All the Missing Girls by Megan Miranda

us,” I whispered.
    He took a step inside, and pieces of caked dirt settled on the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, seeing what he was doing to the floor.
    â€œWhere have you been?” I asked.
    But he was focused on his shoes and the mud on the floor. I wasscared he was going to leave. That he’d leave and disappear and I’d never see him again.
    â€œHere,” I said, kneeling in front of him, prying at the muddy laces of his work boots. His breathing was ragged, and up close, I could see a fine yellow powder clinging to his pants. I concentrated on keeping my hands steady, trying to settle the growing unease. Tyler. This was just Tyler. I had one shoe unknotted when my phone on the table rang, making us both jump. Tyler watched me move across the room while he took off his other boot.
    â€œIt’s my brother,” I said, frowning at the phone display. Tyler’s face mirrored mine. I held the phone to my ear.
    â€œNic,” Daniel said before I’d even said hello. “Tell me where you are.”
    â€œI’m home, Daniel.”
    â€œAre you with Everett?” he asked, and I could hear wind through the phone. He was moving. Fast.
    â€œNo,” I said. “He left. Tyler’s here.” I looked over at Tyler, who had taken another step closer. He was halfway across the room, his head tilted to the side, like he was trying to hear the conversation.
    â€œListen to me,” Daniel said as an engine came to life in the background. “Get out.”
    My stomach dropped, and I looked at Tyler’s boots once more.
    â€œGet out. Now. ”
    My hand dropped to my side. “Tyler?” I asked as the phone slipped from my hand, cracked as it made contact with the floor. Pollen, I thought. Earth.
    â€œWhat? What did he say?” Tyler said, his words quiet and laced with panic.
    I looked at his hands, at the dirt caked under the nails, at the thin line of dried blood running between his thumb and pointer finger.
    â€œTyler,” I said. “What did you do?”
    He leaned against a chair, his fingers pressing into the wood. “I’m running out of time, Nic.”
    And then I heard it—faint and far away—the high-pitched call of a siren.
    Tick-tock, Nic.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, and a slow tremor made its way through his body. “They found a body at Johnson Farm.”
    The field of sunflowers. Pollen. Earth.
    The siren, growing insistent.
    Tyler, coming closer.
    And time standing perfectly, painfully still.
    It’s just a thing we created. A measure of distance. A way to understand. A way to explain things. It can weave around and show you things if you let it.
    Let it.

The Day Before

DAY 14
    T ime had gotten away from me. I’d been searching through the boxes of Dad’s old books and teaching material while waiting for Everett to fall asleep, pulling scraps of paper from between the pages, checking the margins for comments. It must’ve been well after midnight, and I wasn’t finding anything meaningful. Simpler and safer to trash it all. I stacked the boxes out in the hall to bring down to the garage in the morning.
    The sound of rustling sheets carried through the open doorway, and I silently padded back to my bedroom in bare feet. Everett was sprawled across the middle of my bed, the yellow comforter discarded and crumpled on the floor beside him. He wasn’t the deepest sleeper, but now his breathing was slow and measured. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and his back rose and fell in the same steady rhythm.
    The clock on the nightstand said 3:04. Perfect. This was the empty gap—that time between when everyone went to sleep, whenthe last stragglers headed home from Kelly’s Pub, and the earliest risers were up, when the newspaper delivery began. The world was silent and waiting.
    I left the room, stepping over the piece of flooring that