A Curious Obsession

 

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Chapter 1

One moment Juniper Reese existed, and the next she vanished into thin air. 

At first, I chalked up her not answering my phone calls to being busy. We normally chat every single night, but we also both have full time jobs that tend to weave into our every day life. Work life balance has never been a thing for the Reese women, plus I knew she was organizing a gala at the school where she taught, so I waited for the typical text that followed up a missed call.


Hey. I’m busy but I’ll call you tonight. Love you.


But this time, there was no text. I told myself it was okay, there wasn’t anything to worry about, any moment now I would hear from her and she would be apologizing profusely because ohmygosh I had no idea what time it was…

But then I went more than 24 hours and didn’t hear from her, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. That was Sunday. Yesterday. I called her multiple times, each time hoping that she’d breathlessly answer, nonchalant about the stress I endured. Even though I knew that wasn’t Juniper. Even though I knew she would never just not call me back. I stare up at the fan in my room, tying to determine just how much of an emergency this is when I feel a familiar pain blossom in my chest that feels a lot like grief.

If mom were here, she would know what to do.

I scrape the edge of my hairline with my finger, anxious for some type of clarity. Instead, it’s just the standard brain fog coupled with anxiety and grief. I groan. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to be able to accomplish anything until I get coffee. I take a deep breath, willing myself out of bed. A glance at the clock lets me know it’s not even five in the morning.

Not surprising. Sleep and me aren’t friends, especially when my sister isn’t responding to texts.

I sniff and push myself up and out of the covers, stretching and watching the lights outside my window blink in iridescence. I chose this loft for a reason — it overlooks the San Francisco bay. Throwing a chunk of my monthly salary toward the minuscule living space that functions as a bedroom, living room, and kitchen seemed rational at the time. Now I’m just lonely.

Lonely and worried.

My feet grab the coolness of the wood beneath me as I sleepily move from the bed in the corner to the kitchen counter a few feet away. Bonus of living in a true loft: the coffee is literally steps from your sleeping space. I turn on the espresso machine and choose my roast for the day, tampering the grounds and hoping my mind being somewhere else entirely won’t effect the taste of the brew. At this point though, I guess it doesn’t matter. The coffee will be more about clarity and energy than enjoyment. I grab a cup and pour the shots, mixing it with almond milk. Juniper would be laughing at me right now and reaching for the full fat cream I leave in my refrigerator door in case she ever comes to visit.

She’s only come once.

I grab a blanket draped off the side of my bed and carry it with me to the couch that sits against a brick wall and in perfect view of the sun beginning it’s stretching over the horizon. I try and think back over my conversations with Juniper.

Monday, a week ago, she talked to me about Simon. They were ending it for real this time — his pursuit of a career getting in the way of her desire for normalcy.

“What’s more normal than brow beating your way up the corporate ladder while your wife stays home and pops out babies?” I joked with her. She didn’t find it funny.

Tuesday I called her crying, completely in my feelings. A project at work was running away from me and I didn’t know how to fix it. Like always, Juniper came in and offered her logic and practicality. By the time we got off the phone, she could barely form a sentence since it was so late on the east coast and I was downing a shot of espresso, fully inspired. I finished the project the next day. I texted her my celebratory photo of taking shots. She texted me that she was afraid I was becoming unhinged.

Wednesday was no different, either. We texted throughout the day and then she told me she was going to be busy working with another teacher on the Gala.

Thursday morning when I woke up, there was a text waiting for me saying she needed to call me about something and to be expecting to hear from her the next morning because she’d be working on the Gala again that evening.

“This is important. Please answer,” she said.

Meaning: this is important. Please get your ass out of bed and be ready to talk.

Friday morning I got up early — I remember stumbling out of bed and making my coffee and properly attempting to do some sort of yoga before getting a notification that she’d sent me a video message in Marco Polo. I clicked on it, confused. She stared back at me, smiling and walking into her school. I could see students walking by her, attempting to get to their own classes on time.

