SMALL TOWNS TOGGLE DARK MODE BACK TO NEXUS When Sophie met her first pair of foster parents, her social worker had called her a nice girl. Clapped a hand on her shoulder and smiled bright enough to make up for her own cautious staring, ignored the way in which she practically huddled into his side with the two strangers smiling at her. Called her a nice, sensitive girl who was looking forward to finding a forever home. Made her sound like a dog or something, an animal shivering in the corner who just needed time to adjust to a new environment and good food and whatever the hell else to grow into a proper, polite, nice girl . She was fourteen when that first home had taken her in and she never really got over those words. Sophie didn’t feel like a nice girl . She felt like that dog in the pound, staring through cage bars and snapping at any hand which got stuck too close to her nose. Her first foster family had a daughter already, a sweet little kid who was learning how to play the trumpet and liked the color blue, and her name was Susie. Sophie knew about Susie before she stepped into that perfectly suburban, cozy house- the house that was just ten minutes away from where she used to live, such a short distance that it made her grind her teeth to the point of pain whenever she thought about it- carrying all her worldly possessions that hadn’t gone into the storage unit in a backpack and two suitcases. Her social worker had told her, and then he had told her that it would be good for her to have a little sister again. Someone to care about, to look after. ( A playdate: Susie placed a doll in Sophie’s hand before giving her a long, hard stare. “That’s sir Lucy. He’s the newest knight out of everyone.” Her voice was serious, one pudgy hand reaching out to poke at the doll. “He isn’t good at his job, but he really wants to be. He’s brothers with sir John.” She picked out another doll from the small pile between them, held it up. “They don’t get along because sir John is the boss of all the knights.” Sophie looked down at the doll in her hands- a Barbie with the hair sheared off and a frown drawn over the molded-on lips with marker, still dressed in the cute top and cropped jeans it must’ve come with. Sir Lucy’s joints were loose, making his arms flop down no matter what position they were placed in, and one hand looked like it had been chewed on. Sophie didn’t know whether she ought to suspect Susie or the little yappy dog currently napping in the kitchen. “Okay.” A satisfied nod, then Susie reached into the pile and pulled out another doll. That one had a full head of hair and drawn-on angry eyebrows. “This is lady Mary. She has to marry sir John but really likes sir Lucy instead.” Lady Mary got shaken once to undercut the sudden drama. “She’s kind of mean though, so sir Lucy is scared of her.” Sophie didn’t want to be crouching down on some little girl’s stained carpet, eyeing a glob of something glued into it a couple inches away from her knee and getting told all the complicated histories of some toys. She wanted to be in her room, with the door locked and curtains opened up so she could keep an eye on the driveway while suffering through her science homework. Just to make sure nobody came walking up to the front door that shouldn’t be doing that. She wanted to be alone, but Susie had caught her on the stairs and grabbed at one of her hands with both of her own, insisting that she come and play, and what the hell else was Sophie supposed to do but say yes? What if Susie’s parents heard her say no- would they kick her out? Demand that she leave without even packing her things? So Sophie played along as much as she could with half her brain fixated on the fact that she couldn’t see outside and one of the remaining quarters on the grim knowledge that Susie could disappear just like Edd and Molly had. The last quarter was split further, eighths of anxiety and sixteenths of stomped down annoyance- she didn’t want to be in there, but Susie hadn’t listened to her weak, watered down protests. A thirty-two-th of her brain wanted to snap at Susie, and for a moment the rest united to recoil with disgust at the thought. Writhed at the idea that Sophie could ever be that awful. She hunched her shoulders down and forced her attention back on the dolls. Swallowed, then spoke up. “That’s pretty messy. Does lady Mary have any siblings?” ) Two months, and then Sophie was right back where she started. A tiny room in the tiny, neglected Brighton youth group home. A room she hated even more than the one that Felix had cleaned out for her after mama had disappeared, though this one had peeling wallpaper and a tiny window that felt as if it were mocking her- nothing to see out of it but rundown buildings and poor-trimmed landscaping. The room made her feel like she was moments away from tearing out of her own skin and raising hell, like she was a thing possessed that would never calm down. It was too small for her, but if Sophie didn’t keep the door closed people might bother her. Leaving her closet open just made her feel like there were eyes on the back of her neck, a murderer lurking among the clothes that her mama had helped her pick out and breathing heavy in the dark of night. Hungry and impatient, waiting for the moment where her attention would slip so it could step out, loom over her, and drive an axe right into her head, split her skin right between the eyes and make her face perfect, bloody halves. Maybe a hammer. Maybe a shovel, one that it would then use to bury her out in the middle of nowhere. Load her body up into the trunk of a rattling, groaning car ( an image would flash in her mind at that thought, just a momentary glimpse- that ugly black car which Felix took such pride in, the one he had once told her she could drive around when she got her license in a better mood, before everything had gone to shit. It’d disappeared the same night that Edd and Molly had ), peel out of the empty driveway of the group home, and not stop until they made it somewhere that Sophie’s body would never, ever be found. Maybe Saint Juana’s. If Sophie had to get murdered, she would at least want her body buried out somewhere peaceful. Somewhere where the birds still sang. Her social worker had frowned over that sentiment when Sophie shared it. Four days after the first family had sent her back to the group home- she’d been too volatile, too sheltered and frightened of everyone and everything for them to handle. They’d said she scared their daughter. He frowned and took his time in responding, eyes down on the clipboard in front of him. Sophie didn’t know much those days- thinking too hard about anything made her nervous, made her feel exposed and vulnerable- but she did know that she was a problem child. Felix had made that clear when he’d given up on her and filled out all the paperwork which got her tossed in the underfunded, poorly maintained group home. Her social worker had frowned even more when she’d told him about the three weeks she had stayed with her father’s best friend after mama vanished into thin air- he’d had to leave the room when Sophie grit out as much detail as she could force herself to about the argument which had cut the last thread of their tenuous relationship ( if relationship was even the right word, something which Sophie found herself questioning more and more those long hours in the tiny room which Felix had landed her in ), but not before she saw the flash of anger on his face. Her social worker- and mama would chide Sophie for thinking of him as just that, would gently remind her that his name is Shawn Solomon, sweetie, you should be nicer to him. He’s doing quite a lot for you, you know- was not her psychiatrist, but he was easier to talk to than her. He didn’t have the same straight hair and thick bangs that Susan Woodings had. Thus all the moments where they were supposed to be figuring out logistics and her future, proposing new foster families and the like, were instead spent with Sophie sharing her disturbing little thoughts, the terror which thrummed under her skin and right at the edges of her hands, and him frowning. Mister Solomon didn’t call her a nice girl when introducing her to her second foster family. He picked his words out more carefully- Sophie was quiet and sensitive instead, the words said with the sort of tone that just made her think of that damn dog again- and conveniently did not mention Sophie’s previous foster home. The Parks nodded along and listened like proper students throughout the entire affair, attention focused more on Mister Solomon than Sophie herself, and she felt a bit like a fancy ornament on a bookshelf. Something that could start an interesting conversation for a few minutes but was ultimately pointless. She kept quiet. Laced her fingers together and then apart, cracked her knuckles and slowly grit her teeth from side to side. Tried to crack her knuckles again and succeeded in nothing but a bit of pain from the tugging when Missus Parks mentioned that they already had a daughter. Seemed like that was going to be a trend. Sophie didn’t meet Ashley Parks until a week after she moved in with the rest of them. Turned out she was four years older than Sophie’s own fifteen ( Mister Solomon had gotten Sophie a book on butterflies for a birthday present. