I remember the early part of the dance, walking into the gym and hearing the music. I remember dancing with Chloe at least once. Maybe twice.

  And then…

  Nothing.

  My head starts to ache again.

  I try to imagine what it must have been like when we walked out to the parking lot and headed for the car. Ron says we argued, but that doesn’t fit what I know about us. And I have no idea what we could have been arguing about…unless it was about having sex again that night.

  But I can imagine driving the route I just took—away from the school and through the cornfields. Then through the trees and out to where I stand.

  It was a warm night. No rain. No wind.

  Me driving. Chloe looking beautiful in the passenger seat.

  At some point we came to this stretch of 250. The headlights would have illuminated the side of the road, the ditches and the weeds, the debris and the leaves.

  Did an animal jump out? Was it a deer like the ones I just saw?

  Or did something come rushing at us?

  That’s when something in my mind clicks over. Like a flash…

  The pain disappears…

  I’m no longer imaging. I’m remembering.

  The tree illuminated by the headlights.

  The tree growing larger and larger.

  We can’t stop.

  We’re out of control.

  It’s too late—

  “Hunter!”

  She calls my name.

  Screams my name.

  I put my hand out to brace her.

  “Hunter!”

  I yell something, a primal cry of fear.

  My eyes spring open.

  Chloe’s dad, Scott Summers, is standing in front of me, and he’s looking at me, face distressed like I’m completely out of my mind.

  Thirty-Seven

  It’s like emerging from a dark cave.

  I take in giant gulps of air. It came back. Something from that night came back. I saw it. I remembered it. The moment before we hit the tree.

  “Hunter? Are you okay?”

  Scott moves closer, eyeing me the way someone would watch a strange dog that might bite. Scott’s body is turned sideways a little, crouched like he’s ready to spring into action. Either to protect himself or to run away.

  My heart pounds faster than ever. It takes a moment for my breath to return to normal.

  “Hunter?”

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I was just…” I look into his eyes. “I saw it. I saw a part of the crash I’ve never seen before. I mean that I’ve never remembered before.”

  “Really?” Scott looks skeptical. And still looks cautious, although he straightens up some. “Just now, you remembered something?” He looks intensely curious, and his voice sounds urgent. “What did you see?”

  “The last moment before the car hit the tree. It came in a flash. And…something… I don’t know, it came at us before we hit. From the left side.”

  “Another car?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. When I was coming here, three deer were on the side of the road. I scared them. I wonder if a deer jumped in front of us that night. Is that why we swerved?”

  Scott takes a couple of steps closer. “That certainly could be. The cops put that forward as one theory.”

  “I know. I wish I’d seen more.”

  “Didn’t the doctors say you might have memories coming back?”

  “Yes. But that’s the first time one did. So maybe there are more.”

  “You think this could open the floodgates?” he asks.

  “I hope so.”

  “Yes,” he says, sounding distracted. “I hope so, too.”

  My eyes pass over every detail of the scene. If one moment came back, maybe more will if I just look hard enough. Maybe I can jump-start my memories, shock them back into my brain.

  But nothing else comes to me. Just the same blackness, except for that small flash.

  My fists are clenched in frustration. My fingernails dig into my palms, almost breaking the skin.

  “Are you okay, Hunter?” Scott asks. “Seriously. Should you be in school? Or…”

  His question brings me back to the moment. “I’m home today,” I say. “Maybe for a long time. Going to the school…with everything going on.”

  “Yeah, right.” Scott sounds understanding. “Are you wondering why I’m out here?”

  “No. I guess maybe you’re out here for the same reason I am.”

  “I think you’re right,” Scott says. “I’m remembering Chloe. Not that night, since I can’t know what she went through, but it is a way for me to feel closer to her. This is the last place…”

  He doesn’t cry or wipe at his eyes. But he does turn away from me and toward the trees. I’ve never known what to say to the man, and I really don’t now. The last time I was in his presence, his wife called me out over Chloe’s disappearance. Maybe Scott shares her opinion, but that and his grief make it difficult to think of something to say.

  And I don’t want to make small talk.

  “Have the police come up with anything new?” I ask.

  Scott doesn’t look back at me. “Nothing. There’s never anything new. It’s all just a nightmare that doesn’t end. Like one of those dreams about falling, except this is real life and I never hit the ground.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it.

  He glances back at me. “I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, too. What Laura said the other night at that vigil…she’s…Laura is struggling with everything. It’s my job to help her through this, to protect her. To protect my family. It’s not easy. Her sister’s with her now, so I decided to take a drive. Just to have a moment.”

  “Me, too.”

  Scott looks at his car. “I need to get back.”

  “I guess you heard about my friend Daniel.”