“Hey. I know I said I was going to call you this morning but I was working on the Gala until pretty late last night and slept in today on accident,” she rolls her eyes. “We still need to talk, though.” She’s out of breath. I frown as I watch it again for the thousandth time. There’s a shadow that crosses her face when she tells me she still wants to talk. I hit the home button on my phone before my response starts playing and rest my head on the arm of the couch.

Friday morning. Last time I heard from her. Is this grounds for calling the local police?

My phone vibrates in my hand and I startle, my heart racing. I glance down at the screen and feel the crashing of my energy when it’s an unknown number. I recognize the area code though — that’s Providence. Where Juniper lives.

“Hello?” I’m quiet. Apprehensive. Something tells me I won’t like what I am about to hear and I begin imagining the worst.

“Hi. This is Tracey from Sacred Heart. We’re looking for Juniper and you’re listed as one of her emergency contacts. Have you spoken with her recently?”

There are moments in life where you experience something in technicolor. Everything around turns luminescent, a built in bokeh effect around the moment. Finding out my mother died is filed under this category.

So is finding out my sister is missing. Truly missing — not just ignoring my calls and texts.

“I’m - I’m her sister. I haven’t heard from her since Friday. Did she not show up today?”

For Juniper to not show up to one of her obligations, let alone her job, is definitely out of character. A cold realization hits my limbs and I’m glad I’m sitting down. Tracey wouldn’t be calling me if Juniper had waltzed through the doors this morning like she always does. I can feel my pulse staccato out a rhythm that’s unfamiliar. Something is wrong. Tracey clears her throat.

“She’s been great with communicating in the past if she would miss, and so when she didn’t show, we thought we would reach out in case you had heard from her. You are her emergency contact.”

“I haven’t. I-I haven’t heard anything, actually. Like I mentioned before — last time we spoke was Friday.” I take a fistful of hair from the messy bun on the top of my head and squeeze until I feel the pressure against my scalp. I’m beginning to come undone and I need some type of tactile reminder that I am okay, in this moment, that I can breathe and focus on what’s next.

“Have you spoken with the other teachers? Is there someone there she’s close to who might know where she might be?” Right here in the middle of my living room, I’m going to unspool and collect like dust on the hardwood if I can’t figure out what’s happening and why my sister is suddenly missing.

The lady on the other line sighs and I swear I feel her judgment permeate the line. “Your sister isn’t really very…close with other teachers.”

“What about the teacher she was working with on the Gala? Would they know?”

“He’s not in yet this morning. I haven’t been able to ask him.”

I rub my tongue across the top of my teeth and put in the back of my mind that I need to ask her why she never specified this teacher was a man. Not that it matters. Well, yes it does. For sisters. If anything I would have been able to give her hell.

I think through any other options — any other person I know she might have been working with on something or another. Conversations about the teachers and their close-knit community come back to memory. Juniper had a hard time connecting with the tribe-like mentality there. She was always telling me about an awkward conversation or an invisible rule she knew nothing about within their culture. I remove my hand from the tangle of hair and spread my fingers out over my knee, pressing down as hard as I can and breathing like my counselor taught me so many years ago after mom’s death —

Inhale one two three

Exhale one two three

It calms the panic attack that I can feel brewing underneath the surface, but I know it won’t work forever. That’s when I know I need to leave.

“I’m coming,” I say. “I’ll be on the next flight.”

I hear Tracey mention something incoherent and I speak over her, “my sister wouldn’t miss work. Something must be wrong. I’m coming. We’ll find her.”

I hang up the phone and let the adrenaline move for me: finding a flight out of San Francisco, calling the local police station out in Providence, and shoving as many clothes as possible in my carry on — I’m not too concerned about how many outfits to bring. Juniper and I are the same size. I can always borrow her clothes if needed.

