by Bea Bledsoe
Leigh looked at him, disbelief splayed across her face. “Are you serious, Henry? I know her. I grew up with Winnie riding her bike in front of my house.”
“Of course.” He looked away from her. “I just mean….” He considered his words. “Leigh…fire leaves marks. Marks you can’t erase.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Okay?”
His voice dropped. “I see no sign of fire in this valley. Do you? If it was as big as she said it was – that she could see it lighting up the valley and that the whole town burned – first of all, that would be visible for fifty miles. Second, we would see traces everywhere: scorched soil and brittle black marks on the vegetation around it. Dead and burned trees. New succession growth would be coming up. It just doesn’t….” A cloud passed over the moon and Henry’s face faded into shadow. “Something isn’t right about this, about her. I don’t like it. I don’t like her.”
Leigh thought about it for a moment, her own mind embracing the troubling stray thought she had had when they were sitting by the fire, a thought she had pushed away violently. Winnie’s story hadn’t matched Ford’s. The dates were all wrong. Ford said that the town still had people in March 11th, where Winnie had said that they had died the third week of February. A chill crept up her spine.
“Follow me.” She whispered, and silently they trekked deeper into the valley. Below her feet, dead leaves and twigs crunched with each step. She knew where she needed to go. They walked in silence for a few minutes until Leigh stopped abruptly.
“About here is where they lived, the Kassel’s. I know it by that tree.”
Where once there was a house, there was nothing more than a perfectly square open space in a crowded forest. Pale wildflowers winked her direction as Henry flashed his phone light over them, waving it back and forth, checking the ground for something she couldn’t see. After a few minutes, he returned to her side, his cheeks flushed as he exhaled a breath of cold air.
“There has been no fire here. I’m sure of it.”
Leigh turned and let her eyes slowly trace over the ground. “Winnie said she buried her parents on the slope in their backyard.” She could see it from here: a small hill that pulled away from the north end of the property. Leigh ran up it, her sneakers slipping in the wet soil. It had only been a few months, so the spots where the bodies were buried - especially if Winnie couldn’t dig down that deep - would still be visible. But as she raised the lantern there was nothing; no graves, no raised beds. Unease wormed its way through her as she ran her hands through the soil. Henry climbed up behind her, his strong figure blocking out the moon.
“She’s lying.” He said quietly. “Why would she lie?” Leigh stood up and put her hands on her hips, trying to find the most plausible explanation and failing to do so.
“Trauma?” She whispered. “Maybe she saw so much that she made up an easier story, one that was less horrible?”
Henry’s shoulders tightened. “What could be worse than your family dying slowly and then being left alone to die? If this was a story to soothe her heart, she could have made a gentler one, don’t you think?” The harsh wind whistled around them.
“Let me think for a second.” She said as she crouched down, running over the pieces in her mind. Her hands ran over the soil; she needed something rooted to hold onto.
The postcard. The missing town. Sheriff Lacombie and his lies.
Ford, and her men in black.
Dog and his letters. The Pathfinder Collective. The stranger in the photo.
Winnie and the disease and the fires that didn’t exist.
Dog struggling with the gun, while screaming “get out” at the top of his lungs.
Leigh focused on that terrible memory. Maybe what Dog had yelled - get out - hadn’t been for them, maybe it wasn’t the warning she thought it was. But if it wasn’t that, what was it? Her mind flitted back to the postcard from her Mother: Don’t come home. Her mother would never have been able to send that postcard if she was sick. It’s not like the postman had been here. Her mother must have dropped it somewhere else, but if she had left, why had she come back? What had called her back? Henry was right: Something else was going on here, but what did she know? The thought stopped her cold.
What do you know, Leigh?
She blinked. What do I know? The beginning of a headache was starting at her temples and crackling at the base of her neck. What do I know? She gasped out loud when it came to her and she knelt, her arm grabbing Henry’s leg. “She called me Leigh.”
“And?” Henry asked.
