Need by Joelle Charbonneau Read Free Book Online Page B

No one wants to help. You might as well just go ahead and die.
    The box is supposed to be a coffin. The hole is a grave. And the note . . .
    Suddenly it hurts to breathe. The wind stings my face as I read the words again. Words that can only be meant for my brother.
    Anger builds and claws to get out. I need to move. I have to destroy the note and the hole so DJ never sees it. I have to do something. But all I can do is wrap my arms tighter around my body and rock back and forth as I stare at the cardboard coffin.
    How could someone do this? How?
    The snap of a twig makes me jump. I spin around to see if someone is behind me. No one is there, but that doesn’t stop the fear that cuts through the horror and makes me run through the snow. Back to the house. Inside, where it’s safe.
    I close the door and start to shake. I’m so cold. So scared. So shocked that anyone could be this cruel. It feels like forever before I stop shivering. When I do, I stand, grab the first coat I find in the closet, and wrap myself in it. Then I do the only other thing I can think of. I dial the police on my cell as I go upstairs to wake my mom.
    Two officers arrive. One of them looks familiar, and when he introduces himself to Mom, I realize his son, Logan Shepens, is in my class. Not that we’re friends or anything.
    Mom makes coffee for the police and herself, and hot chocolate for me, and repeatedly reminds us all to keep our voices down while Officers Shepens and Klein discuss what has happened. They want to talk with my brother, too, but Mom asks that DJ be allowed to sleep as long as possible. She shut his door after I woke her and is still worried about him fighting his cold. I’m not sure what difference an extra hour or two of sleep is going to make. Learning about the snowy grave and the message inside is going to hurt no matter when he finds out about it. But I don’t question her. What’s the point?
    I hold a mug of hot chocolate in my hands, wondering if I’ll ever feel warm again, and I answer the officers’ questions. What time did I wake up? Why did I go outside? Did I recognize the person who dug the hole in the snow? Is there anyone I can think of who is angry with our family or has said anything negative about DJ’s illness? The last question I don’t answer.
    â€œMs. Dunham?”
    I look down at my drink, wishing I hadn’t gotten out of bed. That people weren’t so mean.
    â€œKaylee.” My mother’s voice is quiet, but I hear the tension. “Answer the officer’s question. Do you know someone who would want to hurt DJ?”
    There’s an accusation in her voice. As if this is my fault. It’s the same tone she used when she told me the test results. I wasn’t a match. I couldn’t save my brother. I was useless.
    â€œKaylee.” This time Officer Shepens asks.
    And I answer. “Not exactly. But I got an email.” I glance at my mother. “When I learned I wasn’t eligible to be DJ’s donor, I started looking for my father.”
    My mother’s lips form into a tight line. Disapproval and anger shine in her eyes. During one of our fights, she forbade me to look for Dad. I promised I wouldn’t, though I’ve never understood why she is so insistent about this, and neither does anyone else. I don’t understand why she won’t go to any lengths to help DJ. She always says we can survive without my father and that she will find another donor. But it doesn’t make sense, and she hasn’t. So I did. We both lied. And now she knows.
    I squeeze the mug between my hands, trying to ignore the way everything inside me tenses and my eyes burn. Taking a deep breath, I say, “I’ve been sending emails to everyone I can think of who knows my father, hoping one of his friends has heard from him. A couple days ago, I got a message from someone. If you wait a minute, I’ll go get it.”
    Before the