Chapter Sixteen

I miss Riley.

I miss her so much It's like a physical ache. Because the second I realized I had no choice but to inform Sabine that Damen wouldn't be making it to dinner (which I waited to do until ten minutes past eight when it was clear he wouldn't show), the questions began. And they pretty much kept coming for the remainder of the weekend, with her asking stuff like: What's wrong? I know something's wrong. I wish you would talk to me. Why won't you tell me? Is it something with Damen? Are you two in a fight? And even though I did talk to her (over dinner when I somehow managed to eat enough to convince her that I really and truly do not have an eating disorder), trying to assure her that everything was A-OK, that Damen was just busy, and that I was overtired after spending such a long, fun-filled night at Haven's—it was clear she didn't believe me. Or at least not thepart about me being fine. She totally believed the part about me staying at Haven's.

Instead, she kept insisting that there had to be a better explanation for my constant sighing and mood swings, the way I went from morose to manic to mopey and back again. But even though I felt bad for lying to her—I stuck with my story. I guess it seemed easier since lying to Sabine made it easier to lie to myself. Fearing that retelling the story, explaining how even though my heart refuses to believe it, my head can't help but wonder if he might've purposely ditched me—might somehow make it come true. If Riley were here, things would be different. I could talk to her. I could tell her the whole sordid tale from beginning to end. Knowing she'd not only understand, but that she'd get answers too. Her being dead is like an all-access pass. Allowing her to go anywhere she wants merely by thinking about it. Making no place off limits—the entire planet is fair game. And I've no doubt she'd be far more effective than all of my frantic phone calls and drive-bys combined. Because in the end, all my disjointed, clumsy, ineffective investigating really amounts to is: _________(nothing).

Leaving me just as clueless this Monday morning as I was on Friday night when it occurred. And no matter how many times I call Miles or Haven, their answer is always the same—nothing to report, but we'll call you if anything changes. But if Riley were here, she'd close this case in no time. Getting quick results and in-depth answers—she'd be able to tell me just exactly what I'm dealing with, and how to proceed. But the fact is, Riley's not here. And despite her promising me a sign, seconds before she left, I'm starting to doubt it'll happen. And maybe, just maybe, it's time I stop looking and get on with my life. I slip on some jeans, slide my feet into some flipflops, pull on a tank top, and chase it with a long-sleeved T—and just as I'm about to walk out the door and head for school, I turn right around and grab my iPod, hoodie, and sunglasses, knowing I'd better prepare for the worst since I've no idea what I'll find.

"Did you find him?"

I shake my head, watching as Miles climbs into my car, throws his bag on the floor, and shoots me a look filled with pity.

"I tried calling," he says, brushing his hair off his face, his nails still sporting a bright flashy pink, "Even tried to swing by his house but didn't get past the front gate. And trust me, you do not want to mess with Big Sheila. She takes her job very seriously." He laughs, hoping to lighten the mood.

But I just shrug, wishing I could laugh along with him, but knowing I can't. I've been a wreck since Friday and the only cure is to see Damen again.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Miles says, turning toward me. "I'm sure he's fine. I mean, it's not like it's the first time he's disappeared."

I glance at him, sensing his thoughts before the words leave his lips. Knowing he's referring to the last time Damen disappeared, the time I sent him away. "But that was different," I tell him. "Trust me, that was nothing like this."

"How can you be so sure?" His voice is careful, measured, his eyes still on me. I take a deep breath and stare at the road, wondering whether or not I should tell him I mean, I haven't really talked to anyone in so long, haven't confided in a friend since well before the accident—before everything changed. And sometimes, having to hoard all of these secrets can really feel lonely. I long to get out from under their weight and gossip like a normal girl again. I look at Miles, sure that I can trust him, but not all that sure if I can trust me. I'm like a soda can that's been dropped and shaken, and now all of my secrets are rushing to the top.

"You okay?" he asks, eyeing me carefully.

I swallow hard. "Friday night? After your play?" I pause, knowing I've got his full attention. "Well... we, um... we sort of made plans."

"Plans?" He leans toward me.

"Big plans." I nod, a smile hinting at the corner of my lips, then instantly fading when I remember how it all went so tragically wrong.

"How big?" he asks, eyes on mine.

I shake my head, gazing at the road ahead when I say, "Oh, just your usual Friday night. You know, room at the Montage, new lingerie, chocolate dipped strawberries, and two flutes of champagne..."

"Omigod, you didn't !" he squeals.

I glance at him, watching as his face falls when he realizes the truth.

"Oh God, I mean, you really didn't. You didn't get a chance to, since he..." He looks at me. "Oh Ever, I'm so sorry."

I shrug, seeing the devastation I feel so clearly displayed on his face.