“I told you. Her mom is really protective. She rarely leaves.”
“Clearly.”
I don’t know what else to do but wait. All I know is that some people in a house in Chicago—presumably—are going to be hurting pretty soon.
When Trey and Ben walk in, Rowan and I look at Ben. And then we both look at each other. And I turn back to Ben and say, “Help me, Obi-Wan Galang. You’re my only hope.”
Eighteen
Trey, Ben, Rowan, and I decide to brainstorm before the parentals begin to trickle in, but we can’t come up with anything that we haven’t already thought of. We determine that Ben could go visit Tori, but they still wouldn’t be able to talk about anything.
“What if I bring her a notebook and hide questions in the middle of it?” Ben suggests.
“Her mom will see her answering,” Trey says. He slips his hand into Ben’s. “Nice idea, though.” Ben smiles at Trey, and all around the world millions of puppies are caught being almost as adorable as them.
I flop back in my chair. “I think all we can do is wait. The more things we try, the bigger risk there is that Mrs. Hayes will confiscate Tori’s phone. We just need to chill. I feel like I need medication to get through this. Or some comic relief.”
Ben picks up one of the cousins’ picture books and starts reading to us. I forgot how hilarious some picture books are. The laughter takes the pressure off the Tori situation, and by the time Uncle Vito walks in, yelling, “Hey, it’s the Filipino!” we’re already in various fits of giggles over this book about a bear who wants his hat back.
• • •
Ben leaves around midnight—I sneak a peek of him and Trey kissing in the driveway—and our parents stay out even later. Trey has stars in his eyes, and finally, when Rowan can’t take all the blooming love any longer, she wakes up her long-distance boyfriend, Charlie, who lives in Manhattan, and Face Times with him. He’s funny when he’s sleepy. Or maybe everything is funny tonight so that it doesn’t have to be tragic.
I drift off eventually, my bones aching from sleeping on this hard living room floor for almost a week, and when I wake up, it’s still dark, and my phone is vibrating with a text message.
2 bodies outside w/ambulance, 2 inside dead, no blood, no house number, Loomis St. OMG my head! Visions everywhere I look, sirens wailing, won’t stop. Can you help me?
I look at the time. Six fifteen in the morning. And I remember when I was in the hospital after the meatball truck crash. Right around 6:00 a.m.—that’s when they come to poke you and hand out meds and check your temperature. Maybe Mrs. Hayes sleeps through it. I text back quickly, trying to be really encouraging: Great info! This helps a lot! Are there any clues about what day this happens? And what time—sunny, cloudy? Look hard. I know it sucks. You’re doing great! What else is nearby? What’s the house made of ? Color/style? 1 story or 2?
And then I wait. Again.
I manage to get a couple more hours of sleep, waking up only when I hear Mom and Dad leave for mass. Trey is up too, eating cereal. I show him the text, and he gets on his phone immediately, looking up Loomis Street.
“Did she say North or South Loomis?”
“She just said Loomis. I’ll ask her to look again.”
Trey scrolls down his screen, again and again. “It’s a really long street.”
I lean over to see. Trey zooms in and scrolls. “Lots of houses. Like, miles of them. See if she can narrow down what side of the street it’s on. And we really need a house number or at least a cross street.”
I doubt I can get any of that info out of her. “I’ll ask,” I say. I start a new text with these additional questions and send it. “She said she sees visions everywhere she looks. That’s not a good sign.”
“Is that because we haven’t figured things out?”
“Well, Loomis is a big clue. If the vision is still constant and not letting up, I think that means . . . it’s imminent.”
“Crap,” Trey mutters. “That’s what I thought.”
We look at each other, both thinking the same thing. We’re not going to make it.
Nineteen
Tori doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t respond. On Sunday afternoon Sawyer, Rowan, Trey, Ben, and I pile into Sawyer’s car and we find Loomis Street. We drive up it slowly. There are nice sections of Loomis Street and not so nice sections. I take notes on the kinds of houses on the street in hopes that Tori will give me a clue, and I text her again. Big or small? Nice or run-down? Brick or siding? Anything. ANYTHING.
If we only knew how the people died, we might be able to go door-to-door . . . or something. Send out a flyer warning of a homicidal maniac on the loose or whatever. But there’s nothing more to work with.
By Tuesday we’re all really on edge.
By Wednesday we’re freaking out.
On Thursday we break down and send Ben to visit her, just to make sure Tori didn’t die or something. We sit around our spot at the library and wait for Ben to call. When he finally does, Trey runs outside so they can talk, and we all follow.
Trey puts Ben on speakerphone.
“Okay,” Trey says. “We’re all here and you’re on speaker.”
“Hey, everybody,” Ben says. His voice has lost the funny/sarcastic edge for the moment, which does not reassure me in any way. “I went to the hospital and tried to see Tori. The nurse stopped me at the door and said I should wait, that Tori wasn’t feeling well today but maybe I could go in after her meds kicked in. So I waited. After about an hour, I figured everybody had forgotten about me in the waiting room, so I snuck back down the hallway and tried to peek in the window to her room but the shade was drawn. Still, I could hear something in there. So I was really quiet and I opened the door a crack, and all I could hear was Tori moaning over and over, ‘Make it stop! Make it stop!’ and her mother on the phone yelling at somebody, telling them to come immediately or she’d sue for malpractice.”