- STEVEN -

"H-hello?" Sam's voice came through, gravelly and flustered. "Irina, I've been calling you all day."

"What a coincidence," she spat. "And here I thought you didn't care about me anymore."

He sighed. "Can we not do this right now? Look, I have something to tell you."

"Better be good. I've got a plane to catch."

"Irina, come on," he said. "This is serious."

"Fine, speak your piece. No one's stopping you."

He sighed again. "It would be easier if I could just...show you. Mind if I come by your house?"

"Not at all," she dragged, sarcasm oozing. "Let me know when you get here. I'll be sure to grab the shotgun."

"Irina..."

"No, Sam. You don't get to play your stupid games with me. Anything you need to say, you can say it right now."

"Come on, Rina, please. I seriously think I might know what's happening..."

"I don't care. You freaked out on me in the middle of Madam Caroline's office, you haven't called or texted in weeks, and suddenly I'm supposed to trust you? Did I mention that three people are now dead, including the woman whose computer you slammed in front of her face?"

"Whoa, Irina, take it easy," I whispered.

Sam exhaled heavily on the other end. "I know you have no reason to trust me...and you probably hate me." He paused. "But this whole thing—it means so much more than just...just some crazy news story."

Irina was silent. We all were.

"I shouldn't've yelled at you that day. I was scared—heck, I'm still scared—but it wasn't fair for me to ice you out like that. I'm really, really sorry, Rina." He drew another long, aching breath.

Irina gulped, opened her mouth to speak, then bit back her words.

"And I know you probably don't believe me, but...please. I think I can help. I know Lane better than any of you."

"What?" Irina gasped. "Sam, how did you—?"

"Because I knew her," he said gravely. "And she's the only one who could possibly be doing this."

"I—I thought Lane was dead," I whispered.

"So did a lot of people," Sam replied, "...including me. But somehow, she must have survived." He paused. "And I think I can prove it."

Irina hesitated. "...How?" 

"I...I have Lane's DNA."

What?

"Like I said," Sam drudged, "...it'd be better if I showed you what I mean."

Irina shook her head briefly, her eyes wide with bewilderment. "O—okay," she said. "We're all at my house now." She paused, her voice quivering. "Come on over, I guess."

****

When Sam pulled up at the curb adjoining the Gravesteppers' house to the main road, Irina left me and Ahmed at the front door before plodding across the lawn to go meet him.

Her eyes fell to the grass the moment he stepped out of his car, an athletic drawstring bag hanging tightly around his upper back.

He stared down at her. "Can I have a hug?"

She didn't move, didn't say a word.

He stretched his arm tentatively forward, circling both her shoulders, and pulled her close to him. Her head rested against his chest.

"I'm sorry, Rina," he whispered into her hair.

She still didn't speak, but I could faintly hear her sniffling as she shivered against him. After a few more stills of silence, the two of them finally turned and walked up the sidewalk, joining me and Ahmed as we headed back inside.

I shut the door slowly, and Irina led the way to the living room couch, where she and Sam took seats in the middle.

"Alright," Irina said in a voice just above a whisper. "Where is it? You said you had Lane's DNA."

Sam nodded quickly, sniffling. "Yeah," he tried. "Yeah, I do." He looped the drawstring bag from around his shoulder and stretched open the top.

"What's in the bag?" Irina's question sounded much more like a command.

Sam gulped, shutting his eyes briefly. "The reason I...the thing is..." He stopped, swallowed hard again. "I was so scared that day, Irina. Madam Caroline's—she's been doing this for a long time, way too long. And seeing her at that office...it just brought back everything that happened to Lane twelve years ago."

"Sam," Irina huffed, "we don't even know what that is. What happened twelve years ago?"

"Madam Caroline." He closed his eyes. "She wrote this article, this horrible article about Lane after she kicked one of my teammates down the stairs and he went into a coma."

"Well, I didn't know Lane," I piped up, "but it sounds like she deserved whatever that old bat wrote about her."

"Shut your mouth," Sam barked, turning to look me in the eyes for the first time. "You don't know anything about what happened."

"Then why don't you tell us?" Irina interjected, turning Sam's attention back to her. "You said you knew Lane, that she's the only one who could possibly be doing this. So prove it."

Sam sighed. "It was an accident. Lane never meant to kick Jay down the stairs. And I know because she told me herself."

"And you believed her?" I countered. "Dude, hate to rain on your parade, but Lane doesn't sound like the nicest girl in the world—or the most honest."

"Shut. Up." Sam whipped around to face me again with rage, brows arching angrily above his eyes.

I held up both hands. "Look, man, I'm just saying what everyone here's thinking—"

"Really? And remind me again where you were twelve years ago, you cocky prick!" Sam clenched both fists as he glared daggers at me.

"Guys, come on," Ahmed begged. "We're on the same side here..."

"Sam," Irina drowned out Ahmed's plea. "You said you had evidence. And so far, I'm not convinced."

His eyes fell as he turned back to her. "Rina, please. Please don't do this; you gotta believe me. Lane would never—"

"Show me her DNA."

"Rina—"

"Show me, Sam" she demanded in a low but unwavering tone. "Show me—or get out."

For a while, he just stared at her, just sat motionless without a word to say. "O-okay," he managed at last, then returned to his drawstring bag and stretched it all the way open.

He reached inside and pulled out a circular cutout made of orange construction paper. Stripes of what looked like sharpie marker had been used to draw black basketball strips onto the paper. "Do you remember this, Irina?"

She shook her head.

"Lane gave it to me," Sam said with a sigh. "In seventh grade."