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t expected anything after the mess that first foster family had turned out to be, and she slept with it tucked under her flat pillow most nights ) and already living out of the house. Rooming with a couple friends in an apartment next to the college she was going to, well adjusted and motivated and normal . The thought that the Parks were constantly comparing her to their daughter made Sophie clench her fists, grit her teeth even worse, and it lodged itself in her brain from the very moment Missus Parks told her all about Ashley’s future plans as an engineer or whatever. It felt intentional and cruel, the fact that Sophie would never have that sort of drive rubbed right in her face- not that she said anything about it. She just lingered around in her new room, larger than the one at the group home and with a better view but no less frightening in the nights when she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and kept out of everyone’s way. At least they left her to that moping, didn’t try to constantly pull her into activities and prod her out of the malaise- the Parks had no little Susie excited over the idea of a big sister and constantly pulling her into games that set Sophie on edge. ( She’d been a big sister once already and both of her siblings had disappeared. Probably got axed by the same killer that lurked in her closet at night, buried the same discreet way that Sophie had nightmares about. She knew she was shitty at it, the terror of the same exact thing happening to Susie and the nausea that came with the little girl’s name both getting her kicked out of that home. At least she didn’t have to worry about that with Ashley. Just had to constantly push down the sense of inadequacy whenever her name was brought up, swallow all the bitterness at the thought of someone who lived happy and free and unburdened by hardship and an entire family missing. ) Seven days of being as much of a stranger to the Parks as Sophie could get while still living in their home and eating their food, Ashley came over for dinner. Sophie’d pulled the curtains close to hide herself and pressed her face up to the window in her room when she’d first heard the cauterwalling of a beat up car pulling in- Mister Parks took good care of the family car, the engine more of a pur than the coughing outside- and got the first look at their evening guest before anyone else. Anxiety over the dinner had her holed up in her room since Missus Parks had mentioned it that morning, a response that had Sophie feeling like a madman even if it was the most comforting thing she could think to do. She didn’t want to meet the little star of the family, the bright kid she’d heard more about in one week than she’d ever wanted to learn about one person. Didn’t want to have to acknowledge her own shortcomings- neither of the Parks had made direct comparisons between the two, but Sophie could see the disappointment in their eyes already. Could tell they already regretted letting such a frightened dog of a kid into their home, someone who wouldn’t ever amount to much more than a sad story and a number of paranoias she kept close to her chest ( -the man in the closet, the man on the side of the road, the man in the forest, the murderer which she never seemed to shake from her thoughts- ) Missus Parks called for Sophie twice when dinner was ready. Had to walk up to her room and knock on the locked door when she didn’t answer, and Sophie felt stupid before she even got up from her frozen seat upon the bed. Felt small when she opened the door and was greeted with a gentle, if unsure smile. The only comfort throughout the entire evening was that Ashley Parks looked as uncomfortable as Sophie felt- she shrugged through most of her parents’ questions about college and her roommates, didn’t offer much beyond assurances that she was doing fine and making enough money from a part-time job at the local bookshop to get by comfortably. Her eyes were constantly flitting back to Sophie, always with a bit of uncertainty in them- Sophie was ruining what was supposed to be a good dinner, driving a wedge between her and her parents. Of course she wouldn’t want some neurotic kid sitting at the same table as her and sleeping in her old room. It was a relief when she finally left. ( An attempt: Ashley took a sip of water during a lull of conversation. She looked happy there, sat at the head of the table and with her parents flanking her, and then she cast a look Sophie’s way. The smile lessened and Sophie couldn’t recognize the look in her eyes. A mix between curiosity and pity, or maybe just plain contempt. Whatever it was, it made her chest hurt and her eyes dart back down to her plate from that brief moment of eye contact. Despite whatever strange mood was shining out in those big eyes, Ashley’s voice was friendly when she spoke up. “I went to Bon’s Burgers once while it was still running. Um- July last year, I think? It was pretty neat.” The first time Ashley had spoken to her directly the entire evening and Sophie was filled with the sudden urge to grab her own cup and fling it at her, or- or something else stupid and violent, something to exorcise the sudden spike of anger in her chest. Of course Ashley went July last year, that was the single goddamn month that the restaurant had been open. Worst month of her life. Instead, she speared a baked potato wedge on her fork, clenched her jaw hard enough to ache, then risked a second of eye contact. The strange expression was still there in Ashley’s eyes, even stronger than before. Sophie had to force herself to reply. “Oh.” “Yeah.” Ashley hesitated a moment, then rallied with more brightness in her voice. “It kind of inspired me, you know? Seeing the animatronics moving around and interacting with kids like that. I have a lot of respect for their designer- Susan Woodings, right?” She sounded confident there, like she didn’t even need Sophie to confirm. Sophie still nodded, because that was the polite thing to do and because she could feel Missus Parks’ eyes on her. “She did some real brilliant work on them.” Sophie first met Susan when she was nine years old. Five years later and she loved her like family. Susan listened to everything she said, helped her with homework and drew with her during the slow days that papa would bring her to the warehouse, understood her in a way that nobody else really did. And then Susan, like family, disappeared. It hurt to think about her. Hurt to think about the handful of nights that Susan came over to watch over her while the rest of the Waltens were occupied, the time she’d taught Sophie how to cook shepherd’s pie or the instant acceptance that had come when Sophie had confessed, quiet and only after she’d shut the door of Susan’s warehouse office behind her, I think I’m gay, Susan- it hurt worse than anything else that Sophie could think of. She felt her lips twitch up into a momentary snarl, saw her hand clench into a fist on the table, the urge to stand up and attack rising up even worse than before, and Sophie used up every bit of composure she had left to keep her voice level when she grit out, “I don’t want to talk about Susan.” Ashley didn’t try talking to her for the rest of the night. ) Sophie lasted four months with the Parks. Longer than she had expected, really- they were more patient than the first foster family, more willing to give second chances and turn a blind eye towards her kennel-dog mannerisms and the flashes of anger which would boil up when pressed. They made sure she had all the right stuff for school- notebooks and pencils, signed papers and the occasional phone call to let the front desk know when she wasn’t going to be able to make it in for the day- and they kept her fed. Mister Parks even took her out shopping to get new clothes when he noticed her usual wear was getting too small for comfort. He might not have understood why Sophie clung to the ratty shirts and skinned-knee jeans quite so much ( mama had said she looked nice in those clothes, always willing to help Sophie put a look together when she couldn’t decide on any one thing ), but it was the thought that counted. Add in the occasional uncomfortable visit from Ashley and the routine was set. Shiver awake in the morning, stare into the closet and watch