The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (ebooks online reader .TXT) 📗

Paylee22: Come back on later, ok?

NightTerra: Ok.

Paylee22: Promise? I’ll be waiting for you.

NightTerra: Yes. Promise.

NightTerra: xo

Paylee22: xoxoxo

I log off, exit the bathroom, and go downstairs. Back behind the circulation desk, I scan each title’s bar code into the computer. It seems the fairy-tale book was taken out two months ago. But both the water-well book and the park guide haven’t been checked out at all, meaning someone in the library pulled them off the shelves but then decided not to borrow them.

I look around again—at people working, students studying, everyone just going about their business. So maybe it is a coincidence that all three titles ended up together on the same cart, on the same shelf, on the same night I was asked to put them away.

Or maybe not.

NOW

19

JA Admin: Welcome, NightTerra. Remember the rules: no judgments, no swearing, no inappropriate remarks. This is a safe space for honesty and support.

TulipPrincess: Exactly my point! My mom started going to a support group for victims of domestic violence. The thought of that makes me want to puke because, once again, she’s the victim.

Paylee22: I’m really sorry.

TulipPrincess: And I’m really done. Two months until I’m legal. Then I’m moving out.

TulipPrincess: NightTerra, I’m so glad to see you back on here. I’ve been thinking about you!

RainyDayFever: How did the rest of your work shift go?

NightTerra: I got through it, at least.

Paylee22: NightTerra, I’ve been thinking about those library books.

Paylee22: Are you worried they might be more than just triggers?

NightTerra: I’m not really sure.

Paylee22: I’m sort of in a similar situation.

Paylee22: When I came back into my room after breakfast this morning, I found the window behind my bed cracked open. It hadn’t been like that before, so it triggered me.

Paylee22: Should I have a) recognized the open window as a trigger and moved past it? Or b) considered the open window a possible clue that something threatening might take place?

NightTerra: How about c) asked your parents if either one of them had opened your window?

Paylee22: I actually did that, and both said no. But they offered to take me to my therapist, saying I’m driving myself crazy.

TulipPrincess: Are you??? (Insert suspicious grin here.)

Paylee22: I just have this feeling that the guy who took me is going to come back. I don’t think he’s finished with me yet.

NightTerra: Deep breath, remember?

TulipPrincess: Paylee, your crime was totally random, right? He grabbed you off the street?

Paylee22: Yes, random, at least that’s what everyone believes, which is one of the many reasons I don’t like to go out now.

Paylee22: I’d been on a hike and taken a detour onto a back road, having heard about an old, abandoned elementary school, which seemed like a cool idea at the time—to check out, I mean—but in hindsight it was really stupid.

Paylee22: A car pulled up beside me at the school. Some guy got out and said he was a cop. He was wearing a uniform and flashed me what looked like a badge. But I couldn’t really tell.

Paylee22: He said I was trespassing, and that I needed to go with him. I went to get a closer look at the badge, and he grabbed me, snapped my head back, and put something over my mouth. He shoved me into the car.

Paylee22: I blacked out, then woke up later, in a shed, in the middle of a cornfield.

TulipPrincess: Wait, so you saw his face?

Paylee22: Not really. He was wearing these big mirrored sunglasses and a hat, so I couldn’t really see much. Plus, he was a lot taller than me and I was so focused on that bogus badge.

TulipPrincess: Was anyone else in the shed?

Paylee22: No. Just me.

TulipPrincess: For how long?

Paylee22: It took me three days to escape. I found a loose floorboard. I was able to pull it up. Beneath the floor was dirt. I made a tunnel, like a groundhog, and dug my way out.

TulipPrincess: With your bare hands???

SugarRush911: Is that even possible?

Paylee22: I found a pointed rock that helped. I still have it. I keep it on my night table.

Paylee22: Now, looking back, I kind of wonder if he wanted me to escape—if that’s how he gets his kicks … Like the way hunters sometimes catch their prey then let it go just to keep on hunting.

Paylee22: I saw a movie like that once—about some guy on an island who kept catching and releasing a girl who’d gotten stranded, just so he could continue to hunt her.

NightTerra: Wait, is that seriously a thing???

SugarRush911: Can we talk about something else now, please?

TulipPrincess: I feel like I read a short story like that once. About a guy who hunted humans …

Darwin12: “The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Connell.

SugarRush911: And I’ll say it again: Can we talk about something else now, please? Paylee22 isn’t the only one going through stuff.

Paylee22: You’re right. I’ve monopolized the chat.

Paylee22: I should probably go anyway.

NightTerra: Wait, I want to talk to you more.

Paylee22 has left the chat room. There are currently 5 people in the chat room.

I send her a direct message to move to a private chat room and follow it with a link, hoping she hasn’t logged off. But she doesn’t respond, even several moments later.

SugarRush911: Sorry (not sorry). It gets a little (a lot) tiring with her constantly playing the victim. She’s not the only one with issues.

TulipPrincess: No, but she’s the only one with her issues.

SugarRush911: Let’s be real. She’s a total attention whore. No one’s after her.

NightTerra: You don’t even know what you’re talking about.

SugarRush911: Says the girl who’s always asking if she’s crazy.

JA Admin: Intervening here. We have rules on this chat site. Let’s review them now.

My face burns hot because I didn’t see that coming: SugarRush knowing my weak spot when I never directly shared it with her.

It’s called a chat site for a reason, Logic says. Lots of people lurk and “listen” without making themselves known.

I go into my JaneBox and type Peyton a message:

Hey there,

I tried to catch you before you logged off. I’m