Chapter Three
ELIZABETH FROZE. HER pulse took flight as the darkness, the silence, pressed in all around her. She could see nothing. Hear . . . nothing.
How? How . . . ?
A second ago, she’d been walking across P Street beside Steph in the bright sunshine. Now . . . this. Had she passed out? Was she having a seizure, or a stroke? Good grief, had she . . . died?
No. Not unless her latte had traveled with her. Her Starbucks cup remained clasped warm in her hand.
“Steph?” Her voice cracked with fear.
Out of the corner of her eye, something coalesced from the darkness. Slowly, a landscape began to materialize around her. No, no, it was just her eyes beginning to adjust to a dark that was not, as she’d first thought, complete—the dark of a dangerously stormy day. Or dusk.
All around her stood buildings. Not the buildings that should be here but something entirely different—small houses and large, a general store, a . . . stable? It looked like a ghost town from a bygone era, deserted. Crumbling.
Trees rose among the buildings and houses, as if trying to reclaim forest once stolen by the town. But the trees were winter bare, twisted, some half-disintegrated, as if they, too, had been left to die.
What is this place? A chill skated over her skin, part shock, part true chill, for the air was much cooler here than it had been in . . . the place she belonged. How in the name of all that’s holy did I get here? It smelled different—woodsy in a dry, aged way, and dusty. Dust overlaid with decay.
Clutching her Starbucks cup with both hands, she turned around slowly, her heart trying to break its way out of her chest.
This can’t be happening. “I have to get to class,” she murmured, as if whatever mysterious hand had plucked her out of her life would say, “Oh, sorry. Of course I’ll send you back.”
Is this Heaven?
A sound caught her ear, blasting through the panic pounding at her eardrums. A man’s scream.
Maybe it’s Hell.
Her heart thudded so hard, her entire body began to quake. She felt light-headed, dizzy. Don’t pass out. You can’t pass out.
Another sound broke through, the dull clip-clop of horses. Multiple horses, much closer than the scream. Were the ghosts of this place coming for her? If so, she’d be the one screaming soon.
The warmth seeping into her now-shaking hands reminded her that she still held her latte. Gripping the precious cup, she sipped gingerly, relishing the tasty slide of warmth down her throat. The familiar taste grounded her, if only a little, reminding her of Steph, of their walk, of their discussion . . .
The nineteen missing.
Oh my God. I’m number twenty.
Her face turned to ice. Her head began to pound as one thought broke free of the dozens swirling inside. If Lukas finally came back, he wouldn’t find her. Now she was the one who’d disappeared.
“No,” she breathed, her mind turning to steel. “I’m not staying here.”
There had to be a way back home.
And she had to find it.