“Issues I’m guessing you can’t talk about?”
He offers me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’m probably telling you too much as it is, but I think you need to know some of these details.”
I spin the key in my hand. “Do you still think my uncle could’ve had the coroner lie on the autopsy report for Clover?”
“I do, which means he could’ve done the same thing on the reports for the girls found dead in Star Meadows.” He thrums his fingers on top of the steering wheel. “If that’s the case, I need to figure out why he’s doing it, and who he’s covering up for.”
Memories of my uncle flash through my mind. Have I seen or heard anything that’d indicate why he was part of something so horrendous? My head throbs at the images I see containing not only him, but also my father. My mother. My aunt. Trystan.
The brutal truth is that the roots digging into my brain that make up the memories of my family tree have decayed.
“Do you believe that the mind can make you forget horrible memories?” I ask suddenly. “To protect you from them?”
He meets my gaze. “Like the ones of what happened to you in the woods?”
I nod, but then waver, nervously picking at a loose thread on my shorts. “I think I might have forgotten a lot of traumatic events that happened to me. But I also remember some of them.” I slump back in the seat. “It just sometimes feels like I have holes in my brain. And then I remember these random images from my childhood, but I can’t quite put all the pieces together to make the memories make sense. My therapist suggested that this might be trauma-related amnesia.”
He glances at me in surprise. “You see a therapist?”
Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that aloud. I’m not even sure why discomfort spreads through me, but it does.
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” he quickly adds as he shifts down. “I think that’s great. I see one too. It’s part of what helped me move past all the shit that happened in this town and with my family.”
It’s strange to hear him speak about Star Meadows the same way I do. Sometimes I’ve wondered if it’s just me who thinks of it this way.
“Why do you think this place is so bad?” I ask as he slows down to make a turn onto a dirt road that will take us to the mouth of the canyon.
We’re almost there.
The nausea in my gut builds.
“Not that I don’t agree with you.” I keep talking to distract myself from the trees looming in the distance. “But I’ve wondered why so much bad shit happens here.”
“Part of it might be because of corrupt cops.” He shifts gears. “But I also think it’s the seclusion. That can make some people go a little crazy. And it gives some a sense of security to act on dark impulses.”
I think back to when my parents decided to move here…
Red and blue flashing lights…
Someone bangs on the door. “Police. Open up.”
“Go to your room, Ava, and do not come out.” My mother shoves me, panic flooding her eyes…
She’s holding a silver object…
A knife…
She’s kneeling in front of photos of people dancing around in the trees…
So many photos of trees…
“Aves.” A hand is on my cheek.
Why the hell is someone touching me?
I jerk back, blinking until the memory fades and the present settles across my vision in rays of light and Ellis’s kind eyes.
He holds up his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry. You dazed off, and I couldn’t pull you out of it.”
