Need Read online

  And they had.

  Oh help. They had.

  Red streaks on the snow. So much red against the packed-down white where the dogs had run yesterday. Sameena concentrates on the slashes of crimson. She doesn’t want to think about the hacked-up bodies near the red snow. Bodies that won’t bother her with their barking anymore.

  Which is terrible to think. She’s terrible. She didn’t want this to happen. She never meant this.

  Or did she? What else could she have meant when she typed her request and hit Enter? What else could she have intended to get when she took the jelly jar filled with change off the top shelf of Mr. Nelson’s workbench and stashed it in the back seat of the car down the block?

  She just wanted the dogs to stop barking so she could concentrate.

  But as she sees Mrs. Markham weeping, Sameena swears she still can hear the dogs. They’re still barking. Maybe they’ll never stop.

  DEAR NEED NETWORK MEMBER,

  WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE UNEXPECTED DISRUPTION OF THE NEED WEBSITE. OUR SERVER AND SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN UPGRADED TO SERVE YOU BETTER. CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO ACCESS THE NEW, IMPROVED WEBSITE. WE LOOK FORWARD TO ONCE AGAIN HELPING YOU ACQUIRE ALL THE THINGS YOU NEED.

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

  THE NEED TEAM

  SYSTEM REBOOTING

  SERVICE RESTORED

  NETWORK MEMBERS—688

  NEEDS PENDING—687

  NEEDS FULFILLED—200

  WHAT DO YOU NEED?

  Kaylee

  MY MOTHER STANDS SILENT. Unmoving. Arms crossed over her chest. Not looking at me. Even though we’re in the same room, it’s as if a locked door stands between us. And suddenly, I wish it did. Because then I wouldn’t see her expression. I could lie to myself and say that she would open the door if she saw how much pain I’m in. I need her now more than ever, but instead it is the diminutive, dark-haired Dr. Jain who offers me a warm smile and a kind word.

  “I asked your mother if we could sit and talk in here. I thought we’d all be more comfortable. Don’t you?”

  No. But I nod anyway because I don’t know what else to do.

  Dr. Jain takes a seat on our faded blue sofa, and pats the spot next to her. When I stay standing, she lets out a small sigh, but she doesn’t tell me to sit. “Your mother is concerned about you, Kaylee.”

  I doubt it. She’s concerned about DJ, although I don’t think pointing out the difference will help my cause. So I keep my mouth shut—a defense I probably haven’t used often enough. Had I chosen to keep quiet and not call the police I wouldn’t be in this position now. Something to remember for next time.

  “Your mother says that you’re taking Amanda Highland’s death hard.”

  My mother stares at a spot on the carpet.

  “I think everyone in town is taking Amanda’s death hard,” I say. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  Dr. Jain nods slowly in response. “You’re right. Everyone who knew Amanda or her family will be struggling to understand why such a vibrant young woman is now gone. But as far as I know, none of those people have contacted the police to claim Amanda was murdered.”

  I keep my mouth shut.

  “And from what I understand,” Dr. Jain continues in a patient, soothing voice, “you also made the assertion that the same source you accuse of murder is also responsible for vandalizing your front yard and taunting your brother.”

  Since she has said nothing I disagree with, I remain silent. My mother lets out a frustrated huff, but Dr. Jain appears unfazed. Not a surprise. In the half-dozen sessions I’ve had with her, she never seems flustered or caught off-guard. The woman is unshakable. I wish I had her skill.

  Shifting on the couch, Dr. Jain picks up a small, stone-etched vase filled with evergreen branches and turns it in her hands. “The holidays have probably been difficult for you. I know how hard it is to be without people you love at these times. Especially people who leave and don’t give you a choice in the matter. The first year after my husband asked for a divorce was incredibly difficult. It’s hard to feel better when you’re surrounded by memories. I used to live not far from here when I was married. Moving to Maryland after my husband walked out helped me heal. New place. New space. New goals for my life. You don’t have that. You’re surrounded by reminders. No one can fault you for being upset.”