I fly in that night. I take an Uber to her house out in Newport, feeling the apprehension settle in my throat as we turn on her street. When we reach her house, I notice the lights are off. I pay for the drive and close the car door behind me, standing on the sidewalk for a beat before moving up the steps of the porch. My heart is beating an unfamiliar rhythm of fear and unknowing. What happens if she doesn’t answer? What happens if I find her inside? I swallow those thoughts, shoving them as deep as I can, and try the doorbell.

Nothing.

I look around me, noticing the lack of other houses nearby — it’s a quaint neighborhood on the edge of the coast. I can see the waves crashing over each other from here. I try knocking, and when I don’t hear any footsteps, I try the doorknob.

It’s locked.

I bite my lip, trying to remember where she put the key for drop in visits, attempting to encourage me to come and stay for a bit. It isn’t something obvious like underneath her door mat. She didn’t even have one. I look around her porch, trying to determine where I would hide a key if I were Juniper.

Oh.

I reach over and felt the underside of a nearby sconce. My fingers brush up against the familiar shape of a key and I manage a smile.

The key goes into the lock and within seconds I’m in the entryway of her home. I glance around, trying to ignore the overwhelming scent of my sister that permeates every surface.

“Juniper?”

My voice sounds scratchy and foreign. I clear my throat and take a few steps into her living room, noticing her bedroom door ajar. I walk toward the kitchen counter, my head tilted in the direction of her room. There’s no response.

Nothing.

I spend a few moments walking through every room and checking every closet, making sure that I know with everything left in me that she is not here. I glance out her bedroom window and notice the path winding up the cliff and hugging the coast. It’s her walking path. I almost walk outside and straight onto the loose gravel, mimicking her movements and wanting desperately to retrace her steps. But I’m not familiar with this area, and it’s the dead of night. I may want to find her, but I don’t have a suicide wish. I decide to pull out my phone and call the detective they put in charge of her missing person’s case. I glance at the clock at the wall after dialing and recognize the time — 11:00pm. I shrug.

He did say to call at any time…

The phone rings twice before he picks up, groggy.

“This is Dan.”

I wrinkle my nose without thinking. Dan. Such an ordinary name. My mother's voice echoes in my memory and I remember Juniper and I sitting on either side of her on the bed eating ice cream out of the carton. 

"Don't ever trust a man with an ordinary name, girls. He'll be so bored by the ordinary he'll purposefully shake up his life and create chaos on a whim.”

It probably doesn’t bode well for my relationship with this man that I already have a suspicion and distrust of how he’ll handle the case because his name rhymes with van.

“Hi, Detective. It’s me. Lavender.”

“Ah yes. The spice girls.”

I roll my eyes. It was bad enough that Juniper and I were identical twins right down to the part in our crystal blonde hair and the freckle on our left cheek. Names meant so much to my mother that she chose Lavender and Juniper: intuition and healing, respectively.

Despite this, Detective Dan is not the first to call us the spice girls. As if both Lavender and Juniper are spices. As if there is nothing else to be pulled from our names other than it being some type of decoration. I think of the first time we came home fuming because of the nickname. We didn’t even know there was a girl group attached to the name first — all we knew was that being dubbed spice girls felt wrong and misplaced.

“You are not a decoration, girls,” mom said. “Your have all the sass you need, but you are not regulated to the spice on a dish. You are more than that — so much more. You hear me? Your names come from here,” she patted her chest, signaling her heart and soul. “Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.”

And then she looked into our eyes and spoke the meaning we knew then by heart.

Her hand on my cheek, “intuition,” she whispered.

Her lips on Juniper’s head, “healing,” she echoed.

I sigh.

Mama, I sure wish you were here.

I sniff and Detective Dan takes my silence as approval to continue.

“It’s late,” he says.

“I know.” I rub at my face, anxiety already starting to settle in and make a home with dry patches and mini-breakouts. “I wanted to let you know I’m here in town. I flew in tonight and am at Juniper’s place now.”

“Is she there?”

I blink at his question. Is she…what?

“No.” I respond. Probably shorter than he’s expecting because I hear a slight grunt on the other end.

“Okay. Just checking. Sometimes family just likes to…you know…disappear for a while.”

