"Google." Robbie shrugged. "Nothing is sacred anymore. Anyway...you sing, I play drums, Jake plays ba.s.s. We have this thing coming up."

Elissa blushed, knowing he must've found her old website, one she'd created two years ago when she was determined to "get her voice out there." She'd uploaded all her original songs, half hoping her dad would discover it and call her. He never did.

Robbie dug into the front pocket of his tight jeans, prying out a green flyer that had been folded into a neat square. He pa.s.sed it Elissa-the paper was still damp with sweat. She opened it anyway, surprised at the block letters on top. BATTLE OF THE BANDS, it read, with a graphic of a guitar. Robbie s.h.i.+fted in his gray low-top sneakers.

"What do you say?" Jake asked. "Want to come sing with us?"

Elissa narrowed her eyes at them. "And if you suck?" she asked, only half joking. She'd been invited to play with enough "bands" to know that the good ones were rare. And she couldn't imagine anything worse than standing on stage, trying to play music, when everyone around her was fumbling to keep up.

"We don't," Robbie said. He pulled a memory stick from his backpack and tossed it to Elissa with a new confidence. "That's a recording of us. Listen to it. If you like it, come check us out-we practice tomorrow."

Jake and Robbie took off back down the quad, leaving Elissa there to think about it. She'd never been in a band, per se, unless you counted those months before her father left. They would spend good nights in the kitchen, gathered around the table, her dad moving his fingers so quickly over the neck of his guitar she could barely recognize the chords. Elissa would strum along, and Sarah would sometimes sing with her. Now her father was known entirely separately from them, the ba.s.s player for the Constants, a small indie band that toured mostly in Europe. She wondered if Robbie had discovered that too-if that was the real reason he wanted her to join up with them.

Jillian stood, glancing over Elissa's shoulder at the flyer. "They are good," she said. "You should go. I'm about ready to ditch the famine relief fund anyway."

She looped an arm through Elissa's, something Elissa would normally hate. But standing there with Jillian, the idea of this band on the horizon, she felt more at ease than she had since she arrived in Woods.h.i.+re. Maybe, just maybe, her mom was right-maybe this was a new beginning for them both.

Sarah stood in her hospital scrubs, drumming her fingers against the counter as the barista fixed her coffee. She checked the time above the kiosk. It was just after three o'clock, which meant Elissa had finished last period and was heading home...presumably. For the last couple of days, Sarah hadn't been able to stop thinking about Elissa, and the look on her face when she walked in the door the other night. When Sarah asked her about her first day, she'd frozen, providing only one-word answers. This wasn't exactly new for them, but Elissa looked a little shaken... scared, even. The only thing she had said was that he had gone to the famine relief meeting, and Ryan Jacobsen had given her a ride home.

Had he done something to her? Maybe Elissa was right-maybe the Reynoldses were just closed-minded, but it was strange that that boy lived in the same house where his parents were murdered. What kind of person would be okay with that? And why didn't anyone in town seem to know him? She'd seen him leaving his house in the middle of the night twice in the past week, the old sedan loud enough to wake her up.

The barista handed her the coffee, and she turned, noticing a police officer standing outside the hospital's front entrance. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than her, with dark brown eyes and short black hair that was combed perfectly into place. She couldn't help herself. Before she knew it she was outside, leaning against the wall next to him, tapping her foot five hundred times a minute, trying to figure out just how to get his attention.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, looking down at her foot. He smiled, a dimple forming in his right cheek. "I usually have that effect on ladies. I'm trying to not be so devastatingly handsome."

Sarah laughed. Was this guy flirting with her? "No, no," she tried. "I wanted to ask you something. I'm Sarah Ca.s.sidy."

"Bill Weaver." The man put out his hand for her to shake.

"My daughter is seventeen, and we just moved here. We're living in a rental on Sycamore Lane. And-"

"And you wanted to ask me if I thought it was possible that you could have a seventeen-year-old daughter. I would have to say no."

