Gasp (Visions) - Lisa McMann Page 0,22
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.”
There’s a pause while we let the words sink in. Finally Trey says, “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” says Ben.
“What happened? Did you get caught?” Rowan asks.
“No. I closed the door and slipped away. I didn’t want them to see me in case you guys need me to do something else.”
I catch Trey’s eye and grin despite the situation. Ben is definitely a keeper.
“Okay,” I say, realizing everybody’s looking to me to call the next play. “Great job, Ben. Seriously. We couldn’t do this without you. Thank you. I guess . . . I guess we just wait. I don’t know what else to do. We have no date or time, no exact location, not even a reasonable vicinity.” A sense of doom descends over me, and unexpected emotion clogs my throat. “So, I don’t know.” My voice squeaks at the end, and Sawyer and Rowan both put their arms around me. “I guess I failed on this one.”
“Stop it,” Trey says, and his eyes flash. “You didn’t fail. The victim failed you. It’s not your fault. We are not God.” He pauses. “Or dog.”
I half smile through watery eyes and nod. But I can’t help it. I still feel like a failure.
• • •
The next morning, as I’m drying my hair, Sawyer texts me. I’m outside the front door. Can you come out?
I set down the hair dryer with a clatter, slip past Rowan, and run down the hallway and through the dining room and kitchen and breezeway, and fling open the door. I go outside in my bare feet to Sawyer.
Sawyer, with the thick hair and green eyes and