drop-off
and
a pickup.â
Sam stumbled backward. His fear mounted. He didnât know exactly what kind of trouble this was, but he could smell that something was off. He should go. Now. But then she took a sudden step toward himâand he dropped the package, his fists clenched at his sides, ready to defend himself. The park was still as empty and eerie as it had been when he arrived. If something happened to him, no one would see it. A metallic taste of fear coated the roof of his mouth.
The womanâs eyes were only inches from Samâs face now
â
as lifeless as the park itself.
Instantly Samâs mind was on alert. He sorted options for defense and attack.
But then she laughed and stepped back. âJust wanted to read what was on your hat,â she said. Reflexively Samâs hand went to the NYU knitted cap pulled low over his forehead. âKeep your grades up,â she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the park without another word.
Relief exploded from Samâs rib cage in a shakyseries of gasps. He took a moment to collect himself, shaking his head and staring into the darkness. He swore under his breath several times. He couldnât take this anymore.
Finally, when his pulse and breathing had reached seminormal states, he bent down and picked up the envelope.
SAM MOON
Sam blinked. That couldnât be right... but the words were there. In black letters. Heâd been expecting the address of some warehouse or Joshâs name on the package. But this package was personally addressed to Sam. He ripped the tab on the envelope. Bits of colored paper fell to his feet, rustled by a gust of wind. Photographs. Sam knelt and picked them up, and as his eyes fell on one of them, his face froze.
Gaia.
Or rather Gaia and
him.
In his bed.
Her blond hair fanned out across his chest. His arms were wrapped around her naked back. A black cloud descended over Samâs thoughts as he thumbed through the other pictures.
They were all variations on the same intimate theme, spelled out in a string of Kodak moments.
His fingers began to shakeâso violently that he couldnât handle the pictures anymore. He sat down on a bench and tried to think. To deal. Tostomach the obvious color-printed truth in his hands. Someone had been spying on him and Gaia. Someone had actually photographed them.
He shoved a hand into the envelope to see if there was more. Just a slip of paper with a neatly typed message in all caps: HANDS OFF.
Sam dropped the note to the ground. Memories of that early morning phone call flashed through his head once more.
Donât touch her, or youâll be sorry.
The note blew away in the wind. That was it. He shot up from the bench and turned in circles, again and again, searching the park for any sign of his enemy. Or was it enemies? The possibilities were too overwhelming. Were they watching him right now? And who were
they?
One thing was for sure:
They
were not some prank caller.
They
were for real. He dropped back down to the bench and tried to steady himself.
Stay calm,
he shouted inside his own head, his heart beating a mile a minute, his mouth as dry as the wind.
How did they know Iâd be here? No, what am I saying? They didnât just know Iâd be here; they
sent
me here just to get their message. Josh sent me here
â
A series of questions flashed through Samâs mind. What was Josh doing in his room that morning? How long had he been there? Where did he go right before Sam got the phone call? All of Samâs fears of the last fewweeksâevery one of his âbad feelings,â every one of the vague doubts and unsettling premonitions. . .
they were all falling together to form one huge and terrifying conclusion.
A conclusion that Sam had really known all along.
Whoever
they
were, Josh was one of them.
And Josh was in control.
To: J
From: L
Date: February 12
File: 776244
Subject: Gaia Moore
Last seen: Broadway, 3:44
and
a pickup.â
Sam stumbled backward. His fear mounted. He didnât know exactly what kind of trouble this was, but he could smell that something was off. He should go. Now. But then she took a sudden step toward himâand he dropped the package, his fists clenched at his sides, ready to defend himself. The park was still as empty and eerie as it had been when he arrived. If something happened to him, no one would see it. A metallic taste of fear coated the roof of his mouth.
The womanâs eyes were only inches from Samâs face now
â
as lifeless as the park itself.
Instantly Samâs mind was on alert. He sorted options for defense and attack.
But then she laughed and stepped back. âJust wanted to read what was on your hat,â she said. Reflexively Samâs hand went to the NYU knitted cap pulled low over his forehead. âKeep your grades up,â she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the park without another word.
Relief exploded from Samâs rib cage in a shakyseries of gasps. He took a moment to collect himself, shaking his head and staring into the darkness. He swore under his breath several times. He couldnât take this anymore.
Finally, when his pulse and breathing had reached seminormal states, he bent down and picked up the envelope.
SAM MOON
Sam blinked. That couldnât be right... but the words were there. In black letters. Heâd been expecting the address of some warehouse or Joshâs name on the package. But this package was personally addressed to Sam. He ripped the tab on the envelope. Bits of colored paper fell to his feet, rustled by a gust of wind. Photographs. Sam knelt and picked them up, and as his eyes fell on one of them, his face froze.
Gaia.
Or rather Gaia and
him.
In his bed.
Her blond hair fanned out across his chest. His arms were wrapped around her naked back. A black cloud descended over Samâs thoughts as he thumbed through the other pictures.
They were all variations on the same intimate theme, spelled out in a string of Kodak moments.
His fingers began to shakeâso violently that he couldnât handle the pictures anymore. He sat down on a bench and tried to think. To deal. Tostomach the obvious color-printed truth in his hands. Someone had been spying on him and Gaia. Someone had actually photographed them.
He shoved a hand into the envelope to see if there was more. Just a slip of paper with a neatly typed message in all caps: HANDS OFF.
Sam dropped the note to the ground. Memories of that early morning phone call flashed through his head once more.
Donât touch her, or youâll be sorry.
The note blew away in the wind. That was it. He shot up from the bench and turned in circles, again and again, searching the park for any sign of his enemy. Or was it enemies? The possibilities were too overwhelming. Were they watching him right now? And who were
they?
One thing was for sure:
They
were not some prank caller.
They
were for real. He dropped back down to the bench and tried to steady himself.
Stay calm,
he shouted inside his own head, his heart beating a mile a minute, his mouth as dry as the wind.
How did they know Iâd be here? No, what am I saying? They didnât just know Iâd be here; they
sent
me here just to get their message. Josh sent me here
â
A series of questions flashed through Samâs mind. What was Josh doing in his room that morning? How long had he been there? Where did he go right before Sam got the phone call? All of Samâs fears of the last fewweeksâevery one of his âbad feelings,â every one of the vague doubts and unsettling premonitions. . .
they were all falling together to form one huge and terrifying conclusion.
A conclusion that Sam had really known all along.
Whoever
they
were, Josh was one of them.
And Josh was in control.
To: J
From: L
Date: February 12
File: 776244
Subject: Gaia Moore
Last seen: Broadway, 3:44
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