Vanish

Chapter 2

I hid away in the sanctity of my room, wasting thirty minutes bawling and another ten stomping around, kicking the wall twice for good measure. Then I slumped down to the floor and pulled the box from under my bed, knowing I shouldn't do this.

Going through my precious stuff when I was feeling down had become a habit. One I had to break, because it got me nowhere, other than feeling more miserable than ever. Because looking at relics from my past—my happy past—only rammed home how much I'd lost when Mom's...condition, or whatever it was, had spiraled out of control.

I unlocked the small blue steel box and eased it open, the lump in my throat growing when I caught sight of the necklace. A thin gold chain, with a red jasper pendant. Mom had given it to me when I'd turned five. The stone had protective powers, apparently. Pity it was doing such a lousy job so far.

I'd retrieved the necklace from the trash last year, where Mom had thrown it after a major meltdown. Despite not wearing it for years, I'd wanted to jar her memory of better days, when we were a team. So I'd worn the red jasper alongside an old pentacle pendant, hoping to get Mom to open up about what was really bugging her. Cue a psychotic episode when she'd ripped the necklace off my neck, ranting about failed protection and dire consequences and sinister spirits.

I hooked the necklace with my finger and lifted it up, watching the pendant swing side to side like a pendulum. Maybe I should try again. Try to shake her up. Snap her out of the stupor that had her shuffling around the house talking to the walls.

A knock sounded at my door and I dropped the necklace in the box, slammed the lid shut, and slid it under my bed. Mom never came near my room and I braced for the next wave of crappy luck that my life entailed these days.

"Come in." I stood and brushed myself down, hating that I felt gauche and awkward when Mom opened the door and stepped into my bedroom.

"You're not going to the dance?"

My jaw dropped. Mom didn't know what I did on a daily basis. She never asked about homework or boyfriends or parties, normal stuff a mom would want to interrogate a teen about. She just didn't seem to care anymore.

So the fact she knew the annual Broadwater High dance was on tonight, let alone acknowledged I wasn't there, was right up there with me believing in her spirit voices.

Never. Going. To. Happen.

I settled for a sedate "no," when deep down I wanted to rant and yell, "why can't you be this normal all the time?"

"You should go." She tilted her head, "listening" to her invisible friends. "I insist."

So much for her momentary lapse into reality.

"Leave me alone, Mom." I flopped onto the bed, placed my hands behind my head, and stared at the pocked ceiling. Paint peeled in thirty-four places, to be exact. I should know, I'd spent enough time staring at it over the last few years unable to sleep, wishing I could block out Mom's mutterings as she chatted with her spirits.

"I'll help you choose an outfit." She opened my wardrobe door and started sifting through my clothes. Faster. Pawing at them. Like she was looking for something. Not caring when jeans slid off hangers onto the floor.

"Stop," I said, bolting upright when I saw her grab a T-shirt and lift it to her face, like she was smelling it.

Not just any T-shirt.

Noah's.

The sole article of his clothing I had.

And to see Mom doing what I sometimes did in secret...I lost it.

"Don't touch that." I yanked it out of her hands, bundled it into a ball, and stuffed it into the top drawer of the dresser beside my bed. "What do you think you're doing, barging in here and going through my stuff?"

The shadows in her eyes shifted, making her gaze almost opaque. "I wanted to see if the voice is stronger if I held something the spirit owned—"

"Shut up." I covered my ears with my hands, not willing to acknowledge what she meant, terrified she'd keep talking, and because it involved Noah I might just want to listen.

"Get out! Leave me alone!" I yelled, sobs rolling through my chest in unstoppable waves, while inside me something broke. "Get out, get out, get out!"

Mom didn't leave. She didn't speak. And when her gaze drifted toward the drawer where I'd placed Noah's T-shirt, I knew what had to happen.

I couldn't do this anymore.

I was done.

Mom didn't stop me when I grabbed my cell and rang Aunt Angie. Mom didn't move a muscle when I begged Angie to let me stay at her apartment in New York City. And Mom didn't react when I packed and booked a bus ticket online.

She didn't speak at all until I hovered at the front door, mentally willing her to do something to fix us.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she said, wringing her hands, her gaze darting all over the place. "Angie will keep you safe."

I didn't need protection. I needed some semblance of a normal life before I ended up like Mom: bat-shit crazy.

I wanted to say good-bye but the words lodged in my throat.

Stay.

I froze. Stared at Mom, whose lips hadn't moved.

It had probably been the wind whistling through the eaves making a sound, but when I looked outside and saw the still tree branches I shivered, clamping down on the dread spreading like ice in my veins.

I couldn't have heard anything. Must've been a little voice inside my head laying a guilt trip on me before I hit the road. Whatever it was, it reinforced I'd made the right decision.

I couldn't stay here any longer. Couldn't risk my own sanity.

So I left home without looking back.