for the man inside, go to school, go home, half-ass her way through whatever homework she had, go to sleep. Sure, there was more sometimes- the occasional visit from Mister Solomon to make sure all was well, appointments and talks which Sophie sat through in silence- but the overall time was almost comfortable. Predictable. April 21st, Sophie got a letter in the mail. She didn’t get those often, since there wasn’t anyone around to do the sending, and the thing made her real nervous. Nervous enough to put off reading it for three days. Brighton Daily said the return address, the newspaper papa would always read through. When she was little, she would always be the first to get her hands on it just for the Sunday funnies page. She’d fold it up neatly and hide it under her bed until Eddie woke up and then they would get to read it together- and when Sophie didn’t understand the jokes, she would toddle over to where mama was slowly waking up over a cup of coffee and ask for help. Brighton Daily was also the newspaper which Charles had read through obsessively during the time that he was in town after papa had disappeared. He said it was because those articles had the most details- as if he was going to be the one to find out where Edd and Molly and papa had all vanished off to. It took Sophie fifteen minutes to read through the letter- the first skim was just two, the second five minutes and more thorough, and the next eight spent with the letter set on her desk and her hands twined together over her mouth, elbows propped up on the desk and worsening her hunch, nausea rolling in her gut as the words really started to sink in. It was a Saturday, which meant she was able to stand up from her desk, feeling as if her hands were both attached right at the wrists and two inches to the left of the rest of her body, grab the letter, and trot on downstairs to wordlessly hand over to Mister Parks. He didn’t work Saturdays, and he had bought Sophie new clothes. That ranked him higher than Missus Parks. ( A letter: Sophie Walten, My name is Marissa Edwins, and I’m a reporter with Brighton Daily. I wanted to reach out to you and ask if you would be interested in working with me on a one-year retrospective centered around the Waltens case- an offer which I have extended to other people affected by the disappearances as well. We would be looking to publish the article on May 2nd. If you are interested, please reach out to me with a date and time which would work best for an interview. I am willing to hold it either in my own office or a place in which you would feel more comfortable. Thank you in advance, Marissa Edwins Brighton Daily Reporter ) She hadn’t even realized how close May 2nd was until that letter, a fact that made her feel even worse than the idea of an entire newspaper staring at her and waiting to squeeze a juicy story out of her brain, something worth the front page and full of all sorts of great emotion. Maybe a piece on grief and acceptance and moving on- that was the sort of stuff people wanted to read. Sophie would be a disappointment- Miss Marissa Edwins would pull out her fancy little notebook, her sleek tape recorder, ask her first perfect question, and Sophie would break down into tears on the spot. Or maybe she would grab at a pen absently left on the reporter’s desk and try to jab it through her hand, hissing and spitting and so goddamn far from a functional human being that it wasn’t even funny. Sophie didn’t know what she would do if someone stared at her and asked her to talk about her little brother, her baby sister. God forbid Marissa Edwins brought up the rest of her family. Mister Parks’ face twisted up into something ugly when he read the letter, worsening the further down the page he got until he set it down on the kitchen table and glared at it in silence. Like a storm brewing on the horizon, flashes of lightning visible but not yet worrisome. He worked his jaw from one side to the other, glanced up when he asked if she wanted to talk to them? His voice was still gentle despite everything, and Sophie didn’t have the energy to do anything but shake her head no. Right, he said then, standing up from the table, I think there’s still some leftovers if you’re hungry. I’m going to make a call. Sophie snagged a container full of cold macaroni salad from the fridge, her favorite fork from the silverware drawer ( the leftmost twine bent outwards, the end of the handle embellished with a little stamped-in flower ), and then darted back upstairs and into her room. The food wasn’t as good as it had been the night before, but it was easy to focus on. Stab macaroni with a fork, put it in her mouth, and chew as she stared out her window and at the street down below. She thought about the man with the axe ( the chainsaw, the heavy revolver, the baseball bat ), but she also thought about news vans and smiling reporters with whining tape recorders. ( An overheard call: “-believe the nerve of you people! You couldn’t have even reached out to us, or- or even her social worker before sending a letter to her? Is that how you approach all minors, or just the traumatized ones?” Sophie held her empty container in one hand, favorite fork in the other, and pressed herself closer to her shut door. Mister Parks’ voice echoed up the stairs, rumbled like thunder through the crack under her door. She’d just wanted to take her dishes downstairs so she wouldn’t forget them on her desk until they got all scuzzy and disgusting, and now she was holding her breath to better hear what she could. A pause for a response, and then, “She’s fifteen ! She’s only in her second year of high school!” There was grief in that voice, hidden somewhere underneath the anger. “Did you even reach out for anyone else, or did you just go for the most vulnerable person in the entire town?” Sophie wasn’t vulnerable. She got scared easily and felt half out of her mind most days, constantly checking over her shoulder and bristling under stares and almost flunking out of every single one of her classes, but she wasn’t vulnerable. Vulnerable people got killed and buried out in the woods. The idea set her teeth on edge- she didn’t know it when she heard it, but that one sentence would stick in her brain just like the time Mister Solomon had called her a nice girl would. A nice little girl who was the most vulnerable person in the entirety of Brighton. The world’s easiest victim. “Oh, you called Felix fucking Kranken?” Sophie jerked herself out of her thoughts at the vehemence in Mister Parks’ voice, blinked in surprise over it. “I’m sure he gave you enough for your little story. Do not contact my family again.” Mister Parks went quiet after that, and Sophie didn’t leave her room for the rest of the day. Forgot to bring her dishes down with her when Missus Parks had to come knocking at her door to get her to come out for dinner and kept on forgetting to do so until something fuzzy started to grow on them. ) The house felt like a graveyard the following seven days. Or maybe the waiting area of an emergency room- Felix had taken Sophie to one two days after mama had gone missing, when she’d woken up in the middle of the night screaming and unable to breath, writhing like a worm and scared out of her mind with the realization that she was alone . No other Waltens to take, which meant she was next. That’s what the Parks house felt like- like sitting next to her papa’s best friend who hadn’t really been his friend since that Christmas dinner argument the year before and choking on her own breath, strangling one of his hands in both of her own and convinced that somebody was going to drive a car through the waiting room’s big windows and run her over and squish her brains all over the stained, speckled tiles. Everyone was too gentle around her. Missus Parks told her that Sophie could take a break from school if she needed to, that her teachers would understand ( Sophie had almost laughed at that. Like hell they would understand- every single one of them hated her and her constant late assignments, her shitty test scores because she couldn’t stand the silence of the classroom and the constant ditching she pulled ), and Mister Parks stomped around the place like a riled up bulldog, like he’d be able to scare away the date if he tried hard enough. Ashley even cancelled their Wednesday dinner plans, the one day when she didn’t have classes or work. The world did not end on May 2nd. The man in Sophie’s closet didn’t finally step out and take her throat in both of its hands and squeeze until she saw mama and papa and even Edd and Molly again, Charles and Susan off to the sides and smiling like angels- what happened is that Sophie woke up from a sleep without nightmares, something that rarely happened and felt like a betrayal on that day of all days. She got