Sarah smiled. This guy was definitely flirting with her. "It's about Ryan Jacobsen, actually." Bill's face grew serious as she said the boy's name, his brows knit together. "He gave Elissa a ride a couple of days ago. Which is fine, I guess, but I see him coming home late at night. I was just wondering if you knew anything about him. If he's..." She trailed off, not wanting to seem too judgmental.

"Okay?"

"Exactly," Sarah said. "Finding out your parents were murdered like that, by your own sister? It's kind of intense."

Bill leaned against the wall, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. "You'd think people might have a little sympathy. I was the one who told him and his aunt. I drove three hours upstate to tell them personally. Ryan was living with this senile lady who could barely talk. I think he took care of her, not the other way around. He ended up moving back here with her, and she died last year. The kid's had a hard life. Look, I've never had any trouble with him and no one else has as far as I know. But people sure as h.e.l.l like to b.i.t.c.h about their property values, don't they?"

Sarah stared at a spot on the concrete, suddenly a little embarra.s.sed. Was she just as bad as that uptight woman at the Reynolds barbecue? Elissa would be mortified if she knew Sarah was going around, asking random police officers about Ryan Jacobsen. "I guess they do...." she said.

Bill turned to her, resting his hand on the radio at his belt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump on you. I just know the town board's been trying to get him out of that house for years, and it p.i.s.ses me off. He has every right to be there-that's still his home."

Sarah knew, logically, that he was right. If Ryan Jacobsen was dangerous, wouldn't that have been more obvious? For years he'd lived in that house, and all the neighbors had to complain about were the peeling s.h.i.+ngles, or the overgrown lawn. They talked about the double murder as if he himself was implicated just by being related to Carrie Anne. He'd been a kid himself. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Thanks, Officer," Sarah said, turning back toward the automatic doors. Her break was ending, and the doctor on call was OCD about s.h.i.+ft changes.

"Please-call me Bill," he corrected. "I'll see you around?"

He was smiling. There was that dimple again. "Sure, Bill," Sarah called over her should as she entered the air-conditioned lobby. She took off down the hall, chucking the empty coffee cup in the trash. He was right-Ryan was a victim himself. Ryan had a right to live in that house, and just because he sometimes drove around at night didn't mean there was anything wrong with him. Maybe he was trying to clear his head, or couldn't stand to be alone in that house at certain hours.

She went into the elevator, her stomach dropping as it rose to the tenth floor. But as she started back to the nurses' station to check in, she couldn't shake an uneasy feeling. She remembered the bright headlights s.h.i.+ning for a moment through her bedroom curtains. If Bill was right, if Ryan wasn't dangerous, then why did she still feel sick at the thought of Elissa in that car?

Elissa bounded up the side stairs, careful to jump the broken slats. She rapped on the door twice, noticing Ryan through the foggy gla.s.s pane. He was hunched over his laptop. Brown grocery bags were scattered over the kitchen counter. "Hey...it's me," she said, opening the door a crack. "I made you a CD."

Ryan fiddled with the web page a moment before he turned around. He looked nervous, as if she'd caught him doing something wrong. She took a few steps closer, noticing the screen. He was looking at her old website. The first song she'd ever written-"Daylight"-was paused halfway through. "That's my page," she said, not quite believing it.

"I wanted to hear more of your music," Ryan said. "That's not weird, is it?"

"Not unless you didn't like it," Elissa said, sidling up beside him.

Ryan looked down, seeming so much shyer than he'd been before. "It was beautiful."

Elissa poked him playfully in the chest. "Right answer." She laughed. She glanced around, for the first time processing that she was inside the house-the Jacobsen house she'd heard so much about before she'd even seen it. It smelled dank and musty, cut with the scent of bleach. The couch was a strange polyester print, like something out of That '70s Show, and yellowed drawings were taped to the fridge in the kitchen. On the counter, by the sink, there were three loaves of bread, a stack of frozen dinners, and nearly twenty cans of soup, among other things.

"Stocking the old fallout shelter?" Elissa asked.