  “I’m not upset about my father,” I say. I used to be, but there are bigger worries right now than how I feel about my dad not sending a Christmas gift.

  Dr. Jain makes a “hmm” sound. “I know you’re also concerned about your brother’s illness. You’ve done a valiant job of keeping your brother’s health concerns in everyone’s thoughts, but the holidays distract people from even the most worthy causes. I suppose it is understandable that you would go to such lengths to remind the community of the problems he faces.”

  “What?” I go over her words again to see if I misheard. The way she sits there makes me doubt myself. But no. While her tone is laced with sympathy, her words cut deep. As does the way my mother nods in agreement. “You think I called the police and faked the website to help get DJ a kidney?”

  “I checked into the website on my way over here. The students I’ve talked to confirm that it was real, but insist it was simplistic and already declining in popularity when the creator took it down. As for the rest . . .” Dr. Jain frowns. “Kaylee, I’m certain your intentions were good, but scaring your brother by digging a hole in your yard and—”

  “Wait. Just wait.” Panic washes over me. They actually believe . . . They believe I . . . that I . . . I can’t think and I need to think. I can’t run or they’ll believe I really am guilty. I can’t . . .

  “Kaylee.” My mother’s voice snaps me back to reality. “If you’ll just admit what you’ve done, Dr. Jain can help you.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” My voice shakes even as I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “This isn’t like what happened after Dad left. Then I told people Dad died but my mom didn’t want anyone to know.” Because hearing about Dad’s death would upset DJ. People believed it. I thought they might also believe that since Dad was the only possible donor they would take pity on us for yet another tragedy in our lives and step forward to help. “This is different. I am not the problem here. I don’t know who is, but if someone doesn’t listen, I think a whole lot worse is going to happen.”

  “Stop, Kaylee,” my mother snaps. “Just stop and listen to yourself. I know you’re upset that DJ gets so much attention and you want to be the hero—”

  “No. You stop!” I yell. “This isn’t about me wanting attention or being a hero. Someone threatened DJ, Mom. Someone dug a grave in our yard and scared the hell out of him. Whatever you believe about me, you can’t believe I’d do that.” If she does, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  My heart marks the passing seconds as I stare at my mother. I feel helpless as her eyes meet mine. The steel in them—a barrier against me—makes my legs tremble. I ball my hands into fists and promise myself I won’t cry. Then I see something flicker in her expression. Doubt.

  “I don’t believe it, Kaylee.” The words are barely a whisper, but they are enough. No matter what our problems, my mother doesn’t hate me that much.

  She takes a step forward. “I don’t know what is going on, but you wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt your brother. Still . . .”

  The hope inside me withers at the word.

  “. . . I can’t completely take your words at face value. You understand why?”

  I hate it, but I understand. “But this is different.”

  “Every situation is different.” Dr. Jain stands. “That’s why this kind of discussion is so important. When you do something wrong, it’s best to acknowledge that action. The truth is always difficult to face and has repercussions, but it’s better than the alternative. A bad choice made and not confessed can lead to another that covers it up and then another. With each step off the path it is harder to come back, and it ca
n lead to places no one intended. You both have experienced this firsthand. Which is why it’s only natural that your mother doubts your words and your actions. It’s hard not to doubt them, Kaylee, especially when what you’re saying seems so farfetched.” She purses her lips and digs into her pocket for her cell.

  I stand there waiting as Dr. Jain speaks into the phone, wishing Mom and I were the only ones in the room. Maybe then I could explain what’s happening. Maybe . . .

  “I’m sorry, but I have to get going.” Dr. Jain slides the phone back into her pants pocket. “Amanda Highland’s family is struggling, and I’ve been asked to see if I can help. Here.” She holds out a business card. “I know you have my work number, Kaylee, but this is my private one. If anything happens and you need to talk to someone, please call. It doesn’t matter what time. Day or night. I will also reach out to the Nottawa Police Department so they’ll contact me if there are any more concerns. I’m invested in you and your journey, Kaylee. I’m invested in your family. I hope you know that.”

