Towering

precarious pile of books had collapsed, but the window was still intact. No broken glass. No blood. No Danielle. “Oh, it was a dream, just a dream, but I could have sworn someone was trying to come in.”
    “Come in? Who?”
    “Dani. She said her name was Dani.” Realizing how freaky this would be to the mother of a missing girl, I backtracked. “I mean, I dreamed she said that. I was looking at . . . the photo of her with my mother.” Better not to mention the diary. It might upset her to read it. “Then, I had a nightmare she’d come back. Just a nightmare.”
    “A nightmare? In my daughter’s room? My long-lost daughter?”
    Long-lost . It was such an old-fashioned way of saying something, and she looked so sad. I knew that she really had loved Danielle. Despite the diary, I knew she hadn’t locked her in to control her, hurt her. She’d done it to protect her. And it hadn’t worked. Sometimes, things don’t.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I looked at the window. Nothing out there but snow. “I’ll find another room. Which one?” I realized I wasn’t getting off on the right foot with her.
    “Any room, boy, any room but this one! Now, get out!”
    “I will. Of course.” With one final glance at the empty, unbroken window, I backed away, grabbing my duffel bag as I did.
    “Go!” she yelled. “I’ll check in a minute to make sure you’ve found the right one this time, fool!”
    “That’s okay.” I walked out.
    As soon as I reached the hallway, I realized my mistake. My most recent mistake. I’d left the diary on the bed, under the disturbed pillow, where anyone could guess I’d been reading it. Mrs. Greenwood didn’t seem like the type to take kindly to snoopers. I had to go back in. It was just an ordinary notebook. She wouldn’t know it was Danielle’s. I’d tell her it was mine, my schoolwork.
    I tiptoed back into the room to get it. I didn’t have to worry about her seeing me, though. She was distracted.
    She was at the window, the books and other objects scattered on the ground around her and the glass wide open. She knelt on the sill, looking so far out I worried she’d fall. The room was freezing, and snow swirled through the air. Against it all, I heard her voice, screaming, “Come in! Come in! Oh, Dani, do come! Come back, my darling!” She was sobbing. “Dani, please!”
    I grabbed the notebook and ran from the room before she could see me. I chose the emptier of the two spare rooms, hoping I was right this time. I squirreled the notebook away in my duffel bag and hoped that sleep would overtake me before the old woman could think to come check on me.

Wyatt
    I fell asleep, eventually, but it was far from peaceful. For hours, I tossed around, alternately freezing and looking for the cool side of the pillow. Danielle didn’t return. Of course she didn’t. Either she’d been a figment of my weary imagination or she’d disappeared—again—when she heard her mother’s voice. No, there was no either . She was a figment of my imagination. Period. But still, the wind howled like the opera singers my grandfather worshiped on PBS, and each time I started to descend into sleep, I heard a voice that seemed to say, “Find me!” But there was nothing there. The last time I saw on the digital clock was 5:00 a.m.
    The next time was 10:00. Sun streamed through the trees and dotted the walls. I blinked my eyes. The snow and wind had stopped, and there was a silence like I’d never heard.
    I wished I could stay in this room forever, alone, unseen by anyone. That was the deal, get away from everything, the people who wanted to talk to me and the people who didn’t. Sure, I would have only my own thoughts to deal with, but those would haunt me wherever I went, no matter what. At least, here I wouldn’t have to share them.
    I hadn’t thought about the old lady or, if I had, I hadn’t thought much. An old lady had seemed harmless. Mom had kept in touch with her over the years, Christmas cards and things, and when we’d visited the area once, Mom had met her for coffee while I went fishing with my grandfather. So Mom had asked her to let me stay here, to finish out my senior year in exchange for money and chores like mowing the lawn.
    I went to the window and looked down. The lawn in question was at least three feet deep in snow. Did that mean I had to shovel the path?
    Or, more important, what if the old lady was crazy?
    It was a fair question. Danielle’s diary