And another.
I can see properly again.
My thoughts clear.
“Tell me what is going on, and we'll think about it together,” says Jane.
“El—“ I say. “She—yesterday—I need my phone.” And I run around to find it.
“In your hand,” Jane says.
I shake my head as I unlock it.
News. There would be news.
I type in Whitney Morgan news.
My entire body is pricked with goosebumps while it loads.
I read. But there is nothing.
No news about her father’s arrest.
No paparazzi about her being spotted somewhere.
I stare at the screen.
“Amelie,” says Jane.
My eyes wander up into hers.
“Tell me what is going on, and I might be able to help.”
I bite my lips. I made a promise to never tell.
“El,” I say, and suddenly, words pour from my mouth, “She said something yesterday, that she wanted to do something, I can’t tell you what, because I promised her to never tell, but it’s bad bad what happened to her, and now she is gone, leaving me this strange note and she took drugs, I saw it when I gotthe ibuprofen for you—“ my eyes widen. “I completely forgot the ibuprofen?—“
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Just tell me.”
“We made a deal, no drugs. She almost OD’d when we were in Florida. And I made a deal with her, but she broke it. I can’t reach her. The car isn’t here. I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”
Tears stream down my face. Speaking it out makes it so real.
“I hear you,” says Jane. “We breathe and don’t panic until we know. She might be doing whatever she wanted to do, and can’t take the call.”
“She’d be talking to the feds,” I say.
“See,” Jane says. “That is something we can find out.”
“We can?”
“Yes,” says Jane, and goes to grab her phone.
I watch her call.
“It’s me, Jane,” she says into the speaker. “Listen, I have something really important; a simple yes or no would suffice, but I need to know if there is a case recently opened, related to?—”
“Elise Whitney-Morgan or Richard Whitney-Morgan,” I say.
