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“When you say I, do you know who you mean?” I asked.
“Nope. A man’s hand. Could it have been Dad?”
“Maybe,” I said, jotting it down.
“The bank, it’s not one we have here, but I remember it from where we used to live, so maybe I was seeing something from the past?” She paced the room. “It was SFF Bank.” She stopped and held up her finger. “Do you remember? There was an SFF and an ATM not far from where Dad’s office was. I wonder if the cops can check the transactions or something.”
“Again, we need a solid reason for them to act,” Serena said. “It’s all about evidence and valid leads.”
I sighed. “Don’t some psychics help law enforcement people with investigations? Do you think they would take my input seriously if they’ve seen me on the news and believe in that stuff?”
“It’s worth a shot,” said Tamara. “Maybe we should ask Mom.”
“Hang on,” said Savannah. “Another thing… didn’t they check all Dad’s bank transactions leading up to before he disappeared anyway? Like when they were checking if he’d maybe withdrawn a heap of cash and done a runner or something?”
“They did,” I said. “His account was still full when he disappeared, and he hadn’t touched it after that, but maybe he withdrew funds beforehand, small amounts at a time.” Then I remembered the feeling of walking along concrete and of someone behind me. “And what if what I felt was someone going with me to the ATM so I would get money for them? It wouldn’t have been much, but still. What if Dad had to give money to Sean or Dave Bolt?” I thought of how Savvy’s visions were like she was a camera, and I had an idea. “Maybe there is CCTV footage of the ATM! Maybe they can see if Dad was near the ATM close to the day he disappeared, and maybe they’ll see someone else too.”
Sasha’s face brightened. “Could they?”
“Hang on,” said Serena. “I seriously doubt they’d still have footage from over nine years ago, and wouldn’t they have checked all the cameras around the time Dad disappeared to see if he was in any of them?”
Damn. My sister was too smart and insightful. She was probably right. So much for my idea. But it would be worth checking if the police had done that.
Serena stood. “Oh, but…” She walked across the room. “If they’d checked out all Dad’s bank transactions and the dates and everything, along with any video footage of him near the bank, what if they cross-check that with Sean or Dave’s bank transactions from around the same time and see if there are any similarities?”
My sister should get a job as a detective. That made much more sense than asking them if a seventeen-year-old psychic could assist in their investigations. “Let’s ask Mom to ask them.” I high-fived Serena. “Unless they’re already doing that.”
“Then that’s a good thing,” she replied. “But if they’re not, then maybe they’ll get onto it.”
Savannah cleared her throat. “One more thing I saw. A bit scary.” She scrunched her face. “The barrel of a gun.”
Tamara made a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a weak moan. Not much time had passed since she’d looked down the barrel of a gun. “Past or future,” she asked, her voice quiet and weak.
“Dunno,” said Savannah. “But it was after I saw Marco.”
My breath caught in my chest. “Oh God, please tell me he will be okay.”
“It wasn’t Marco holding the gun, was it?” Sasha asked.
“Sasha!” I blurted.
“Well, I got friendly with a nice guy who turned out to be a psycho. You never know who to trust.” She crossed her arms.
“Yeah, but, that was different,” I shook my head. “Anyway, I know he’s a decent guy.”
“Talia?” said Serena.
I turned to look at my anxious sister.
“I heard a voice, I think it may have been Marco’s, though I’ve only heard him say a few words, but it did kind of sound like him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said, and it was kind of quiet, like a whisper: ‘Maybe we should go upstairs.’”
Upstairs? Where upstairs? “Anything else?”
She shook her head.
“Hmm,” said Sasha. “What if he’s trying to get you upstairs at his place, like to his bedroom?”
“Hang on a minute, why are we making assumptions about Marco?”
Okay sure, I didn’t know him that well, but he was nice. He was from a nice family, my art teacher knew him and vouched for him, and he was all, like, friendly and understanding and helpful, and… and I just liked him.
“Just be careful, Talia,” said Sasha. “Especially as he’s driving you to art classes.”
“Guys, I’m sure he’s fine. And anyway, if he was some crazed psychopath he wouldn’t be so stupid as to do something on the way to or from art class when everyone knows he’s driving me.”
“Yeah I don’t think Marco’s a problem,” said Savannah. “If anything, he appeared to be the worried one, not someone that other people needed to be worried about.”
This was getting too confusing. My head was clashing with my heart like two loud cymbals clanging together.
“Does he chew gum?” Tamara asked.
“Yes, actually.”
“I tasted it, just before a bitter taste like the one I get around feelings of fear.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s him,” I said. “Sasha chews gum too.”
“Oh so I’m going to be fearful? Great.” She sat on her bed.
“Guys,” I said, “We’re making things complicated. Let’s stick to what we know and trust that we’ll recognize these signs if any happen.” I looked at Sasha. “What did you smell?”
“Just burning stuff and peppermint gum and…” She lowered her gaze. “Dad’s cologne. Then cigarettes and alcohol, but on someone’s breath.”
