“Where’s your phone?”
“It’s dead,” I reply.
“Then charge it.”
Considering the fact that I jumped into a river with it, I think it’s a little beyond saving. Ruining two phones in the same week is a new record for me. “It’s dead dead.”
“Oh.”
I turn toward him with big hopeful eyes. “I promise it won’t take long.”
He takes his index finger and pushes me back by my forehead. “Fine, but stay over there.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and enters his password. “Don’t do anything weird on it.”
I take it and open the browser. There’s already a page loaded: a page about cosplay and how to build a DIY helmet. “Really?”
“Hey, don’t mock Blue Vortex. I’ll take my phone back,” he says, reaching back for the phone.
I jerk away. “What I meant is that it looks very cool.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I open up a search bar and look up “Oakland Bridge Missing Persons.”
A bunch of articles flood the screen. I see my name at the top, which I should’ve expected, but it catches me off guard. There are so many articles about me being found.
Emma Adler Was Discovered Safe After Running Away Just Days before the Anniversary of Her Sister’s Disappearance.
Young Girl Hospitalized After Being Discovered Near the Oakland Bridge.
Missing Cardale Senior Has Been Found Alive and Well.
I scroll past every article that looks like it has something to do with me. Farther down I start to see the articles about Mallory pop up. But hers are the opposite of mine.
Search for Mallory Adler in the Oakland River Continues.
Mallory Adler Presumed Dead Three Weeks After Being Pushed Off the Oakland Bridge.
Body Found Near Oakland River.
I sit up straighter. Body found? I click the link and scan the article.
On Saturday morning an unidentified body was discovered in the Oakland River. The area is closed off to the public as the police investigate the death.
Then I see it. The date.
My hands shake and I can’t breathe.
April 6th, 2023.
Mallory jumped off the bridge on April 5th, almost exactly one year apart.
“I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m supposed to be getting you back home,” Sam says, following me into the police station.
But I don’t hear him.
“Can I help you?” asks one of the officers.
“I need to talk to Detective Amato.”
