Hollowed (18 page)

Daniel
—
Algonquin-the-cat
—
curls up on my pillow while I spend the next two hours staring at the ceiling
and w
ondering where Ruby is at this exact moment. Some dark, cold
,
and abandoned building downtown?
I'm also w
ondering what Noah is doing. Hunting for vampires?
Are
my parents are all right
?
Did they make it home?
Have they been trying to call me?
I don't exactly have a way to find out.

I finally fall asleep with my face pressed into Algonquin
'
s furry side,
his
paw on my forehea
d.
One second I
'
m aware that I
'
m finally drifting off
,
and the next, I
'
m
startling awake to
my alarm. Algonquin doesn
'
t stir as I get out of bed.

I toss on some clean clothes and the
items
I filched from Ruby
'
s room. I shove my hair into a careless ponytail and pull on the black newsboy style hat with a silver butterfly pinned to its side. One of her favorites, one I
'
d always liked.

Even dressed up in her stuff, covered in her cherry-blossom spray, I look nowhere near as pretty as her. I
'
ve never thought of myself as the ugly sibling
or whatever
, but ask anyone and they would say, without a doubt, Ruby was the head-turner.
I, according to my Dad, had the 'spunk and sass.'

The reality that
Ruby is
alive feels heavier today than it did last night. More real. Suffocating me with the idea that there
'
s more to her and Noah than anyone has ever told me.
Amid these secrets coming to light,
I wish I could make Ruby understand the weight of what her leaving put us through. Mom and Dad loved me. I have never, ever doubted that. But something changed in our household when Ruby vanished. Something that was never the same again.

Suddenly, I never felt good enough. Ruby was gone, but I resided in this massive shadow she left behind.
I was constantly reminded of her absence by my parents' grief.

That was why I moved out. Anyone intelligent would'v
e stayed behind, lived without worry of rent and bills
, and focused on college. Me? I broke free, wanting to leave behind all the tears and loss and
Ruby
behind. Even to Sherry, I
spoke
of my sister very little.

But whatever. Today isn
'
t about
Ruby
. Once I
'
m dressed, I scribble a note to Daniel and sneak out.

Going to Sherry
'
s memorial service is a stupid idea. Like Oliver said, it isn
'
t going to give me some kind of magical closure and make me feel like rainbows and sunshine. But I feel like... I don
'
t know. Maybe I owe it to her
?
Or maybe I just want to hear what others have to say.

The chapel is nearly an hour away by bus. All this public transportation is really making me wish I had my own car.
I
t
'
s a tiny, well-kept place with stained glass windows and at least two dozen cars crammed into the parking lot.

I don
'
t belong here. And I can
'
t just waltz into the place, take a seat
,
and blend right in. Sherry
'
s immediate family knows me, and they might be watching for me.

Instead I head around to the back of the building, flanked
by
shrubs and trees
, s
earching each window until I find one near the back that I manage to wedge open a few inches. The warmth and scent of flowers seeps out from inside, along with the hushed murmur of voices. A good a seat as any. I sink down to the grass, drawing my legs up.

F
or an hour and a half, I listen. Sherry
'
s mother shares stories from Sherry
'
s childhood. What a bright, sweet girl she was. How smart. Even if she wasn
'
t. Smart, I mean. Sherry never did very well in school, but no one ever wants to point out the flaws of the
dead
. No one wants to say, ‘Sherry, not the smartest cookie, but may she rest in peace.
'

When Paul speaks is when I get teary-eyed. He and Sherry weren
'
t close until they were older, given the age difference. But Paul loved his sister and did everything for her. Anytime something went wrong, from leaky faucets to boy problems, all Sherry had to do was call and no matter the time of day, Paul was there within the hour to rescue her.

I want so badly to go inside and share my own stories. Like how Sherry wanted to be an actress or an animal trainer. How she wanted to brave the Bermuda Triangle someday, or live in the Bahamas and swim with dolphins. I want to tell them about how the light in her eyes could inspire anyone to think they could do anything, and how her hugs made even the shittiest day seem not-so-bad.

More than anything, I want them to know how much I miss her, too. She was the closest thing I had to a sister after Ruby disappeared. She was the best friend I ever could have asked for, no matter how many wet towels she left on the bathroom floor and how many times she stole the last piece of pie.
We were two people placed together by convenience and circumstance, and it was the one of the best things that ever happened to me.