Ryan blushed with embarra.s.sment. "I don't like to go into town more than I have to." Elissa noticed the thin metal bars on the windows. She'd heard murmurings at school-vandals sometimes came by Ryan's house, throwing rocks through the windows. At one point someone had literally tried to burn it to the ground. Part of her understood what that was like. Maybe their old apartment outside Chicago hadn't been targeted by vandals, but there were always robberies and shootings on her block. They had security bars too, and barbed wire coiled around the fire escape.

Elissa held up the CD. "I want to play you something." She started into the living room, where an ancient stereo was sitting on a bookshelf. The bookshelf was filled with hardcover novels, and there were stacks of more books around it, piles of tattered paperbacks and worn copies of old plays. Elissa grabbed one off the top of a stack- "Arcadia" by Tom Stoppard.

"I see you like to read." Elissa studied him, starting to piece together what it was Ryan did in his spare time. He must be one of those guys who spent days reading, studying, content to be alone. Who could he really connect with in this town anyway? Nearly every single person had heard about the murders, had been convinced they knew exactly who Ryan was before they'd spoken two words to him. He never really had a chance.

Ryan just ran his hand through his hair, brus.h.i.+ng a few strands off his forehead. He blushed, as if getting so much attention embarra.s.sed him. "Let's hear it," he said, nodding to the stereo. "The CD."

Elissa fiddled with the b.u.t.tons, and a low, crackly voice filled the room. She'd been obsessed with the band Continuum since her dad played her their first alb.u.m. She loved the lead singer's raspy vocals and the way the piano music swelled in the background. She stood there, just inches away from Ryan, watching him take it all in.

Ryan smiled up at her. "You like it?" she asked, studying his face.

"I do," he said. He did that thing again where his eyes traced over her lips, her cheekbones, down her throat to the plunge of her V-neck T-s.h.i.+rt. "Very much."

She turned away, feeling the stirrings of nervousness. What was it about Ryan Jacobsen that made her so self-conscious? As Ryan stood there, listening to the next song, she glided around the room, taking in the framed photos on the wall. There was one that must've been Ryan's parents. The young couple was in wedding garb, the bride staring into the camera with brilliant blue eyes. Elissa turned back, waiting for Ryan to say something, but he was still by the bookcase, lost in thought.

She walked down a narrow hallway off the living room, where another shelf of books was. She studied some of the t.i.tles, letting the music drift in from the other room. There was a door just a few feet away. She tried the handle without thinking, imagining it was the first-floor bathroom. Instead, it was a tiny bedroom. The walls were covered in bright circles-teal, pink, and purple. The bed was still covered with a musty quilt. She took a few steps in, noticing the wooden chest of toys that sat in the corner.

Elissa heard Ryan behind her. She turned, immediately regretting what she'd done. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come in here."

She took a few steps, trying to get around him, but he blocked her way. "You don't have to go. I haven't been here in a long time." He was strangely calm as he moved past her, going deeper into the room. He picked a teddy bear off the bed and brushed away the dust.

Elissa pulled her blond hair into a tight ponytail, twisting it hard. Why had she opened the door in the first place? "Ryan, I'm so sorry," she tried.

Ryan looked up, meeting her gaze. "When I first got here, I kept her room exactly the same in case she came back."

"How long has it been? Four years?" Elissa asked.

"Yeah, I know." He let out a sorrowful laugh. "Stupid, huh? I even used to leave supplies for her in the woods- food, blankets, even though I knew she could never have survived out there. She would've starved to death. She never could've been out there on her own. She needed constant care. My dad wanted to put her in a home, but Mom wouldn't let him. That's why they sent me away. They had enough to deal with as it was, without me in their hair."

Elissa lowered her head, not sure if she could bring herself to ask about it. Everyone in town talked about Carrie Anne, but no one ever said what had really happened to her-what made her that way. "What happened? To your sister..."

"We were playing, and she fell and hit her head." Ryan stared down at the teddy bear. "This was the bear she played with that day. I was seven and she was five. She loved that game. She'd s.n.a.t.c.h it from me and run through the house, trying to get away. I chased her out into the yard and tackled her, wrestling the bear out of her hands. We laughed for a while, and then played the same game we always played-seeing who could swing highest on the swings."

