I force down the lump welling in my throat. “It’s fine.” My voice is unsteady and so is my pulse as I scan the area surrounding the SUV.
Ellis has parked near the entrance of the dirt trail that winds its way into the trees. While the sun is shining, shadows cast across the path, making it appear later in the day than it actually is.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Ellis says, drawing my attention back to him.
“Why not?” I ask, confused. “Isn’t it important to the case?”
“Yeah, but…” He trails off, studying me intensely. “We’re not even in the trees yet, and it’s already messing with your mind. I don’t want to push you.”
God, he’s so nice it’s hard to comprehend sometimes.
As if reading my mind, he says, “You’re about to tell me that I’m nice, aren’t you?”
“You are,” I insist. Then with trembling fingers, I unfasten my seatbelt. “I need to do this.” I shove open the door. “No more running.” I climb out and step onto the dirt that was hidden under a blanket of snow that day that I came out here.
What else is hidden up here? Memories? Secrets? Monsters?
All three?
I face the trail.
I’m about to find out.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
Ellis meets me around the front of the SUV, and then he glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?”
I nod, even though I’m not, then start forward. The dirt scuffs underneath my sneakers and the noise sounds nothing like the way the snow crunches under my shoes that day. That makes it slightly easier to continue forward. One foot in front of the other, I used to say to myself all the time right after the divorce. It’s how I existed, except I’m starting to question if I was ever doing that or if I was merely floating somewhere between the past and future, never quite moving toward either.
Maybe that’s how it’s been since the last time I walked up this path.
“Zoey hated the woods,” Ellis tells me as we arrive at the spot where the trees begin. “She hated bugs and dirt and anything that had to do with the outdoors.” He shifts a backpack he’s carrying higher onto his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Why would she go into the mountains if she hated it?”
“Honestly, a lot of people go hiking even when they hate the woods,” I offer. “Especially when someone with you wants you to go into the woods with them.”
“Like you right now?”
“No. Well, yes. But you and Clover used to convince me to go into the woods all the time, and I hated every second of it, but I did it because I wanted to spend time with you guys. Well, and I wanted to seem cool, but that is a whole different issue.”
“Everyone wanted to be cool in high school,” he assures me. “Even Clover.”
“Really?” I question. “Because I always felt like she was just cool.”
He smiles wistfully at that. “She was.” His smile fades. “But there were a lot of times where I felt like she was playing a role instead of actually being herself.” He plucks a leaf off a tree as we walk further into the trees. “I felt like she wanted everyone to believe she was cool, but I’m not sure if I even knew who she was underneath that.”
“I’ve wondered that too. There was this one time when we skipped class and went out to the lake. We were hanging out and talking about real deep stuff, and then she just jumped into the lake and let herself sink under the water.”
His attention darts to me. “What?”
“Yeah, and I jumped in because I thought she needed to be saved, but then she popped up and acted like it was amusing. Well, until I flipped out on her, and then she felt bad.” I press my lips together, pausing for a beat. “When she went into the water, I realized she was sadder than she wanted everyone to believe.”
The images of that day are so vividly clear, which is so strange. Why can I remember that moment, the one that sent a jolt of fear soaring through my veins, and yet other terrifying moments are clipped with distortion?
“I thought that about her too.” He stares down at the ground as we wind around a corner of the path. “I think we were all that way at that time in our lives, trying to pretend everything was okay when the goddamn woods were practically on fire around us.”
It’s odd to hear someone else speak about the woods in a way that burrows into my bones.
We fall silent, the whispering of the wind and the gentle thudding of our shoes against the dirt filling up the silence. The farther we hike, the steeper the trail becomes. I tell myself to breathe, that I’m not alone. That this isn’t the same as when things happened in the woods. But images are circling me like the leaves in the wind, of snow, of blood, of me standing on a cliffside, wishing I could summon up enough bravery to walk down by myself.
