Truth or Dare (33 page)

2 New Messages
, the screen blinked. She thumbed in her password. “What do you want, Guinness?” she mumbled. Then her heart stopped.

Both messages were from a blocked number.

She clicked open the first text.
They say pictures don’t lie. The problem is, boys do.

Attached to the text was a photo.

In it, Tenley and Guinness were standing close together on the deck of the
Justice
. Guinness was shirtless and Tenley was wearing a black bikini so skimpy it could barely count as clothing. She had one hand pressed against Guinness’s bare chest, and the other hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Guinness was wearing one of his classic expressions: amused and annoyed and surprised, all wrapped up into one tiny, knowing smirk. Sydney looked closer. Discarded by their feet was Guinness’s sweatshirt—the same one Tenley had been wearing when Sydney saw her in Reed Park.

What. The. Hell.

Frantically, Sydney scrolled to the second text.

Ever notice how your boy toy won’t play with you out in public? Think that means he’s ashamed—or that he’s too busy playing with somebody else? If you want to know the truth, go to Tenley’s party Saturday night.

Sydney’s dates with Guinness flashed through her mind, like a movie on fast-forward. The
Justice
. The boathouse. The golf course. They’d been alone every time. She closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. Guinness and
Tenley
? Was it possible? She felt like she was still on that roller coaster, and suddenly it was jerking her backward and upside down at the same time.

It wasn’t just Guinness, either. It was her dad, too. And the darer; Joey or not, the darer clearly wasn’t stopping. She barely remembered driving to the mini-mart. But she must have, because there was a bag hanging from her wrist when she stormed into her apartment. She pulled the lighter out of it. It was tiny, just a slip of a thing, but it felt heavy in her hand, as if it were made of chains. Blindly, she went from room to room, collecting everything she could find.

She started with Guinness. She gathered up photos from the first series she’d worked on with him; the iguana finger puppet he’d bought her that day they’d spent together in Boston; a letter he’d mailed her last year, listing his favorite things about her; the card he’d given her on Valentine’s Day; even the photo he’d taken of her at Sunrise, which he’d scribbled a note on the back of:
Thanks for being my muse, Blue.
Furiously, she tossed them all into the sink. Then she moved on to her dad.

She grabbed the huge hardcover book of photographs from around the world he’d given her; the birthday card her mom had pinned to the fridge; the family picture she still kept in her desk drawer. She threw
them all into the sink, and then on the very top she placed the photo from the darer that showed her and Guinness lighting a match.

She got out the WD-40 and doused it all: the book, the card, the photos, the letter, the puppet. She felt like a tornado spinning wildly. She was no longer in control.

She flicked the lighter and a flame leaped to life, dancing over her fingers. She didn’t stop to think, or to weigh, the way her counselor at Sunrise had taught her. She just
did
. She touched the lighter to the pile and instantly it spread, flame bleeding into flame, fire eating up her memories. The darer’s photo lit up first. It darkened to ashes before her eyes, scattering into nothing.

“Sydney! What are you
doing
?” The sound of her mom shouting shook Sydney out of her stupor. She blinked, dropping the lighter into her pocket.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, backing away from the sink.

Her mom raced over, turning the faucet on. A flame must have nipped at her arm because she cried out, thrusting it under the jet of water. “What were you thinking, Sydney?” she yelled as the water extinguished the flames, sending clouds of black smoke into the air. “I thought you were done with this!”

“I was,” Sydney said shakily. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wet, charred remains piled high in the sink. Half of the puppet hadn’t yet burned, and it seemed to glare at her with its one beady eye.

“This doesn’t look done to me!” She slammed her hand against the counter. “Damn it, Syd, I thought you’d left this behind at Sunrise!” Suddenly she sagged against the counter, tears filling her eyes. “I—I really thought you were better,” she said. She looked as if someone had let all the air out of her, and Sydney felt a rush of guilt, hot and thick.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She went over to her mom, pulling her into a hug. “I
am
done with it,” she swore. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But I promise, it was a onetime thing.”

Her mom pulled away. She quickly swiped at her eyes. “What happened, Sydney?” she asked quietly. “Why’d you do it?”