  I stare at the card in her hand. My instinct is to refuse it. After what she just said about me, it’s not like I’m going to call her. But as I am about to turn away, I notice the hope in my mother’s expression. So, for her, I take the card, ignore the pleased smile on Dr. Jain’s face, and shove the card deep into my pocket next to the one given to me by Officer Shepens.

  I watch my mother walk Dr. Jain out. My mother looks so grateful as she says something too quiet for me to hear. Dr. Jain lowers her voice as she puts on a long red coat, but it stills carries to where I stand. “I agree. DJ is fragile. Removing him from the situation until it stabilizes is a good idea. Don’t second-guess yourself or feel guilty. When Kaylee is ready to face the consequences of her actions, you’ll help her too. And rest assured I’ll be keeping an eye on the situation.”

  Her words fan my anger. I stare at her, with her perfectly groomed black hair and expertly made-up face, touching my mother’s shoulder. She looks so concerned. My mother looks so sad. All of it due to me. Because they think I’m crazy.

  When my mother returns to the living room, I keep my eyes locked on the vase Dr. Jain seemed to admire, pretending not to see the wary way she approaches me.

  “Kaylee, I know you’re upset that I called Dr. Jain. But I didn’t know what else to do. I’m scared.”

  She pauses. Then, “Kaylee,” she repeats, taking another step. But she stops, leaving a gap between us. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and this website, and with the grave in our front yard and that girl’s death, but I’m worried. With DJ still recovering from his recent illness and everything else that’s going on, I’ve decided we’re going to leave town. Aunt Susan has been asking us to visit. I’m going to call her and tell her we’re coming today.”

  “What?” Leave. Today. Leave it all behind. NEED. The ridicule. Amanda’s death. Everything that has happened and whatever is going to happen next. Because something will. And I’m glad I won’t be here to see it. I tried my best to end the network. What happens next won’t be my fault. “Okay,” I say, feeling the hum of anxiety inside me fade. “I’ll go pack.”

  “There’s no need for you to pack.” Mom’s shoulders straighten as she looks me square in the eyes. “DJ and I are going alone. His doctor told me he has to avoid stress.”

  I take a step back and bite my lip.

  Me. I’m the stress she thinks my brother needs to avoid.

  I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I thought I felt alone before. Wrong again.

  “I’ll take DJ to Aunt Susan’s today and stay over with him tonight to make sure he’s settled. Tomorrow, I’ll come back and we can talk. Dr. Jain thinks having some time alone to think about the things you’ve done will be good for you.”

  “You don’t believe me.” There are more important things to talk about, but for some reason those are the only words that come out.

  “I don’t know what to believe.” The words bring tears to her eyes and I wish I could turn back time to when we were whole. Before DJ got sick and Dad left. Before she stopped wanting to love me and I tried my hardest to stop caring. But as much as I want to hate her, I can’t. “After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to know,” she adds.

  My fault. Maybe not all of it, but most of it. Had I not lied about my father, the emails, and the Craigslist posting, or faked illness after illness in order to gain access to the school medical files, I wouldn’t be in this position now. No one believes the child who cries wolf. Not even her mother.

  “You’re leaving me.”

  “DJ—”

  “I know DJ needs to be protected. He needs to be safe. But what about me?” Please, don’t leave me behind.

  “Kaylee, you have to understand—”

  “Oh, I do. DJ comes first. DJ always comes first. What about me?”

  “DJ is sick. And if it weren’t for you he might already have a donor. But you had to cause problems and make us outcasts in this town. Instead of letting me handle things, you wanted to be a hero and you made things so much worse. By making everything public and allowing our actions to be scrutinized, you’ve demonstrated that you can’t be trusted. Because of that, it’s been impossible for me to do the things I need to do.”

  “What things?” She has to be lying. She’s been doing nothing to help. Nothing. “What did you need to do and why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” If she is telling the truth, she should have told me her plans.