Something in his voice makes me pause. I pull at my ear, feeling the weight of my earrings stretch the skin.

“Have you checked in with any of her coworkers yet?”

“Well it’s only been today that you reported her missing and it is almost midnight so…no. I haven’t. I was working on other cases today.”

I breathe in quickly and he jumps in, “I would like to reiterate what I mentioned to you earlier — your sister is an adult. It’s very possible she needed to get the heck out of dodge, if you know what I’m saying. We can’t force her to come home.”

“I know what you’re saying,” I whisper. I fall into her leather couch and pull a pillow into my lap. “But what I am telling you is that Juniper just doesn’t disappear. Something isn’t right and I’m just asking for y’all to help me find her.”

“Okay. We’ll take a look at the school tomorrow. See if we can’t get a feeling for where she might have wandered off. But for now, Ms. Reese, I suggest you try and get some rest.”

I laugh under my breath because like that is going to happen. We hang up and I twirl my cell phone around in my hand, trying to determine how nosy I want to be with my sister’s belongings. Her space is immaculate: nothing out of place. It wouldn’t be hard to find anything that feels as if it doesn’t fit. I start in the drawers on her nightstand.

“Alright, J.” I whisper to the air around me, “show me where you are….”

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Chapter 2

Her drawers are filled with innocuous things: receipts, magazine subscription cards, pens and other plethora. But the difference is that Juniper’s drawers are organized. Like, she has partitions and dedicated boxes and a receipt holder labeled 2018 Taxes. I spend hours pilfering through her documents and belongings, opening up mail and cracking her windows so I can hear the waves crash in the distance. She organizes with precision. It doesn’t take me long to understand her process. Bills go in the mail holder by the door. Magazines pile up on the shelf below her nightstand. Books are alphabetical. She’d probably have a fit at my books currently organized by the color of their spine.

After hours of searching, I still feel lost. I have no idea where else to look and part of me feels crazy for expecting her to turn up at any moment. The other part anticipates it like my next breath. I wait, and I search, and I glance at the door, willing her to return.

She never does.

She didn’t leave anything important behind: cell phone, computer, purse, keys — none of them are here. I bang my forehead against the wall in frustration. It’s not that I expected to find out where she was based on something she left behind, but I was hoping for some sort of clue — something that would let me know she was okay. Something like a plane ticket or travel plans.

At least then I would know she just didn’t want to be here anymore.

But again: I know better.

Our entire life, Juniper was the practical one. She would often complain that I got all of the creativity and sass and she got all of the logic. Nothing was happenstance with her. Even down to where she lived, she intentionally created a life that existed from her goals. It’s why she chose to teach in Providence and live in Newport — enough distance between us to live our own lives without any overlap. Even more important: enough distance between her work life and students and the space she made her home.

“I need to find my own identity,” she said.

So she left California and moved across the country, from one coast to another. She chose Providence because of it’s big-little-city vibe and Newport because she could still live by the ocean. I remember her balking when I mentioned the name — how it felt like providence that everything was falling into place.

“Please. That’s a not a thing.”

And now she was gone.

Something grates at me though about her nightstand, and so I return to the drawer, opening to find the same receipts and mail outs and pens. But what keyed into my subconscious earlier I now see clearly: a tiny latch in the side corner. I push in and something gives, releasing a secret area where you can hide valuables. Instead of valuables, there’s a solitary piece of paper. I pull it out and unfold it, noticing the rudimentary way it’s haphazardly creased. I smile, thinking of the many ways Juniper would fold our notes in middle school and high school — before cell phones were an expected accessory and text messaging the preferred method of communication. It’s obvious Juniper had nothing to do with the folding of this note.

The handwriting is also a giveaway. Large and splotchy, the letters fall over each other in their attempt to form a word. It’s simple message: five words. I get a dryness in the back of my throat when I read it, even though the contents are relatively innocent.


WHY DO YOU IGNORE ME?


