Little Lies

We sneak back upstairs, creeping past Robbie’s room. The door is closed, but we can hear the TV from the hall, and it smells like the inside of a gym bag or a science experiment.

Once we’re safely back in Maverick’s room, Lovey and Lacey cram themselves into the single beanbag chair and BJ sprawls on the couch. Maverick stretches out on his bed, and I take the gaming chair on the floor.

We pass around the cookies first, cracking sodas and munching on sugary treats. We polish them off in less than two minutes. Well, the twins are still nibbling theirs, but the rest are gone.

“Where are Lavender and River?” I ask, passing BJ the bag of chips.

“Probably watching a movie with the littles,” Mav says, swiping through pictures on his phone.

“So you found them?” I press. That prickling feeling under my skin spreads, blanketing me.

“Yeah. I found River where he always hides.”

In his room, under his covers. He only plays because we force him to and because Lavender likes hide-and-seek, even though she always picks the most obvious places to hide.

“And Lavender was with him?”

“Huh?” Maverick looks up from the screen.

“Lavender was with River?” I repeat. “You found her too?”

“No, but she always hides under the bed, so there was no point in checking.” He rolls his eyes, annoyed with his siblings’ predictability.

“Right.” I can’t swallow. My throat is suddenly all locked up. My palms sweat, and my hands ache. I push out of the chair and head for the door.

“Where you goin’?” Mav asks.

“Just to check.” I pad down the hall to River’s room, but he’s not in there. I check under the bed, in case Lav fell asleep while she was hiding. It’s happened before.

I move on to the next room and knock on the door before I peek inside. Lavender’s room is peaceful chaos. Her artwork is tacked all over the walls, and her sewing machine sits in the corner, a pile of fabric on the table beside it.

Lavender is beyond talented. Everything she feels she puts on canvas and paper or binds together with a needle and thread.

But she’s not here, and that horrible itch under my skin grows until I want to claw myself out of my own body. I run down the hall, taking the stairs too fast and sliding down the last few on my butt. I sprint to the media room, grip the doorjamb, and scan the seats and mats laid out on the floor where all the littles are. My baby sister, Aspen, is curled up facing the movie screen, but her eyes are closed. My younger brother, Dakota, is right beside her.

River is sitting in the front row, but there’s no Lavender. I spin around and head for one of the other places I might find her—the art room. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the overwhelming visual stimuli before I flick on the light. Every surface is covered in her ideas. Her thoughts are laid out in vibrant colors, pretty paintings, and designs that swirl and blend together. She told me once it’s what she feels like inside most of the time, but usually darker.

I call her name and cross over to the closet because the door is open a crack, but it’s empty too. Panic makes everything tight, and I try to think about where else she might hide, what her other favorite places are in the house. I rush back upstairs to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall that looks like it belongs to a princess, and push the door open. It slams against the wall with a startling thud as I call out, “Lavender, the game’s over. Are you in here?”

A sound so feral, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end comes from the other side of the room. It’s followed by an aggressive slam that makes the closet door rattle on its hinges.

I slide across the hardwood floor and try to turn the knob, but it’s jammed or locked or something because I can’t get it to turn. “Lavender? It’s Kodiak. I think the door is stuck. I’m gonna get it open, okay?”

She wails from the other side, sounding more animal than human. I don’t want to think about how long she’s been stuck in there. Lavender hates the dark; she’s afraid of the things she can’t see. Ever since she was taken three years ago at a carnival. A lot of things changed after that night.

Lavender isn’t just quiet anymore, she’s something else—missing, even though she’s here. She doesn’t really remember what happened, but dark and small spaces make her nervous. And sometimes she has bad dreams that make her look tired.

I keep trying to turn the knob, but it won’t budge. Once my baby sister locked herself in the bathroom, and I had to figure out how to get her out. I run into the bathroom and yank open the vanity drawer, searching for something I can use to pick the lock. I find a safety pin and prick myself trying to straighten it out. My hands are shaking, and the door keeps rattling, like Lavender’s slamming herself against it. I try to jam the pin into the tiny hole, but it’s hard with how slippery my hands are. I finally manage to slide it in, and I hear and feel the faint click and release.