The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (summer reads txt) 📕

quick scan. The author explains his ranking system for junk.

I enlarge the photo more, able to see that some of the letters have been shaded in, ever so lightly, with what appears to be pencil. I grab my sketch pad and copy the letters, deciphering the message right away.

Paylee22: Believe me now?

NightTerra: It can’t be what you’re thinking.

Paylee22: It’s exactly what I’m thinking. He isn’t done with me yet.

Paylee22: The question is when will things be continued? In a day? A month?

NightTerra: Have you told anyone about this?

Paylee22: Not yet.

NightTerra: Are you going to tell anyone? Because I really think you should.

Paylee22: Well, I just told you.

NightTerra: Yes, but you don’t even know me, really—at least not in real life.

Paylee22: Are you kidding?!

Paylee22:!!!

Paylee22: I feel closer to you than most of the people in my real life.

NightTerra: I feel the same.

Paylee22: So, then…???

NightTerra: I need to ask you something.

Paylee22: You can ask me anything.

NightTerra: Are you really from Chicago?

Paylee22:??? What?!

NightTerra: You told me you were from Chicago, but when I went searching for your case I couldn’t find details that matched what you’ve said.

Paylee22: Where did you search? Online? As if investigators put all those details out there for anyone to find.

Paylee22: Why were you searching for my case anyway?

NightTerra: I was just curious.

NightTerra: Does that bother you?

NightTerra: I searched under your first name, plus the fact that you were locked up in a shed, in the middle of a cornfield, in a suburb of Chicago …

Paylee22: I was put in a shed, but it wasn’t in a cornfield.

Paylee22: It was in a remote area, though, in the woods. That’s all I want to say about that.

NightTerra: What happened to burrowing through a hole?

Paylee22: I did burrow through a hole.

NightTerra: In the Chicago area?

NightTerra: Are you really 24?

Paylee22: Ok, to be completely honest … I haven’t wanted to reveal everything, esp. online.

Paylee22: And, yes, you’re right. It wasn’t in the Midwest. But does where really matter?

Paylee22: I’ve been through a lot, so you can’t really blame me for being guarded about what I put out there, esp. when it comes to specific details.

NightTerra: I’ve been through a lot too, but I’ve told you the truth from the very beginning.

Paylee22: You may want to reconsider how open you’re being, esp. online. The internet isn’t exactly a trustworthy place. I’ve had to learn that the hard way.

Paylee22: And, btw, I’m 22, not 24. The stuff about the shed is true. I just changed the location because I don’t want people knowing where I am.

Paylee22: Can you understand that at all? I have to be careful about who to trust and what I make public.

NightTerra: Even in our private chats?

Paylee22: The private chats are a little bit safer, but still … You never know.

Paylee22: I hope you understand.

Paylee22: I’m just trying to protect myself.

Paylee22: Helllloooooo???

Paylee22:???

Paylee22: Are you still there?

Paylee22: I can tell you’re upset.

Paylee22: Hello again???

NightTerra: Let’s chat about this later.

Paylee22: Promise???

Paylee22: I’m really sorry, Terra. I should’ve told you sooner. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you. You’re like a sister to me.

NightTerra: I’ll talk to you soon.

I exit the chat and close the lid of my laptop, feeling like I’ve just been punched in the gut. Am I hurt that Peyton lied to me? Jealous she follows my parents’ rules of survival* so much better than I do? Or angry for defying my own rule—the one about not sharing my truth, not letting people in?

Cut.

Cut.

Cut: the list of survival rules. How did these scissors even get in my hand? I continue to use them, cutting out a paper heart, as if serrated scissors (or any of my defenses) could ever possibly save me from the blazing inferno that’s swallowed me whole.

THEN

28

I still couldn’t find the sparerib bone, as hard as I looked …

Where was it?

The spotlight was on, but it was still dark—so dim. And there were so many rocks now—those I’d managed to prod out.

I raked my fingers over the ground to search. The book and blanket were there; the troll doll and sheet of burned paper were too. So, what did it matter? I knew the bone existed. I’d eaten the sparerib meat.

Hadn’t I?

How many days had I been off my meds? What were the side effects of missing so many dosages? Delusions? Hallucinations? What was the difference between the two again?

Eventually, when I could no longer see straight, I pulled my socks over my fingers like gloves and dug a four-inch crevice into the wall—enough to fit the width of my foot. I tested it to be sure, wedged my foot right in.

I kept working, making more crevices, creating a ladder of sorts. How high could I go? If I used the rungs as leverage …

The spotlight blinked, snagging my attention. I looked up. It was daylight now; there was a patch of gray.

The light blinked again—three more times—before shutting off altogether.

I froze in response.

Was he up there? Would he pull up on the chain? And close the lid? Did he know what I was doing?

A whistling sounded: the tune to “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

I clenched my teeth—so hard one chipped. A jolting pain shot through my gums. I went to spit the piece out, accidentally swallowing it down. It got caught in my throat, choking me. My chest convulsed.

I shoved my fingers into my mouth, reaching toward my throat, trying to force myself to throw up. But it wasn’t working. And meanwhile, my body was shaking. I couldn’t breathe. My face felt chilled.

I scrambled for the book, tore half a page out and crammed it into my mouth. The muscles at the back of my throat strained as I worked to swallow the paper down—to get the piece to move, taking handful after handful of water from the makeshift basin I’d made. I splashed the water into my mouth until there was no more left and I was just clawing at dampened dirt.

My tooth ached where it’d broken—a throbbing pain that radiated to the crown of my head.