned home suddenly. Now, after she’s back at home, I get this awful feeling that the others are in danger. But it doesn’t make sense: Mom would never do anything to harm Ella and Betsey.
Would she?
I fly through stoplights and make it to my street in the blink of an eye. At the gate, I pause before driving through, wondering if someone’s inside the house. Sean calls again, but I let it go through to voice mail; I need to think. I can see Mom’s car parked at the bottom; there are no other cars. I’m intensely afraid, but for Bet and Ella, I have to get over it.
I drive down, park, and run in.
“Hello?” I call from the entryway. “Betsey? Ella?” I wait a beat. “Mom?”
There’s no answer. I call again. Still nothing.
I run from room to room on the main floor, searching for my family. Then I sprint upstairs and look in the rec room; the spy phone that I left for them is on the coffee table. Frantically, I check all four bedrooms and three bathrooms. I end up back in the entryway, turning around, directionless.
My cell rings.
“They’re not here,” I say. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
“Maybe they just went out somewhere,” Sean says. “Like after your mom came back. Maybe they went to find you.”
“They didn’t,” I say. “I know it. They didn’t call me back and the phone is here; they wouldn’t leave without it. I just know something’s wrong.”
“Because you can feel it,” Sean says, almost a question.
“Yes,” I say, a little snappily. “I can feel it. It doesn’t happen all the time, but every once in a while, something happens, and the others know. I knew before Mom told me that Ella broke her arm when we were younger. Last month when I got home, Betsey was singing a song I’d been listening to in the car. It’s like a form of telepathy. So yeah, I can feel it.”
Instead of snapping back or telling me to calm down, Sean lowers his voice.
“Do you need my help?”
I think for a moment, then answer. “Yeah, I do. Meet me at my mom’s office. I’ll text you the address. I have an idea.”
Sean’s already at the office when I arrive, leaning against his car in the parking lot. He follows me inside the building, pausing to inspect Betsey’s, Ella’s, and my walls from the doorway of Mom’s office like I did when I first visited. I don’t stop this time; I rush to the desk and start opening drawers.
“What are we looking for?” Sean asks when he recovers and peels his eyes away from my wall. He joins me behind the desk; he’s standing and I’m sitting.
“My mom has a terrible memory,” I say. “She always writes things down.” I yank a drawer divider out of the top left drawer so I can see under it. “Passwords. We’re looking for passwords.”
“Got it,” Sean says, pulling a handful of files from the bottom right drawer and beginning the search.
My anxiety level grows with each passing second. Every five minutes at most, I pause to either call home or the other phone, or check my voice mail even though the spy phone’s ringer is on high and it’s been right next to me this whole time. Fifty minutes into the process, I’m about to start crying out of frustration when Sean pulls a little box out of the bottom of the file drawer across from the desk. With me watching, he opens it, then smiles.
“Bingo,” he says.
“Oh, thank god,” I say quickly, rushing over and grabbing the pink sticky note from his hands. It’s just a handwritten list of strange number-letter combinations, with no explanation of which matches which account… she wouldn’t make it that easy. But I breathe easier knowing that somewhere on this list is the key to finding Ella and Betsey.
I wake the computer, open the Internet, then start typing the name of a website that auto-fills thanks to Mom’s frequent visits. I type my mother’s email address into the username space, then start trying the passwords. At the very moment I hope that this isn’t one of those sites that locks you out after too many failed attempts, I’m in.
“What is that?” Sean asks, peering at the map of the United States over my shoulder. There’s a little green dot flashing on the screen, which gives me a small sense of relief.
Except that it’s flashing over Nevada.
“It’s them,” I explain to Sean, touching my throat instinctively. “It’s the necklace.”
“Should we call the police?” Sean asks. “Report a kidnapping?”
“Except they don’t exist,” I mutter. “And besides, it’s only been an hour. They’ll never believe us.” I pause for a few seconds. “Plus, we don’t even know what happened.”