  Now Scott turns back. “Yes, I did. I heard the two of you were close. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I also heard he was making some kind of stupid movie about Chloe, about—” He gestures to the gashed tree and the memorial and then to everything surrounding us. “About all of this. I think that sounds really ignorant. The police don’t need some high school kid getting in the middle of everything and stirring up the pot. He should just…should have just let the cops handle it.”

  “I think he was trying to help.”

  “It doesn’t help,” he says, his voice getting louder. “It’s like you and those videos you’ve made. I’ve seen them. Everybody’s seen them. Laura’s watched them and is getting madder and madder. They don’t help. They just get people stirred up and angry. I never understood why you kids feel the need to share so much. Every damn thought you have goes online. I just don’t get it.”

  “I’m trying to find out if anybody knows anything. I want to find Chloe.”

  “Well, I’m not sure videos help.” He shakes his head. “We’re all just at the mercy of what happens. You can try to grab hold and steer as much as possible. You can try to take control, but sometimes it just slips away, spiraling fast, like water down a drain.”

  He stops talking abruptly. I’m not really sure what he’s talking about.

  Something crosses his face, a look of recognition. “I’m sorry. I…wait. I want to ask you something.” He points at me. “The police keep asking us about Chloe’s journal. We didn’t know she even had one. Did you tell them about it?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you tell them where she kept it?” he asks.

  “I don’t know where she kept it. It must be in her room somewhere, right?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not. The cops have been all through our house. They’ve been through everything. Our bank records. Our computers and phones.”

  “She never told me where she kept it,” I say. “And I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re wondering. The police have been all through our house, too. They went through my drawers and my closet, lifted up my mattress and looked underneath. I can’t think of where it might be.”

  He watches me, his eyes like a hawk’s. And I’m the mouse on the ground being tracked. “And you never read it?”

  “Never.”

  “Damn it all,” Scott says.

  “I thought the cops would have found it by now. And I thought it would tell us something. That’s why I told them about it in the first place. I wouldn’t want anyone going through Chloe’s private things unless I thought it would help us find her.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He turns to the trees again, as if I’m not there.

  “Scott,” I say. “Can you tell Laura, can you…I mean, you know I wouldn’t hurt Chloe. I would never.”

  He keeps staring, and I’m not sure if he’s heard me. But then he says, “I know that. But…Laura’s in a different place.” He turns to me. “Speaking of her, I have to go. Hunter, just take care of yourself. Okay?”

  I should stay quiet, but I can’t waste the chance to talk to someone who knows Chloe so well. “Maybe she ran off,” I say. My voice sounds hopeful, like a little kid wishing for a new bike at Christmas, something they’re starting to fear they’ll never get. “Maybe that’s what happened.”

  “In a homecoming dress? With no shoes? And no purse?”

  “Maybe somebody met her,” I say.

  “Who?” Scott asks. “You’re her boyfriend.”

  “What about Mike Basher? He’s always hanging around your house.”

  “Mike?” Scott’s eyes narrow, and his cheeks flush. “Are you suggesting something?”

  “I’m just saying, he wasn’t over her. Maybe he wanted her back.”

  “Michael is a fine young man. I know all about the drama around that stupid poem he wrote. Chloe was upset, and I told Mike he used poor judgment. But he was sorry, and he apologized. Leave him out of this.”

  “Maybe…” I can’t think of any more maybes. I lift my arms and then let them fall to my sides, where they smack against my thighs. “If she’d just come back, I wouldn’t care who she was with or what she was doing.”

  Scott shuts his eyes and keeps them closed. He looks like a knife has been slipped between his ribs and he’s riding out a wave of intense pain.

  I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

  His eyes open, and he nods like he’s reached some agreement with himself.

  “I guess we all wish we could rewind and go back to that night,” he says. “We could just stop Chloe from leaving the house that night. We could make her come straight home after the dance. We could have driven her.” He sighs. “Like I said, I have to go.”

  As he walks away, I say, “I didn’t recognize your car.”

  He goes to the driver’s side, tugs the door open. “It’s a rental.” He points to the tree. “Obviously. The Charger is...”

  I feel stupid for saying anything.

  But then Scott says, “If any other memories come back, let me know. Okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Seriously, let me know the minute you remember something. Anything.”

  Then he’s in the car with the door closed. I stand beside a waterlogged stuffed bear and watch him drive off.

  Thirty-Eight

  Dad’s true to his word. His car is in the driveway by the time I get home.

  He’s skipped afternoon office hours and anything else he might have needed to do on campus. This is a rare thing—like seeing a comet streak across the sky. Dad never skips work, never comes home early unless one of us is sick or needs something we can’t get from anyone else. I guess I’m that something now.

  Dad’s at the kitchen table with his glasses pushed up on top of his head and a stack of exams spread out before him. He holds a red pen and is scribbling away, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. I worry he’s too caught up in his work, but he stops writing and looks up.

  He flips the glasses in place, magnifying the size of his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is calm. As flat as a pond.