“Everyone in Blackriver knew me as Leigh Mae.”
What do I know? Leigh asked herself again, before the truth came barreling towards her. “The Kassels don’t have a daughter.” She couldn’t breathe.
Henry looked confused. “But I thought you said you remembered her?”
“I do.” Leigh nodded, closing her eyes, pulling up the memories of Winnie in her mind: as a little girl with tiny red pigtails running down the street in front of her house, laughing as she chased after some pheasants. Winnie, riding a yellow bicycle past Leigh’s house as she read a Sweet Valley mystery on the porch swing. Finally, Winnie as a newly young woman, riding a white mare down the street and not waving back as Leigh waved at her. Leigh turned to Henry, her heart thudding.
“We didn’t have a porch swing.”
“What?”
Leigh shook her head, unable to believe her own words. “They’re wrong. My memories of Winnie. We never had a porch swing. This town doesn’t have pheasants; we have turkeys. And the horse that I remember her riding wasn’t the Kassels’ horse. It was a white horse, and there were no purely white horses in Blackriver. And the Kassels were childless. But I do remember her, Henry, I swear it! It’s almost like…”
Their eyes met. “Like those memories were put there. “Her mind flashed back to Dog, clutching his head and screaming get out get out get out.
She reached out and grabbed Henry’s hand. He looked down at her, his face pale. “I have to tell you something. It’s hard to say out loud, but when I’m around her, Leigh, I think things. Bad things. The images that go through my head when I look at Winnie…” He shook his head. “They’re obscene, Leigh. Sexual things, and I don’t know where they come from. I’m not attracted to her; she’s a child. But it’s like an attack, one image after another.” His breathing was labored. “Look, I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know that we need to leave. Let’s take her with us and go right to the police, then she’s their problem.” He touched her face. “I know this was your home once, and maybe someday we can come back to visit, but right now we need to leave.”
At his words, Leigh’s heart pulled. Part of her yearned to stay in this place that had been her home, but she understood now what the silence had been trying to tell her: that this place wasn’t her home anymore. It was a graveyard, and there was something menacing in these silent woods. Henry was right; they needed to get the hell out of here.
“Okay, let’s go. Right now.” She kissed him violently and they ran back to the car, their footsteps cracking like gunshots in the dark. As the trees parted in front of them, she saw only smoke curling into the night air. Winnie had put their fire out. Moving quickly, Leigh flung open the back of the car: Winnie wasn’t in the back of the car. The girl was gone, along with their sleeping bags, food, and clothing. Henry climbed frantically into the front seat, upending the cushions, ripping open the glovebox.
“The keys, Leigh. The keys are gone.”
“No. No, no, no.” Leigh vaulted over the middle seat, landing hard on the drink holder. Dog’s pictures were spread all over the seat, ripped into shreds. Her hands flailing, she sorted through them.
“What are you looking for?” Asked Henry, his voice scared.
Leigh finally found it: the large group picture of Blackriver, the one that she had looked at earlier, now torn in three pieces. In the light of the car she put them back together and looked at the phantom face in the corner, the boy his lat
e teens, with the hat and the closely drawn eyes. Leigh brought the photograph closer, breathing out as her heart pounded in her chest. The confidence of the boy’s stare – it was uniquely female. That’s why it had stood out. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. This was the stranger who had brought something terrible to Blackriver. Winnie was the person who didn’t belong.
“I’m not sure what’s worse.” She whispered to Henry. “The fact that she has our car keys in the woods somewhere, or that even in my fake memories she was cruel.”
“We have to find her, because if we don’t…” Henry’s words hung ominously in the air as the moonlight shifted around them.
“We won’t be able to leave.” Whispered Leigh. “Ever. But either way, we can’t go into the woods now, not at night. We could get lost or worse…be hunted.”
Henry’s mouth twisted. “By an animal?”
Leigh didn’t answer, but inside she thought, No, not by an animal.
21
They did not sleep. Huddled together in the dark car, pressed as close as they dared, Henry and Leigh watched the sun rise over the mountains, bathing the valley in a pale blue light.