dressed and looked outside her window- clear skies, a gentle breeze, a happy sun, the sort of day that she and Eddie would go butterfly hunting on- and went on with her day. Neither foster parent seemed willing to ask her a single question- as if they were waiting for Sophie to speak up, to act in such a way that would set the tone for the rest of the day- but they did hover. Hovered enough that Sophie’s nerves were shot by 8:40, and she disappeared up to her room just long enough to slide on her worn out sneakers ( she walked a funny way, mama had told her once, funny enough that she kept accidentally clipping her ankles with her feet and chipping away at the sides of her shoes ). Sophie told them she was going for a walk at 8:43, and then slipped out the door. Sophie didn’t feel bad. She didn’t feel good either, obviously she didn’t, but she didn’t feel bad. No overt anxiety, no intense grief- she walked down the cute little suburban street the Parks lived on and didn’t even worry about any neighbor staring at her from curtain-drawn windows, about strangers lurking behind trees or anything else. She swung her hands side-to-side like she and everybody else did when they walked, put one foot in front of the other, and distantly marveled at the alien sensation of movement, of simple existence . She was tucked away in a corner of her brain and watching her body pilot itself, far enough away from every dysfunctional neuron and broken synapse that she didn’t even feel scared of the sensation of muscles that were not her own propelling her forwards. It took seconds for commands to reach those stranger’s muscles, not instantaneous moments. She would think clench fist and already forget that she had wanted to do that in the first place when she felt nails bite into palms. Everything felt as if it were happening at once- what few thoughts that could reach her in that corner crowded up and played over and over, again and again, the scenery blurred and melted together, the wind felt like hell on her face. Eddie and Molly had gone missing a year ago, and Sophie distantly wondered if they were even alive anymore. If anyone was, if it was even worth holding onto that tiny bit of hope in her heart that someone might come back one day and take her away from all of these strangers’ houses and finally give her a home . Sophie would even take Charles, just as long as it meant she could sleep in a room where nobody watched from the closet and drooled over the thought of her blood and broken body. Her feet hurt. They usually did- her shoes were too worn out and too small, but she’d refused Mister Parks’ offer for new ones. A month before she went missing, Molly had drawn a small smiley face on the white side of the left one, wrote hi! in wobbly handwriting next to it, and some stupid bit of meat in Sophie’s brain thought if she tossed that shoe out, then Molly really would be dead forever. Her feet hurt, and it was the first sensation to really break through the fog which had smothered Sophie. She didn’t recognize the street she was on. Thirty feet away, there was a trash collector. His clothes were a dull green, strips of hi-vis fabric across the chest and around the cuff of the pants, and he was in the middle of hefting a trash bag out of a can. He sent an idle glance Sophie’s way, then tossed the bag into his idling truck. Walked around to the driver’s door, climbed in, and scooted it forwards the few feet it took so he could idle in front of the next house. Got out, walked around to the trash can, popped it open to haul the bag out. Rhythmic, easy as breathing, a true day-in-day-out activity. Sophie knew, she just knew that she would never reach that sort of peace. Would never live a life where she could wake up every morning and do the exact same thing she always did without constantly thinking she would crumble to pieces the next moment. She would never, ever be able to leave that living room she had stood in a year ago, where the police officer had almost set a hand on papa’s shoulder before he pulled away and quietly thanked him for keeping them informed. She would always remember the click of the door as he closed it, the carved-stone blankness of his face as mama began to shake herself apart with tears, the thud-thud of his feet on the stained carpet as he walked over to Sophie, the warmth of the hug he’d pulled her into. Stiff and wooden- he’d felt dead already. Like everything had leaked out of him at once when that officer had told him Edd and Molly were still missing, that uncle Felix and everybody else had no idea where they were. Sophie would be too busy thinking about what she possibly could’ve done during that month to keep everyone from disappearing- haunted by the thought that if she had said the right thing, done everything in the proper order, then her papa wouldn’t have walked out that door and never returned, that Susan kept coming into work, that Charles didn’t poke his nose in too deep, that mama hadn’t given her a kiss on the forehead and a tight hug before walking into Bon’s Burgers and never, ever coming back- she would be too busy drowning in those thoughts to ever take out garbage for a living. She wanted to sit down on the sidewalk curb and watch the trash collector keep inching his truck up the road. To stop and breath for the first time the entire day, but her muscles were not her own. She passed the truck, craning her neck to see into the cab where a crucifix necklace hung from the rearview mirror, and kept walking. Blinking felt wrong, breathing felt worse. If she knew how to, Sophie might’ve prayed for help. The sun rose in the sky, burned away what few clouds had milled around, and Sophie had no goddamn idea how long she had been out for. She started to feel scared, but not of any killer. Scared of herself, of her body which just kept on moving. Of what thoughts might start bubbling up if she stopped. The garbage truck faded into the distance. ( A missed conversation: “Is Sophie back yet?” Missus Stephanie Parks looked up from the book which she had been barely skimming and into the eyes of her husband. He must’ve trotted all the way from his office downstairs to their room to ask, an anxious energy shining through in the tight draw of his mouth. “You would’ve heard her come in before me.” It wasn’t that Stephanie wasn’t worried- she had paced laps around the kitchen after Sophie had walked out the door, chewed a hole into the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking up and pointing out the time every minute after twenty- she was just using her brain. Something Mister Joseph Parks didn’t do when he was nervous. “It's been too long.” Neither of them really knew what to do with Sophie Walten. She hid in her room and usually had to be forced to creep out for meals, stared at them with wide eyes and responded with as few words as she could whenever they spoke to her, always halting and stilted. She looked like she couldn’t decide between mistrusting them or leaning into whatever minimal comfort she could leech from a distance. A scared dog of sorts- a comparison which Stephanie cringed over the moment she thought of it. Sophie was a scared child, not an animal. She just wished there was any way to connect with her. “I know it has. We should-” She took in a slow breath. Tried to balance burning concern and the thought that Sophie must want nothing more than to be left alone. “We should give her another half hour. Then we get worried.” Joseph’s face made it clear he wasn’t happy with that idea. Still, he slunk out of the room and back down the stairs- no doubt to plant himself in the living room and glare at the clock upon the wall for the next thirty minutes. ) Eventually, concrete gave way to dirt under Sophie’s shoes. Distantly, she had an idea of where she was. The Waltens would occasionally go out to Saint Juana’s for day trips full of wandering around and childish exploration, the forest close enough that it was just a bit of a hike on dirt trails from their home. It was not just a bit of a hike from the Parker house, however, and a piece of her brain started muttering about time and distance, anxiety ratcheting up without any sort of result. She walked until the sun stopped beating down on the back of her neck, until twigs and leaves crunched underfoot, and then she walked some more. She’d always liked the forest, but the fleeting fun Sophie found in picking up rocks and poking the bugs underneath with sticks didn’t compare to Molly. The little girl really did come to life during their trips, constantly running around and bringing back anything and everything that caught her interest. A weird-shaped rock, a pretty leaf, a shriveled branch which had fallen from a tree. If it was too big to carry, she would grab at somebody’s hand and haul them off towards whatever it