Never Never
Page 33
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I look at the time stamp on the envelope again. It was mailed first thing Tuesday morning. And Wednesday at 11am is exactly when this happened to us.
If you find anything out that will help, add it to the next page and keep this going until we figure out what started it. And how to stop it.
I flip to the last page, but it’s blank.
I look at the clock. It’s 10:57am. It’s Friday. This happened to us almost 48 hours ago.
My chest is heaving.
This can’t be happening.
48 hours will be up in less than three minutes.
I flip open my console and search for a pen. I don’t find one, so I yank open the glove box. Right on top is a copy of the same letter with mine and Charlie’s names on it. I lift it up and there are several pens, so I grab one and flatten the paper out against the steering wheel.
It happened again, I write. My hands are shaking so bad, I drop the pen. I pick it up again and keep writing.
At 11am, Wednesday, October 8th, Charlie and I both lost our memories for what appears to be the third time in a row. Things we’ve learned in the last 48 hours:
-Our fathers used to work together.
-Charlie’s father is in prison.
I’m writing as fast as I can, trying to figure out which points I need to write down first—which are the most important, because I’m almost out of time.
-We visited a tarot reader on St. Philip Street. That might be worth checking out again.
-Charlie mentioned a girl at school—called her The Shrimp. Said she wanted to talk to her.
-Charlie has an attic in her bedroom closet. She spends a lot of time in there.
I feel like I’m wasting time. I feel like I’m not adding anything of importance to this damn list. If this is true and it’s about to happen again, I won’t have time to mail a letter, much less make copies. Hopefully if I have it in my hands, I’ll be smart enough to read it and not just toss it aside.
I bite the tip of the pen, attempting to focus on what to write next.
-We grew up together, but now our families hate each other. They don’t want us together.
-Silas was sleeping with the guidance counselor, Charlie with Brian Finley. We broke it off with both of them.
-Landon is a good brother, you can probably trust him if you have to.
I continue to write. I write about our tattoos, the Electric Crush Diner, Ezra and anything and everything I can recall from the last 48 hours.
I look at the clock. 10:59.
Charlie doesn’t know about this letter. If everything in this letter so far is accurate and this really has been happening to us since last Saturday, that means she’s about to forget everything she’s learned in the past 48 hours. And I have no idea how to find her. How to warn her.
I press the pen to the paper again and write one last thing.
-Charlie got into a cab on Bourbon Street last night and no one has seen her since. She doesn’t know about this letter. Find her. The first thing you need to do is find her. Please.
If you find anything out that will help, add it to the next page and keep this going until we figure out what started it. And how to stop it.
I flip to the last page, but it’s blank.
I look at the clock. It’s 10:57am. It’s Friday. This happened to us almost 48 hours ago.
My chest is heaving.
This can’t be happening.
48 hours will be up in less than three minutes.
I flip open my console and search for a pen. I don’t find one, so I yank open the glove box. Right on top is a copy of the same letter with mine and Charlie’s names on it. I lift it up and there are several pens, so I grab one and flatten the paper out against the steering wheel.
It happened again, I write. My hands are shaking so bad, I drop the pen. I pick it up again and keep writing.
At 11am, Wednesday, October 8th, Charlie and I both lost our memories for what appears to be the third time in a row. Things we’ve learned in the last 48 hours:
-Our fathers used to work together.
-Charlie’s father is in prison.
I’m writing as fast as I can, trying to figure out which points I need to write down first—which are the most important, because I’m almost out of time.
-We visited a tarot reader on St. Philip Street. That might be worth checking out again.
-Charlie mentioned a girl at school—called her The Shrimp. Said she wanted to talk to her.
-Charlie has an attic in her bedroom closet. She spends a lot of time in there.
I feel like I’m wasting time. I feel like I’m not adding anything of importance to this damn list. If this is true and it’s about to happen again, I won’t have time to mail a letter, much less make copies. Hopefully if I have it in my hands, I’ll be smart enough to read it and not just toss it aside.
I bite the tip of the pen, attempting to focus on what to write next.
-We grew up together, but now our families hate each other. They don’t want us together.
-Silas was sleeping with the guidance counselor, Charlie with Brian Finley. We broke it off with both of them.
-Landon is a good brother, you can probably trust him if you have to.
I continue to write. I write about our tattoos, the Electric Crush Diner, Ezra and anything and everything I can recall from the last 48 hours.
I look at the clock. 10:59.
Charlie doesn’t know about this letter. If everything in this letter so far is accurate and this really has been happening to us since last Saturday, that means she’s about to forget everything she’s learned in the past 48 hours. And I have no idea how to find her. How to warn her.
I press the pen to the paper again and write one last thing.
-Charlie got into a cab on Bourbon Street last night and no one has seen her since. She doesn’t know about this letter. Find her. The first thing you need to do is find her. Please.
