The door of Evan's house hadn't seemed so big the last time Ada had been standing in front of it, although that had been a long time ago. Right now, it looked really . . . threatening, for some reason. She didn't want to go inside. Maybe she'd made the wrong decision coming over. Maybe she shouldn't have called Evan. Maybe Dr. Alder really could fix her head, and this was just another waste of her time and a step backward in her recovery process. If she saw Evan again, it would all come back to her. In fact, the memories had already begun to flood back. Of course, that had started with the blood on the walls, not Evan's phone calls. So she couldn't blame him for the nightmares and memories.

Nightmares and memories—it was hard to tell the difference between the two, now.

She checked her phone; it was ten after eleven. Evan probably thought she had changed her mind. Really, though, she'd arrived on time. She'd just been standing at his door for ten minutes, afraid to knock, afraid to go in and rekindle all the parts of the past year she'd been unsuccessfully trying to snuff out. She wasn't sure she was ready to look back.

But then her hand pulled open the screen door, and she rang the doorbell. Some instinct had kicked in and made her do it, because even as she pressed her finger to the button, she didn't know if she wanted to.

Within seconds, it seemed like, Evan was opening the door. Ada had wanted to turn and run, like some little kid pulling a ring-and-run, but her feet had kept her firmly cemented to the concrete step. And actually, when she saw her old friend's face, a wave of something she could only relate to relief swept across her, as if all of a sudden, she was with someone who would understand what she was going through. She hadn't quite recognized how insanely alone she'd felt for the past months until she saw Evan, his darkly-lit eyes, his perpetually mischievous expression, his Goodwill attire and wry smile. For a moment, all Ada could do was stare at him, just as he stood staring at her, like a statue in the doorframe, and then, with a sigh, the girl wrapped her arms around him.

Evan, while a little startled by Ada's sudden gesture, gladly returned her hug. He felt her shudder and it dawned on him that she was crying. By the time he managed to get Ada into the house and close the door, he felt his own face burning and knew if he let himself go, he would start crying too. But he wasn't going to break down like that. This wasn't the time, and he wanted to at least appear strong in front of Ada, who obviously was pretty weak at this point.

It was about half-an-hour before Ada settled down, before she felt comfortable enough to talk. Evan led her into the living room and got her a glass of water, and she just sat there and shook her head and said she was sorry for leaving him all on his own. And then he said that he was sorry, for leaving her on her own, and the conversation was only about how wrong each of them had been for trying to pretend the other didn't exist. Only after they'd both apologized more than once did Ada turn the conversation away from themselves by asking, "How much do you think about Zach?"

Evan wasn't surprised by her question at all. He looked at her hands, how tightly they were gripping the glass of water he'd given her, and he wondered how ok she was. Trying to be somewhat casual, he answered, "All the time."

Ada chewed on her lip. Sipped the water, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Nodding, she replied without looking at Evan, "Me too. It's like, I can't get him out of my head. I keep saying, what if? you know? Like, what if I'd remembered him? And what if I'd listened to him when he tried to tell me what was going on? And what if I'd never been such a jerk because of Nate? I just . . . I talked to my doctor about it, Evan. I really think you should get one, by the way—a doctor. Dr. Alder is amazing. But even though she tells me not to blame myself for what happened, I keep doing it. The thing is, she makes complete sense when I'm there, with her. I completely understand why she tells me what she does, and every time I see her, she makes me feel like it's not my fault, and I believe she's right. Then I leave, and I go home, and the guilt starts to overwhelm me again. Still, I know the only reason I've been able to make it this far is because of the times when I see her. Otherwise, I have no one to talk to." She felt kind of bad saying that, because both she and Evan knew that they'd have had each other to talk to, if they'd not been so afraid.

After a moment of quiet, Evan avoided picking up where she'd left off, because it would just send them into another round of apologies. "What've you been seeing?"

Ada placed her glass of water on the table and sat back against the sofa. Evan was across from her, in a chair. His parents had serious money. All the seating was leather, and the room looked like a picture out of some home decorating magazine. It was too perfect. "Blood."

"Blood?"

"Yes. Blood lining the clouds. Blood in my food. Mostly blood on the walls at night. And I talked to Dr. Alder about it; she says it's just my imagination overreacting because I still feel so guilty. That I'm only thinking I'm seeing it because I'm so overly post-traumatic emotional. Like, my guilt is so strong that my emotions are taking over my brain."

Evan shrugged. "You believe that?"

"I did." Ada rubbed her hands together, clasped and re-clasped them uncomfortably on her lap, as if she didn't want to admit that the doctor could be wrong, because then her faith in her recovery process would be shattered. At length, she added, "I believed her until you called."

