-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.