Made of Stars (20 page)

I ease the window shut behind me, figuring I can leave out Chance’s bedroom window when I find it. The camera, if it’s here, will be somewhere in his room, and where I am now has to be Zeke and Tabitha’s room. It’s cluttered, and I think maybe the police went through everything. Drawers are open, clothes are on the floor, the bed is unmade.

For a minute, I feel sick. Was this the room she was murdered in? On this very bed? That thought has me scooting off it and to my feet quickly, but a look around with the flashlight doesn’t show blood or any sign that someone was shot here.

Deep breaths, self. I’m here for a reason
.

Cautious, I creep out the door and into the hall. It’s a small mobile home, so finding Chance’s room can’t be that hard. There’s a bathroom to my right, the living room to my left…which is blocked off with more police tape. That must be where it happened. Which means I only need to turn my eyes away as I move past and try not to think too much about it. Totally would
not
be okay for me to throw up when I’m taking care not to leave evidence behind that I was ever here.

Toward the end of the hall, I find an open door and, inside, what must be Chance’s room. I don’t dare go for the light switch, so my only reliance is on the tiny flashlight, which I use to scan around. If I thought Zeke’s room was a bit messy, Chance’s is chaotic.

Posters for bands I’ve never heard of line the walls. His bed has a few threadbare blankets shoved at the foot of it, but there is no sheet on the mattress. His clothing is in a pile in the corner beneath a window, and the floor is littered with magazines, clothes, and seashells. Five feet into the room, I step on, and almost stumble over, a sock with something in it. Upon closer inspection, it’s a rock. A sock with a rock inside it.
What the hell?

There isn’t a lot in the way of furniture in here. Small blessing. A quick look through his dresser yields nothing but more clothes and random knick-knacks. A dragon lunchbox that looks vaguely familiar, and inside it a cheap dragon snow globe, and a few photos. Me, Chance, Hunter. All from when we were younger, taken by Dad before he was shot. There are a few of Chance and his mother, mostly from when he was little. The pictures are faded and frayed at the edges, like he’s had to fight just to keep them from vanishing altogether. Also inside is a lone Barbie head that makes me flash back to the day we met by the creek. Staring into its expressionless face for too long sends a chill down my spine. I close the box and put it back.

There is no door on the closet. The floor is a mess of shoes that have been there for God knows how long. They’re falling apart, some of them, and I spot a pair I recognize. Apple red sneakers, way too small for Chance’s feet. But they didn’t used to be. He still has shoes from when he was a kid. You could line them all up and see the progression of his growth.

I search through the junk on the floor, feel around under the bed, finding nothing but more clothes and a few
Rolling Stone
magazines. Sighing, I sit back and survey the room again, letting the flashlight roam every inch of space. Then, in the pile of clothes, the light catches off something shiny, and I pause, go over it again, and locate it near the bottom of the pile.

Heart in my throat, I scramble over Chance’s bed and make a grab for the camera, which is nestled among a bunch of T-shirts with the lens pointed out. Like he’s used it as a hidden security camera. Either the police didn’t search his room, or they didn’t do a very good job. I press the power button a few times, but nothing happens. The battery is dead.

But I have it. I found it. And given its location, I’d say it’s safe to wager there is something on here we can use. I can go home and charge it, and then we’ll have our evidence to save Chance.

Across the house, the front door opens.

Hunter

For some reason, one of the delivery trucks at the store doesn’t show tonight. Which is a problem, considering I’m on truck duty and a few hours before my shift is supposed to end, I have nothing left to do. Rather than pay me to sit around for nothing, my boss ushers me out the door. “Go home. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna blow for everyone because we’ll have that extra truck to unload…”

Fine by me, because I don’t work tomorrow. Still, I think she could’ve found something to keep me busy, but she knows—everyone knows, it seems—that someone I’m close to is a suspect in a murder. Our town isn’t big and maybe not everyone knows each other, but when someone is shot to death, it generally makes its way around pretty quickly.

I hop in the car and linger in the parking lot, at a loss for what to do. Other than check my cell. Again. And try to call Chance. Again. When he doesn’t answer, I drop the phone into the empty passenger’s seat, close my eyes, and wonder what it would be like if I never got to see Chance again. It was bad enough having no way of contacting him all those years. I tried.