Elissa could picture the little girl clinging to the swing, her tiny legs pumping back and forth. Her blond hair blew away from her face, then forward, hiding her. Ryan was next to her, reaching for her hand, but she was always just a little out of reach, the swings not yet in sync.

"I looked up at the window," he continued. "To see if my parents were watching. They spent all of their weekends in their room, with the curtains drawn, smoke wafting from under the door. They always seemed in some far-off place-I know now they were battling an addiction. I was looking up at the window, waiting for them to see. That's when Carrie Anne fell. She tumbled off the swing, hitting the ground hard. The last thing I remember is standing above her, screaming. It seemed like a long time before they came out of the house."

Elissa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It was a horrible story.

Ryan stared down at the teddy bear, slowly remembering where he was. "When she woke up she was different. She had brain damage. She would scream all the time. Break things."

"Is that why all the window have bars on them?" Elissa asked, not entirely certain what to say.

"Yeah, she didn't understand where she was all the time, and she'd run out into the woods. They were to keep her in. They're useful now, though-stops the townies when they come down here."

They stood there in silence. Ryan still clutched the teddy bear in his hands, looking at it as if it were the first time. Elissa wanted to say something to comfort him, but everything she could think of seemed false, wrong. She wanted to say she understood, but how could she? Even the worst things she'd been through-her parents' divorce, her father leaving-were nothing like this. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed.

Ryan leaned into her. Then he set the teddy bear gently on the bed and led her back into the hallway. "I don't like coming to this part of this house," he said softly. He shut the door tightly behind them.

Elissa looked up at him, wanting to throw her arms around him in a hug, even if three days ago they'd been just strangers. "Then we won't," she said, pulling him back toward the living room, where the music still played. "I promise we won't."

Elissa sat next to Ryan on his bed, their fingers just inches apart. The room was too small for them. There was only a narrow twin bed and a desk, but the ceiling was peaked, with a small circular window looking out into the backyard. A framed photo hung on the wall. His parents had their arms around each other. Carrie Anne stood in front with her teddy bear, and Ryan was off to the side. He looked so serious. He was the only one who wasn't smiling.

"So that's Carrie Anne," Elissa said, studying the blond girl with brilliant blue eyes. She stood in front, her mother's hands on her shoulders. "Her eyes are so blue."

Ryan leaned in, his shoulder pressing against hers as he studied the picture. "She was the heart of the family. After the accident, things changed. My parents got worse."

"What do you mean...worse?" Elissa asked.

Ryan shook his head, as if he didn't want to talk about it. "It was just different."

"Is that when they sent you away?" Ryan looked up, and his eyes met hers. He didn't answer the question, and she didn't want to push. "I know it's not the same, but everything changed when my father left. It's like everything was split into before and after. It's hard, knowing he's touring, that he's out there without us. Sometimes I wonder if he even cares about me at all."

"He must, right?" Ryan said. "He has to."

Elissa stared straight ahead. She hadn't heard from him in over a year. She would sometimes follow his band online, keeping track of their tour stops. When she was packing up the apartment in Chicago, helping Sarah put the kitchen supplies in boxes, she thought: Berlin. My father is in Berlin. As the days pa.s.sed she thought, Munich, Amsterdam. All the while she wondered if he ever thought of her, or if he'd been content to keep that part of his life separate, never mentioning the daughter he'd left behind.

Elissa blinked, for a minute not registering what she was seeing. The swing set was still out back, the rusted slide sitting at a strange angle. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I guess a divorce is nothing compared to what you've been through. It's just...I haven't talked to anyone about this before."

Ryan smiled, resting his hand on her back. "I'm glad you told me," he said. She thought he was going to say more, but instead he stood, heading downstairs. She followed, feeling like that might be her cue to go. She felt foolish for saying it, even if Ryan had a.s.sured her it was all right. It was strange though, how he'd stood so suddenly. Why had he done that? It was as if some internal alarm had gone off, and he'd realized he'd had an appointment somewhere else.