Sydney drew in a breath. She wanted so badly to confide in her mom, to tell her everything—the truth about her dad, about Guinness, about the dares. But up close she could see just how frail her mom looked, like a vase that had been glued back together again and again. Just one touch, and she could shatter to pieces.

“I’ve just been really stressed about my art school application,” she lied. For a second she felt a flicker of anger. Yet again, she was the one who had to play caretaker. But she quickly pushed the thought away. Her mom was doing everything she could to hold their family together. She didn’t need Sydney making it any harder.

“Oh, Syd.” Her mom sighed. “It’s just a college. It’s not worth this.” She put a hand on Sydney’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “It’s not worth this,” she repeated, and then again, louder, as if she wanted to drill the words into Sydney’s skull. “It’s not worth this.” She locked eyes with Sydney. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Sydney promised. She wanted all of this to be over. Forgotten. “Really.”

Her mom nodded. “Okay,” she said. She bent down, kissing Sydney on her forehead. “Now, how about we spend the night together, just the two of us? I think we are long overdue a Morgan Movie Mania Night. And,” she added, as a look of concern passed over her face, “a little catching-up time.”

Sydney forced a tiny smile onto her face. When she was little, they used to have Morgan Movie Mania Night every Friday. She couldn’t
remember when they’d stopped. “I’ll make grilled cheese,” Sydney volunteered.

Sydney had just assembled the sandwiches when her phone dinged with a text. She dropped the sandwiches into a pan on the stove before grabbing her phone out of her purse.

It was Guinness.
I’m sorry, Blue. Can we talk?

Her hand tightened around her phone.
Why don’t you talk to your loving little sister instead?
she texted back.
And just leave me alone.

“Who was that?” her mom asked. She had dragged a chair over to the cupboard and was now pulling down several bags of candy from their hiding spot on the top shelf.

“No one important,” Sydney said. Before she could change her mind, she turned off her phone. Her mom was right; they were long overdue for some catch-up time. And there was no way she was letting Guinness in the middle of it. As she slipped her phone into her pocket, her hand brushed against the small red lighter tucked inside. For just a second, she couldn’t resist letting her thumb slide over the spark wheel, imagining it lighting up once again.

Saturday, 6:15
AM

CAITLIN’S FEET POUNDED OUT A RHYTHM AGAINST
the ground as she jogged down Dune Way. It was still semidark out, but her latest nightmare had left her wide awake. It was the same one she’d had the last two nights, but it had seemed even more intense this time. Caitlin pumped her legs harder as she remembered how the hooded figure had come closer and closer, until he or she was only inches away… Caitlin had flown awake with a gasp, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead.

Sitting there panting, Caitlin had been seized with the sudden urge to call Tenley. After the kidnapping, when her nightmares kept her awake late into the night, Tenley had been Caitlin’s lifeline. Tenley used to sleep with her cell phone in bed every night, answering Caitlin’s calls on the very first ring.

As Caitlin cried hysterically over her latest nightmare, Tenley would tell her funny stories and jokes, until a laugh would finally beat back Caitlin’s sobs. Without Tenley, Caitlin would never have slept
during those awful months. Tenley later admitted to Caitlin that she used to spend hours scouring the Internet, searching for things to make Caitlin laugh. But at the time, Tenley had seemed unflappable to Caitlin—her very own lighthouse, illuminating the way. So many nights Caitlin would fall back to sleep thinking,
This must be what it’s like to have a sister
.

And sitting in bed this morning, with her nightmare still fresh in her mind, Caitlin had ached to have that sister back. But every time she reached for the phone, she kept thinking of Tenley rooting through her underwear drawer. She wasn’t sure Tenley was that same lighthouse anymore. So instead she’d laced on her running shoes and gone for a jog. She had to meet Eric Hyland at the Festival booth at eight thirty, but the sun had barely started rising yet; she had plenty of time until then.

Caitlin let her feet churn beneath her, leading the way. The longer she jogged, the better she felt. With every stride, she remembered what it used to be like to sprint—to lower her head and fly over the pavement, a flurry of arms and legs and feet. Thanks to her ankle injury, that was impossible now, but what she lacked in speed these days, she made up for in distance.