was- usually fallen trees, sometimes weird-shaped rocks that were bigger than the usual. The trees she wandered through without direction or thought opened up into a clearing. A small one, speckles of flowers strewn throughout the spring grass and the branches above sparse enough that sunlight dappled the whole area. The sort of place that Molly would tell Sophie was home to faeries and imps and all sorts of other weird little beasties. She’d always been more into fantasy than herself or Edd- Edd had been her little guy, her partner in crime and her best friend all at once. They would sit together in papa’s plush living room chair, the seat barely big enough for both of them, and Sophie would read aloud from whatever book mama had let her check out from the library that week. She’d started with the usual child-fare, but slowly graduated up to more informative texts. Eddie followed right along, always wanting to know more about the world around him, why things worked the way they did. Sophie sat down in the grass and realized that she would never get to hang out with her siblings again. That a year was too long for two little kids to survive without anybody else. She should’ve appreciated them more. Should’ve kept sitting with Molly whenever she asked when it was time for bed- her and Edd shared a room, but Sophie was her big sister. She was safe, and Sophie had just told her that she would be okay, that she was in the room next to theirs and would hear if anything happened. Just- just brushed her baby sister off when she was scared because Sophie didn’t want to spend a few minutes sitting in the dark with nothing to do. Edd and Molly weren’t coming back, and nobody else would either. ( Sophie wondered if Molly had cried out for her when the man in her closet had killed her. If she had wanted her big sister there in her final moments, and then Sophie closed her eyes and tried very hard to not think about that again. Tried to not hope that the two had at least, at the very goddamn least, been together when they died- those were horrible thoughts. Evil ones. She shouldn’t be thinking those kind of thoughts about her dead siblings, she should be mourning them properly. Crying and sharing memories with other people, learning how to live with the hole in her heart that would never go away. Become the sort of person that was adjusted enough to take out garbage for a living. Something like that- not disappearing off into the forest and absently fighting the urge to vomit onto the pretty wildflowers right at her feet. ) It wasn’t a comforting realization, but it wasn’t an entirely bad one either. It felt like when Sophie told her hands to clench and she forgot she had ever wanted that to happen when it finally did. Like what she thought papa must’ve felt like when he pulled her into that hug in the living room and just stood there as mama started crying. Empty, like her brain had been since she started walking. Nobody was coming for Sophie. Her life was going to be nothing but houses full of strangers and Mister Solomon frowning over every little bit of fear Sophie dragged out of her heart and forced herself to tell him, doctor visits that did nothing but scare her for days on end and that goddamn living room. She was never going to be anything but a nice, vulnerable girl, and she would never die until the man in the closet decided it had seen enough of her terror. Resignation was a new feeling, one which she hunched over and breathed slowly through as it wiggled in her brain. Things were not going to change. Next year would have a May 2nd and every other bad date, and so would the year after that. Sophie forced herself out of the uncomfortable position and lied back on the forest floor. Stared up at the sky and into the sun which was still partially peeking out of the gap in the looming foliage. Stared until it hurt and then just a bit longer before she finally let herself shut her eyes and raise up an arm to cover them. One arm wrapped around her stomach, the other hiding away her face, that was how Sophie would lie in bed when she got really sick as a kid. Mama would sit at her bedside during those times and read to her. Back then, Sophie didn’t really think about it. There, in Saint Juana’s, she wondered if mama was scared for her. If she thought Sophie would keel over and die the moment she turned her back, maybe disappear from her bed and leave nothing but missing posters and a room full of childhood toys to be locked away in a storage unit. It felt as if everything in existence was looming over Sophie’s head. As if the universe had been stretched out like taffy and was then slowly folded in on her. She felt alone, more alone than when Felix had walked out of Bon’s Burgers and asked why Sophie was sitting on the curb by herself, where her mama was. The feeling persisted even as her breathing levelled out and the stiffness slowly fled, a hard rock in her gut up until the very last moments before everything blacked out- then, there at the very edge of consciousness, the feeling of a presence by her side. As if she were sitting on a bed and someone else settled on the opposite side, their weight unsettling the entire mattress by the slightest amount. Another presence on her other side, a weight pressing into her that felt both real and not, and then she was asleep. ( A dream: Sophie is sitting in on a bed she recognizes- dark green blanket and three flat pillows, where she would snuggle up between her parents after bad nightmares- in a room that she does not. Ugly wallpaper, dreary carpet. There is an open window opposite of her which takes up almost the entire wall, the blue curtains pushed aside and fluttering in the breeze which slips in. The air smells like industrial cleaner and fryer grease- it smells like the back storage of Bon’s Burgers. Pressed up against the side of either of her legs are two rabbits. They’re small, both a clean gray that is broken up by white snouts and bellies, and each have a purple ribbon tied around their necks. They’re also asleep. Sophie doesn’t dare shift her weight about to relieve the tension in her shoulders for fear of waking them, so she just sits on her parents’ bed and watches the sunset through the window. It's got a nice view- a forest in the distance, a road cutting across the landscape. The same car drives past every once in a while, an ugly black thing which occasionally veers and swerves like an unsteady dancer- but it keeps on going, always circling back around just when Sophie thinks it must’ve reached its destination. ) Nothing in particular woke Sophie up, but she blinked her eyes open to darkness and a gut-deep sense of loneliness, the feeling that she was forgetting something important. It was, as far as she could tell, the dead of night. The realization was instant, the sudden force of it getting a cough of a laugh out of her. Holy shit. She was going to be in so much trouble when she made it back to the Parks’ house. They were going to kill her if the forest didn’t- if the forest didn’t swallow her whole and leave nothing but a bunch of bones a hunter would find five years later, if the man in her closet didn’t follow her all the way out here and bash her head in with a rock. Terror, familiar and routine, bit at Sophie’s heels. It still wasn’t enough to force her up onto her feet- she sat up and pulled her knees close, wrapped her arms around them in a self contained hug, but that was it. She was so dead, and it was going to be because of the stupidest reason possible. The closest she got to teenage rebellion, walking around in a body that was not her own and having all sorts of terrible realizations about the undeniability of death, and now she was never going to leave the forest because she just couldn’t stand up. Fear rooted her to the spot, all of the fog in her head which had landed her there fleeing the moment it could be useful. Sophie pressed her face into her knees and then allowed herself a tiny, whispered shit. Then, she raised her head back up to stare up at the stars- might as well get to look at something pretty while she waited to die- just in time to see a flashlight beam cut through the trees. ( An unheard call: “My, um- I think my foster daughter is missing. She went out for a walk around nine in the morning and I haven’t heard from her since.” Stephanie gripped the phone tight in her hand, resisted the urge to chew at a knuckle on her free hand. She’d walked through all the details with Joseph over and over after they had realized there was nothing else to do- driving through neighborhoods and keeping their eyes peeled for Sophie, for the blue and white jacket she constantly wore and a frizzy head of hair, had done nothing but waste time. Still, she struggled to get the words out. Joseph didn’t help, how he had paused in his pacing to