I pulled the drawer of Ryan’s desk open so hard it came off the tracks. Journals, cards, pens and tickets from shows and museums spilled onto the floor. I got down on my knees and started to systematically comb through the papers. I picked up a journal and skimmed the few entires in it. Most of the pages were blank. Ryan always had trouble finishing what he’d started. Nothing related to what Ryan had described. I threw the journal down and bits of paper scattered.

How? How could there be nothing here? Ryan had been wigged out all week. He must have kept track of something somehow. My eyes followed a ticket to the museum of death that had landed by his bed.

“Oh, duh!” I raced over to the bed and lifted up the mattress. Nothing but box spring. Box spring. I slipped under the bed and saw a tear in the under fabric. Reaching in I found a little laptop balanced on the cross beams.

Got it. He hadn’t password protected it. Like he wanted someone to be able to access it.

There were a series of video files saved right to the desktop. I opened the first one. It was a video of Ryan sitting at his desk, hands grabbing at his hair. He sighed and his hands moved to grab the back of his neck, anxious.

“I’m not sure I even believe me either,” he said, staring into the camera. “But just in case, I’m going to keep a log of everything I’ve found so far.”

Chills ran down my spine and I paused the video taking a shaky breath. Tears burned in my eyes. He’s tried to tell us. He’d said he had a weird feeling about someone following him. Mom and Dad hadn’t known what to do. The one thing that hadn’t occurred to any of us was to actually listen. And now he was gone.

“Ok, Ryan,” I said, pressing play. “Tell me.”