NITA: In Anacortes?
MADDIE: Yeah. It’s weird going there in the off-season, but we had a good time.
NITA: You didn’t go to your mom’s place at all?
MADDIE: . . . I don’t really like going to [garbled].
NITA: Still, it seems weird to go all the way out there for Thanksgiving and not even, like, go to your mom’s house.
[. . .]
NITA: Sorry. That came out—
MADDIE: No, I know it’s—
NITA: Really didn’t mean to sound that . . . that . . .
MADDIE: Judgey. You sounded judgey.
NITA: Shit. I’m not judging you. I’m not, really. I’m just, like—you make me intensely curious, and I’m trying to, like. Curb that. But it’s hard.
MADDIE: Thanks. I think.
NITA: I just think you’re super-interesting, and I know it’s super dorky, but I—I really like you. And I want to know you.
[. . .]
NITA: Look, is this still about the ethnography? Because I promise that I—
MADDIE: I don’t need you to promise anything, okay? That’s not what I’m asking for.
[Ambient noise. Chairs shifting on the linoleum, someone’s fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop. The kitchen table sounds like it has gotten larger, stretching to a gulf between them.]
NITA: You could. Ask me to. I’d promise . . . shit, Maddie, I’d promise you a lot.
[Chair scraping.]
NITA: [Closer to microphone.] Ask me to promise you something.
MADDIE: [Hoarse, soft.] I don’t care if you . . . if you’re curious, okay? I don’t care if you dig up everything. But you can’t ask me about it, okay? It’s hard enough, keeping—
[them]
MADDIE: —it all out of my head.
NITA: Okay. I won’t ask you.
[Sound of kissing.]
[. . .]
[Time is running out.]
[End of recorded material.]
[Beginning of recorded material.]
[Traffic. Voices. The subtle rumble of an underground train. Sparrows and starlings squawking. Bicycle bells.]
MADDIE: So I’ve discovered how to make voice recordings on my phone. I guess that makes this a self-ethnography. Or something. Maybe it’s just a confession? Whatever. This is weird. I don’t know how you do this, Nita. I don’t know if I’m going to send you this.
[23 seconds of ambient noise and birdsong.]
MADDIE: I’m not supposed to—I told you that I can’t talk about this. I’m not supposed to say anything about [garbled] or what happened to . . .
[Don’t]
MADDIE: They stick in my throat, even now, even here. I’m in Daley Plaza because it’s the farthest place I can think of from, from the woods, from . . .
[13 seconds of ambient noise. The sound of birds intensifies.]
[say their names.]
MADDIE: Nita, you think I want you to give this up because it’s too personal. I don’t. I want you to keep going because it’s personal. It’s been four years since I left and it’s getting harder to stay away, and harder to . . .
[Maddie coughs harshly.]
MADDIE: I . . .
[The sound of birds and coughing intensifies.]
[Time is . . .]
MALE VOICE: Miss? Miss? Are you okay?
MADDIE: [Hoarse] I’m fine. Thanks, I’m fine.
MALE VOICE: Are you sure? You want me to—
MADDIE: [Stronger.] Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for—
[Come home.]
MALE VOICE: What was that?
MADDIE: I said that I’m fine.
[Come home.]
[Footsteps.]
[Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come home.][Come
[End of recording.]
[Beginning of recorded material.]
MADDIE: Can’t believe you never heard about this, you’re the one who’s always carrying this thing around.
NITA: Uh, maybe, but they didn’t cover ghost-hunting in Sound Engineering for Dummies.
MADDIE: It’s not just for ghosts, it’s for . . . I dunno. Anything that might have something to say.
NITA: So people just leave the recorder running and . . . wait?
MADDIE: Leave it in an empty room and see what might be willing to speak.
NITA: Spoopy shit.
MADDIE: I’m a spoopy girl.
NITA: I know. I like it. Spoopy outlier girl.
[Maddie laughs; the sound of it is thin, brittle.]
NITA: Now what?
MADDIE: Now we leave it. Come back later and see if anything decided to leave us a message.
[Footsteps.]
NITA: Like a voicemail for ghosts.
MADDIE: Not just ghosts.
NITA: Like “4:33” for the spirit world.
MADDIE: Like what?
[A door closes.]
NITA: [Fainter] What? Have you never heard of—[inaudible]
[1:25:21 of ambient silence.]
[A bird calls, a harsh whistle. So loud that it might be inside the room.]
[43:57 of static.]
[End of recorded material.]
[Beginning of recorded material.]
[Static.]
MADDIE: Hi, this is Nita Rosen, coming to you live from the bedroom where I just fucked my girlfriend before trying to unconvincingly tell her that—
NITA: Oh my God, would you—
MADDIE: That! I, like, totally don’t want to go to her mom’s house for Christmas.
NITA: I do not sound like that.
MADDIE: Despite the fact that it gives me the perfect opportunity to dig up all kinds of dirt about her, which is the only reason I’ve stayed with this freak show this long. Stay tuned. This is NPR.
NITA: Are you done?
MADDIE: Oh, fuck no. Let me get my Terry Gross voice on. So why the sudden flip-flop, Nita? Were you getting too close to your subject? Sorry, your outlier? Sudden crisis of conscience, or did you just get bored and want—
NITA: Can you please turn it off?
MADDIE: Oh, no. I want this on the record.
NITA: I found out who Emily is.
[9 seconds of silence. No ambient noise at all.]
[Don’t say her name.]
MADDIE: [Whispering.] Don’t say her name.
[End of recording.]
[Beginning of recorded material.]
NITA: One teen missing, another in critical condition after car crash in [garbled]. Underage drinking suspected as factor. The totaled car was found off Old Coach Highway in—
[4 seconds of static.]
NITA: —damage to the front and side of the car. Magdalena Lanuza, eighteen, was found in the car, several hours after the crash. The car fell from Old Coach Highway into a gully thirty feet below the road. Lanuza claims she was accompanied by eighteen-year-old Emily Longham, who is still missing. In a statement, Emily Longham’s mother, Abigail, said she believes her daughter is still out there. I’d know it if she were truly gone, she told reporters. The sheriff’s office has organized a search party. Those interested in volunteering are encouraged to call the number listed below. When asked if they were looking for—
[2 seconds of static; harsh, unyielding, angry.]
NITA: —or a body, the sheriff’s department gave no comment.
[11 seconds of ambient silence and static. She’s weighing the past four months with what she knows now. She’s thinking of long, ropy scars that rake across Maddie’s spine.]
NITA: And that’s it. No follow-up, as far as I can see. One girl nearly dies and another disappears, you’d assume that a small-town paper would be brooding on this shit for weeks, right? But there’s nothing else online at all. No Facebook pictures, no memorials of this girl. I can’t even find her parents. So here’s the thing: this is really obviously a trauma that’s in Maddie’s past, and it looks so much more interesting than it did when I first saw those scars. And I want to find out more and I fucking hate that I do. I hate myself for looking at Maddie and seeing a . . .