One week had gone by since Rosemary scared the living daylights out of us. I'd been recovering smoothly. I felt fine. But no one would listen to me.

"Tell me again why you're here, please." It took everything in me not to pull my hair from my scalp as I stared at my mother's blank expression.

"Shush and eat up." She pointed at the bowl of seasoned broccoli in my hands.

I had eaten everything but that. She knew how much I hated broccoli. I had always spat it out when I was a child. I avoided it like the plague nowadays. That was easier. But she claimed I needed all the greens I could to keep healthy during my pregnancy. I wanted to cry.

"Ma, this is so nasty. John!" I whined, sounding like a five-year-old rather than a grown woman.

"Don't call him. You better not harass that man. He won't save you," she said.

I glared at her with narrowed eyes, watching her crochet the yawn in her hands. I knew this would happen eventually. If I wasn't taking the best care of myself, I knew someone else would do it. I wished it could have been John rather than my mother, though.

"Oh, you pipe down! It's not that bad. When you finish that, have some juice. It'll wash the taste down." Bernice slid a cup of grape juice across the coffee table, then sat on the couch beside me. I didn't like being stuck in between them. These women were capable of anything.

"That is sad. Just so sad. A damn shame too." my mother shook her head, watching the TV screen. I didn't understand how she was watching the TV on mute. But she made do with it.

What the news channel was showing wasn't a surprise. After my dream, it was no secret that the remains scattered under the willow tree belonged to seven-year-old Shayla Byers. They were a perfect match.

I stabbed at my broccoli and sighed. "It is."

The fact that someone would go through all this trouble just to bury these girls in different locations irked my nerves. Everything was too perfect. I was starting to think this was a plan that had been manufactured beforehand. But it didn't make sense. The dates were too random. My fingernails dug into my knees at the thought. It wasn't like I could go out there on my own and get any answers, either.

Because of my situation, Dr. Welsh and John had made sure I didn't leave the house. I was to be on bed rest for the entire week, as they put it—that meant a week off from work—and classes were canceled for the rest of the week because I refused to let a substitute fill in for me.

My mother was posing as John's replacement at the moment since he, my father, and his father were working on something in the room. Something about putting together a crib for Rosemary. It was huge, so I couldn't blame him for asking for help.

The only exciting thing about my week was digging into the gifts Evelyn dropped by with a few days ago. Balloons, flowers, cards, and teddy bears, all bought by my lovely class. Thankfully, I could finally go back to work Monday. Now, if this weekend would just end faster. I was tired of having a babysitter.

"Hey ma, and Bernice, did you know any of these girls' families?" I placed my bowl on the coffee table, crossing my legs under me. Both women froze and turned, eyeing me from their position on the couch.

"No. I've seen that child's—Regina's—grandparents around a couple times. Mostly at the supermarket. Very nice people. But that was it," my mother said.

"Yeah, I didn't run into them often. Sometimes, I saw that woman, Lucinda, and her husband on bingo nights when Malcolm and I went, but that was before their daughter went missing. We didn't talk with them much." Bernice shrugged.

"Oh," I said.

Regina was the thirteen-year-old girl from Texas. I hadn't heard much about her since the start of this. It was like Shayla. I hadn't heard much about her either. But her discovery shook the community. Gloom cast over West Greenbush as the fifth girl took her rightful place in front of the wall dedicated to them.

It wasn't much, but a street ceremony was the closest thing to comfort the neighborhood could get. Where strangers could walk by and witness those we'd lost. I wouldn't have known if it hadn't been aired on the news. It was actually airing on the news again right now. Though, it wasn't a live showcasing anymore. This was footage from two days ago.

I knew because John told me he was put there on watch to make sure things hadn't gotten out of control. Thirteen candles, five lit so far, all positioned in a neat row. Old missing posters, old pictures, anything people were willing to hang on the brick wall hung for the world to see.

I could only imagine the woeful sorrows plaguing people's homes. Those who grieved shamelessly with others and those who relied on themselves to hear their silent cries. But it was all the same, nonetheless painful.

As I stared at my version of Cory's map yesterday, I thought about this. There was still an obnoxious amount of wide space across the map. West Greenbush wasn't that big. But the missing girls were starting to make it feel like it was the biggest town in New Jersey. How could there have been all of this vast space, and we were still struggling?

