Chapter 4They Told Me To Be Quiet. So I Disappeared.

I sent forty-two calls and messages during the first night. No one responded.

By the next morning, my phone battery had dropped to twenty percent. I stopped making calls and sent my location once every hour instead.

[Mom, I'm still here.]

[Luca, the rain stopped, but the water down here keeps rising.]

[Ms. Carter, I'm not skipping school. I really can't get out.]

[Bianca, if you're still angry, I'll apologize. Please tell them where I am.]

The same notice appeared beneath every message. [Not Delivered.]

The protocol placed my number and accounts on a temporary block list. The school and family networks held my messages in quarantine until the seventy-two hours ended. I knew no one could see them yet. I kept sending them anyway. Maybe if I left enough of my voice behind, someone would understand that I had not disappeared on purpose.

At noon, the Morettis celebrated Bianca's successful retreat. Mom ordered a cake and invited several friendly school-board members.

Mom glanced at the empty chair beside the table. "Poppy still isn't home?"

Luca cut a slice of cake for Bianca without looking up. "She's probably hiding at a friend's house. Ignore her. She wants us to end the protocol early."

Mom hesitated. "But she hasn't been home since yesterday."

Bianca's eyes immediately filled with tears. "Do you regret supporting me, Mom? Poppy knows everyone. People help her wherever she goes. How could anything happen to her?" Her voice softened. "I only have this family."

Mom wrapped her arms around her. "I don't blame you. Poppy was spoiled by those foster families. She needs to learn that she can't cause a scene every time she wants attention."

I did not know they were eating cake. I sat in the rising water and recorded my seventy-third message for Mom.

"Mom, I'm a little cold." My teeth chattered, and my voice had become faint. "You don't have to say much. You can send one period. I just want to know you can still receive my messages."

I watched the recording. My face was pale. Wet hair clung to my skin, and my lips trembled. I looked too pitiful. Mom might think I was performing for sympathy again. I deleted the video and recorded another.

This time, I tried to smile. "It's fine. I was joking before. I'm good with cold. The heat used to break at the group home, and I could still talk to the girl in the next bed all night."

I did not press send. My battery was down to ten percent. I needed to save it.

That afternoon, Walter cleaned the bus himself. Under the last row, he found a page from my torn friend notebook. The wind must have blown it into the bus before departure.

Walter put on his reading glasses and fitted the pieces together.

[Walter: Old back injury. Do not let him lift heavy things. His daughter lives in Seattle. Remind him to call her on the fifteenth of every month.]

One final line appeared beneath it.

[After every off-campus event, Walter counts everyone three times. If he says someone is missing, believe him.]

Walter stared at that sentence. He had counted three times yesterday. Someone had been missing. Everyone had told him I left in another vehicle.

He abandoned the cleaning supplies and drove straight to St. Augustine's administration office.

"How many students went up that mountain yesterday?"

Ms. Carter blinked. "Everyone returned safely."

"Did you count them yourself?"

"Bianca said Poppy rode back in another car."

Walter struck the desk with his palm. "I've driven for the Moretti family for fifteen years. I know when every vehicle leaves and who is inside it. No car took Poppy back early yesterday."

The school immediately pulled footage from the parking area and the trailhead. Most students followed their groups onto the red, yellow, and green trails. Only I wore a blue tag and walked alone toward the abandoned route deep in the forest.

The color drained from Ms. Carter's face. "The Blue Trail wasn't part of the retreat."

Walter turned on her. "Where does it go?"

She stared at the footage, her lips trembling. The Blue Trail had closed twelve years earlier. It led to a Prohibition-era Moretti smuggling tunnel. A collapse sealed the entrance, and the trail disappeared from estate maps. No student should have received a blue tag.

When the school contacted the Morettis, only ten minutes remained on the countdown.

Mom's phone rang in the estate dining room. She answered with a frown. "Who is this?"

The caller said only a few sentences. Her coffee cup slipped from her hand and shattered across the floor.

Luca shot to his feet. "What happened?"

Mom's lips shook. "The school says Poppy is missing. No one has seen her since she entered the Blue Trail yesterday."

All the color vanished from Bianca's face.

Luca recovered quickly. "That's impossible. She must be hiding somewhere. Poppy can talk to a stranger for five minutes and convince them to take her home. She cannot actually be lost."

The seventy-two-hour countdown reached zero as he spoke. The block profile imposed through the school system and the Moretti network expired. Every message held in quarantine was released at once.

Mom's phone began vibrating first. Forty-two messages. Seventy-three messages. Ninety-nine calls, locations, videos, and pleas for help. Luca, Ms. Carter, the school nurse, and the students from the retreat received two days of missed calls and location updates at the same time. Notification sounds filled the dining room.

Luca's face turned gray as he opened my final voice message.

For several seconds, the recording held nothing but silence. Then my voice came through, very softly.

"Luca, I don't think I can get out."

"But you were right. I won't die just because no one answers me."

Water dripped somewhere near the phone. I paused before continuing.

"I'm only a little scared."

"If I don't come back this time, please don't be angry."

"I fixed my compulsive need to connect."

"I won't bother any of you again."

The recording ended. No one in the dining room dared speak.