Oh. Right. Dad chose our last name —doesn’t get much more common than Smith. Huh. Well played, Dad.

“Don’t you worry, nobody here will talk. If they do, the full weight of the Gleason family will descend upon them like hellfire,” Grandma Gleason states with a scowl.

Grandma Gleason is the sweetest lady you’d ever meet. Unless you cross her family and then the claws come out.

I give her a smile because I appreciate it.

Even though I’m not a Gleason.

I’m not even a Smith.

I’m a Linsley. Whatever the hell that means.

“But the press can be relentless. This is a juicy story, so they won’t really leave you alone until there’s a statement.”

“From Sheriff Gleason?” I ask.

She gives her head a little shake. “No, honey, they need to hear from you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter

TWENTY-ONE

Once again, I’m staring down my computer, willing the words to come.

This time the stakes are higher. It’s not scholarship money I’m looking to earn. I’m trying to regain control. This is about my life. My family.

There’s been nothing—no test, no class—that has prepared me for this.

After Grandma Gleason left, I looked myself up online. Not “Ally Smith,” but “Amanda Linsley.” The search results were flooded with stories about my … kidnapping. It’s still such a foreign concept. I wasn’t held against my will. But there are those same two images—the one of me as a kid and the age-progressed one. There are statements from the FBI and the Florida sheriff. The only statement made by Sheriff Gleason was asking for my privacy.

His plea has fallen on deaf ears. The media are stationed outside the police station, the high school, and my house.

Those reporters aren’t interested in knowing me. They’re chasing a sensation, a way to garner clicks and ratings.

I type in “Daniel Linsley,” and the same articles pop up. I refine my search to “Daniel Linsley family,” and the same thing. I try again, add “Florida” and filter out any stories from the past year.

There are a few articles from when I was first reported missing, and I scroll through them all. I notice one link for an obituary for a Franklin Daniel Linsley. I click on it and read about a man who passed away from cancer. My heart plunges when I see “he is survived by his wife, Sandra; his daughter, Sharon; and his son, Daniel; as well as his granddaughter, Amanda.”

My grandfather, who died. I scroll up to see the date: three years ago on March fourteenth. Something about that date rings familiar. Why?

Oh my God. That was when Dad fell off the scaffolding.

My father, who was always so careful, wasn’t paying attention and hurt himself.

My father, who was dealing with the loss of his own father.