I frown. Who would write this? And why would Juniper save it? I stuff the note in the pocket of my bag. I plan on heading to the school tomorrow morning and will show Dan. It might mean nothing. It could have something to do with her and Simon recently breaking up for good. But I saw nothing of his when I was searching the place — no signs of a relationship, either. No keepsake boxes, no pictures, no memories stashed behind the clothes in her closet for when she’s feeling lonely.

Not that I know anything about that.

I walk to her bed and collapse into the covers, exhaustion taking over. My thoughts aren’t even making sense anymore so I know I should probably call it a day, despite the way my insides are colliding against each other. The fear I have for her is palpable, like a taste I can feel on the edge of my tongue — bitter and sharp. I still feel her, still know she is somewhere waiting for us to find her, I just have no idea where. The note I found feels weighty and important, too. I look out the window and try to decipher the horizon from the sea and there’s no discernible difference: it’s all black expanse. I try not to find the metaphor in that, but it’s already there, lodged in my mind.

There is no difference. It doesn’t matter. You can’t save her.

I grab a pillow and throw it over my head, groaning. For the first time since I realized she was missing, I let myself cry. The tears come hot and fast and spill down my neck, forming wet spots on the sheets. I can’t stop. The grief and fear and not knowing feels as if it will swallow me whole. And perhaps it will — perhaps I won’t exist anymore just like Juniper.

Just like the horizon being consumed by the black expanse.

There’s nothing more I can do tonight, so once the tears subside I finally let myself breathe deep and settle in as much as possible. At least I am breathing. At least I can feel my heart beat at a normal pace. For the past 36 hours I feel like my heart has been beating a steady rate fit for cardio. The fear is still here. The grief and worry continue to consume. But for now, my exhaustion wins. My heart rate continues to slow as my eyes grow heavier and heavier and my breath deeper and deeper. My mind is still racing, but I’ve effectively worked until I cannot move anymore. Sleep comes quick.


.::.


The next morning I’m woken up by seagulls. For a brief moment, I’ve forgotten about the particulars of why I’m within earshot of the coast and I allow a slow smile to creep across my face.

My body remembers before I do.

I feel the tension in my neck and my heart begin to race in anticipation. It’s a desperation: a please please please tap of staccato that jolts me awake as memories resurface.

Juniper. Missing.

I rub my face and try to blink the night away, feeling the soreness settle in my joints. I’m suddenly very thankful I decided against the unopened bottle of sparkling wine I saw in Juniper’s fridge last night. I wanted to open it so bad — wanted to dull the sharp edges of how my mind was playing tricks on me and crafting worst case scenarios over and over and over again. Ultimately, I left it in the fridge. If I had started drinking, this morning would not have been so kind.

It doesn’t take me long to get dressed and find a taxi to take me to Sacred Heart. Once I get there, I’m struck by the architecture. No wonder Juniper spoke about the tight-knit community of the school. It looks like it’s only the elite who are able to step through the iron gates guarding the property.

Dan is already here. I pay the driver and step out of the car, waving in his direction. He looks at me and widens his eyes in surprise then purses his lips. We’ve never met in person and I don’t even know if he knows it’s me, but it feels like he doesn’t want me here.

Tough titties, Sherlock.

He’s ending a conversation with one of the teachers when I walk up to him.

“Thanks for chatting with me, Stacy. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Of course,” she offers half a smile. “We’re all worried about Juniper and hoping she’s taking care of herself, wherever she is —“ her voice falters. “She was just so quiet last week. More so than normal.”

He hands her his card and excuses himself before turning to me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi,” I hold out my hand. “I’m Lavender.”

He rolls his eyes. “I figured. I’ve seen pictures of your sister and for a moment I thought it was her waltzing into school.”

“Oh. Yeah. Makes sense.” You would think that being an identical twin sits in your psyche at all times, but there are so many moments I forget to other people, I’m not my own person. I’m one half of a whole. I look him in the eyes for the first time and notice boredom behind his gaze. I feel my defenses rise.