just stare at her for the entire call. “Um-” Stephanie wanted to bite down on her tongue. Wanted to do something stupid and rash just to stop the stutter which had worked its way into her voice, the fog of anxiety in her brain which made her almost miss the operator’s questions. “Sorry. Sorry. Her name’s Sophie Walten. She’s fifteen. Around five foot seven, bushy brown hair. She’s a little lanky. We live on-” Stephanie rattled off their address, almost choked on the zip code when it slipped her mind for a second. She did choke on her breath when the operator asked if she thought there was a reason why Sophie had up and taken off. “I mean- um- It isn’t a good day. For her. Her siblings went missing a year ago, and then her parents did- she’s Sophie Walten. Her father was involved with the whole Bon’s Burgers mess. One of the founders. And she hasn’t really- hasn’t really been doing well. Recently.” There was no suspicion in the voice on the other end, but Stephanie still felt as if she had just been accused of some terrible crime. More questions- do you know of any particular location she might go? The Waltens’ old home. What was she wearing? A blue and white varsity jacket, ripped jeans, ratty sneakers. Did you see which direction she left? No, she hadn’t. Is there anybody that she might contact? Not that she knew of. She didn’t have anybody but them and a social worker. Stephanie gave them Shawn Solomon’s number when prompted- she had to ask Joseph to pull out the card the man had given them the first time they met, tucked away in a drawer and folded in half- and then the operator told them that an officer would be by shortly. And then, just like that, he hung up. Stephanie held the phone close to her ear for a few more moments- as if the man would ring her back up and tell her that actually, he could do more for them than just ask questions and hum quietly! No such call came, so she passed it on over to Joseph and sat down at the kitchen table. No words passed between them before he was dialing up a number of his own, fingers tapping away at the side of his leg impatiently as it rang and rang. His voice was strained when the other end finally picked up. “Hey, Ash. How’s it going?” He nodded along to the answer for a moment, then suddenly spoke up over her. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna interrupt your day or anything, but it's important. Have you heard from Sophie at all?” He took his time before responding to Ashley. Glanced over at Stephanie, grimaced at her own expression. “I know that, Ash. It's just- we don’t know where she is right now.” His shoulders hunched up higher at the reply. “I mean we don’t know where she is. She left the house to go for a walk at nine this morning and hasn’t been back since- yes , we called the police.” More words- Stephanie could hear the garbled sound from where she sat, pitched up high and just a bit rushed. “She didn’t say anything about where she was going. If she did, we would’ve already looked there. I just- I wanted to know if you’d heard from her. ‘M sorry, Ashley.” He didn’t hang up on her right away, but Stephanie could see that it was close. A few reassurances without any substance to back them up, a goodbye and a promise to let her know if anything changed, and then he was setting the phone back down on the receiver with a gentle click . There was nothing to do then but wait and worry- Stephanie had already suggested the idea that they call Felix, and Joseph had already sneered over the thought. Let the police handle that one he had said. ) Sophie’s first instinct was to hide. Whoever was walking around the forest in the middle of the night couldn’t have anything in their brains but bad intentions. Could be a hunter with an itchy trigger finger, could be the man from the closet. Her hands tightened around her legs and she huddled closer in on herself, as if compressing into nothing but trembling nerves was going to do a single thing for her situation. She closed her eyes tight, hoped that she wouldn’t be found, that it would be quick if she was- A voice called out into the forest- loud and uncertain, an echoing SOPHIE? through the night, and it sounded like it had come from the same direction as the slow side-to-side of the flashlight. She didn’t recognize it- but she wouldn’t recognize the voice of some overworked search and rescue volunteer. That realization felt almost holy, the idea that someone might be looking for her without ill intent- Sophie didn’t know why, but it cracked through the terror in an instant. She might not get killed there. She might be wanted, wanted enough for someone to trudge through the forest and holler her name until they went hoarse. The thought made her hands feel numb, her stomach suddenly churning under the strain of unfamiliar, terrible and desperate hope . Standing up was a herculean task- residual terror and abused joints both protesting the movement- and the voice called out again. SOPHIE WALTEN? Still a bit uncertain, as if the speaker doubted she was there at all- but she was! Sophie was there, hunched over in the little clearing and frozen up over the realization that she had no goddamn idea what to say, how to draw the attention over to her, she was there! She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and cupped her hands around her mouth. HELLO? A delay before the flashlight swivelled her direction, and then- SOPHIE? Sophie knew that would sound like the voice of God if she had ever gone to church. Because she hadn’t, it sounded like the voice of someone up too late and blindsided by something they hadn’t been expecting in the slightest. I’M OVER HERE. She took in a breath, then continued. PLEASE. Leaves crunched underfoot. The flashlight bobbed quicker, swung about wildly, as if the holder had forgotten to keep it pointed where they were going in their haste. Slowly, a figure resolved itself through the trees. First, a shape- a choked trill of fear in Sophie’s heart, mind flying to the man in her closet when it had nothing else to work with- and then a man. Tall and blonde and all ruffled up, just like a frightened bird. He trained the flashlight on Sophie when he got close enough, as if he was convinced she would vanish if he looked away, and the first words out of his mouth when he stepped into the clearing were a breathy- ( A first and last meeting in one: “Holy shit.” He didn’t wait for Sophie to respond before pressing on, stepping in closer and finally angling the flashlight away from her eyes. “What the hell are you doing out here?” Sophie didn’t know what to say, barely heard him over the thunder in her head. She’d spent an entire day trapped up there, moving without thought and mulling over the most grim shit her brain could pull up, and she suddenly found that she had no clue how to act like a normal human being. Didn’t know if she could open her mouth and get out a sentence without dropping to the ground or breaking into sobs. Exhaustion settled on her shoulders, like a vulture swooping down to nest, and she hunched them under the stranger’s wide-eyed stare. Her voice came out quiet and weak. “I don’t know.” He stared at her for a moment, then turned his eyes toward the sky and huffed out a humorless laugh. “Okay. That’s okay. Jesus christ- let's get out of here. Ashley’s been freaking out about you for hours.” That name stuck in Sophie’s brain, clogged up whatever synapse was supposed to process it and froze her entire train of thought, stilted as it was. “Ashley?” She asked, because that did not fit. Ashley was the Parks’ daughter who did not speak to her, the one going to college for engineering, the one with her life together. The man must be talking about someone else. “Yeah, Ashley.” He stuck out a hand towards her, and Sophie slowly took it. “I’m- I don’t know if she’s told you about me. I’m Kevin. One of her friends. Hillary’s out here too, looking for you.” Her tongue didn’t feel right when she spoke. Too fat, a bit numb. “Ashley doesn’t tell me about anything. She tried to talk to me about my dead friend and stopped talking to me when I said I didn’t want to talk about her.” Sophie swallowed. “I don’t know Hillary.” “Jesus christ,” Kevin breathed out again, with that exact same pitch of brittle amusement, then he started on forwards. He was noisy while he walked through the forest, stepping on every brittle branch possible and shuffling his feet through the fallen leaves. “Hillary’s her roommate. Ashley asked us to help her look for you after her parents called and said the cops weren’t doing shit.” “Cops,” Sophie quietly echoed. The idea didn’t stick in her brain, the concept that more than a single, strange forest man, an anonymous search and rescue volunteer could possibly look for her. Rationally, she understood that someone would have to give a shit to get