Always not now!
“Shh!”
I am quiet. I’m never loud.
“You think so?”
?
“Your silence is sometimes loud and sometimes quiet,” he mumbles.
Silence is the loudest scream, James once said in the beginning, when I stopped speaking at home.
The sound of an engine penetrates the thicket of trees down to the sparkling lake. Only now do I discover the beauty of the place, with the reflection of the moon floating on the water like melted silver. A few waves ripple on the surface, probably caused by our impact. On the other side of the lake, tall conifers rise like an army’s ramparts.
River stops and listens. “They can’t go any further; the forest road ends here,” he whispers.
Doors slam, and voices can be heard talking over one another.
“Shit, Zozoo! You couldn’t have been quicker? I think we’ve lost them.”
“I was driving like a bat out of hell!”
“They must be here somewhere! Where else should they be? It doesn’t go any further here.”
“Where’s the car?”
“Shut up, damn it!”
Silence.
“Damn, I’ll kill that guy when I catch him!”
“Shh! Hey... here... look...”
“River?”
“Riv!”
His name rings out several times through the forest. All I can think is that his actual name is River. And that they’re the people River talked to on the phone, at least this Zozoo.
The voices are male and sound worried. Maybe friends? But why is he running from them? I want to stop and find out more, but River pulls me along by my arm. His deep blue eyes, which appear shadowy black in the light, study me as we walk along the embankment, both of us in soaking jeans. Next to us is the head-high cliff we sledded down in the Porsche.
“Oh shit!” we hear behind us.
“Anyone inside?”
I assume they’ve spotted the Porsche.
“No one. He’s gone. The girl, too. Of course, he has the girl. I saw her.”
River puts a finger to his lips. “Move silently. Can you swim?”
I nod. I can swim, and I’d take the gold medal for being quiet and hiding.
“Okay, give me your shoes.” River stops. I don’t understand at first until he takes off his boots and stuffs them almost silently into his backpack. Finally, he stores my flip-flops. “Luckily, you don’t have a taste for over-the-knee boots,” he jokes in a subdued tone. “We’ll try to outrun them on the shore, but if that doesn’t work, we’ll swim across.” He pulls me along.
“Riv, you okay, man? Come out! We had an agreement. A few days to wind down, but no girl.” The voice grows increasingly angrier. “You’re sick.”
