by Laura Kemp
We stood looking at each other for a moment, my hazel eyes holding her translucent ones with every bit of hubris I could muster. She wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips, obviously not used to someone standing between her and something she wanted.
“Hey,” her friend said, still trying to be nice. “Oh, uh, hey…what’re you doing?”
I smiled, my super-strength just percolating beneath the surface as I imagined pulling her glossy hair out by the roots. Mallard must have read my thoughts because in an instant he’d put himself between us, the picture of old-fashioned chivalry in a white muscle shirt.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Chelsea sniffed, her eyes widening in a show of annoyance.
“Why do you have my boyfriend’s cell phone?”
She smirked, her mannerisms suggestive of someone who rarely bothered with other women. “He left it at my place last night. We’re meeting up so he can get it back.”
I lunged at her, knocking her buddy to the floor and it took all of Mallard’s strength to hold me back.
“Let me guess, you’re Justine?” Chelsea continued, a bit ruffled by my display but still under the assumption that Mallard could protect her. She didn’t even glance at her friend, who lay sprawled on the floor like the kid from A Christmas Story.
I tensed again, my loyalty to Mallard the only thing keeping me in check.
“Dylan filled me in. Said he told you to get lost.”
“Get lost?” I repeated as her friend pulled herself up off the floor and tiptoed towards the door.
“Said you had a hard time taking the hint.” Chelsea smiled again. “Which probably explains all your daddy issues.”
It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did I reached over, took a fistful of Mallard’s shirt and pinned him against the wall. “Still think he’s got your back, bitch?”
“Flats,” he croaked, the collar of his shirt choking him, “Keep a lid on it!”
I took a step towards Chelsea, grabbed her wrist and squeezed.
“Shit!” she cried, terrified now. “What’re you, some kind of freak?”
“You could say that,” I hissed. “And unless you tell me how you got that phone I’m going to squeeze your wrist until your hand pops like a pimple.”
Her green eyes widened, her little white teeth grinding against each other as she fought the pain. I looked to Mallard, found him transfixed and let go of his shirt. He didn’t move, just backed up against the wall, hands splayed, a strange sort of admiration shining in his dark eyes.
“All right,” Chelsea gasped, her polished veneer cracking at last. “We were having some drinks and I was hitting on him and he—” She stopped, winced. “He wasn’t interested.”
“Then what?”
“I was pissed. I’ll admit it. I’m not used to getting blown off and then,” she stopped again, tried to breathe. “He got a call and left so fast he forgot the phone on the bar.”
“So you stole it?”
“Yes.” She winced, her top lip curling like a horse going for a carrot. “I hoped maybe he’d come looking for it. He mentioned something about this place and that’s why we came here.” She turned, remembering her friend. “Katie? Katie!”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.”
My mind, usually so panicked during times of stress, became still and in that instant, I knew what I needed to do. I reached out, touched Chelsea in the same way I had Brad and read her thoughts.
Images of Dylan in the orange T-shirt I’d handed to him after our tryst in Cabin Five came rushing so fast I had to fight for control or be swept away. He looked tired, beaten down, and depressed, a fact I noted with a momentary twinge of satisfaction before surveying the dark interior of the bar.
Chelsea stood apart from the crowd across the room, another attractive girl at her side and for a moment it looked like they were discussing who would get dibs on Dylan. Moments later Chelsea sauntered over; a vision in a white halter top and designer jeans. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid and she wore silver earrings that dangled against the side of her neck.
Dylan looked up, nodded in a way that said she could sit down, and ordered two drinks.
I tensed, not sure I wanted to see the rest.
They talked, they laughed, his smile catching my heart and holding it in a tingly grip. Chelsea reached out a hand, laid it gently on Dylan’s wrist as if to say she was interested. He looked at her, surprised, then pulled his hand away. Mortification contorted Chelsea’s delicate features into an ugly mask.
I watched as he turned away from her, reaching for his phone to take a call. At once he seemed agitated, one hand reaching to cup the nape of his neck where he worked the skin there with intensity. The next moment he hung up, spun on his heel, and headed for the door—Chelsea, his cell phone, and a half-empty bottle of Coors Light forgotten.
“Dylan!” I called from behind, trying to catch a glimpse as he weaved between layers of darkness and smoke. I caught sight of his orange T-shirt, made a beeline for the parking lot and just glimpsed him climbing into his truck.
I called his name again, but he didn’t hear. He simply turned towards Lantern Creek and roared away much as he had that terrible day at Three Fires. I tried to run, tried to chase him but knew it was useless and so I stood, my fingers boring into the flesh of Chelsea’s shoulder before releasing her.
She blinked, turned to look at me as if she’d just woken from a twenty-year bender.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I answered. One glance at Mallard and I knew he wasn’t going to rat me out. “You were just getting ready to leave.”
“Was I?” she seemed content. “Okay. Where’s Katie?”
I jerked my thumb towards the window and Mallard looked out, nodded and said, “She’s waiting by the car. Looks scared as fuck. I sure hope she didn’t call the cops.”
“She didn’t,” Chelsea explained, a loopy grin on her face. “She’s very silly.”
