“Unless,” I say, and already I know I’m on to something. “The girls don’t come out.”

Jasper makes a face. “And how would they explain that?” he asks. “‘Sorry, I know we said we were bringing your daughter back, but . . .’”

“How about something like a tragic fire that burns the hospital to the ground, accidentally killing them all?”

That’s it. That is what I’ve been worried about: the girls—all of us—being erased. The fire might not be it, but something terrible is about to happen to those girls. Something permanent. And I need to get them out before it does. Me. Because I’m the only one who knows.

I feel so sure of it, too. It’s the same way I felt about Jasper and the bridge. The way I felt about my mom that last night when she walked out the door for milk. Like something awful had already happened. I was right then, all those times. I’m not always right to worry—not by a long shot—but I’m sure that I am right now.

WE SIT IN silence for a minute more—or maybe five or ten. It feels like a long time as I scan right and then left across the edge of the building, still looking for Kelsey. But I don’t feel anymore like we are going to find her. In fact, I feel like Kelsey is gone. The only people we see are two women speed walking down the driveway, a groundskeeper, and two nurses headed toward the main entrance for their shift, bags over their shoulders, coffee in hand. I push up so I can get a look farther down toward the emergency room entrance. If I were Kelsey, I might head over there—more people, more places to hide. But the only person hanging out in front is a heavyset guy smoking.

“Oh wait, I have something for you,” Jasper says, digging around in the piles of trash in the backseat—food wrappers, newspapers and magazines, empty soda cans. He seems happy to be able to focus on something that won’t be upsetting. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here. I’ve been kind of camping out since I saw you.”

“This whole time?”

“Yeah, I mean I went to your house. But then I came back here to the parking lot. I wasn’t sure when you’d make it out, so . . .” he says. But trying to make it seem like no big deal.

Something more than gratitude swells in me so fast I blush. Despite myself.

“Thank you, Jasper.” It feels totally inadequate. And also incomplete. “For everything.”

“I said I would be here when you got out.” He sounds offended I’d doubt him. He’s still digging around his trash-covered backseat. “Ah, here it is.”

When he turns back, he is holding out Kelsey’s copy of 1984.

“Oh, thanks.”