"Why did Lane give you a basketball cutout?"

He paused. "Because you asked her to."

Irina was silent.

"She was your friend too. In fact, you said she was your best friend—that she and GiGi were your big sisters and..." He exhaled. "...and that I was your brother."

Irina shook her head. "Sam, what does this have to do with anything?"

"Because the day I left Madam Caroline's office, I found this cutout on the dinner table at my apartment." He reached inside the drawstring bag again. "And I also found these." He held up several tiny strands of light blond hair.

Irina drew back instantly at the golden locks. "What the—"

"This is Lane's hair, Irina. It's gotta be."

"...But wait," Ahmed said hesitantly. "If you're so sure that hair is Lane's, why didn't you just take it to the police?"

"I tried." Sam shook his head. "They said they didn't have any of her DNA on file and couldn't make a comparison."

"But why would Lane give you her hair?" I asked.

Irina stiffened her back. "Maybe GiGi can tell us." She stood up and left the living room, returning moments later with the wooden box she'd snagged from Molding the Way.

"Whoa. Rina, what's that?" Sam queried.

"It's GiGi's box from Molding the—"

"Hold on. You don't know Lane, but you remember GiGi? How?"

"I don't remember her," Irina spat. "We met yesterday. Look, can we play catch up later?"

"You know, you could be a little more appreciative, Irina," Sam huffed. "I am trying to help you guys here."

She flipped open the wooden box like he hadn't said a word. The first thing she pulled out was a wrinkled piece of loose-leaf notebook paper with an old, browned piece of tape attached to it.

"Dear Lane," Ahmed read aloud over Irina's shoulder. "Roses are red; violets are blue. If you were a booger, I'd pick you...huh?"

Sam gasped. "There's no way."

"What do you mean?" Irina asked before turning to him, puzzled. "Sam, what is it?"

"That's...I can't believe GiGi kept that."

"Why does it matter?" I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. "What's so special about some stupid—"

"I wrote that," Sam breathed. "Lane thought one of my teammates did, but...it was me." He half-laughed, half-sighed. "She yelled at Dorian like it was the stupidest thing ever, poured water all over him in front of everybody."

"Yikes," Ahmed mused. "Sam, man, I hate to say this, but she sounds horrible."

"Maybe she was," he finally relented, speaking in a low voice. "But I was crazy about her." He angled his head upward, started staring off into space. "The only reason...I even joined the basketball team in the first place was 'cause I thought she'd notice me. But she never did. She never really noticed any of the guys in our class. All of us lost it whenever we saw her. I'd get so nervous just watching her walk into English after lunch, but...I knew it was never gonna happen." His eyes stopped tracing the ceiling and rested on his lap, then rose and trailed to Irina. "Then I met you. And somehow, by some miracle, she finally started talking to me."

Irina drew back. "W—what do you mean?"

"I told her...I told her something really personal. And she never told anyone else. She kept it a secret."

Irina hesitated. "Was it about Bethany?"

His eyes grew wide. "H—how did you know—?"

"I saw you when...when you went to her grave." Irina looked down. "Sam, I was your friend. Even back then, you could've told me..."

He dropped his head, covered his eyes with his hands. "You were six," he said, his voice gravelly. "And I was scared of...of losing you too."

"Sam..."

"But I never did, Irina. You were always there for me." He paused, arms shaking. "And when Lane disappeared, I just...the thing I was so afraid of was telling you. Telling you that I couldn't save her."

"Save her?" Ahmed asked. "Save her from what?"

Sam sniffled. "From Marcus...and Glenn."

My jaw dropped. "What!?"

"I was visiting Bethany's grave one night, and Lane came running out of nowhere. She hid under some leaves and begged me to keep silent. Then Marcus and Glenn came running after her; they asked me if I'd seen anyone, and I told them no. I...I socked Marcus in the face and took off running to draw them away from Lane." He hung his head. "They caught me eventually, took me home to my parents. A few days later, Channel 6 Local declared Lane dead—suicide. Said they'd found her bloody clothes after she'd jumped off the falls at the end of the woods."

"Sam," I puzzled. "...I thought you said she was alive."

"She is alive, Steven. She has to be. No one else would've known about this basketball cutout—or Ruby Densett, or Madam Caroline's articles..."

"But literally anyone who was alive back then could've—"

"No!" he screamed. "This is Lane. I know it's her!" He shook his head, tear droplets streaking down his face and dripping to the couch. "That basketball cutout." He closed his eyes. "Lane gave me that the first time she ever hugged me..."

"It—it's okay, Sam." Irina placed her arm on his shoulder, looking softly at him for the first time since he'd arrived. "It's okay. We'll figure all of this out."

"How?" his voice trembled. "Irina, how?"

She withdrew her arm and shuffled around in the wooden box on her lap. "With this." She held up a silver flip phone. "When me and Ahmed went to visit GiGi yesterday, she showed us this phone. And I'm willing to bet whoever kidnapped her is probably stored as a contact."

Ahmed turned quickly to shoot a knowing glance at me.

It was my turn to swallow hard, then stand to my feet. "There's...something else you guys should know too." I went to the foyer, where I'd left my backpack earlier. I unzipped and fished through it until I found the spiral journal waiting inside. I caught a deep breath and trudged back to the living room.

"This is Charity's private journal," I said evenly. "And whoever keeps leaving these blond hairs put a ton of them in here."

"So what, then?" Sam quivered. "To catch Lane, we have to pry into some sweet old lady's life?"

"Whatever's in here," I answered, "Lane, Charity, Shelby—someone wants us to find it...and I say we give 'em what they want."