Downstairs, the house was dark. Ryan went into the kitchen, fiddling with a few of the groceries on the counter as if she weren't there. She suddenly felt so self-conscious, not sure whether she should stay or go. She grabbed her sweats.h.i.+rt from the sofa and pointed to the stereo. "Enjoy the CD," she said, taking a few tentative steps toward the door. Ryan barely turned to say good-bye. "See you tomorrow."

When she finally left, Ryan went to the door. He hovered there, waiting on the porch, watching as she took off across the lawn. "See you tomorrow," he called after her. She turned back, and he waved, his face feeling stiff and awkward. He'd never been good at pretending.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. As soon as she was inside her house, he moved quickly, pulling a can of minestrone soup from the counter and popping it open. He dumped its contents in a bowl and slid it in the microwave, watching it spin several times before it was done heating. He tested it with his finger, making sure it wasn't too hot. Then he a.s.sembled it on a tray with a few cookies. She would like this, he knew she would. Chocolate chip were always her favorite.

He went to the edge of the kitchen, opening the bas.e.m.e.nt door. He started down the long flight, keeping careful balance of the tray, not wanting to spill even a drop. When he got downstairs, he kicked back a wide throw rug, revealing a trapdoor. He set the tray down as he opened it, then he started down the metal ladder, into the secret room.

He'd built it himself, reading carpentry manuals for weeks before he started. He'd bought the lumber and dug out the earth, making sure it was deep enough that no one would hear her scream anymore. He walked to the metal door he'd purchased years before, two inches thick. Her shadow pa.s.sed over the peephole. He reached up, pulling the key down from the top of the doorjamb.

Ryan took a deep breath, preparing himself as he always did. He kept the tray balanced in his left hand, away from the door, so she wouldn't knock into it. As he turned the k.n.o.b he checked the peephole again. Her shadow had disappeared.

He opened it and her high-pitched wail filled the air. She was hovering in the corner, next to the small table he'd bolted to the floor. It had a baby monitor and a puzzle for her to play with when she got bored. She turned suddenly, darting toward him, her blond hair falling in her face. She reached for him, trying to claw at his eyes, and he tried his best to set the tray down as he pushed her away.

He restrained her, wrapping her in a bear hug. "Easy, Carrie Anne. Easy," he whispered. She turned her head, biting into his forearm so hard that she drew blood. He winced, trying not to let go. He couldn't let her do this. He wouldn't let her hurt them anymore. He took a few steps back, pressing himself into the mud wall to stabilize them. Then he slowly bent his knees, tightening his grip as they sat on the floor.

His voice was trembling when he finally spoke. He hated her for this-for what she'd done to his life. She would always be the burden on him, always, until he died. "Why do you do this, Carrie Anne?" he asked. "Don't I take care of you? Don't I?"

When they were both sitting, he reached for the small syringe in his back pocket. He'd been buying the sedatives online for years, ordering them from a website that sent them from somewhere in Mexico. He plunged the needle into her arm and pushed down until all the medicine was injected. It took only a few moments for her body to relax. Her shoulders slumped forward, her head lolling to one side. He brushed the hair away from her face, looking into her bright blue eyes-the same ones he'd known since he was a child.

"We have a new neighbor. And I like her, Carrie Anne. Elissa and her mom moved into the Reed house, and you are going to leave them alone. Do you understand me?" He squeezed her tighter as he spoke, unable to control the anger in his voice. She had done this to him-it was her fault. Because of her, everything had changed.

Carrie Anne's head fell forward, and she whispered something under her breath that sounded like a yes. He helped her into her bed, leaving the dinner on the small table, right beside the monitor. Then he double-checked the room, making sure everything was in its proper place. There was a wooden porch chair settled in another corner, along with a lamp with a single exposed light bulb. He felt for the restraint around her ankle. It was still there. The leather cuff was attached to a wire string, the end of it firmly anch.o.r.ed to the bottom of the bed. When he was certain everything was as it should be, he closed the door behind him and went to turn the dead bolt.