Just as I put the key in the ignition, my phone lights up and rings.

Ash, probably. Or Dad. Though I don’t know what either of them would need from me while I’m at work. I get the engine going so the heater can warm me up, then I pull the phone to my ear with a sigh. “Hello?”

“You should really stop calling.”

I freeze, heart lurching into my throat. “Chance.”

The line is infused with static. He sounds far away, like he’s speaking from the end of a tunnel.

“I told Ash…you need to…lling, or you’ll get yourselves in—”

“You’re cutting out,” I interrupt. He keeps talking, and I wonder if he can hear me at all. “Chance, listen, where are you? Let me see you and we’ll talk.”

For a minute, he’s so quiet I worry he hung up on me, and then— “I shouldn’t have dragged…this. I’ve cau…these problems.”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” My throat constricts. I try to breathe. In and out. I try not to yell at him, to say anything that might make him disconnect or get upset. Everything about his voice is tired, heavy, cold. I can hear the waver to his words; he’s been sitting in the snow for too long. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll come by myself. Just me, all right?”

“No,” Chance hums. “No, no, no. This is the last…m calling, Hunt. To say I love you. Promise you won…me anymore.”

“Chance!”

“Promise me.”

I wet my lips because my mouth is a desert, but before I can say anything further, the line clicks and disconnects.

Dead. Gone.

Swearing, I try to call back. Chance’s number goes straight to voice mail.

Damn it.
Damn it
.

“Calm down,” I tell my reflection in the rearview mirror. “If you were Chance, where would you go?”

Where, indeed? I stare into my own panicked eyes, struggling to find some sense of inner calm to think this through. Where would Chance feel safe from the police, from Zeke? Where would he hide that would be cold and have horrible reception? The town is only so big, and he wouldn’t have gone too far…

Yes.

That’s it.

He’s not technically in town anymore.

…

The wind and snow scream at me on the beach. The rocks are slick and icy under my shoes, and the cold stings my eyes, making it difficult to see. I drag the raft behind me, one step at a time, praying to whatever higher power exists that a rock doesn’t snag and tear it because it’s my only method of getting to Chance.

That’s assuming I’m right. And that I haven’t completely lost my mind, because I’m starting to wonder. I tried to call Ash on my way here, and she didn’t answer. I don’t want to waste time going all the way home to drag her out of bed. By the time we got back, Chance could be gone…or worse.

By moonlight, I struggle to get the raft blown up and into the water. The ocean swirls around my feet, soaking my jeans up to the knees, instantly numbing my toes and making my jaw tense to keep my teeth from chattering. I could be wrong, and this could be useless, but it’s my only lead.

My only chance.

Ha.

I tuck my phone into an inside pocket of my coat, hoping it’ll stay dry, and shove the raft farther out before crawling in. Manning the oars of a multi-person raft with just me in this weather isn’t going to be easy. The tide threatens to throw me right back onto the shore until I manage to paddle out a safe distance.

The island is an inky blob against the dark sky. Wind throws flurries of snow into my face, blinding me, making every stroke of the oar a guess as to whether I’m veering off the right path.

Chance could be out there. Somewhere on that island, alone and scared and freezing to death and why, why,
why
? Why doesn’t he ever let me keep him safe?

Finally, by some miracle, by some grace of the stars, the nose of the raft glides onto the island shore, lodging on the rocks and dirt and sand. I clamber out, struggling to pull the raft to safety so the current doesn’t sweep it back out to sea. When I drag it behind the shelter of the broken wall we used last time, I spot another raft tucked away there.

A smaller raft. Better fit for one or two people as opposed to many.

Chance’s raft? Who else would come out here in this weather? No one is that stupid. He would’ve had to buy the smallest he could find. I don’t know how he did it, or how he got it all the way out here without a car. Then again, I should never underestimate the power of Chance’s will when he wants to do something.

I cup my hands to my mouth, screaming his name in a cold-hoarse voice and listening to the silence that answers. The wind whistles eerily through every tree and broken building, crying a hundred phantom voices, playing tricks on my ears until I don’t know which way to go.