She ran down Dune Way and over to the pier. She ran past Reed Park and down Ocean Drive. When she reached Echo Boulevard, she ran through the street, weaving around the wooden Festival booths already set up for the day. Her feet kicked up grass and stones as she turned onto Art Walk, running past Seaborne. And then suddenly she was there, in front of Dr. Filstone’s office. She stopped short, her hands on her knees as she leaned over to catch her breath. Deep down she knew she’d been running there all along.

Slowly, she straightened up, looking at the small white building. It
sat dark and still, as if it were sleeping. Caitlin’s heart was hammering as she peeked over her shoulder. On Art Walk, nothing was stirring. If there was ever a time to do her dare, it was now.

The note had said that she’d find what she needed under the gnome. As her breathing slowed back to normal, she circled around the building and lifted the heavy ceramic gnome that sat by the back door. Underneath were two keys. The large one opened the back door easily. And Caitlin had a very good idea what the smaller one was for.

The office was dark and eerily quiet as she shut the door behind her, and she quickly fumbled around, switching on a floor lamp by the receptionist’s desk. As the soft glow of the lamp filled the waiting room, Caitlin took a second to glance around. Everything looked the same—the green leather chairs, the stacks of magazines, the plaque that read
VOTED #1 CHILD PSYCHIATRIST ON THE EAST COAST!
—but it was different, too, being in there all alone, as though everything were on pause except for her. She found herself holding her breath as she padded quietly into Dr. Filstone’s office.

Against the back wall was a tall metal filing cabinet where Dr. Filstone stored the files of all her patients. Caitlin’s hands were trembling as she slid the slender silver key into its lock. With a soft click, the cabinet was open. Carefully, she pulled the first drawer out. It was jammed with files.

As she began thumbing through them, she saw tons of familiar names. Apparently half of Winslow had visited Dr. Filstone at some point. A few drawers down, she located the file that read
Morgan, Sydney
. As she pulled it out, she thought of how sure Tenley had been that Sydney was the darer. Caitlin felt a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe Tenley was telling the truth, after all. Maybe this file would prove it.

She couldn’t resist looking for her own file in the cabinet, too. If
the darer had used it to find out all her secrets, then she wanted to see what, exactly, Dr. Filstone had in there. But her name wasn’t in the
T
section. She began flipping through the other drawers in case it had gotten misfiled. But it wasn’t in the
A
s or
B
s or
C
s… or any of the letters through
Z
. Her file was missing.

Caitlin closed her eyes, panic gripping at her chest. Whoever the darer was, he or she had her file. She thought of all the things she’d admitted to Dr. Filstone over the years, things she would never have told anyone else. Dr. Filstone’s office was supposed to be her safe place, her haven, and now even that was tainted. The panic tightened its grip on her, and she took a deep breath, counting to ten. She had to get ahold of herself. She was here on a dare. She needed to get it over with and get out of there, before someone found her.

She counted to ten several more times, breathing in and out, in and out. When the panic finally began to loosen its grip on her, she went over to the couch, bringing Sydney’s file with her. The file was thick and as she began poring over it, Caitlin quickly became enthralled, her own fears fading to the back of her mind. Along with Dr. Filstone’s notes, the file contained a whole stack of documents labeled
Sunrise Center
. Apparently, Sydney had spent the summer before ninth grade there, being treated for pyromaniac tendencies.

Halfway through the file, Caitlin came upon a photocopy of notebook paper that had Sydney’s name scrawled across the top. Scribbled on the page was a single paragraph. Feeling like an intruder, but unable to stop herself, Caitlin began to read.

Sometimes I feel like the fire is inside me. Like it’s spreading its way from my toes to my head, through
my muscles and my tissues and my bones, and if I don’t let it out, if I don’t turn the flames on something else, it’s going to burn right through me. It’s going to turn me to ash.

Tears pricked in Caitlin’s eyes as she stared at Sydney’s words. They struck a chord with her, somewhere deep in her chest. How many nights had she felt as if she couldn’t hold on any longer? That if she didn’t do something—
anything
—the nightmares would tear her apart, turn her to ash?