“How were the glasses broken?” Kasey asks. “Did it look like someone stepped on them? Maybe he’s just clumsy.”

“No, because the frames were intact, only the lenses were broken. It almost looked like they exploded or something.”

“Okay, well, this clearly isn’t going to do it for us.” Kasey gestures to my laptop, where we’ve managed to stump Google with such questions as:

Weird circle rock thingie with plants? (Which led us to articles about Stonehenge)

Plants rocks reading glasses pebbles colorful? (Turned up mostly Etsy results. I saved a few things to my favorites)

Scorch marks rocks plants desk w/ glasses? (Took us to articles about what blemishes on your plants might mean, as if I don’t already know)

Circle plants in a pattern with designs and rocks (Turned up info on how to start a Japanese rock garden, which I now kind of want to do)

“This feels like our first week of Googling stuff about me.” Kasey sighs. “I feel like if your question is too hard for Google, there’s no answer.”

“What did people do before Google?” I ask.

“Mmm. Priests? Divination? The Etruscans used hepatoscopy. Examining the entrails of animals.”

“I’m not doing that! What would Angie say?”

“They also used ceraunoscopy.”

“Sounds like an invasive medical procedure.”

“It’s divination by interpreting thunder and lightning.”

“Do you know how to read thunder? Because I don’t.”

Kasey stops and thinks for a moment.

“Well… there were Sibyls, virgin priestesses of prophecy.”

I let out a snort.

“That eliminates both of us.”

“They were usually in areas with cults of Apollo. Delphi being the most famous. They inhaled gases to go into trances to see things, it would make their voices low and raspy.”

“So they were high?”

“Modern scholars compare the high to the kind you get sniffing glue, actually.”

“I don’t really want to sniff glue. Should I just drop some acid and see what happens? Just write down what I say?”

“No, because first of all, lame that I can’t join, second of all, we’ll probably have to call Ralph to get some, and third, if you’re already having weird tree-dreams, you’re probably not going to have the best trip.”

I groan and drop my forehead onto my kitchen counter.

“What is Aiden doing with that stuff? Why won’t he tell me?”

“Do you remember what kind of stones he had on the table?” Kasey asks, pressing a thoughtful finger to the corner of her mouth. “Maybe it’s a religious thing. There are Rabbinical writings that talk about stones that represent the twelve angels guarding the Gates of Paradise. You know, onyx for Gabriel, jasper for Barchiel…”

“There’s no way it’s that. Only you know about that.”

“Hebrews in the Middle Ages associated the Tribes of Israel with different gemstones.”

“Bet you one million dollars it's not that.”

“I will not take that bet. What would I buy, anyways? I can’t change my outfit, I can’t eat, and I can sneak into movie theaters more easily than I ever could before.”

“How about this?” I suggest. “Aiden is just doing some kind of like… smudge stick, Palo Santo cleanse or something to his attic. Maybe it’s nothing weird, maybe he’s just kinda… granola?”

“Could be, I guess…” Kasey’s eyes narrow, like they always do when she’s thinking hard. “Not sure how the reading glasses figure in, though.”

“What if I text your cousin, Annaleigh? She’s into that stuff, isn’t she? Didn’t she take you guys on some jojoba oil cleansing meditation retreat in the desert for her bachelorette party?”

“Do not talk to me about the jojoba oil cleansing meditation retreat in the desert. That was the most dramatic weekend of my life. Two entire bridesmaids had to be replaced by the time that was over.”

I lapse into silence, thinking hard. Maybe the map is what I’ve left out of the equation. I’ve been thinking about it as Aiden’s method of navigating around a town he’s embarrassed to admit he’s half-forgotten. But he’s been back for a while, now, and he hasn’t asked me for directions in a minute. He seems to know where we’re going when we walk places together. I wish I could read his handwriting more easily, so that I could decipher what he’s scribbled all over the map’s margins. Maybe understand what all those lines he’s drawing on its surface are. What do they connect? Where do they go? The only time I’ve really been able to read Aiden’s handwriting was when he wrote down his phone number for me. That time everything was printed carefully and clearly.

I try a new entry into Google: plants rocks pattern with scorch marks and map. It turns up an article from the USDA about mapping post-fire soil burn severity. I close the laptop and press my fingers to my eyes.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” says Kasey, who had read my inquiry over my shoulder. “The map could be part of this. You said he brings it everywhere with him, right?”

“So far as I can tell, but I can’t read what he’s written all over it.”

“There are lines across it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember where any of them were?”