"Do you think Dad might've been over to one of their houses for game night?"

"Not that I know. He would've mentioned it." my mother cocked an eyebrow at me. "What're you asking for?"

"I was just curious," I muttered. Her gaze hadn't left me. And I stared at my lap like a child receiving a scolding.

"You shouldn't worry too much about it. Hopefully, this'll all be over soon. I pray it will," Bernice added with a sigh.

"And we're finished!" my father hollered.

Footsteps, followed by laughter, entered the living room. John walked straight toward me. When he got to me, he helped me off the couch, leading us to the kitchen. I made sure to grab the bowl of broccoli to toss it on my way in. No more of that for me today. Our parents paid us no mind.

"How are we doing today?" He pecked my lips softly.

"Help. Me," I whispered into his ears.

He only laughed and pressed another kiss, this time, to my forehead. Asshole. He knew what he was doing when he left me here with our moms. "Two days"—he smoothed the edges of my hair down, laying a kiss above my head—"just two days left. And you'll be off lockdown. How's Rosemary? Still making you throw up a lot?"

"She's been calm, thankfully. So, I haven't been as uncomfortable as I was earlier in the week," I said.

"That's my girl." John grinned, eyeing my stomach. "How about I whip us up something to eat? Something that isn't broccoli. What do you say to Chicken Alfredo? Hmm, without the broccoli, of course. Do you think Rosemary will like it?"

"I'm sure she will. If it comes back up, then we know she doesn't."

"Good point." He chuckled. "Okay, go have a seat. They'll be leaving soon, I promise. Probably after dinner, though." I waved him off and made my way back to the couch.

"Alright, Ma, we are not watching the news anymore. John's cooking, so let's put on a movie." Before she could retort, I snatched the remote off the coffee table, sitting cross-legged on the floor. My thumb caressed the buttons on its own, casually flipping through channels.

"Spoiled child," was what it sounded like she said under her breath.

But I paid her no mind. I'd much rather have been in a happy space of thoughts. Anything that didn't involve me thinking too much. It wasn't like they were paying attention to me anyway. They'd been indulging in their own conversations.

Nothing was calling my interest. I kept pressing and pressing, and pressing on the remote until I realized my thumb was still hitting the button, but the channels weren't changing.

"Oh my gosh, no, stop," I squeaked.

No one seemed to have noticed my distress. Using my palm, I hit the back of the remote. When that didn't work, I shook the batteries out. Much to my displeasure, nothing changed. Cheery music continued to cloud the room, joined by an image airing from an episode of Peppa Pig.

"Stupid remote, can you not be a dic—?"

"Blow the candles out, Peppa!" Peppa's mother interrupted my fit of annoyance. A British tone clung to her gentle voice.

"Hurray! Happy birthday, Peppa!" Children followed behind her in celebration after Peppa blew out her candles.

"Seriously?" My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head. I could feel my frustration leaking from my pores. I was trying not to let colorful words fly out of my mouth.

I wasn't oblivious to the show Peppa Pig. It had grown over the years, attracting children from every corner of the world who loved it. But it definitely wasn't something I'd ever turn to by choice.

"Oh, for the love of—goodness grief!" The couch soothed me as I leaped back from the static screeching TV. It's just static, my mind scolded me.

"Angie, what are you doing? Have you forgotten how to work a TV?" I glared at my father over my shoulder. His comments were never funny.

"I didn't do it! The TV did!" I huffed. But I couldn't turn. The feeling on my fingers was too heavy. It refrained me from moving my hand.

Hypnotizing. It was the only word I could use to describe how the static looked. I didn't understand how or what I was looking at. I'd probably have been crazy to say this, but if I looked close enough, I was sure I could see the shape of a butterfly within the static on the screen.

This must have been Mary's doing.

A birthday party was the only thing I could wrap my brain around at the moment. No, it was the only thing I was getting from this.

My mother was convinced Eleanor had something to do with their disappearance because Eleanor was the last person Helena and Shayla were seen with when she lost them in the park that August day. The day of that birthday party.

Fabian's words crawled along my skin. That made sense. I'd almost forgotten about our conversation, and it wasn't that long ago. Well, on top of everything that had been going on this week, that was probably why.

Finally, the TV went back to normal. And Peppa Pig was playing again. It was about time I found out whose birthday party was on August 17th. That party could have been the answer to most of my problems if not all of them.