those other folk looking in the first place, but rationality had been left at the Parks’ house over twelve hours ago. “Yeah, cops. She said her dad sounded real pissed over what they’d told him- that they were gonna keep an eye out .” Kevin’s brows furrowed as he said that, an ugly frown on his face. “Ashley’s idea of wandering around the forest and yelling your name was dumb, yeah, but it found you. Those assholes were just going to sit on their hands and wait for a body to show up.” Sophie shuddered. Bit down on her tongue for a moment, then found the nerve to speak up. “Please don’t say that. Please.” Kevin gave her a curious look, then cringed full-body when he remembered just who he was talking to. “Sorry.” He looked back out to the forest, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to say. I didn’t mean it like that.” ) The unfamiliar taste of hope at the back of Sophie’s throat faded into nothing but exhaustion by the time they broke through the tree line and saw a tin can car idling in three parking spots at once. Ashley was sat in the driver’s seat, head planted on the steering wheel and totally still, ignoring the woman in the seat next to her with a hand resting on her back, and it took Kevin walking all the way up to the door and knocking a fist against the window for either to notice them. Ashley’s plan, according to Kevin, went like this: the three of them would walk around in the forest, without any way to communicate beyond yelling and armed with the cheapest flashlights they’d been able to find in the shortest amount of time, and they were supposed to just stumble across Sophie. It’d been Hillary who came up with the idea that they’d call off the search at one in the morning- Kevin had shown off the bright plastic watch on his wrist and said that they’d bought it from the same corner store as the flashlights. Offered to give it to her, laughed without humor when he said it could be a memento for the night. Because it was blue, Sophie had accepted. They made it to the car at 1:12. It took Ashley just a few seconds to jerk her head up from the steering wheel, process just who was standing there, and yank open the car door to jump out and haul Sophie into a hug. Not a normal sort of hug, but one that was all desperation and constriction. Like she could squeeze the terror out of Sophie’s heart and hold her in place at the same time so she never, ever ran off like that again. She said something to the same affect- a pained, hissed out don’t you fucking dare do that again , followed by a quieter you scared us, Sophie, you scared us so bad - before she broke away and wilted under sudden embarrassment for the display. Nobody commented on it, least of all Sophie. They just loaded up in the car and started back towards town. ( Hillary twisted around in her seat during the drive to offer an unopened water bottle to Sophie. She even smiled when she did so. That simple kindness broke through the all-consuming exhausting, the stunned silence that was locking up her entire brain, long enough that Sophie took it. Unscrewed the cap, took a small sip as they juttered across the dirt road. Did her best to keep the rising tremble in her hands down so she didn’t spill it all over herself. She kept her eyes glued on the darkness outside the window. Took in a long, thin breath between her teeth, let it out in a hushed I’m sorry, Ashley. Sad eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to meet Sophie’s own. A little jerk of the wheel when she looked back to the road and corrected their slight veering. Jesus, Sophie- don’t apologize. Don’t do that.) A debate rose up when wheels hit pavement over just where they ought to take Sophie. Ashley insisted that they should go directly back to her parents’ house, that sleep and food and every other little creature comfort would do Sophie best. Kevin, in the middle of tightening the clunky blue watch onto Sophie’s wrist- she’d tried to do it herself at first, but it proved quite the task between the water bottle still in her hands and the full body tremor which was starting to pick up- pointed out that Sophie was, at that moment, considered an open missing person case. That they should probably get that worked out before anything else. Hillary quietly agreed with that, and Sophie saw the moment that rebellion flashed through Ashley, the way in which her hands tightened on the steering wheel as if she were about to jerk the entire car around to speed on her way. But she didn’t, and that was how Sophie ended up knocking at the dark glass door of the Brighton police station at 1:37. Ashley’d wanted to come with here, but relented when Sophie just shook her head and leaned away from the hand which she had reached out. An officer eventually trotted up to investigate the noise. Listened to Sophie’s explanation for what she was doing- a choked out my foster parents called you and said I was missing. I’m not anymore- and then ushered her inside and right down onto an uncomfortable plastic chair in the reception area. He sat down next to her, face all pinched up, and rolled out a list of questions. Verbal, not literal. Sophie might’ve actually laughed if he pulled out a scroll with them on it. What’s your name? Sophia Walten. Where do you live? With the Parks family. In their daughter’s old room. Can you tell me what happened? She went for a walk. Ended up in Saint Juana’s. Was there a reason you left? She felt smothered there. Smothered? They were watching her. Waiting for her to collapse. Do you feel safe there? That question made Sophie pause for a moment. She didn’t feel safe anywhere, she really didn’t. The man in her closet never was just in her closet, the darkness and the gaps of space between her hanging clothes just had a way of setting her brain off worse than anything else. Murders could happen anywhere. Murderers could be anyone. She could walk into a building and never walk back out, meet someone for lunch and end up hacked to bits and buried under the tree in their backyard, go out to a school dance and disappear forever. Sophie was convinced that fear was her baseline, paranoia the emotion by which her entire world was viewed through. She settled on shrugging. I’m going to call your foster parents. Is there anyone else you want me to call? Sophie couldn’t help what she said next. Jack Walten . She cringed full body at the look that took over the officer’s face, shook her head, and tried again. Shawn Solomon. My social worker. She wanted her papa there. Wanted his mile-long protective streak and imposing height and warm hugs, the feeling that she was stood next to a brick wall that would never collapse as long as she was there to protect from the cruel, cold parts of the world. But he was dead. Mister Solomon would have to do instead. Sophie was just glad she hadn’t said something even more stupid, something like my baby sister or my papa’s best friend’s brother . ( A conversation: Mister Solomon looked dead on his feet and worried out of his mind when the officer let him into the police station. Hair a ruffled mess, face drawn up into a rictus of nerves, clothes a thrown together mess that was a far cry from his usual put-together nature. No ever-present clipboard in his hands when he made his way over after a short chat with the officer, which left them free to grasp at each other and pull apart in an uneven pattern as he sat down next to her. The chairs were uncomfortable, hard plastic, but Sophie knew her back hurt more because of the tense hunch of her shoulders than anything else. She was tired more than anything else, tired and embarrassed, but her nerves were nothing if not persistent. She waited in the silence, waited for him to blow up over how stupid she had been. Watched him out of the corner of her eyes and through her messy bangs, kept them locked on his hands, his leg which bounced up and down, anywhere but the face. Knew she wouldn’t be able to handle any show of disappointment or anger. They sat together, both tense as hell and quiet as death, for a few minutes. Sophie didn’t know how many, but she heard the clock overhead ticking away. