Checking the time on my phone, seven forty-five, I pace the small front stoop searching the street for signs of Olive. She said she would be here, and while I know she could have gotten tied up at work or maybe she was taking longer to get ready, something feels off. I have a sinking feeling that she’s not coming.
I could go check on her, make sure nothing bad has happened. But what if she shows up here and thinks I stood her up? Leaving now is risky. But so is waiting and not being there ifsomething terrible has happened.Think, think.Where could she be? Ariella!
Unlocking my phone, I navigate to my contacts, hovering over her name for a second before hitting the call button. I hope I don’t live to regret involving Olive’s friend, but what choice do I have. I wait impatiently while the phone rings not once, not twice, but three times.
“Sam? Is this a butt dial?” The confusion is clear in Ariella’s tone.
“Nope. Are you with Olive?” Straight to the point, if she is, then I know I’ve been stood up. My heart races. The sound beats in my ears. I sit down on the top step so I don’t keel over from my nerves.
“No? I thought you had a date at”—there’s a pause on the other end—“seven. She’s never late, Sam. Where is she?” Why is Ariella asking me? If I knew, I wouldn’t have called her.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. She hasn’t shown. And look, if she’s standing me up, just tell me. But I’m actually worried here.”
“She’s not!”
“Okay, well that’s good, but where is she? Can you track her phone?” It’s invasive and I hate asking her to do it, but isn’t this the exact reason that location feature exists?
“Yeah, I can. But, Sam . . . if she’s at home, I think I should be the one to go talk to her. I don’t want you showing up in case she had a change of heart,” she says, her tone full of warning.
“Yeah, okay. That makes sense,” I relent.
“Good. I’m pulling up the app now. Give me just a second . . . What the fuck?” She swears and my body erupts in nervous goose bumps.
“Where is she? What’s wrong? Why are you cussing?” I’m terrified and annoyed all at the same time.Just tell me already, put me out of my misery.
“Olive’s phone is at the cemetery. It’s showing she’s there and I just . . . Why would she be there?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll meet you.”
I hang up and race down the stairs and off my porch, nearly tripping twice on the way down. What if someone took her? What if she is hurt? Why would she even go into the cemetery? I knew I should have picked her up!
The Mage Hollow Cemetery is only a few blocks from my house, and I find myself crossing under the metal arch in record time. It’s dark, and I don’t know what the situation is, so I slow my pace. As I take a few tentative steps forward, shining my phone’s flashlight back and forth down the rows of final resting spots, Ariella steps up beside me, heaving breaths.
“Jesus, I haven’t run that fast in, maybe ever?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Anything yet?”
“I just got here. Can you pull up her location and see how close we are?”
Ariella looks at her phone then points toward the center of the cemetery. We don’t run. I want to with every fiber of my being, but I don’t know what’s happened, and I don’t want to sneak up on anyone. As we get about halfway to where Olive is, or at least her phone is, we spot her bag. Abandoned on the ground, movies and snacks spilling out.
Ariella sucks in a breath beside me. “Shit.”
“What?” I snap at her.
“That’s a thousand-dollar custom bag. No way she dropped that or even dared to set it on the ground unless she was forced.” Her voice shakes. I can tell she’s getting worried.
“Let’s stay calm.” I’m trying to keep it together, to ignore the voice in my head telling me this is very, very bad.
We keep walking until Ariella says, “We should be right on top of it.”
I shine my light back and forth on the ground beneath us, searching for her phone.
“Oh my God, Sam.” Ariella takes off running to the left. I can’t make out where she’s going until she crumbles to the ground, letting out a thick wail.
I sprint after her, Olive’s slight body splayed on the ground in front of me. I don’t even realize I’m calling the emergency line until an operator’s voice sounds aloud on speaker. “Mage Hollow 9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
I shove the phone at Ariella, dropping to my knees and running my hand down Olives’ face. She’s out cold. I lean closer to assess if she has any injuries. Carefully brushing hair out of her face, I see it. She hit her head—or maybe someone hit her? I’m not sure, but there is sticky red blood smeared across her face and a small, maybe two-inch gash on her forehead.
Ariella tells the operator that we need an ambulance, explaining exactly where we are. She’s shouting responses to an endless slew of questions, demanding someone get here as fast as possible.
