Half truth

Chapter Seven

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” Celia asked for the fifth time.

“Positive. It’s not like you were much of a roommate when you lived here anyway.”

“I paid rent though.” She stuck her tongue out. “Seriously, if you need anything, please call me. It doesn’t matter the time. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“I’m okay. I promise.”

Word traveled fast, even here. Then again, mom had requested a prayer chain in the school paper for Lincoln, which was also tweeted out and put on the online portal, so every time you logged on to look at school related things, you had the prayer chain for Lincoln’s recovery and Lana’s appearance. It must have been one of the many things our parents discussed that day at the house.

“We’re having a party tonight at the house,” Celia said. “I know you probably don’t feel like partying at all, but if you want to forget about everything for a night, you should come.”

“Maybe.”

“I left those two boxes in the closet,” she said as she walked out of the apartment. “I figured you didn’t want them in the middle of the living room.”

“What boxes?”

“The ones you had sent here. The ones with your brother’s name on them.”

“Oh. Yeah. Cool. Thanks for putting them away.” I held the door for her and watched as she walked toward the elevator. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Please come. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

I smiled and walked back into the apartment, shutting the door and locking it before heading to the guest bedroom closet. I pulled out the two boxes. They had my brother’s name on the top and sides. A part of me wondered if I should just leave them alone. They were private. I wouldn’t want someone rummaging through my stuff. But he was in a coma. He said he hadn’t tried to kill himself. With that thought, I tore the tape off the first box and started going through it. Hockey equipment, a jersey, two jerseys, jockey straps. I cringed. Gross. I’d brought his computer with me from his room, but I hadn’t found anything in there worthwhile. So far, there was nothing in this box that was worthwhile either. Who’d brought it though? Celia said it had been in the living room. I’d been gone a week, and I wasn’t sure how often she’d come around, but for the boxes to be inside the apartment when only the two of us had a key? That was odd. I looked at the time. I was going to be late for my first assignment, since I’d missed last week’s. I stood from the floor, grabbed my bag, camera, and left.

On my walk to campus, I started scrolling Lincoln’s Instagram. He wasn’t much of a poster to begin with, but in recent months, he hadn’t posted anything at all. My memories kept flashing back to the hospital, to seeing him with that tube down his throat, not letting him speak, and then the seizure. I shivered. Then I remembered the Morse code. I exited Instagram and opened my notepad. There were a lot of dots and a lot of lines. Shit. How could I have forgotten about this? I needed to decipher it immediately.

When I got to campus, I looked everywhere for Ella Valentine, but never found her. I did find a guy holding a recorder to a girl’s face and assumed he must work for the paper as well. I just hoped it was the same paper I was with. I waited for him to finish talking to the girl he was interviewing.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m here to take pictures for The Gazette.”

“Hey. Ella told me to expect you.” He smiled, holding a hand out. “I’m Max.”

“Amelia.”

“Nice name.”

“Thanks. You can call me Mae.”

“Cool.” He waved his recorder. “So, you want to do this together? I interview, you snap photos? Or are you going to take some candid photos?”

“I can do both. I’ll take some after you interview first so I don’t look so lost.”

“I heard about your brother,” he said, starting to walk over to another group of girls in uniforms. I kept up his pace. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything you need. I mean, we don’t know each other, but I figured I’d . . . I don’t know. If you need anything, I’m here.” He chuckled nervously.

“Thanks.” I offered a small smile.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“The doctors say so. I think so. He’s the strongest person I know.”

Even as I said the words, I felt like a liar, and then like a traitor because of it.

“That’s good. He was always one of my favorite people to interview.” Max smiled. “He was always nice.”

“Is.”

“Uh, yeah, but I meant when he was here,” he said, voice lowered as if to not offend.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” I shook my head. “Have you interviewed a lot of people so far?”

“The basketball team, volleyball team, soccer team, and lacrosse. I still need hockey and swim.”

“And you’re going to cover every single sport in one edition?”

“No.” He chuckled. “I’m going to do a page of quotes, so whatever stands out, I’ll put on that page.”

“Oh. Like a high school yearbook?”

“Like that but not corny.”

“If you say so.”

He laughed. “How ‘bout I show it to you and if it’s corny you let me know?”

“Okay.” I wanted to ask him about Lana, but hesitated. Was that a weird thing to bring up when you first met someone? Deciding I didn’t care, I brought it up anyway. “Did you know Lana Ly?”

“Yeah.” He eyed me strangely. “She worked at the paper.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that nobody is looking for her?” I asked. “The media is saying she ran away. Isn’t that weird?”

“The media is doing more for her than they’ve done for the girls who have disappeared in the past.”

“What girls?”

“Are you sure you want to hear about this? I mean, with your brother being . . . you know,” he said, “The last thing you need is something else to worry about.”

“I want to hear about it.” If nothing else, it would help take my mind off my brother.

“One girl has disappeared each year since the begi

“One girl a year?” I whisper-shouted. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. Look it up. Go to the archive newspapers in the library. The local paper usually hides them in page two or three. Never page one.”

“But these girls, wouldn’t their families be looking? Wouldn’t there be press conferences or something?”

“Most of them are foreign students. Those are the ones targeted. People from out of the country.”

“Lana wasn’t a foreign student.”

He shrugged. “Well, the media is reporting about her. They have a knack for pretty blonde girls.”

“Lana is Vietnamese.”

“A pretty Vietnamese girl, then,” he said. “They switched it up for once.”

“One a year doesn’t make any sense. Even a serial killer acts with more frequency than that.”

“In the last thirty years, we’ve had a total of sixty missing girls. That’s two a year.”

“So, more than one.”

“Right. And not all of them have been foreign.”

“Yet nobody has an idea who’s behind it?”

“A lot of us have an idea. I mean, you go on Reddit and it’s full of ideas.”

“Well, who do they think is responsible?” I pressed. “You can’t give me all of this information and then withhold the important parts.”

“Thing is, it’s just an idea. We could be way off base.”