The Sky is Falling

Chapter Twelve - Reagan Sanchez

"I don't care, I just gotta figure out a window to break out, Buried alive inside my dreams, but it was all a fake-out."

Monday, May 25th

5 A.M.

The kitchen is dimly lit, and the clock on the wall is ticking obnoxiously loud, as if reminding me that I haven't slept a wink. It's five AM, and I sip on an energy drink that's more of a lifeline than a beverage at this point. I spent the entire night replaying every detail of yesterday—the police interrogation, and the hours I spent with Elliott. We lost ourselves in conversation, forgetting the weight of the world outside. We talked about everything and nothing at once. A few days ago, the thought of Elliott made me nauseous.

We were talking with those cops, searching for answers that weren't there. The weight of that fear was heavy, and for a moment, I couldn't ignore it. I didn't want to, but the thought of Elliott being consumed by that worry gnawed at me. Why do I care so much?

The fridge hums softly, filling the quiet space with a dull noise. I glance around the kitchen, taking in the familiar sights—the empty countertop, the half-done dishes in the sink. Everything feels surreal, as if I'm watching someone else's life unfold. Maybe I should pour the rest of this drink down the sink and call it a night—well, a morning, technically.

Just as I'm about to push myself off the counter, my phone buzzes with a notification. I glance down and feel a wave of relief wash over me: no school today. It says it's canceled due to the recent disappearances of students from our school over the past few days. It should feel like a welcome break, but the heaviness in my chest drowns out any joy. Instead, a cold chill runs down my spine as I think about how quickly things have spiraled out of control.

I lean against the counter, staring into the darkness outside. My mind drifts to the hushed conversations in the hallways, the worried glances exchanged among friends, and the weight of fear hanging over us like a dark cloud. Just days ago, we were laughing in the cafeteria, oblivious to the danger lurking around us. Now, we're living in a nightmare, where every missing person poster amplifies our dread.

Suddenly, my phone rings again, jarring me from my thoughts. It's Elliott. My heart skips a beat, and I quickly glance at my parents' closed bedroom door, worried that the sound might wake them. I answer in a hurried whisper. "Elliott? What's going on?"

"Reagan!" His voice bursts through the line, filled with urgency. "I think I know where Zach is!"

I sit up straighter, gripping the edge of the counter. "What? What are you doing up at five AM?"

"I couldn't sleep. I've been thinking about it nonstop. We need to get there—now!" The desperation in his voice sends chills down my spine.

"But how? We can't drive," I say, anxiety creeping in.

"Don't you have a permit?" he asks, his voice hopeful.

I pause, my eyes drifting to my dad's car keys sitting on the counter. I know I shouldn't be driving with anyone else in the car. "Yeah, but... I've only driven a few times. And I'm not supposed to have anyone with me. It's against the law."

"Reagan, this is serious! We can't waste time. We have to try," he insists, and I can hear the urgency in his tone.

I sit there for a moment, torn between the fear of breaking the law and the desperation of finding this kid who could be gone any minute now. "Okay, fine. I'll figure something out. Just give me a few minutes. I'll be at your house."

"Thank you. Just hurry, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll be there as fast as I can." I hang up.

I hang up and look back to my parents' bedroom door, anxiety tightening in my chest. The thought of what would happen if they found out sends a shiver down my spine. I'm going to be in so much trouble. What kind of excuse could I even come up with? "Oh, hey Mom and Dad, just taking the car for a joyride at five AM—no big deal."