even without the lack of appetite—she was dressed in jeans and a plain sweatshirt.
“And that’s my fault too.”
“What is?”
“That people are brushing off Arden’s disappearance because they think it’s an alien abduction.”
“They’re idiots,” Cass said, but I knew she felt guilty for her part in the hoax too.
Why hadn’t we considered that events might spiral out of control, that someone might end up in genuine danger? And no one cared, because they’d been playing at danger for weeks. With half of Lansburg claiming to be abducted by aliens, of course no one would take a missing girl seriously. Especially a missing girl who’d claimed to see a UFO herself.
After school, Chief Kaufman came over and questioned me and Ishmael. I told her everything I’d said to Arden at the dance, though repeating it intensified my guilt.
“What do you think happened?” Ishmael asked.
“We don’t know yet. But we haven’t seen any sign that Arden’s in danger.”
“And what sign would that be?” I asked. “Do victims usually have time to leave notes saying FYI, I was taken by a serial killer?”
“It’s highly unlikely Arden had a run-in with a serial killer,” Kaufman said gently.
“Our town has been swarming with strangers for weeks. If it ever was likely, I’d think it was now.” (Realistically, serial killings only account for 1 percent of murders committed in the United States.)
Mother perched on the piano bench on the other side of the room, yet spoke to Kaufman as if whispering in her ear. “Gideon is feeling a lot of guilt about this.”
“Understandable,” Kaufman said. “But in all likelihood, Arden is just holed up at a friend’s house.”
“Arden doesn’t have other friends,” I said.
Later, when Kaufman left and Mother and I were alone, she wrapped her arm around me. “Whatever happened to Arden, it’s not your fault.”
But it was. Arden never would’ve left the dance if I hadn’t been cruel to her.
When Chief Kaufman questioned Cass later that day, Cass snapped, asking where the search helicopters were, if someone was making flyers and organizing search parties.
“We’re not at that stage yet,” Kaufman said. “All signs point to Arden walking away of her own free will. She probably needed time to herself.”
“Clearly, you don’t know Arden,” Cass replied.
She’d been missing for thirty hours by that point, and there seemed to be no leads. How was that possible? How could someone vanish without any trace?
I called Arden’s phone over and over, but it went straight to voicemail. I texted that I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant to snap at her, that I shouldn’t have kept secrets. I didn’t know if she’d ever read the messages, but I had to hope.
That evening, Ishmael drove me into town for my late shift at Super Scoop. I ranted the whole way.
“No one even cares.”
“We care,” Ishmael said.
“No one’s even worried about her.”
“We’re worried.”
“What’s wrong with people?”
“I don’t know, dude.”
The sight of the Seekers surrounding the lava lamp increased my fury. I wanted them gone. I wanted all evidence of aliens removed from town. I wanted people to get their heads out of their asses and realize something was actually going on, something more important than fake-abduction mass hysteria. I hated all of them.
Or maybe I really just hated myself.
Event: An Epiphany
Date: Oct. 23 (Mon.)
It was late when I left work. Moths buzzed around the gaslights and the moon cast an eerie glow on Main Street. The square was empty for once—the Seekers had retreated to their various camps.
Ishmael texted that he was going to be late. To kill time, I wandered to the lava lamp.
Two nights before, Arden had walked down the same road. According to Arnie Hodges, anyway—and he was hardly a reliable source of information.
As I got closer to the lamp, I was startled to see someone on the observation deck. Not just on it, but leaning precariously over the side. For a moment, I thought it was Oswald, still preaching after his constituents had gone home. Then I took in the gangly figure, the ungraceful movements. Definitely not Oswald.
Curious, I made my way to the previously blocked-off stairs. I climbed up, ignoring how the unmaintained metal squealed under my feet.
The observation deck seemed higher once I was on it. I looked out over Lansburg, at the quaint shops and cobblestone streets. The cool October breeze lifted the hair from my forehead.
A shuffling sound came from the other side of the deck, and I rounded the lava lamp, my face only a foot away from the unlit paraffin and