“It’s beautiful.” Whispered Henry. Leigh didn’t move, her eyes trained on the valley, watching for any sight of Winnie.
“I’m over beautiful.” She said sharply. “I’m ready for crowded streets and brick buildings and foamy lattes.”
Henry nodded. “Yeah, I could really go for a packed cafeteria right now.”
As soon as the morning mist cleared, they leapt out of the car, Leigh pulling on her boots as she instructed Henry. “Look for tracks or any sort of ground marking,” Leigh ordered. “We have to find her. Remember…get the keys and go. At all costs.”
They looked for about a half hour in the trees around the car, combing the ground for a fresh footprint in the mud, a piece of clothing, crumpled grasses, but there was nothing. If there wasn’t any sign of Winnie in the valley then that meant only one thing: She had gone into the woods. Blackriver was surrounded by thick forest on all sides, and Leigh knew from chasing Winnie twice that she was fast and nimble. This would be almost impossible. Her mind was already feeling foggy.
“Should we split up?” Henry asked, his face exhausted with worry. Leigh looked over at him and felt a twinge of guilt that he was here with her, in this continuous nightmare. He should be sitting in his cozy fraternity house, laughing and working on homework, not hunting some teenage girl in the chilly wild. She wanted to take him someplace warm and safe and kiss him until he fell asleep beside her.
“No.” Answered Leigh finally, pulling her hair up into a tight ponytail. “We’re not splitting up because we’re not idiots in a horror movie.” Henry let out a snort just as something caught Leigh’s eyes: Right at the edge of the woods, there was a patch of grass that wasn’t as high as the others. She made her way over to the slight dip in the ground and there it was: a concave boot print in the dirt; fresh and definitely Winnie’s. She had gone through this particular bank of trees, which Leigh knew led straight for the river.
“This way!” She yelled at Henry, and together they ran through the trees. They were about a half mile from the river now, and Leigh could hear the rushing of water in her ears, a sound as familiar to her as her mother’s own voice.
“Winnie!” Henry’s huge voice barreled through the trees as he yelled. “Come back! We just want to talk to you! We won’t hurt you!” The both froze as a high-pitched laugh carried its way through the trees. Winnie was close.
“Right. You want to talk. That’s what the townspeople said too, but they were lying.” Her voice was undercut by the rush of water.
“She’s by the river.”
“Leigh’s right, I am by the river.” Winnie laughed somewhere in the trees ahead of them. “Why don’t you come and find me? Especially you, Henry? I know the things you’ve thought about me, those naughty things. Don’t worry; we’ll do them all.” Chills ran over Leigh’s spine as she spun around to look at Henry. He had gone white, his hands shaking.
“It’s not true. Those aren’t my thoughts.” He whispered urgently to Leigh.
“Keep talking.” Leigh mouthed as Henry stepped forward.
“Winnie, we need you need to trust us. We’ll take care of you – you can come to Boston with us!” As Henry spoke in a reassuring voice, Leigh silently crept through the trees. The river appeared in front of her, trees lining the bank, cage-like. .
Henry’s voice rang through the trees. “Winnie - give me the car keys and maybe it can just be you and me. If you don’t trust Leigh, maybe you and I can go into town together and send someone back for her.” Leigh broke from the tree line, her steps slow and careful, and saw Winnie immediately.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” She asked, sitting on a rock that overlooked the river, a rock that Leigh had leapt off many times before. Winnie’s legs were curled beneath her as she twirled the keys in the fading light. She looked like a deranged river wraith. “That’s what they thought too when I first came, that I was stupid, some stupid girl who didn’t like to talk. But why talk when you can learn things about people without ever hearing their voice?”
“Why are you doing this to us?” Henry asked, walking out from the trees. “We just want to help you.” Winnie shook her head back and forth as though it was the silliest question she had ever heard, and she followed with a light giggle.