Mallard gave me a look that said he was thinking of taking advantage of dear Chelsea in her altered state, but instead took her elbow and led her towards the front porch, where we watched as she stumbled toward her car.
Katie took her friend’s hand, shoved her in the passenger seat while circling around front, watching us the whole time. Moments later she backed up cautiously and drove away at the mediocre speed I felt sure marked all her daily activities.
“Holy Mary Mother of God,” Mallard spat, straightening his collar.
“I know how this looks.”
“I ain’t ever been bested by no one since Howie Duff kicked my ass in seventh grade.” He chuckled and reached for a fresh smoke, and I saw his hands were shaking.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He laughed, tried to light his cigarette and put it down when he couldn’t hold his lighter steady. “You gonna tell me you’re Superman’s second cousin or somethin’?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“Flats—”
“I need to leave.”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
I looked at him.
“If you don’t wanna, I mean.”
“I have to find Dylan. No one knows what happened to him after he left that bar,” I muttered.
“So?”
“I think he went looking for me.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I’m in trouble.”
Mallard laughed, his voice wobbly. “Are ya?”
I stood up, grabbed my purse and hobbled towards the door. “Yes.”
* * *
I wasn’t sure how fast to push the Jeep, but eighty-eight seemed a respectable pace when my boyfriend was missing. Reaching for my cell phone, I called Dave.
“Hello?” he answered, drowsiness sweetening his voice.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“Ma?”
�
�No!” I snapped. “It’s Justine and I need to know if you’ve heard from Dylan since you met for drinks.”
“Uh,” he stammered, still confused. “No.”
“Any idea where he is?”
I heard him clear his throat, heard the squeak of the bed springs as he sat up. “There was a girl at the bar, but I don’t think—”
“He’s not with her.”
“Oh,” he spoke slowly. “I never thought—”
“I know you didn’t. I just need to find him.”
“I’ll try his cell.”
“He doesn’t have it.”
“Shit,” there was apprehension now. “Do you think he’s in trouble?”
I didn’t want to think it, not when we’d left things so badly between us. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll get dressed and meet you somewhere.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want you mixed up in this.”
“You shouldn’t be looking for him alone.”
“Mallard’s with me,” I lied. “Tell Holly not to worry. It’s probably nothing.”
“Wait—”
I hung up, gripped the steering wheel, and tried to imagine where Dylan might have gone after he left the bar, but my mind was a mass of worry and regret.
I focused on his hair, his face and the feel of his lips against my skin. I thought about his fingers and toes and how he had a mole on his left hip, just below his beltline—anything to connect me with his physical being. But I felt something blocking me and realized it could be the person I feared most.
I bit my lip, chewed on the soft skin until blood came, thinking that would help clear my head before it was too late.
I’M ON IT, SIS
My chest tightened.
GET TO THE LODGE. I’M LETTING ROCKY OUT.
DO YOU SEE DYLAN?
A pause, and it seemed like an eternity, but I knew he was trying.
HE’S WHERE THE WILLOWS KISS
WHERE IS THAT?
I tried to still my mind, to quiet it enough to get a read on what Adam was trying to tell me. Willows usually grew next to water, but I hadn’t been roaming around in the woods enough to notice if one had been making out with its mirror image.
I gripped the wheel, precious seconds floating away, lost forever while Dylan was in danger, lying next to some tree I couldn’t see…dead maybe.
I took a slow breath, tried to steady the despair that engulfed me like a slow freeze from my toes up. If he was dead… Because of me…
WHERE DAD USED TO FISH
I was pushing the Jeep past ninety when I saw the sign for Three Fires. I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt on the side of the road. Moments later I was creeping up the long driveway, my tennis shoes making soft sounds on the gravel.
I paused, crouched amongst the trees as Pam’s house came into view. I saw Rocky heave himself from his customary position at the front door and prayed he recognized my scent. Moments later he bounded down the steps, pushed his head beneath my hand as I tried to quiet him.
FOLLOW THE DOG
I felt my heart burst from its bony cage.
BUT—
GO!
I’d just made the tree line, Rocky at my heels, when the front door opened. Pam’s voice, clear and full of business, called to her dog.
I stopped, crouched amongst the undergrowth as Rocky decided where to place his loyalty.
“I need you, boy.”
Pam whistled and his ears perked. Head twisted towards his mistress, he began to wag again, took three bounds towards the house and then turned.
“Come on, boy.”
Another whistle followed by the promise of a dog biscuit and still it wasn’t enough to break our friendship. He knew he needed to follow me and for an instant I placed myself in the lead, running wild through a field as the pack fell in behind.
Moments later I was racing towards the Jeep—Ocqueoc Falls was only a short distance away and I had to hurry, had to fly with wings I didn’t possess and as I opened the door to the Jeep, opened myself to the idea that I could do the impossible as Rocky nudged my leg and jumped up beside me.
I didn’t have time to praise him as I sped down the highway, my hands shaking so badly I could hardly grip the wheel. Five minutes later we were parked at the Ocqueoc Falls trailhead. I scanned the asphalt, squinted for a glimpse and saw Dylan’s truck.