“Mmmm…. Sort of.”

“Okay, so let’s go.”

“What?”

Kasey stands up and straightens out her red ghost-pants.

“Let’s go follow one of the lines. See where it takes us.”

“Why are you so interested in this, anyway?” I call, hurrying to my feet to grab my jacket.

“Come on, it’s a mystery!” she answers, already waiting by the door. “This is the most interesting thing I’ve done since I died!”

We step out into the chilly night air. It’s still summer, but Ketterbridge gets cold at night regardless of the season. It’s late enough that the streets are basically empty. All of the shops have dimmed their display lights low, and only the rustle of the trees and low whisper of the wind greet us.

“So, where are we going?” Kasey asks.

We walk together through quiet streets and sidewalks of Ketterbridge until we reach the spot where I remember the line starting. It turns out to be an empty lot on Benton Street, on the edge of town where the houses thin out and nature fills in the gaps. There’s a thick blanket of grass covering the lot, suggesting it hasn’t been used in a long time.

“Well, this is a lot of nothing,” Kasey mutters, hooking her arms over the chainlink fence bordering the place. “Are you sure this is where the line started?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

We vault the fence and walk around on the grass, scanning the ground for anything we might have missed. Trees border the property, shifting the gentle breeze.

“Maybe he’s making a treasure map,” Kasey suggests. “Should we start digging?”

I guess Aiden could be treasure hunting. He’s never shown any sign that this is what he’s up to, at least not around me. We spend a lot of time together, but there’s plenty of time we spend apart, too. We both have work, and sometimes our shifts don’t overlap, and I do take time to be with Kasey every day. Technically he could be out with his one backpack tramping around Ketterbridge looking for treasure without my knowing, but I doubt that.

“Why would there be so many lines, though? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Geocaching?” Kasey offers, but neither of us really believe it.

A sudden movement in the trees at the edge of the lot makes both of us whip around.

“Did you hear something?” I whisper, and Kasey nods.

“It sounded like someone moving around in the tree branches or something.”

Carefully, with our hands clasped tightly together, Kasey and I approach the tree that made the noise. I peer up into its canopy; it’s an old tree, with a wide trunk and huge, climbing branches - all of which are empty. No one is there.

“Well,” Kasey murmurs, swallowing dryly. “Shall we follow the line?”

We abandon the empty lot, and I can’t help but feel grateful for it. I lead the way, following Aiden’s line as it’s drawn in my head. It takes us almost across town in one straight, long walk. We come to a stop where I remember it ending on the map. We’re in front of a row of residential houses, most already gone dark for the evening. There is nothing on the street or unusual around. I’ve driven up and down this road a million times.

“Are you sure this is the-?”

“Yes.” I shake my head, feeling stupid. “We walked all night for no reason. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, at least we got some fresh air,” Kasey says, squeezing my hand.

“Come on, let’s go back.”

We start up the sidewalk, and Kasey stops abruptly.

“Do you feel that?” she murmurs.

I stop too, suddenly uneasy.

“I don’t feel anything. Can we keep going? It’s cold.”

“You feel cold?” she murmurs. “I feel suddenly almost - warm.”

I’m really cold, actually. Like someone just poured a bucket of freezing water down my back.

“Let’s go,” I beg, pulling Kasey along, and she moves with me. But she’s quiet and thoughtful the whole way home, and she keeps glancing back over her shoulder.

“I thought you couldn’t feel warm or cold anymore,” I murmur, as we turn back onto my street.

