“How can you be so cold, so matter of fact?” I sounded whiny, but I couldn’t help it. I fell to the floor, depleted of vigor. It was as though when Mom left, she took most of the energy with her; Dad, Remi, and I had to share what little remained. It had only been two days since she’d left that time.
Remi sat across from me and stared. We sat in silence until Mr. Larson called us for dinner. No visions, thoughts, or emotions from either of us. Just a shared void.
Aside from occasional fights with Jenny Larson, and strife in his sorry excuse for a band, Remi was perpetually happy. He never had a bad word to say about anyone, ever. Well, there was that one time when he was little and my dad took us to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Remi kept saying, “That mouse stinks, Daddy. He does. I wanna go home.” Dad was so embarrassed. Other than that, it was not in Remi’s nature to be unkind. And so, the events that followed came as a complete shock.
Remi was at band rehearsal when it happened.
After skimming my email, I found I had won the Rwandan lottery, had twenty-one new friend requests, and the government of Sri Lanka had located my long-lost cousin in need of an immediate organ transplant to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. They needed me to wire the funds from my bank account “post haste.”
And then there was this.
Subject: Between life and death: Which do you choose?
Opened with immediate regret.
“Grace Ann Miller,
The plan has been set in motion. Join with us and unlimited power will be yours. Side with them, and you will die.”
Hmm. Not much choice there. Jerks. I stared at that email, not fully discounting the comical nature of its content, despite the fact that it was like no other email I’d ever received. There was something about it that made me think I’d better read it again. After all, it wasn’t every day that I was threatened with death or the choice of unlimited power via email. Bad luck for not forwarding to seven people in the next twenty minutes—sure. Death? Not so much.
OK, so I’d heard of people hijacking email addresses before. No big deal. Some bozo had hijacked my email and sent me an email with my own freaking email address.
Return to your post and leave the rest to us. Join the cause, and they will be spared. If you fight or stay, she will die.”
Someone was playing a sick joke on both Remi and me. I convinced myself that one of his friends would send me a text within the next few minutes claiming responsibility like stupid terrorist jerks did when they blew stuff up. Hard as they tried to seem like spooky kids, they’d never let me go for too long thinking I was in danger. Remi would come sliding through the door, laughing and begging me not to be upset by his buddy Sean’s latest stunt. I forced myself to ignore the troubling messages.
I’d been getting loads of friend requests since being named a finalist in the Rock-N-Writing contest. Nearly sixteen thousand people had listened to my online submission. I think Remi secretly wanted me to win so he would have an in at Resolute Records and be able to drop the losers in his current band.
The biggest-selling artist on their label, Gavin Vault, was to announce the winner in twenty-four hours. The winner was to receive a phone call from Gavin himself. Not that I was excited about that or anything. But winning that contest could have changed everything for me. Funny how I thought the biggest thing that could ever happen to me was winning a songwriting contest. Boy, was I lacking imagination.
Will I even be alive in twenty-four hours? Surely I was being silly.
I closed my eyes and tried deep breathing. One. Two. Three. It didn’t work. Return to your post. It was very specific, yet made no sense at all.
My eyes jolted open at the realization that someone had come into my room. I must have dozed off.
Light spilled in. Hadn’t the lights been on?
“Hey, Grace,” Remi managed through a sigh. Something in his tone troubled me. My pulse began to race as Remi scanned the room, taking in the details as if he were