She couldn't believe what had happened. She thanked whatever god there was that Evan was all right. But she didn't thank him that she was fine. She'd gotten away with absolutely no injuries. Evan had a concussion. Was in the hospital for a couple days. But at least he was ok otherwise. Ada wished she'd been driving. She would've made sure to jerk that wheel just a little harder left . . . that way, the car coming down the street would've ripped a hole right in the driver's side. . . would've taken her out instantly . . . torn her to pieces. Because each day that passed, she wished more and more that she was dead.

Her mother was working a late shift. She'd gotten two jobs, a long time ago, after Ada's father had left. She'd had to, because her career didn't make her enough money. So sometimes she worked late shifts at a weekend job and Ada and Owen were left to fend for themselves. It was Saturday night, now, and Owen had invited three or four friends over. They were in the basement. Ada hardly ever talked to her brother anymore. Since her father had left, she'd blamed her mother and been angry at the woman. Owen, on the other hand, hated their dad, and he was always angry at Ada for the way she talked back to their mom. That alone had caused a rift between them, but then, with her talent for screwing up peoples' lives, Ada had gone and messed with stuff she shouldn't have. Now, Owen was really despondent toward her. He really hated her. First she'd messed up Zach. Then she'd messed up her brother. She hurt her friends. Her family. Even Evan was in the hospital, and it was because of her distracting him as he drove. She didn't want to hurt anyone, anymore. How could she make things right, again?

And there was still Nate. He'd called her twice since coming to her house, and both times she'd not answered her phone. She'd just let him leave messages. Both had said something about looking forward to seeing her next weekend. That she'd better come. He was expecting her there.

She'd have to go; she knew it. Even though everything in her told her not to—told her to defy Nate—stand up for herself—do what was right, even if it was harder—she knew herself. Knew she wouldn't be able to not go. Nate had some sort of hold over her. And if she skipped the show, he might . . . just maybe this time . . . hurt her.

Evan had called that evening as well. Called from the hospital to talk to her. He'd sounded fine.

"When I get out, we're going to find Zach, for real," was what he'd first said.

"Well, somebody's feeling better," she'd replied.

"Yeah . . . I just feel like . . . we have to. I'm going crazy here, Ada. I keep . . . seeing things . . . things like in the woods. I know it's because of him. Because we forgot him. It's like, trying to forget was the worst thing we could've done. We weren't supposed to forget. That's what started this whole mess."

And Ada had felt herself crawling back into that wormhole deep inside her. Tears came to her eyes. She didn't want any more of this. She didn't want anything. "I don't know," she'd struggled to say. Forced out. "You could've died, Evan. You might've been dead right now."

"But I'm not."

"But—"

"And it's because of what's happening! Don't you think that if we try to ignore it again, it'll just keep getting worse?"

"No!" she'd said loud enough to startle him. "No, I . . . I just don't know. I was ok, for a while. I was fine. I was seeing Dr. Alder. I can get better—at least a little bit—again . . ."

He'd gotten angry. "Fine. You let yourself think that. You're just desperate to believe everything will go away if you try to forget it. Bad things don't just go away, Ada. They fester like infected sores . . . get bigger until they eat you alive."

"Ugh. I don't know." She rubbed her forehead, hard. Looked at her calendar. "I have an appointment with Dr. Alder this Tuesday. My mom scheduled it. Thought it would be good after the car accident, you know? So I won't be able to see you until after that."

Bitterly, he'd replied, "Why do you need the therapist? I'm the one who's going to have to figure out a way to pay for the damn cars." And then he'd hung up on her.

That conversation had been about an hour ago. She was up in the kitchen, now, debating whether she should try to eat something, because everything she'd tried to put into her mouth had had that metallic taste of blood. Her stomach was churning with hunger; she hadn't eaten since she'd had half a pop-tart for breakfast. But after staring at the refrigerator for about ten straight minutes, she decided against eating. Maybe putting herself through some sort of pain would make up for all the pain she'd caused others.