The island is only so big. I head down the main path between the crumbling structures, searching for something, anything. A source of light, a fire, a voice, a sign of life. I need Chance to be here. I need him to be okay.

I find the building we picnicked at on New Year’s and find my way up the stairs to the rooftop for a better look around. I have to approach the edge of the building on my hands and knees, because the footing is slippery and the wind threatens to shove me right off the ledge.

From up here, I have a view of a good portion of the island. The snow is clean and glimmers brightly under the moonlight, and in it, I spot a set of tracks, footprints that aren’t my own. The footprints of the one other person who could possibly be here. I do the only thing there is to do; I get off the rooftop and follow the tracks across the island.

Where they lead me is a leaning structure, bent against the wind. The prints circle then vanish at the building’s entrance, where the door is a heavy wooden thing barely hanging on by a single hinge. I put my shoulder into it; it scrapes against the aged flooring. Inside, it isn’t any warmer. Not really. But minus the chill factor of the wind, it has to be an improvement. Still, no human being could stay out here for long.

“Chance?”

No answer.

I search the first room with nothing more than a glance, flashlight beam swinging from one side to the other. A faint scuffling from a neighboring room alerts me to a door in the corner I almost missed in the darkness. Could be an animal. Could be Chance.

“Chance, it’s me.” I move across the feeble floorboards to the other room.

Chance doesn’t answer me, but I see him. On the floor. In the far corner. Huddled in on himself with his head down, hood pulled up, knees to his chest, arms locked around them. Tiny and still, but here. Alive.

I found him.

The flashlight clatters to the floor. I drop to my knees in front of him, touching his arms, his shoulders, pushing his hood back.

“Chance.
Chance
, look at me.”

Slowly, Chance tilts his head, like that little bit of movement takes him so much effort. “Hey,” he mumbles, and then, “Hi.”

A relieved breath rushes out of me. I cup a hand to his cheek, barely refraining from jerking away. God, he’s so
cold
. His eyelids flutter and then close at my touch. I shake his shoulder gently with my other hand.

“No. I need you to stay awake, got it? We’re going to get you out of here and someplace warm.” I pull back and skim out of my jacket so I can wrap it around him. Immediately, the cold bites through my sweater and the T-shirt beneath, but I try to ignore it. I pull the phone from the jacket pocket and try to dial 911. There’s no reception for regular calls, but I remember learning something about emergency calls working via satellite even if you aren’t getting service.

I tell the dispatcher where we are and that Chance needs an ambulance immediately. She asks me not to hang up, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no telling how long it would take them to get out here with something like a helicopter, so I need to at least get us back to the beach.

Chance heaves a sigh as I pull his arm around my shoulders, circle mine on his waist, and drag him to his feet. He only halfway holds his own weight, leaving me to bear the rest of it, and he mumbles, “We going to the beach?”

“Sure.” I start out of the room.
Calm, Hunter, calm
. He’s conscious, he’s talking. Maybe not coherently, but still. “We’ll go to the beach if you want. Only if you stay awake and keep talking to me.”

Together, we stagger back out into the snow. Chance begins to shiver, as though the flakes dusting his cheeks have reminded his body how unbearably cold it is. I lead him back to the rafts, prodding him with questions that he mumbles nonsensical answers to. Anything to keep him talking and, even if not walking, still moving his legs like he’s
trying
to walk.

I don’t trust myself to get us back in the big raft. I’m also not sure how to drag it out to the water and get Chance inside at the same time. His little raft is easier to manage while still hanging onto him. I haul Chance unceremoniously into it while shoving it away, and he only lays there and lets out a low, displeased groan. When I clamber inside, I pull him up into my arms, keeping him as close as I can, letting him feed off my body heat for however much or little it helps.

Chance’s raft is a flimsy, cheap thing, easily pushed around by the wind even with the weight of two people in it. I row until my arms burn. Until I’m positive we’re going in the wrong direction because I row and row and row and eventually, I’ll have no strength in me to keep going. Chance and I will float out to sea, just the two of us, and together beneath the stars he loves so much, we will freeze to death.