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like the sigh which slipped out of his mouth even more- anxiety spiked up in her gut, somehow the strongest emotion out of everything she’d felt in the past 24 hours. “Sophie,” Mister Solomon started with, voice halting and eyes locked on the wall opposite of him. He stalled long enough that the space between them got uncomfortable, then tried again. “Sophie, what the hell were you thinking?” It's the most exhausted she’d ever heard him sound, and something about it is comforting. Like they were on an even playing field, both worn out enough to drop pretenses or manners or whatever else could clog up communication. She took a moment to tug at her own fingers before answering. “I don’t know.” Another sign, louder than the first. Sophie risked a glance up, saw Mister Solomon tugging a hand through his hair. “You can’t- you can’t do that, Sophie. You can’t disappear like that. I- we thought something had happened to you.” “‘M sorry.” Then, because Sophie was well aware that wasn’t enough, “I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.” He slumped at those words. Dropped all the nervous energy and just slumped down in his chair. A gentle thud when his head hit the wall behind them, another peek up at his face revealing closed eyes and a drawn mouth. He chewed over his words. “Was it the anniversary?” A year since Edd and Molly vanished into thin air and then died, since everything fell apart and refused to come back together. Sophie closed her eyes, saw all the other dates that were coming up. Papa’s disappearance, Miss Woodings, mama. Even Charles, who’d tried so goddamn hard to be there for them and Felix both, who scared Sophie out of her mind whenever he came by and talked to mama. So many people so quickly until it was just her and Felix, and then he went and kicked her out. She hadn’t seen him since he handed her on over to Mister Solomon- hadn’t even realized that anniversary was coming up too, the thought just making her stomach hurt worse. Nothing good to look forward to, nothing to keep on keeping on for. Just bad days and reminders and the threat of death hanging over her head like an axe, of the killer lurking in the dark and breathing heavy in the night with anticipation, waiting for Sophie to drop her guard to kill her and eat her whole, turn her into nothing but missing posters and a sad story- Sophie ran her tongue over her teeth. Clenched her hands into fists, focused on the bite of her nails on sweaty palms. Did her damndest to disconnect her brain from everything and everyone and especially the dates. No room in her brain for May 2nd, 1974, or June 11th, June 30th, or any other damn day but the one she was existing in that moment, the one in the police station at 2:23 in the morning with Mister Solomon sat next to her and waiting for an answer. “Yeah.” The single word hurt on the way out. Hurt worse than the grief or the expectation of anger or even the fear, because it was an admission of weakness. Of vulnerability. She knew she should’ve moved on by now. Three hundred sixty five goddamn days and she was still stood right there in the living room with the light blue curtains and stained carpet and the worn plush chair that her papa would always sit in during the evenings to read the paper, eyes wide and watching the police officer as he told papa they would keep them up to date on any developments in the case. Still right there, even as her present self stiffened at the feeling of Mister Solomon’s hand settling down on her arm. He didn’t speak up for a while. Just sat there with his hand on Sophie’s arm, no doubt feeling the shivers coursing through her body, staring at the opposite wall. Then- “I don’t make enough to support you right now, but I could try. Ask for a raise or something.” Sophie had been expecting anger. Maybe overwhelming concern, stifling pity- not that . The surprise of it was enough to break her out of her hunch and look up toward Mister Solomon’s voice, her voice rising up from its dead tones. “What?” “Officer Lewis,” He tilted his head the cop’s way, where he was sat at the reception desk with phone in hand, “Told me that you said you felt uncomfortable with the Parks. He thinks that played a role in you running away today.” “I didn’t run away though.” If Mister Solomon was trying to startle Sophie out of her exhaustion with increasingly alarming statements, he sure was doing a good job. Her voice even raised from a mutter. “And I didn’t say anything. I shrugged.” Mister Solomon’s lips twitched up into a quick smile. “Semantics.” The humor washed away the very next word. “I spoke with the Parks today. Before their daughter found you. They said it seemed like you didn’t feel safe in their home, and that it contributed to…” He pulled an ugly, sad face. “Well, to how bad this day was.” “Mister Solomon, I don’t feel safe anywhere .” When she said it aloud, that thought sounded far less profound. It just sounded stupid and dramatic. The only saving grace was that she had said a hundred other stupid, dramatic things on the same level to him before. “Paranoia does that. So does constantly living in places that you don’t feel comfortable in.” Finally, he removed his hand. Settled both of them down in his lap instead. “I’ve worked with you for almost a year by now, Sophie. If you want me to, I can try and take you in. I really mean it.” Sophie didn’t know what living with Mister Solomon would be like. Maybe like the group home but worse, always with the air of expectation for something from her hanging around. Some big emotional outburst that could then be studied and poked at, used as a sign of her progress on the path to becoming a nice girl. Maybe a sobbing fit, maybe a violent attack. She ran her tongue along the bottom of her top teeth, pressed it down into the point of a canine. Didn’t know how to respond, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “I think there’s a man in my closet who wants to kill me.” Mister Solomon didn’t speak up. “But if I close my closet door, my room feels too small. So I keep it open. I- I know the man isn’t there, but I don’t know that. And sometimes I think it leaves my room when I do so it can follow me around the entire day. Stare at the back of my neck or something. Like it's waiting for the right moment to kill me and bury me out in the woods.” Sophie started bouncing her leg up and down. She had never told Mister Solomon about the man before. “Like it's hungry. For me. It’s- it’s not a literal man, I don’t really think there’s a man in there- I don’t think I do. I don’t see anything. But I feel it watching me. Breathing.” Hands laced together and then pulled apart, a nervous flutter in her chest that was rapidly rising toward her brain. “I don’t want to die.” Sophie repeated that phrase just to hear it out loud again. “I don’t want to die. But it feels like I might, every single day. I almost didn’t leave Saint Juana’s because I thought the person yelling my name was the man in my closet.” Sophie waited for a response and got nothing. Didn’t dare to look anywhere but at her own nails, chewed at and chipped and with dirt underneath. She didn’t know where she was going with that thought. “I don’t want to live with you, Mister Solomon. I’m sorry.” ) So Sophie lasted four months with the Parks. On paper, it was all very official and mutual. The Parks felt as if they were unable to provide a stable, comfortable environment for her, so she would be moving back into the Brighton youth group home. Her clothes would get tucked back into the two suitcases she had first walked into that house with, the few books and other belongings she carried about into her backpack. She’d gotten new clothes and a chunky blue watch out of the entire ordeal. ( Both Parks looked like they had wanted to haul Sophie into their arms, just the way their daughter had, the last time she saw them. Mister Parks even took a step forward before hesitating. A beat, and then he backed off with a pained look in his eyes. ) Mister Solomon was the one to drive her back to the group home. He even took one of her suitcases from her when she came walking out, shoved it into the trunk and then took the other from her as well. The entire process was very calm, very quiet. No tearful goodbyes. Just a few well wishes from both parties and one apology from Missus Parks. She said it fast and low, quiet enough that Mister Solomon hadn’t heard it. I’m sorry, Sophie. We weren’t there for you. Hearing her say that felt like the emergency waiting room. A fifteen minute drive, and then Mister Solomon was insisting that he carry both suitcases to Sophie’s room for her. A couple of harmless questions, a reminder of when lunch would be served, and then Sophie was left alone. Finally given space- no more nervous hovering, like she was about to up and take off again. Lose her mind and wander out into the streets, get herself killed in the forest somehow. Sophie set both suitcases on the bed. Unzipped them, then turned around to slide the closet door open. Grabbed the hangers that were still there and set herself to the task of getting her shirts and pants sorted out. It took just a few minutes- maybe ten, if she were keeping track- and then the rack was full. Sophie stepped back and sat down on her bed. Stared into her closet and at the dark gaps between the clothes and waited for the feeling of eyes on her to fall around her like a heavy blanket. Waited for the man in the closet to settle down where it had been born.