“It has to do with Dad, then,” said Serena. “He must be giving us clues, bit by bit. He must think we’re getting stronger, more ready to discover the truth.” She smiled.
“I agree,” I said. “We’re getting closer; I can feel it.”
We stayed silent for a moment as the reality of my words sunk in. Could it be true that soon we would uncover all the answers? And just like there was a “before Dad disappeared” and an “after Dad disappeared” delineation in the timeline of our lives, there could be an “after finding out what happened to Dad” point in time where our lives changed once again?
“Lets talk to Mom about all of this,” I said. “And let’s see what else the police can find out.”
A sense of purpose filled my body. And confidence. I was no longer overwhelmed by all the media stuff and the attacks on my dignity. I was empowered. Ready. My sisters weren’t that much younger than me, but I was still the eldest. And I felt a need, a responsibility, to be a leader, to move forward with clarity and purpose and lead the way to a solution.
Dad’s case was no longer cold. Just like the fire in the vision, it was warming up, growing, gathering momentum and intensity. And I’d be damned if I was going to let it go cold ever again.
Chapter 12
By Monday I was feeling even more empowered. Mom had talked to the police. They said that the original CCTV footage from around where Dad worked had not led to anything, despite the fact that he was indeed seen in one of the ATM videos a few days before he disappeared. But if anything out of the ordinary had happened, it had happened out of range of the camera. They said, however, that they would look into any connections between Sean and Dave Bolt’s financial transactions and Dad’s, and let us know if anything came to light.
It felt good to be moving forward, making progress, however small. Knowing that there were other people trying as hard as we were to find a solution took some of the burden from my shoulders. And that meant that I could relax at my art class tonight. It was the only place that I could truly escape from everything going on in my crazy life.
I took extra notice of Marco as he drove us to Fern Ridge. There was nothi
ng alarming about him. I was sure I was in safe hands. And I had no idea how or why we’d sensed him in the vision, but all I could do was live my life and trust my instincts when things came up. I couldn’t—couldn’t—hide away and hope no danger ever came to anyone. To find out the truth about Dad, we had to keep living, keep discovering, keep getting stronger.
“Did you have a good weekend?” I asked him.
“Suppose so,” he replied. “Worked in the store though.”
“And at night, any parties or other fun stuff?”
“Not really,” he said, changing lanes on the highway to overtake a slow car. “To be honest, this art class is about the extent of my social life lately.”
“Ha!” I blurted. “Mine too. Are you just too worn out from work to party?”
“Um, I do get tired. But mostly, I don’t like crowds. I meet a lot of people at the store and then after that I just want peace and quiet. Boring, huh?” He smiled.
“No, I completely understand.” Crowds and I weren’t the best of friends.
“I do some restoration work on our second-hand furniture range too, so at least I get some interesting hands-on work at the back of the store, which I do by myself. I just listen to music and go into my own world.”
“Oh, cool.” Maybe that was how he got callouses on his fingers.
Marco lowered the car window. “Feels a bit hot in here, do you mind?” He gestured at the open window.
“It’s fine. It’s a nice night.” Refreshing air rushed into the car, and my hair flapped around.
Hot. Car. Hmm. “Marco?” I asked. “Can I ask you about a sculpture-related thing? It’s kind of weird.”
“Sure. Sculpture and weird are my specialties.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
I told him about how I’d felt compelled to sculpt the burnt-out car, and then mentioned, without revealing my sisters’ abilities, that I had sensed something psychically about the car and a fire. I thought he would say “Wow, really? That’s seriously freaky!” or something, but he just said, “And that’s why trusting your hands and intuition when you sculpt is important. You never know what will be created.”
“Guess so,” I said. “My sisters think it could have something to do with our dad.”
“They could be right,” he said. “I hope you get some answers.”
“Me too.” I glanced out the window at the blur of lights and cars. “But for tonight, I’d be happy to finish my iris sculpture!” I didn’t want to dwell on Dad’s case too much. I needed this time at class to escape for a while.
“You will,” Marco said, lifting one arm off the steering wheel and giving me a light, supportive punch in the arm. “And I’d be happy to figure out what the hell my new sculpture is going to be!”
I looked at the side of him, the way the moonlight reflected off his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to look far into the distance, and the curved shape of his arms as he comfortably held the steering wheel. A warm sense of connection rolled through me, a blissful wave whooshing from me to him. I’d like to see what his sculpture was going to be too. And I’d like to see what, if anything, would be between us in the future.
Before I could resist the urge, I lifted my hand and gave him a light punch right back. “You will,” I said. “You will.”
• • •
Halfway through the art class, my wish came true. “Finished,” I said, looking toward Lizzie.
She came over to my table. “Ah, well done, Talia!” she said. “Your first sculpture for the class.” She eyed the iris, its stem resting along the board underneath, its petals rolling outward and thinning out the way Marco had taught me. “It has a subtle complexity. It’ll look great when glazed or painted.”
“I think I’ll paint it,” I said. “With the right colors too, so that it looks sort of real.”
“I’d be happy to help you maximize the potential of your creation,” Lizzie said. “Let’s get this protected and I’ll get it fired for you.”