  “Yes, I am. In fact, something good happened.”

  He touches the corner of his mouth with his index finger. The overhead light reflects off his glasses, making it tough to see his eyes.

  “I want you to hear something.” He’s still using his calm voice.

  “Okay. But I want to tell you something, too. Dad?”

  He walks over to the kitchen counter. Some bills are stacked there, and a couple of history and news magazines Dad subscribes to. Everything is in neat piles.

  He reaches for the landline. Dad has always said he likes to keep it in case the grid goes out. I always tell him that if all the cell phones stop working, we’ll have problems so big the landline isn’t going to help us. But Dad says it’s ten bucks extra a month, so what do I care? Only telemarketers call, and most of the time, we just don’t answer.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Listen,” he says. He hands me the receiver and hits a button. “Go ahead.”

  I’ve never made a call on the landline in my life, and the phone feels odd in my hand. It’s like I’m using a shoe or a rock and expecting to talk to other people. But I humor Dad and put the thing to my ear.

  It beeps. A sound like something from a cheap sci-fi movie.

  Then a husky voice speaks.

  You’re a killer. Everybody knows you’re a killer. Stop with the videos. Stop trying to—

  Dad hits the button. Another beep.

  I think those videos are a disgrace—

  Another beep.

  I’m praying you see your way to stop making videos so you can confess to killing that poor girl so her family can give her a Christian burial—

  Dad takes the receiver and replaces it in the cradle.

  “There are about ten more like that,” he says when he turns back to me. “They’d finally tapered off after you posted the first video. Now that you made this one, it’s open season again. And I didn’t mention this before because I didn’t want to add to your problems, but now the crazies have been emailing me at work and calling my office. I had to alert campus security.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “So you know you have to be careful, Hunter,” he says. “There are a lot of nuts out there, and they certainly know where we live. Your sister still has to go to school. Hell, you’re supposed to be in school. You should be doing your homework instead of going out. That’s dangerous, too. It’s a school day.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “I’m trying to protect you,” he says. “And Livvy. But you’re making it awfully tough.”

  “Just forget it,” I say. “I’ll be in my room.”

  “No more videos,” he says, pointing at me. “You hear?”

  “Do you hear?” I ask. “Did you even hear what I said when I came in?”

  He pauses for a moment, considers me. “Okay, yes, I did hear you say you had something to tell me. What is it?”

  “You really want to know? Are you sure it’s not more important than the phone or the voicemail?”

  “Hunter. What is it?”

  I think about not telling him, but I want him to know.

  “I remembered part of the accident today, Dad. I saw it. I saw what I hadn’t been able to remember before.”

  Dad’s face shifts. The lines go out of his forehead. He takes a step toward me. “Hunter, that’s great. What did you—”

  “Just forget it,” I say. “It’s not as important as the deranged phone calls.”

  “I didn’t say that. Now just tell me—”

  I brush past him, heading for the stairs.

  “Hunter, don’t be like that.”

  But I don’t respond. And just to be a real dick, when I get upstairs, I slam my bedroom door.

  Thirty-Nine

  I flop onto the bed, avoiding eye contact with the stack of schoolbooks on my desk. It might as well be Mt. Everest. I wish I could lose myself in something as inconsequential as school, but I can’t.

  Instead, I pull out my phone.

  I scroll to the message from Daniel. The one he sent me the night he died.

  The one he must have sent me right before he died.

  It makes me feel empty. Like I’m floating away.

  I almost put down the phone and ignore the video, but I can’t. This is what he so desperately wanted me to see. This is what meant so much to him. I owe him this.

  I’ve seen the beginning already. But this time I’m not impatient or irritated. The poor quality and the clichés don’t bother me. Instead, I think about the time it must have taken him to put the video together. The way he clearly selected the best photos of Chloe, of me, of the two of us together. The way his words—while occasionally predictable—also seem to be chosen with care and spoken in a thoughtful, sensitive manner.

  Daniel’s voice speaks to me from the past, summoning a million memories. Playing tag in our backyard until it grew dark. Eating frozen pizza on nights I slept at his house. The time we went trick-or-treating dressed as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

  Tears fill my eyes. I wipe them away just as the voice-over stops.

  I think that’s the end, but when my vision clears, I see that the video is still going. The images look rough. Maybe this is the part Daniel hadn’t worked on as much as the rest.

  He promised something would blow my mind, but it isn’t here. It’s just random images of town, the road, the accident site, and the memorial.

  But then the images end, and the screen goes dark.

  This time, I really do think it’s over. I’m about to put the phone down when the progress bar at the bottom tells me there are still five minutes to go.

  Is it five minutes of black?

  Curious, I keep watching. The screen flickers, and an image returns. It takes a minute. The image is dark and kind of grainy. It’s a shot of the night sky. Blackness and stars. A light post.