“I thought so, too,” she answers, and lets out a soft, incredulous laugh.

~~~~

“Are you asleep?”

Aiden grunts softly at my question. We’d been running around with Ellen for a few hours, until all three of us ran out of energy. The Sheriff went upstairs to take a nap, and Aiden and I were left alone on the grass of Kent’s backyard. We’re both stretched out flat on our backs. Dusk is slowly gathering around us like a velvety curtain, dappling the flowers and plants, casting sunspots on Aiden’s peaceful face.

“I’m awake,” he yawns. “How do kids have so much juice in their batteries? I'm jealous.”

“Me too.” I have my head tipped to the side, my gaze lingering on his profile while his eyes are closed and he can’t catch me staring. “You’re in a constant battle with that stubble, huh? I think your beard is trying to force its way back out. It’s just going to appear fully formed on your face one morning. I’ll never forget how it looked when I picked you up from the airport.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Like, that beard had its own personality and checking account.”

Aiden laughs his soft, huffing laugh, his eyes still closed.

“If the beard wants to return, it can take it up with my aunt. I don’t set the rules around here.” He pauses, then opens one eye. “Do you think I look better with it?”

“Who cares what I think?” I quickly turn my head to look back up at the slowly darkening sky.

“I dunno. You always look pretty good, yourself. Maybe I need pointers.”

“Oh, pretty good? Wow. Wow wow wow.”

“Stop it, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something like: Jamie, you are so shockingly fine that any fashion director would cry with joy if they had you to work with.”

“I guess if it was a fashion company that specialized solely in flannels, skinny jeans and Converse, yeah.”

“Don’t hate on my skinny jeans. This look is classic and unstoppable.”

“When did I say anything bad about your look?”

“I know what you mean.”

“No, you don’t.”

Sometimes he says things so firmly that even I don’t know how to argue with him. He closes his eyes again and tips his head back, taking a deep breath. I watch the movement of his Adam’s apple under the layer of stubble. A few stray birds chirp in the trees. The summer breeze, sweetened by all of Kent’s plants, dances over us, lifting some of Aiden’s glossy hair off of his forehead. It’s all messy from our tussles with Ellen. There’s a tiny ring of sweat around the collar of his t-shirt.

I can’t help but think about fitting myself against his side, pressing my face against the curve of his neck. I’m still struggling to come to terms with this stupid fucking crush I have on him, but I’ve decided that it’s fine as long as he never, ever finds out. This could be a problem, because, as Kasey has pointed out in the past, I’m about as sneaky as a fourteen-year-old trying to shoplift some lip gloss. But I think I can do it. I really, really don’t want him to find out, because it would ruin everything. I’m being as careful as I can.

“You know,” Aiden murmurs, breaking my train of thought, “I never thought I’d feel like this again.”

My heart stutters.

“Like what?”

“Peaceful,” he breathes, and his words are caught on a gust of wind that tosses stray petals into the air.

A silence falls over us, and eventually, I think I detect a shift in the rhythm of Aiden’s breathing. His chest rises and falls more slowly, and his mouth twitches.

“Aiden?” He doesn’t answer, and I try again, a little louder. “Aiden?”

I prop myself up to look at him. I’ve never seen him asleep before. I can see, for the first time, that there’s a tired darkness to the delicate skin around his eyes. Maybe because he’s been up late with a mysterious map hiking from abandoned lots to unremarkable houses. Maybe hunting for treasure, maybe not. I glance up at the stairs to his apartment. Not yet. I need to be sure he’s asleep. I hesitate, then nudge his hand with my knuckles. “Aiden.”

His fingers close around mine, and he lets out a little sigh. I freeze, my heart pounding, but he doesn’t awaken. My hand is caught in the warm press of his, and I can’t help myself. I draw my thumb over his knuckles, and it feels like drawing a match up the side of its box: heat and spark and light. My heart lurches, pressing against my ribs almost painfully.

But I don’t have time. I carefully work my hand free of his, regretting it already. As quietly as possible, I ease to my feet and make for the stairs. I leave Aiden’s sliding glass door open for a speedy escape, then step up to his desk.

All of the rocks and plants and other sundries have been put away, but the map is there, unfolded, weighed down in each corner by a colorful stone. I take my phone out and open the camera, then hold it over the map, positioning it so that the entire map can be seen. I press the button to take a photo, and start as my phone begins vibrating.

“Who is texting me right now?” I mutter to myself, but no notifications have come up. I must have pressed a wrong button by accident. I hold the phone over the map again, try to take the picture. Once again, my phone vibrates wildly, and the photo I snapped is nothing but a blue blur. “What the hell…?” I close my camera app and try opening Snapchat instead. I’ll just save the photo and figure out what’s wrong with my phone later.

This time, my phone vibrates so wildly that it tumbles out of my hands. Swearing, I bend to grab it off the floor, and hear a rumble from the front of the house. Kent’s car. Shit! I’m running out of time. Kent’s arrival is bound to wake up Aiden. I return to the camera app and snap through the violent vibrations. I’ll get blurry pictures, whatever. Maybe I can fix them on my laptop or something. I return to Aiden just before he wakes up, blinking and yawning. Guilt gnaws at my stomach, but I’m desperate to know what he’s up to. At least now I have something to work with.

Or at least, I thought I did. It’s only when I get home that I realize that every photo I took today - of Ellen, of Aiden, of the map - has turned to a blank rectangle. As I scroll through the rows of blank photos, they vanish, one by one.

Like they were never there at all.