“Have you heard anything worth while?”

He shakes his head.

"There’s nothing. We’re about to check her car because it’s still parked in the parking lot, but there’s no one who saw her leave, no one with any information, nothing on the security tapes.”

“Is it okay if I go into her classroom?”

He glances at his watch.

“Right now?”

I nod. “Classes won’t start for another 30 minutes. I just want to see if there’s something that looks out of place,” I pull at a strand of hair and twist it around my finger. “It’s not like anyone here really knows her, so wouldn’t I be a better gauge of what’s normal?”

He squints off in the distance, thinking. Finally he shakes his head and waves me by as he starts walking toward the parking lot.

“It’s not a crime scene. I can’t stop you.”

I’m already walking up the steps. I already feel closer to Juniper than I have in days. Almost as if I walk where she has walked, I can conjure her presence through the footsteps left in the hallway.

“Ms Reese?”

I blink, realizing someone is talking to me, and turn toward the voice. It’s a young man, his backpack flung over his shoulder haphazardly. When I catch his gaze he tries to hide the shock but it crosses his features in a flash.

“Hi,” I respond. I offer a smile. “I am Ms Reese but probably not the one you’re looking for — my name is Lavender.”

He looks really confused now.

“I’m Steven.”

“Hi, Steven. Listen…”

He chuckles, interrupting me. I stop talking, swallowing the question I was about to ask.

“This is weird. You look…you look exactly like her.”

“Yeah. We’re twins. Identical.” I tilt my head, explaining the obvious. I feel like I need to go super slow with this man-boy standing in front of me and I’m completely lost as to how to handle logical explanations — or just a simple conversation — with him.

“I’m actually looking for her classroom. Could you show me?”

“She hasn’t been here.” His hand grips the strap of his backpack, the other one dangles by his side holding a cell phone. He’s still staring.

I start to sigh and then stop, not wanting him to see my frustration.

“I know. That’s why I’m wanting to find her room. I’m thinking I might see something letting me know where she went.”

He stares at me for a few more seconds before his sneakers start squeaking against the linoleum. I’m not sure if he’s running away or leading me to her classroom so I stay frozen for a moment, realizing how unsure I am of how to interact with teenagers.

“Follow me,” he says, calling over his shoulder.

My lips push together and I raise an eyebrow. Right. I’m fairly certain by now that I would lose my ever-loving mind working with this age group every single day, not knowing what was going on in their heads at any given moment. As I shuffle my feet a few times to catch up with Steven, I consider the patience of Juniper and am thankful all over again for my advertising job back home.

Her classroom is empty when we get to the door, and I say a quick thanks to Steven who is muttering about needing to get to his first period study hall. I give a half wave as I walk through the threshold, and pause for a moment, overwhelmed with the sense of Juniper that permeates the space. There’s her diplomas — a BS from Brown University and the M.Ed. she received from Stanford. Next to it is a bulletin board full of pictures of her travels — Paris, Hawaii, the Alaskan cruise we took two years ago. We loved it so much we decided to extend our stay and turned the second half of the cruise into an Alaskan vacation. Memories come quickly. Her wanting to read in the hotel, watching the snow fall while I wanted to hike, the quirky locals, the grizzly that roamed into the street as we were trying to make our way to the airport. I fight from grabbing the pictures for myself and focus on finding something that feels out of place. I walk to her desk and move the chair to sit. I grab a pen and twirl it in my hand, flipping through the calendar she has opened to Friday’s date. There’s nothing scheduled for that evening, but on Saturday she missed a hair appointment. The pen freezes mid-roll as I lean closer to read over the appointment again.

Juniper never misses her hair appointments.

I lean back in the chair, staring out the window, when I hear footsteps. It’s Dan. I look at him as he pauses in the doorway for a second before walking toward me, a toothpick dangling from his mouth.

“What.”

I can tell there’s something he’s not saying.

He swallows for a moment before pulling something out of his pocket. It’s a piece of paper. Something about it jolts a memory, but my brain is still so foggy I can’t pull it into clarity. 
“Was Juniper stressed?”

