“I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”

++++

Tessa found what she was looking for.

Timing and location. Patrick would have been proud.

To be thorough, she’d analyzed the dates of Timothy Sabian’s previous three book signings and compared each of them to news articles about missing persons. It’d taken a while because, in the case of Miranda Walsh, she wasn’t listed as missing until three days afterward, when her college roommate finally called the cops. As it turned out, the last time anyone heard from her was a text she sent out right after the signing.

Tessa couldn’t find the actual text message anywhere, but from what she could tell, it was to her friend informing her that she was going out with some guy.

This was just getting weirder and weirder.

Could it have been Timothy?

She gazed at the journal she’d recovered for him when that lady—who must have been Mrs. Walsh—came into the bookstore yelling those accusations.

When Timothy had read to them last night about a girl named Emily, he’d said it was from a work in progress.

It probably wasn’t smart to read it now. It might be—

No. Of course you need to read it—especially if you’re gonna return it to him. You need to know everything you can about his state of mind before you go meet him. What if it says something about Miranda?

Tessa picked up the journal and thumbed to the place where Timothy had stopped.

Then read:

When Emily grew, she visited a restaurant and watched as the other people entered and left, watched as they sat and ate or sat and read or just checked the messages on their phones.

And she wrote in her diary.

Here I am. all together with myself.

But there are others here also. Some are singing, some are silent, some are angry, others are trying to fall asleep.

And all the while the voices in my head are screaming at me, telling me what to do.

To turn off the world and turn on the light and blind myself, here in the midst of everyone.

And surprise them.

Shock them.

And finally elude their smiles and accusations.

Then really surprise them and turn the light on them.

ha.

That would be funny.

To reveal their barren hearts.

!

Yes! it would be a fun game to try—turn on the light, leave it on, burn out their eyes and watch them scream and see if the voices take over when the screams subside, see if the voices enjoy blood—

Steamy and red on arctic snow.

Dark and spotty on the desert sand.

It’s a game I wish to play.

I think I’ll try it when the time is right and no one is looking.

But I’ll wait until the voices quiet down long enough for me to find my inner light.