Sneak (Swipe Series)

it’s winter. There’s bound to be flu in the winter months. Sonya . . . I don’t even know where to begin with you . . .”
    Mr. Langly picked up his tablet and pulled up the morning reports, tuning his family out. And he read in this way for some time, through the global news and the national news (including articles on how the two sections would soon be one), and finally on to the local news, with Sonya and Charlotte just sitting there, silent.
    Mr. Langly had always been pretty good about keeping up with the news, had always been casually interested in politics and economics and the general goings-on. But in recent weeks he’d become obsessed, watching every report he could, privately desperate to learn something about his son.
    There was nothing, of course. DOME matters were never reported in the news. The surge in raids on the Markless, the ongoing search for Logan and Peck and the Dust, the attack on the Meloy farm last night . . . none of it was ever mentioned. Mr. Langly didn’t even know what he was missing.
    But there was one brief article buried deep down in the news feed this morning. One little headline that Mr. Langly couldn’t keep to himself. He read it aloud when he saw it:
HAILEY PHOENIX MISSING,
LOCAL SCHOOL REPORTS
T HIRD D ISAPPEARANCE IN AS
M ANY M ONTHS
    “Apparently it was the middle school secretary who called the authorities. Mrs. Phoenix ‘acknowledged the absence but couldn’t say where her daughter had gone, why she wasn’t at school, or when she might return.’” Mr. Langly shook his head, shocked. “Says here ‘there’s no criminal investigation at this time, but local police are baffled.’”
    Grandma sat frowning, listening closely now.
    “I don’t understand it,” Mr. Langly said. “Why wouldn’t Dianne have reported the disappearance herself?”
    The Langlys knew Hailey’s family well and had been friendly with them for years through Logan. When Lily disappeared, Mr. and Mrs. Phoenix had been the most supportive of anyone in Spokie. They often had Logan over for dinners and evenings with Hailey as he dealt with the loss of his sister. And when Mr. Phoenix passed away, the Langlys did their best to return the favor. But the families had grown apart in recent years as the friendship between Logan and Hailey had gradually fallen away.
    “Maybe Dianne’s like your wife,” Grandma said. “Airheaded in her grief.”
    Mrs. Langly closed her eyes, but she didn’t respond.
    “Says here the mayor’s imposing a town-wide curfew. ‘No Mark, No Dark,’ it says. Anyone on the streets after sundown will be brought in for questioning if they can’t show a Mark—especially the underage.” Mr. Langly sighed. “Three months too late, Mr. Mayor.”
    But Grandma narrowed her eyes, lost in thought. “If you’ll excuse me . . . ,” she said.
    Mr. Langly waved her off, reading the article again to himself.
    And Grandma retired to her guest room in the Langly house.
    3
    It had a crimson red wallpaper that made the space feel heavy and claustrophobic. The only sources of light were two table lamps, and each had a lampshade so thick that even at their brightest, the place was still dim and stuffy. Grandma entered it now, her guest room: Lily’s old bedroom on the ninth floor.
    The clutter was everywhere, never cleaned or moved or even touched since the day of Lily’s Pledge. On the bedside table were a paper plate and a fork with a piece of birthday cake still on it. The cake had gone black, its original remains rock hard and shriveled, but around it mold had sprung up so thick and lively that the whole thing looked a little like a potted plant. Once, Mr. Langly had tried to move the cake, to throw it away before the bugs got to it, but this idea upset Mrs. Langly so much that Mr. Langly worried for his marriage. The cake hadn’t moved an inch since.
    “It’s horrible in here,” Grandma had said when Mr. Langly showed her the space three weeks ago. “You people are sick.”
    But Grandma had respected the room all the same. She’d not moved or changed any part of it; she’d not touched a thing. And she never intended to.
    Grandma stood by the mirror that hung over the chest of drawers, leaning close to see herself, but careful not to bump any childhood trinkets or pictures still resting on the dresser top. She primped her hair and made herself up, alone in the dim light and the quiet, just thinking.
    There was something about that article . . . something about