Sensing a hint of resentment in her tone, Evan, somewhat offended, replied, "Well, I'm sorry to have popped your safety bubble, but you know our brains didn't make up that night, so how could you try convincing yourself it was all hallucination? Didn't we spend hours with the police assuring them that we were completely right in the head? Isn't that why everyone started thinking we were freaks at school? If you want to tell yourself you're insane, then fine. But me . . .? I'm not ready to believe that, yet. I mean, we all have our problems, Ada, but you know we didn't hallucinate in those woods. You're in denial if you think your brain's just making you see things."

Ada got defensive. Her voice rose. "All I'm saying is that Dr. Alder knows about this kind of stuff. She's got a doctorate in psychology. She knows how brains work. I still don't know what exactly happened back then, Evan. But I do know that at least I'm trying to make sense of it. Not like you—shutting yourself into a box."

Evan didn't respond. He just stared at the girl across from him emotionlessly.

Taking that as a sign to go on, Ada added, "Look at you! Home-schooled, dropped out of all the stuff you loved, like theater and music, not going out at all, just shut up in your house with only yourself. No wonder you're seeing things again! You have nothing to distract you—nothing to keep your mind off of stuff. I'd be screwed up, too, if I was just by myself all the time."

"I'm not screwed up." Evan's voice was low and ominous.

"I can tell you're trying to convince yourself that. So what's the difference between you and me, Evan? Huh? I'm trying to believe that we didn't really see all that, and that it was my imagination overreacting. You're trying to convince yourself it did happen, because you don't want to believe your brain's a messed up piece of crap like mine. So what's the difference? We're both trying so hard to make ourselves believe we aren't going insane. Does it really matter how we're going about doing it?"

"Yes," Evan immediately answered. "Because you're denying it happened, which means that you won't be ready to move forward and accept whatever happens next as being real. I'm at least accepting all of it; I'll be ready."

Ada laughed. "Ready for what, Evan? What do you think is going to happen?"

"I . . . I don't know. But look at us—we're arguing. That's not why I wanted to see you. This is all pointless if we argue."

She knew he was right. What was real and what wasn't didn't matter. She was seeing things, and he was seeing things, and whether they were actually there or not didn't make much difference.

Both of them avoided eye contact for a moment. Ada was beginning to think she'd made a big mistake in coming over, and Evan was trying to figure out the best way to tell her what he wanted to do. Because, now that he'd seen her, he knew that what he was about to suggest would be pretty big for her to accept.

Ada felt suddenly ashamed of herself. She'd come over, knowing Evan would support her, would believe her, would understand where she was coming from, and rather than talking to him as if he was someone equal to her, she'd shot him down for dropping out of school and hiding away in his house. Wasn't she just as bad? Sure, she'd been going to school, but she'd avoided everyone. And when she wasn't at school, she was hiding away in her bedroom. She was no better than him, but she'd sat there and made it out like he was the one with problems. Did he have an ex breathing down his neck? An ex that was abusive and scary but that he was still drawn to? No. He wasn't caught up in some dysfunctional relationship web. Evan just wanted to be left alone. What was so wrong about that? She really was the one with issues.

"I'm sorry, Evan. I am. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think . . . I think that I want so badly to be ok again that I . . . I just don't know what to do to put it all back together. And . . . I'm scared. Of being reminded. Of having to face it all again."

"I know," Evan assured her. "I know." This was his chance to slip in his idea. "See, this isn't working for me and you—hiding, trying to forget it happened. Trying to pretend like everything's just going to slide back into normal. It's doing nothing but making us less sure of ourselves. So I've been thinking, and I feel like . . . that maybe if we try to do the opposite, maybe that will put things right."

Ada wasn't catching on. "The opposite? What do you mean?"

How could she not get it? Evan widened his eyes at her.

She got it. A gasp escaped her. "You mean . . . purposely try to figure out what happened?" He nodded. She shook her head. "But Evan, it's impossible! The police can't even get it. Nobody can. That's been our biggest problem—that we couldn't get closure because no one can find him. So what do you think we can do?"

Sighing, Evan chewed his tongue. "Well," he began, "I have some ideas. But part of me feels like, since we were the ones who were tied up in all of it, we're maybe the ones who need to solve the mystery. You know? Like, maybe if we try to retrace our steps, try to figure out what exactly happened, where Zach was . . . not even just physically, but, like, mentally. Emotionally. Where he was. What was going on with him. Why it was so important that we meet him. I mean, think about it. People don't just disappear into thin air. There has to be a reason he's gone. There has to."

"Yeah? If you're so certain there's a reason, how do you expect us to find it when no one else could?" Ada didn't want to admit that she'd thought of this too—that she'd wondered if Zach's mystery couldn't be solved by anyone but her. But now that Evan was actually suggesting they work together to figure it out, she was fast losing faith in herself.

Evan drew in a breath, prepared himself for what he was about to say. "I think we need to go talk to his parents."

Ada's mouth dropped open. Her eyes grew larger. She couldn't believe what Evan had just suggested.