His heart was still beating fast from the struggle. He noticed soup spattered along the floor, which must've spilled when she'd initially hit him. He wiped up the stray vegetables and noodles with a rag he had in his back pocket, making sure he still had the empty syringe. Then he put the key back above the door, tucking it carefully in place, and started up the ladder. He'd been so distracted by the spill, he didn't realize that he never turned the lock. It was still turned to the right, the k.n.o.b loose, just waiting for Carrie Anne to open it.

"You were in his house?" Jillian held on to her backpack straps so tightly her knuckles turned white. As they strode toward the barn, Elissa listened to the sounds of Jake's ba.s.s rise up over the wind. This would be the hardest part-she knew it. Explaining to people that Ryan Jacobsen wasn't the freak they thought he was. Shattering this image that had been building for years.

"I think he's suffering from PTSD," Elissa explained. Post-traumatic-"

"I know what it is. I watch Dr. Oz," Jillian said. She straightened her red hair, which fell down past her shoulders. "I just can't believe you went over there. You're lucky he didn't turn you into a lampshade."

"Oh, stop," Elissa said, giving Jillian a gentle nudge. She adjusted her guitar on her back. "Everyone has this idea of him, and it's just...it's wrong. He's been isolated, and it seems like he has low self-esteem, but I think he wants to start opening up to people. I mean, he gave me a ride, didn't he? He must be lonely in that house-he must."

"Low self-esteem," Jillian muttered. "Those are the ones who do all the weird stuff. I don't think he wants help-he wants in your pants."

Elissa turned, narrowing her eyes at her friend. Why did everyone have to be so crude? This from the girl who had dated Tyler Reynolds-the girl actually at one point considered him her boyfriend. Ryan Jacobsen seemed like a saint compared to that guy. Sure, he didn't fit into the picture of what other Woods.h.i.+re residents imagined themselves to be. But did that mean he was a bad person?

Jillian softened. She glanced back at the old barn, listening to the music for a moment. "Do you really like Ryan? Or are you just trying to p.i.s.s off your mom?"

At that, Elissa finally laughed. Jillian had only been over once since they'd met, but apparently Elissa and Sarah's tense relations.h.i.+p was easy to read. Maybe it was the awkward one-word answers Elissa gave whenever her mother asked a question, even if it was just: Do we need more milk? "Maybe I was trying to p.i.s.s her off at first," Elissa said. "But I don't know. He's hard not to like."

Jillian's expression changed. She offered Elissa a half smile. "Well, if you like him, I'll at least try to like him. No promises though." Then the two of them went into the old barn, where Jake and Robbie were waiting, ready to welcome Elissa into the band.

"You rocked it!" Robbie shouted out of the Jeep's rear window, calling to Elissa as she started up her front steps. She waved as Jillian, Jake, and Robbie pulled away, leaving her alone for a moment on her porch. The afternoon had gone surprisingly well. When she'd listened to Jake and Robbie's music she'd known they were good-but she hadn't realized how good. They played together for hours, the rhythms blending together so naturally. Robbie riffed on some original melodies she'd written, and Jake accompanied on the ba.s.s. She'd always used her laptop, recording and rerecording over tracks, then playing along with them to create original songs. But now she had to admit it-a real, live band was so much better.

She pushed inside the foyer, setting her guitar against the wall. Immediately she knew something wasn't right. It was the light-her mom had dimmed the track bulbs down lower, so the room was filled with a soft, rosy glow. She went into the dining room, where Sarah was setting the table. She'd changed out of her work scrubs and was wearing a casual blue dress and sandals.

"Mom...?" Elissa asked. "What's going on? What happened to mac and cheese on the couch?"

Sarah picked up her gla.s.s of red wine and took a sip, her eyes meeting Elissa's. "I thought it would be nice to get to know each other."

Get to know who? Elissa thought. Then the doorbell rang. Elissa spun around, noticing Ryan through the front window. She invited Ryan to dinner?

Elissa darted to the door, getting there before Sarah could. "I'm so sorry," she muttered under her breath. "You don't have to-"

"It's okay," Ryan said, barely looking at her. "I wanted to come." He clasped a box of chocolate chip cookies in his hands. They were in a plastic container, and it looked like a few were missing, but still...he had tried.