When things start to wrap up, I catch bits and pieces of various conversations: ‘
How tragic. They haven
'
t finished the autopsy...
'
‘Her roommate is still missing. They aren
'
t sure if she
'
s even alive.
'
‘She could very well be a suspect.
'
‘Poor Paul, he
'
s been taking care of everything,
he's
a wreck...
'
At some point, I stop listening and tune it all out, just waiting for everyone to leave.

And they do, eventually. Everyone files out and her parents are ushered off to do something or other that sounds like actual funeral plans. The important thing being that the chapel is empty, and I
'
m free to pry
the window further open
and sneak inside. Just for a second.

All I wanted to see were
any
pictures
they might've had
, and Sherry
'
s family didn
'
t disappoint me. There are two large poster boards covered in photos, along with her graduation picture blown up to poster size.

I guess I shouldn
'
t be surprised that amongst all those pics, ones of me and Sherry are noticeably absent.
Not that there aren't a billion pictures of us in existence, but if I'm still a suspect, it would figure they'd leave me out.
There is only one, nestled down near the bottom corner and another picture overlaps it, covering my face. I crouch, carefully pulling it off of the poster board without letting the tape tear it.

This pictures was taken only a month or two ago
. We
'
re sitting on a swinging bench on her grandmother
'
s front porch, cheeks pressed together, making kissy-faces at the camera. Looking so modern and out of place with the old-lady house as a backdrop.

What I wouldn
'
t give to recapture that moment, just for a minute.

Voices from outside startle me back to the here-and-now. Sherry
'
s parents. I shove the picture into my back pocket and sneak out as silently as I came.

Back in my hotel room, I find Daniel sitting by the window, waiting for me.

"
Hey,
"
I say, feeling a little guilty for having run off this morning without waking him up.

He blinks and turns his head toward me,
and
gives me a smile that doesn
'
t quite reach his eyes.
"
Vous êtes ici.
Tout va bien
 
?
"

No idea what he
'
s saying, but it sounds pretty.
"
Yeah, sure.
"
His smile is a little more sincere this time, but it doesn
'
t stop me from asking,
"
What
'
s wrong?
"

"
Mm...
"
Daniel
'
s gaze absently travels back out the window.
"
Oliver still has not returned home.
"

Oh. Is that unusual? I can
'
t say. It
'
s only been a week since I was attacked, since Sherry died. Seems longer, but I really don
'
t know the boys as well as I feel like I do.
Is Oliver prone to vanishing for nights at a time?
"
Does Cole know?
"

"
Oui.
He said if we didn
'
t hear something by the time you returned, we would go look for him.
"

Look where? This city isn
'
t huge, but it
'
s still not easy finding one person among thousands.
"
Maybe he found a lead and didn
'
t want to come home until he checked it out.
"
I want to make Daniel feel better, but I can
'
t think of much to say beyond that.

"
We shall see.
"
Daniel sighs and stands. He squints in my direction, head tipping.
"
Those are your sister
'
s things?
"

"
What?
"
I touch a hand to the scarf around my neck, having forgotten about it. I start to ask how he knows, then remember he was there with me when I grabbed them.
Just...smaller and fuzzier. And less French.
"
Oh. Yeah. I thought they looked nice.
"

He
'
s quiet and I think
—
hope
—
that
'
s the end of that subject, but eventually he crooks a finger to beckon me closer. I step up, and he lifts his hands and cups my face. Forcing my eyes to meet his.
"
Why do you do that?
"

I frown.
"
Do what?
"

"
Hide in her things.
"

What kind of question is that?
"
I
'
m not hiding.
"

Daniel shakes his head like he knows better, like he knows exactly what I
'
m thinking even before I do. That at this moment in time, I would rather be Ruby
—
hell, anyone else
—
other than me. I would rather be someone whose boyfriend holds their hand when they need them the most. Someone whose sister would never
fake their own death and leave.
Someone who has work in a few hours, then will go home with their roommate and decide cooking is too much effort and decides it'll be pizza for dinner again.

More than that, burrowing under something of Ruby's makes me feel shielded, protected.
Because now and again, I catch myself remembering Sherry is dead and I didn't save her, and I remember Ruby is alive and she never told me, and that Noah wants to kill me. Hiding, as Daniel calls it, lets me distance myself emotionally and makes all of this a lot easier to handle.

He draws my face closer until our foreheads are touching. The gesture isn
'
t intimate the way it
would be
with anyone else. There is nothing romantic there, only Daniel
'
s kindness.