  “If you stay home and stay out of trouble while I’m gone, I’ll discuss it with you tomorrow. No more stunts for attention or calls to the police. I need you to show me that you can be trusted . . . Otherwise, we might have to take other steps.”

  “Steps? What steps?”

  “Dr. Jain thinks there are some treatments that could help you. I’m hoping that you’ll show both of us that they won’t be necessary, and now is a good time to start.” She sighs. “Stay home. Stay out of trouble, and we’ll talk about everything when I get back. Okay?”

  Okay? No. Nothing is okay. My mother is leaving me behind. Not as a punishment, but because she thinks I’m a danger to my brother. It’s NEED that scared him. NEED could inflict more harm. I clench my hands at my sides and think about what it would be like if DJ were here and something worse did happen. He’ll be safer if he’s taken away from here. No matter what my mother thinks, I want him safe. Because of that, I don’t cry or scream or demand to be taken with them. DJ matters to me, too, which is why I choke out, “Sure, Mom.”

  “Good.” She turns and walks out of the room without a backward glance. My legs tremble and I sink to the floor, too numb to cry. To be angry. To be anything. My mother is leaving me behind, which shouldn’t surprise me, because didn’t she do that long ago? This just makes it official.

  I hear my brother yell that he can’t find his high-tops and he needs them. Mom yells back at him to look in his closet and to hurry because she wants to get on the road as soon as possible. My phone dings and I automatically pull it out of my pocket even though I don’t care what the message says.

  But when I read Nate’s text, I do care, and I’m no longer angry and hurt. I’m scared.

  Bryan

  IT’S BACK. NEED is back. Why did it have to come back? It was gone. It should be gone.

  Bryan had been relieved when it suddenly disappeared. It felt like a sign. It seemed as if someone was telling him that a gun wasn’t the answer. With NEED gone, no one would ever have to know about the box he delivered or his reason for doing it.

  Now the site is up and running again and the picture he posted is available for all to see. Everyone will know because he can’t delete it. He hits Delete again, hoping for a different result, and cringes as the same message box appears.

  THIS ACTION CANNOT BE COMPLETED. ALL UPLOADS AND POSTS TO THE NEED NETWORK ARE THE PROPERTY OF NEED ACCORDING TO THE TERMS AND CONDITIONS OF THE SITE.

  There is no going back.

  He scrolls through the post
s. Most are brainless, silly, or both. Of course, his mother would tell him not to throw stones since his own house is made of glass. She’s always saying things like that. But the brainless, silly posts aren’t the only things on the site. There’s the picture he posted of Amanda’s doorstep that he is powerless to erase. The photo of what looks like a grave in the snow. The driver’s license and birth certificate of someone named Marcus Jameson. Pictures of suggestive and even sexually graphic notes and barely veiled threats. And one photo that he can’t look away from because of the blood. So much blood.

  A few people commented on that one.

  This is just nasty.

  Blood is awesome. I hope you rubbed it all over you.

  Is this supposed to scare me? Because I know it isn’t real. Duh.

  Sick! You’re sick and I can’t believe we go to the same school. When I find out who you are I’m going to punch you in the face.

  You need to watch more horror films. This is the worst fake blood ever.

  Yeah—this is totally a fake. Ugh. Someone needs to get a life.

  But it isn’t fake. He can’t tell exactly what died, but something did. Like Amanda. Only he didn’t mean to kill her. He didn’t. He didn’t know. Whoever did this knew. That makes it worse than what he did. And it’s certainly worse than what he still has to do.

  Bryan clicks back to his profile page and reads the fulfillment requirement one more time. He knows he doesn’t have to do it. Not unless he really wants the gun.

  Does he?

  He thinks of putting the gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. He’s not brave enough to do it another way. He hates blood and pain and he’s not sure he could make himself take more than a couple of pills before losing his nerve. But with a gun—maybe. He might have the courage to pull the trigger. No more feeling like he’s not good enough. No more wishing his parents would understand. No more living with Amanda’s death and the things that led up to it.