Naya knows something is up; I noticed that the first time Daxton and I were in the car, our body language portraying our hesitation. But I cannot bring myself to speak about the awaiting horrors, even if I know this is the only way. Someone left that note; someone knows where we are, and that puts ourlives in danger. I cannot risk that—not again.
My forehead is damp with sweat, and I’m on the verge of giving up when I spot the train tracks hidden between the bushes. It’s overgrown with trees obscuring the way, while weeds wind around the rusty rails lying on the ground. As I lay eyes on it, a spear pierces my heart with unrelenting speed, freezing me in place. I stop Naya, nodding toward the abandoned train tracks.
I need to breathe deeply to suppress the memories clinging to me like poisonous snakes, destroying me from the inside with their bite.
I push thorny branches aside so we can get past the tracks, which have been out of traffic and abandoned since before I was even born.
“What is this place?” Naya whispers close to me, apprehension tingling in her voice.
I remain silent, taking a step forward. Words churn in my mind, but I know speaking now will only unleash a storm of regrets. My nerves are too out of control, tension radiating off me in tangible waves.
I let my gaze sweep over the thick tree next to the rail, its bark marred with carved letters. Anger simmers within me.
“C + G,” the letters taunt, a cruel reminder of the brother I lost. My gaze locks on the tree, rooted in place, and I’m unable to move. Naya eventually notices my fixation and approaches it, her presence a silent shadow in a world covered by vegetation.
Seeing her so close to that tree brings on emotions that make me want to lash out; I cannot explain what it is, but it brings me discomfort unlike any other. Her fingers trace the carved initials with a familiarity that feels like an intrusion, igniting a tumult within me. The way she inspects them, as if she has the right to do so, drives me to the edge. Damn it, I’m going crazy. I knew coming back here was a mistake.
“Grey...” Her voice breaks the tense silence, mismatched eyes locking with mine in an intense gaze that does nothing to calm me down.
It’s as if Naya has become the embodiment of all those things as she touches her hand against the tree me and my brother used to play by, carving our initials as a promise never to let each other go.
“Get away from there,” I manage through gritted teeth, emotions irrational.
To the left, cobbled stones are obscured by weeds. A weather-beaten sign looms ahead, the wood covered in splinters. It looks as if it has hung there for years without maintenance.
“PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.”
The words are written in a handwriting that is old-fashioned yet still readable, and I hear Naya’s breath hitch as she notices it. I know there are questions on the tip of her tongue, but I’m glad she’s keeping her mouth shut.
I cannot handle anyone talking to me at the moment. It’s all too fucking much.
An abandoned house emerges on the overgrown lawn. Broken windows and storm-battered trees lean against its walls. Peeling paint and a rusty, sagging gate greet us. I inhale deeply, but it comes out as a shaky breath.
Naya’s hand carefully finds mine, and I resist the urge to pull away. Instead, I squeeze her hand.
The roof shows signs of collapse, but it still feels stable enough to sleep under.
Naya leans her head against my shoulder, her silence speaking volumes as she surveys the yard and the wild vegetation. The gate stands open, untouched in the years I’ve been absent. A tattered strip of police tape flaps in the wind on the door.
“Crime Scene. Do Not Cross.”
Confusion clouds her features as she hesitates, eyebrowsfurrowed, yet her hand is still on that fucking tree.
“Step away from the tree, Naya,” I repeat, my voice a warning tinged with urgency.
She casts one last look at me before stepping away, coming closer to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I force out, attempting to breathe through my nose.
Her touch on my arm is usually a comfort, but now it feels like an anchor dragging me into turbulent waters with motors ready to slice me open. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, indifference lacing my words as she steps back, confusion plastered all over her face.
I can’t bear the closeness—the contact. Not now, when it feels as if my world is about to be turned upside down.
Regaining composure, I fist my hair in my hands and pull harshly. “Just a few more minutes.”
She nods in response, keeping her distance as we navigate the abandoned train tracks
No one has been here since the incident. The police gave up the investigation when I openly admitted to the crime, ultimately sending me to a psych evaluation.
