Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

Her next email was to her editor. She forwarded the message she’d received from the boy calling himself Nobody and added only Calling you now! to the subject.

The call went to voice mail. “I know we’ve already discussed the protocol for receiving Dear Veronica letters about suicide, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. I just got a letter from the teenager who wrote last week, the one who says he’s being bullied. He wrote from another random address. I can’t get in touch. He didn’t give any specific plans, but it’s clear that he’s considering hurting himself. I’m going to call the police and see if there’s a way they can track him down. Please let me know if there’s anything else we should do.”

She dropped her purse and shoes and raced to her laptop to find the phone number for the Teton County Sheriff’s Office. It took only a few minutes to get through to a deputy.

“Oh, hey!” he said. “Dear Veronica! I read your stuff.”

“That’s good, because I need a favor. I received a letter indicating that a teenage boy is having suicidal thoughts, but it came from a fake email address and he didn’t give a name or number. I have no idea how to get in touch, and I’m really worried. I think he needs help. If I forward you the email and file a report, can the sheriff’s office do something?”

“Absolutely. We can try to track down the IP address, see if we can get in touch with the kid that way.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “All I know is that he’s in school. I suspect he’s a sophomore here, but that probably only narrows it down to a couple of hundred kids, and I have no idea what to do.”

“We’ll be happy to help,” he said, giving her his email address so she could forward everything she had. He asked her to come in to the station and fill out a report also, though he said it could wait until morning. There was no way she was waiting until morning.

She hung up, sent the emails to the deputy, then wrote to the therapist, forwarding the letter and letting him know the steps she’d taken. Her heart beat so hard it hurt, her body telling her to take action, to make this better. But how could she make it better when she couldn’t even find him?

She read through the letter one more time, hoping she’d gotten it all wrong, but it was only worse on the second read.

Dear Veronica,

Thank you so much for writing back to me. I’m sorry I used a fake email address. I don’t want my parents to find out and freak.

I know you think things can get better, but they can’t. You don’t know what it’s like. Everyone hates me. Someone spit on me in the hall last week. They call me gay, but I don’t even think I am. Not that it matters, cuz no one will go out with me.

I’m not going to college. My grades suck cuz I’m so screwed up. It feels like I’m never getting out of this place, but I can’t stand it here any longer.

You say everything can change for me but you don’t understand. Nothing good will ever happen for me. I don’t wanna talk to anyone about it. I don’t want therapy. I just want everything to stop.

I’m sorry I dragged you into this. You seem like a really nice person.

He hadn’t signed it this time, maybe because she’d told him not to call himself Nobody. The only positive thing she could see was that he’d reached out again. But everything else about it scared her. She knew the statistics for teen boys and suicide were high. Higher than other demographics. They couldn’t see that life might get better. They didn’t have the ability to think ahead.

The therapist wrote back quickly to tell her she’d done the right thing.

If the police track him down, I’d be happy to help. Please give his parents my number, or the hospital can get in touch with me if he’s checked in.

Veronica changed into jeans and a sweater and pulled on her running shoes to head to the sheriff’s office. It was only a short walk. She was filling out her report within fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything to do a

fter that. She had to wait to hear from the deputy. All she could do now was repost the suicide hotline information to the website.

She started to head home, then found herself stupidly turning corners and walking down random streets, hoping that...what? She’d see a distraught teenage boy and ask if he was the one who’d written to her?

She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

When her phone beeped, she pulled it out with a sudden rush of relief, but it wasn’t the police. It was Gabe.

Spent the evening with my dad. He’s in good spirits and his condition has been upgraded to serious. I never thought I’d see that as great news.

She smiled as another text popped up.

I’m going to try to get some sleep. Hopefully, we’ll know more in the morning. He looks good, though.

Before she could respond, a final text popped up.

I’m sorry, was all it said.

She broke down in tears. Uncontrollable tears. She was so mad at him, but she wanted to call him. She wanted to hear his tired voice and tell him it would all be fine. She wanted to tell him about the letter she’d gotten and how worried she was. But he didn’t need her problems tonight, and he didn’t need to listen to her cry. He needed sleep and time with his family.