“Why does a farmer clear his fields of mice? It’s nothing personal, Henry.” Winnie dangled the keys on her pinky finger, gleefully holding the keys above the water. Leigh felt furious at her for involving the river, something so holy to her town. As Winnie climbed to her feet, Leigh was struck by how different she looked. The tangled mess of hair still covered her head, but her face was scrubbed clean of the dirt that had been there before. In Leigh’s leggings and Harvard sweatshirt, she could pass for your average high school student. The ease with which Winnie had transformed from a traumatized mountain girl to a new persona was terrifying. Her mind curled nervously around the truth: Winnie had never been that girl who huddled by the fire. That had been an act, to lull them into a trap.
“What do you want from us, Winnie?” Snapped Leigh, holding hands up in the same way she did when she dealt with horses, conveying an attitude of surrender. “Do you want us to leave you here? Not tell anyone? We can do that. We can do whatever you want.”
Winnie turned her head. “What I want is to watch you go into the river.” The gold keys winked in the light.
“Stop!” Leigh screamed, out of patience. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Winnie gave a happy shrug. “You were going to take me in, Leigh. Give me back to them. Well, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. But until then, I need some entertainment. It’s pretty boring up here.” With a wicked smile, she dropped the keys into the water. They landed with a plop as she ran down the other side of the rock, disappearing into the woods behind her. Leigh started after her, but then spun back; it was Winnie or the keys, and they needed the keys more. Henry scrambled forward towards the end of the bank, throwing off his shoes. He ripped his shirt and pants off before plunging into the freezing water.
“Oh shit. Oh shit that’s cold!” He screamed, reaching out for Leigh who was ripping off her shirt and jeans to follow him in. She waved him away.
“No! Go under the rock where she dropped them and see if they sank to the bottom. I’ll see if they floated downstream!” Leigh ran down the bank on her bare feet, her teeth chattering even before she slipped into the cold water. She lowered herself in slowly, letting out a gasp when it hit her chest. The water felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing her skin, the cold pushing its way between her skin and muscle. Behind her, near the base of the rock, Henry was searching desperately for the keys under the water, staying under long enough to make her nervous before exploding again to the surface. Henry was a good swimmer, she reminded herself nervously. He was a rower. Lakes and rivers were his thing.
Leigh’s feet brushed over hard roots beneath her, little brittle tree branches that cracked under her weight as she searched frantically for the keys. When she came up, her eye traced over a large beaver dam about twenty yards downstream. Its rickety branches stretched all the way across the river.
“Henry! I’m going to check the dam. The keys may have gotten caught.” She splashed away from him, willing her freezing legs to move under the water, the current against her chest growing increasingly cold. She frantically searched the bottom sticks of the dam for the flash of gold metal or black plastic, but there was nothing. Nothing except... Leigh paused, trying to understand what she was seeing underneath the water. There, undulating just under the surface, was a mass of color; red and green and bright blue. Leigh took a breath. This was going to hurt. She ducked under, the aggressive cold stinging her neck and face, her lungs aching as it punched through her. She couldn’t see through the murky water, so instead she just grabbed at the swaying blob of color. After a few hard tugs it came free and she pushed herself back to the surface with a gasp, holding up her hand. In it was a dirty clump of clothing, muddy fabrics tumbled together into one mass from being under the river: plaid flannel, some denim, a thermal shirt riddled with holes, two t-shirts, and…A cry escaped her lips. A dress.
She let the other clothing fall away, rubbing her thumb over the tiny, delicate pattern: pale pink roses with gray leaves, at once plain and lovely. She knew that the back of the dress had a button missing at the top, knew that because her mother was constantly swatting at it. Leigh felt a scream rise in her throat as she rubbed the fabric between her fingers, feeling the bone-cold fibers. Her mind threw out possible explanations of why this dress was in the river, but there was something so final about it, like the last chapter of a book you never wanted to read. Darlene Montgomery would have never left the house in her house dress; never in a million years. Something terrible must have happened to make this dress end up here.