The corners of my lip drop downward before I straighten my face, remaining stoic despite the panic rolling through my veins.

“As stressed as any teacher would be at the end of the year. Why?”

He looks down at a desk for a moment before deciding to sit in it, and folds his hands in front of him. He hasn’t caught my eye since that first moment of him walking in the room, and my nerves are at a peak right now trying to decipher his body language.

“What about her relationship? Didn’t you mention to me that she had recently ended things with her boyfriend?”

I nod. “Yeah. He was determined for her to come and work with him at his new firm and she didn’t want to — she loves working here.” I wave my hand around, signaling her classroom. “He got adamant about everything, gave her an ultimatum, and Juniper doesn’t work with ultimatums. She ended things.”

“How torn up was she about the break up?”

I laugh. “She wasn’t. Her and Simon are notoriously on again and off again so for her, this was the last straw.” I remember the conversation we had that night — her exclamations at finally feeling free and able to live her life. My eyes widen.

“Oh.”

Dan flips his eyes toward me and then back down again.

“Oh?”

“Did you find something about travel in her car? I remember — she said something about traveling to Morocco finally. Maybe she booked a ticket and left?”

He shakes his head. “We didn’t find anything about a trip to Morocco.” He fingers the piece of paper in his hand. “But we did find this.” He taps it against the desk and looks at me.

“Lavender….it reads like a suicide note.”

I don't know what scientific explanation there is for what happens when identical twins are separated by death, but I imagine it has something to do with your molecular structure shifting into second gear. And if I listen hard enough, I can still hear the second beat to the rhythm of my heart. I know Juniper is still alive because I feel her.

I'm thinking about all of this as Dan is telling me how they think Juniper committed suicide and I can't do anything but laugh out of disbelief.

“You okay?”

I cross my legs and shrug. “I’m fine. But Juniper isn’t dead.” 

He drums his fingers on the desk in front of him, a toothpick poking out of his mouth, bouncing up and down. He says nothing. I glance at the clock and realize we don’t have very long before students start filing in, expecting to learn something about math.

“It’s what we have, and it makes sense. She was quiet, but even more so before she disappeared, had recently been through a breakup, didn’t really have anyone close to her….”

I shake my head. Refusing to believe it. 

“Assuming someone is upset or disappointed or sad or whatever from a note seems a lot like conjecture.” I hold out my hand, wrinkling my fingers for him to give it to me. I need to see it. I need to read what she wrote.

“Let me see it.”

He hands it over, and I grab the paper. Opening it up, something snaps free in my mind and I stare at the handwriting. It’s not hers. It’s not her handwriting. I breathe out relief while feeling a sense of curiosity and dread take over. I know this handwriting.


I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. 


That’s all it says, it’s a note with five words. I push aside the anger at their willingness to assume she ended everything over five words because there’s something here I never anticipated. The way the letters collapse over each other — I breathe in quick and stumble for my bag where I shoved the other sheet of paper last night. I pull it out and shake it with my hand, motioning for Dan to grab it.

“She’s been getting notes. This has the same handwriting. I found it stashed in a compartment in her nightstand drawer.”

Dan looks at me, his eyebrows bent toward his eyes. He reads the note I found and takes the note he found in Juniper’s car, comparing them.

“They’re definitely written by the same person,” he says.

“Yeah. But who?”

He studies the pieces of paper again.

“You found this in her nightstand?”

“Yeah it was hidden in a box where you keep valuables — I almost missed the latch until I went back and looked again. I don’t know why she would have hidden the note. She didn’t say anything to me about someone writing her…”

I need to talk to you….

Her words echo back to me and I pause. Is this what Juniper wanted to talk to me about on Friday? I push back the unease forming a brick in my throat as I remember the shadow that crossed her face in the Marco Polo message.

I need to talk to you…

Something tells me she didn’t get to me in time. Whatever these notes are, it’s why she’s gone.

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