Laughter drifted up from the basement. Owen had left the door partially open. Ada went to the top of the basement stairs and looked into the gloom down there. She couldn't see her brother from where she stood. You had to go down the stairs almost to the bottom before you saw the couches and television down there. It was a pretty grungy basement. It was unfinished. The floors were cement and the walls naked brick, but Owen had assembled some random furniture down there, and he brought friends over at least a couple times a month to hang out. Ada knew what they were doing down there. She knew, because she'd been the one to plant the idea in Owen's head. He was in middle school—seventh grade—and she'd dragged him into this.

The sickeningly sweet smell of pot met her nose. Ada backed up a few steps. That smell brought all sorts of awful memories back. Most of them dealing with Nate. He was always lighting up. In basements, like Owen, or in the backrooms of the clubs he played at, or in the bathrooms of fast food joints. Pretty much anywhere he felt like it. It'd been one night when he and Ada were hanging out at her house alone when Owen walked in and found them smoking in the living room. Ada had tried to hide it. She really hadn't wanted her brother to know. She hardly ever did pot, anyway; she hated the smell, and this had only been her second time. She'd only been doing it because Nate had talked her into it. But while she tried to hide what they were doing, Nate had just laughed at her. Told Owen to come take a hit. The boy had been curious, and he kind of thought Nate was cool, and as much as Ada had protested, neither of them had listened. Instead, they'd laughed at her. Owen never listened to her, anyway. That had been that. They'd cleaned up afterward so their mother wouldn't find out. Nate had left, and Ada had tried to convince Owen to never do it again.

"Why the hell not?" he'd rudely replied. "You think you can do anything you want, but I have to listen to you. Get a life. I'll do whatever I want."

And he had been doing what he wanted. Ada had no idea how a seventh grader got a hold of drugs—even such a common one like weed—but Owen did. And their basement had become the place to be when their mother wasn't around.

She'd tried once to go down there and get him to stop. But Owen was stubborn and hated her. There was no way he was going to listen. And he knew that if she told their mother, she'd get in trouble too, because it'd been her fault in the first place. There was nothing she could do about it. No way she knew to help him, because he wouldn't see her intervention as help. He'd see it as nagging. And it killed her to know her little brother was becoming one of those doped-up middle schoolers who'd turn into a doped-up high schooler in a couple years because of her stupid selfishness. Her desire to feel accepted by Nate. She never should've gotten involved with him. She hated him. Hated him deep, deep inside.

She'd heard somewhere, once, that love and hate were not opposites. Love was an incredibly powerful feeling. Hatred was an incredibly powerful feeling. Both caused you to feel extreme emotion. So whether you hated someone or loved someone, you were using up a lot of yourself to feel that way toward them. So it didn't matter if Ada said she loved Nate or hated him—she couldn't get away from the fact that he caused her to feel such extreme emotion. Whatever she tried to call it—he had a hold of her. Only when she felt entirely uncaring toward him . . . when she forgot about him . . . when she didn't think one thing or the other about him . . . then, she'd feel the opposite of love or hate: indifference. He wouldn't be able to control her emotions, anymore.

It was the same with Zach, she realized. She'd never really felt indifferent about his disappearance. She hadn't been able to not care. Which was why it was still stuck so firmly in her brain.

But that didn't matter. She didn't think she could go through with seeing Evan again. Terrible things might happen. If she went upstairs . . . closed her eyes . . . curled up in bed . . . maybe everything would just disappear for a while. The pills! Yes. She had the pills from Dr. Alder. She'd take a few extra tonight and go to sleep early. Then she'd pass out and forget she even existed for a while. Several hours, at least. It would feel so nice to just forget. Resigned, Ada quietly shut the basement door, leaving her brother in his pungent clouds, and went up to her room, where her prescription medications awaited her. Evan could figure it all out on his own. She couldn't hold on to hope anymore. Not like him. She'd caused too much pain to continue being selfish.