Two bounds and I was out of the Jeep and running toward it, prayers I didn’t know I remembered tumbling from my lips as I yanked the driver’s side door open.
I didn’t call Dylan’s name. I didn’t want to listen to the silence I knew would greet me and so I did the next best thing—I started snooping for something Rocky could use.
I opened his glove box and saw the gun he usually kept there was missing. Grabbing a small flashlight, I bent down and reached under his seat. My fingers touched something smooth and I grasped it, pulled and found a Snickers wrapper and the string of green beads Mom had given me for Christmas. I held the jewelry, felt it slide between my fingers and had no memory of the last time I’d worn it or how it wound up under Dylan’s seat, but it didn’t matter, I kept digging, sure I’d find something with his scent on it.
Two minutes into my search and I found what I’d been looking for. A red T-shirt, one he’d worn during a basketball game down at the pavilion. He’d taken it off, had changed into a clean one right in the truck. I remembered the moment vividly: his sweaty face, the smell of hot dogs drifting down from the park, the way his body looked under my hungry gaze.
Before offering it to Rocky, I held it to my own nose, smelling the wind and water and sun and, beneath everything else, him. Only him. I buried my face in it, imagining it was his skin I was rubbing my lips against, his scent filling my senses and knew if I let myself go there for even a second, I wouldn’t be able to pull back.
I knew I was going to have to enter the woods now, knew I was going to have to push myself past the breaking point with a slashed-up arm and bum knee.
But I had no choice. Dylan would have done the same for me and it made me wonder what the caller had said to him to make him forget his cell phone and ditch Chelsea.
Rocky lifted his nose in the air a couple of times, ready to get on with what he thought of as a great adventure, and I had to give up the shirt in order to grant his wish.
“Here, boy,” I dropped it on the ground as he pawed at it like a chicken scratching dirt. Moments later he took off at a rolling gait.
I had just enough time to grab the shirt before I lost him completely.
The night was moonless, the forest black as pitch. I heard animals stirring as we passed by. Raccoon and possum scurrying beneath the brush, barred owls who-whooing from some high branch, their wings parting the heavy air. I followed the dog in front of me as best I could, the sound of the Falls slowly gathering in my ears until their rhythm became steady as a backbeat.
Moments later my mindless feet found water.
Rocky came up from behind and nudged me with his head. I gave him the shirt again. A low bark and I knew he’d found the scent. I gripped the flashlight, trying my best not to lose the black dog in the darkness.
He whimpered, sprinted ahead, and then turned to see if I was following. Of course, I was following. I had no idea which way was up or down or east or west.
RED ROVER SEES YOU
I skidded to a halt. Looked over my shoulder.
HE WANTS TO HURT YOU
I held my breath, released it, and called for Rocky. In an instant, he was beside me and I tightened up, sprinted forward into the blackness as his playful yips turned aggressive. Haunches tight, head low to the ground he took off at a speed I had to fight to keep up with.
“Dylan!” I cried, feeling him now that Rocky had led me this far.
An answer. Mumbled.
“Dylan!” I screamed, Rocky’s tail just in sight as he wove around trees and over stumps, the river to our left and the whole dark world falling down on us.
&n
bsp; “Justine?”
The voice was as sweet as anything I’d tasted or touched or smelled.
“I’m here,” I choked, relief sweeping my body like a soft rain. Three more steps and Dylan came into view, his arm smeared with a dark liquid I could only assume was blood, his foot resting at an odd angle. Rocky was jumping in circles around him, very pleased with himself and I wanted to kiss his furry neck but knew that would have to wait.
“Oh, Dylan,” I whispered as I sank to my knees, my arms reaching for him to assure myself I wasn’t dreaming. “What are you doing out here?”
“What do you think I’m doing out here?” his voice was raspy, his question absurd as his arms closed around my back. “I’m looking for you!”
“What do you mean?” I asked, slipping my arm under his in an attempt to lift him off the ground.
“Twisted my ankle when I took a nosedive over that stump. I lost my flashlight. And my gun.”
“Dylan—” I began, confused.
“You called me—said you were out at the Falls and then the line went dead.”
“Why would I be out at the Falls in the middle of the night?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
And in that moment it came to me.
Red Rover wanted us out here.
Together.
“You said you wouldn’t be bothering me anymore,” Dylan continued. “I thought…after our fight—”
I shook my head, locked my knees and stood up. “It wasn’t me.”
He took a small step forward and winced. “I think I know your voice.”
“Do you?” I asked, my mind fluttering like a bird about to take flight. A bird known to mimic the sounds of others.
“Who was it then?” he asked, his hand tightening on my shoulder.
“Red Rover.”
“Who the hell is Red Rover?”
Rocky’s head, an ever-reliable link to reality, found its way under my hand, his tongue wet against my palm. One sharp bark and I was on task.
“The man who murdered Abraham Ebersole and tried to cover it up. The same man who killed Butler and then went after Karen and Suzy Marsh.”
“Karen died in a car crash,” he reminded me. “Suzy Marsh killed herself.”
“You said you didn’t believe that.”