Marco’s waterfall had been painted, and while it was drying he was working on his new sculpture. He stopped what he was doing and looked over at my table. “Nice work,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“My mushroom looks weird,” said Liana. “Does it look like a sunhat?”
I shook my head. “I can tell it’s a mushroom.”
“Yeah? Phew.”
If I’d said it didn’t then she would probably squash her sculpture and start all over again, again.
Peter was painting his volcano zit, bright orange lava erupting out the top. The other class members were at various stages of sculpting and painting. After I’d taken my iris off the table, I stopped by Marco’s table.
“It’s coming along quickly,” he said. “My hands can barely keep up!”
I leaned closer.
Oh my God.
“You like?” he asked.
I squinted.
“Talia?”
The clay was shaped into two hands, smoothly enveloping each other. Just like the image on the cover of the book that we found for Mr. Jenkins, The Way It Is.
“Did you just make that naturally, like it just came to you?”
“Yes, why?”
I scratched my head. “It just looks familiar, that’s all.”
“Did you foresee it?” asked Peter.
“Peter,” said Lizzie, warning him with the tone of her voice. My personal abilities or lack thereof were not to be discussed during class.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “But nope, I didn’t. But I have seen it before, recently. The hands, I mean. In a picture.”
“Really?” Marco asked. “Well, that’s interesting.”
Had I somehow transferred something from my mind to his? Was that the connection I’d felt in the car? Maybe I was like a radio, transmitting signals to him, and he was subconsciously picking up on them.
Before I made my way back to my table, I said to him quietly, “I guess the whole ‘not planning’ strategy for sculpting is turning out to be interesting for both of us.”
“For sure,” he replied. “I wouldn’t work any other way. I’m an organic sculptor, and that’s just the way it is.”
• • •
I lay in bed that night going over the evening’s events in my mind. How could it be that Marco had both sculpted the image on the cover of a book he hadn’t seen and quoted the book’s title? I’d decided not to tell him about the book, even though I felt I could tell him about my psychic stuff. I didn’t want to tell him everything, and besides, it was also a little freaky.
But what I could gather from these weird coincidences was that somehow, for some reason, I was meant to know Marco. I didn’t know why yet, but I really hoped that it wasn’t because he was in danger and we needed to try to protect him from something, or that he was actually the dangerous one, even though I didn’t believe that was a possibility for a second.
What I hoped was that I had to know him simply because I had to know him. For me. Nothing else. Not for some new mystery to be solved, or some tragedy to prevent, but because I liked him and felt comfortable with him and he was to be an important and valuable friend—or more—in my life. I closed my eyes and imagined his beautiful face, and hoped that was all it was.
Chapter 13
Two days later I decided what the hell—I’d show Marco the picture of the two hands. He knew I had psychic abilities, so what was the big deal? Though that didn’t explain how he had created something based on something I had seen. I took a photo of the book cover and sent it to him via text before school on Wednesday, and he replied saying “Whoa,” and, “Cool.”
After school, he sent another text, though it wasn’t what I was expecting.
Talia, I won’t be able to drive you to class tonight, as I won’t be going. Hope your mom is able to. Sorry!
Oh. Bummer. I wondered why he couldn’t make it. He didn’t say he was sick or anything, and it seemed a bit last-minute. I hoped I hadn’t somehow freake
d him out with the picture of the hands. But I was probably overthinking the whole thing.
I mentally shook it off as I walked home from school. Savannah and Riley and I strolled together. At our street, Savannah and Riley were about to break off and go to his house when I saw Mom at our front doorstep waiting for us, her fingers playing with the wedding ring hanging from her necklace. We approached her instead.
“Everything okay, Mom?” I asked. We were all there except Serena who had a violin lesson.
“Yes, but there have been some developments.”
“Should we wait till Serena comes home?” I suggested.
“Wait? How can we wait? If there’s news, don’t hide it.” Savannah marched toward the door as Riley turned around.
“I’ll wait at my house,” he said. “See you later on.”
Mom poured us some lemonade and we sat at the table. “So.” She exhaled the word. “You know the last withdrawal Dad made from the ATM was a few days before he disappeared. It was five hundred dollars. They checked the Bolt brothers’ transactions, and on that same day, Dave had visited the bank branch associated with the ATM and deposited two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“So he was in the same part of town as Dad was on the exact same day,” I said.
Mom nodded. “Not only that, Dave’s deposit was only minutes after your father’s withdrawal. They’re going to question him about it and see if they can find out what their connection to each other was.”
“Yes!” Savannah pumped her fist. “We’ll get that bastard.”
Mom continued, “And, they checked his other deposits, and there was a similar pattern. Several of them matched up with the days and times, give or take a day or so, that your dad made withdrawals, though some were at different branches in different towns.”
“Were they all the same amount?”
“Many of the withdrawals were around the five hundred mark, and then the deposits were around half of each amount. So maybe Dad had seen an income opportunity first, and then he found out something about them, and maybe they blackmailed him to keep quiet by getting him to pay them in a way that wouldn’t normally draw attention to them.”