She

by David Duane Kummer

  “You! Brandon!”

  “Where’s Michael?” he gasped, running up onto the land.

  Jumping on top of him and pushing them both into the water, Crystal began to hit him, pounding his chest and shoulders. “You could have saved him; you could have saved him!”

  “Crystal, stop!”

  “He went back to save you!” she yelled, continuing to hit him, smacking him in the fact until she drew blood. “Why didn’t you save him?”

  “Crystal, quit it!” he yelled frantically, not sure of what to do.

  “You... should... have... saved... him!” she shrieked between punches. “He... he…” At last she toppled off of him, half-submerged in the water, kneeling down. She continued pounding the ground, with hair flying all around her head and screaming unintelligible words.

  “Crystal, it’s okay,” Brandon said, coming up to comfort her.

  She reared her head back, eyes still pouring out tears, hands clawing at the dirt. With her hair strewn everywhere, lips trembling, and dirt smudged all over her face, she looked like something from his worst nightmares.

  “I loved him!” she howled.

  “It’s okay, Crystal,” Brandon said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

  She stopped shaking and stared at him, directly into his eyes. Shaking violently all over she whispered one three-word phrase.

  “I hate you.”

  “Crystal, we’re friends. We’re best friends.”

  “Go.”

  “We’ll be okay, Crystal.”

  “Leave.”

  “I’m here for you.”

  “Die.”

  “Crystal, you don’t know what you’re-”

  She screamed one final time, putting all the emotion and emphasis possible into the words, “I hate you!”

  29. Returns

  It was evening when Detective Smith hopped out of his car, looking around at the small group of policemen who had gathered. So far, they had been ordered not to go into the woods. The officer who called in the bikes was missing, although his car still sat patiently in the grass. Fearing some wild animal was in there, the chief ordered them not to go in. A devious plan had come to his mind, and he decided that Detective Smith could lead them in, hoping that the excursion would either bring him injury or shame. He had called Detective Smith, telling him the plan, just as the detective was rolling along down Highway 62, already in the direction of the forest. He complied with the command, and now here he was, ready to go in.

  “Everyone got their guns?” he asked confidently.

  The group of four men nodded, most of them looking very nervous and frightened, while one seemed to be completely oblivious to the situation. He was staring up at the trees in a curious, wide-eyed sort of way.

  “Officer,” Detective Smith addressed him, “stop bird watching. You got your gun?”

  “Huh? Oh, um, yeah.” He pulled it out, showing it to Detective Smith.

  “Point that gun away from me!” he barked. “Don’t you know anything about gun safety? Keep it pointed to the ground; at least then you’ll shoot your toe.”

  “What? Oh, um, sure.” Embarrassed, he shoved the gun back into his holster.

  “Anyone else wanna point a gun at me?” Detective Smith asked.

  This was not the day to mess with him. Lacking sleep and irritated easily, he just wanted to get this business over with. This forest had always given his comrades the chills, but to him it was just another mass of land where criminals could find refuge. Not that he was worried about that, right now. No, at the moment he thought of only one criminal inside these woods, and the kids who were in danger by going into it.

  “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

  They stepped into the forest, where everything felt different. The air was musty and dense, clogging their breathing; trees loomed overhead, blocking their vision; trees stood in their way, hiding any number of horrors that lay behind it. Day time was dangerous in the forest; nighttime was a terrifying experience likely to kill you.

  “Anyone got prints?” he called out.

  “Of what?” that same officer who had pointed his gun at him asked.

  “The kids? Officer Dan? Anything. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Marcus,” he answered. “Marcus-”

  “No,” he cut him off. “I don’t need your last name. I’ll remember you, Marcus.”

  Marcus was young-looking and in his early twenties. Socially awkward and not athletic, this was one of the first non-simulated police events he had been a part of. Everyone made fun of him at the station; it was just a thing they did. He took the jokes reluctantly, just waiting for a moment to prove himself. This missing Officer Dan had been one of his only friends at the station, so he specifically asked to go out and search for him.

  “Hey,” one of the men said after walking into the forest for about ten minutes, “I got something over here.”

  Detective Smith darted over, checking the ground where he was pointing. Some deep, indented footprints were there, the shape looking something like a boot. It was clear that somebody had stood here for some amount of time, maybe a few minutes. Not far ahead, the dirt was padded in, like the shape someone’s knee would make if pressed into the dirt.

  “What is it?” the officer asked.

  Ignoring him, Detective Smith called out, “Marcus.” He came stumbling up to stand close by, so close that Detective Smith had to push him back a foot before asking, “You were friends with Dan, right?”

  “Well, I would say we-”

  “Yes or no.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did he wear boots?”

  “Well, sometimes he- I mean, yes sir.”

  Detective Smith nodded approvingly, before saying, “Run back and tell the others to bring shovels.”

  “Why?” one of the policemen asked while Marcus ran off back the way they had come.

  “Dan was here, kneeling, looking at something I’m guessing. And this, here,” -he pointed at the ground in front of the prints- “is a grave. See how the dirt is rough and uneven, but not over here? Someone buried him.”

  “Buried him? So he’s…”

  “He’s gone.”

  What Detective Smith did not tell him was that another set of footprints ran through this area. He had seen them over a few yards to the left. The only difference was, there were three sets of prints over there.

  “You three stay here,” he said to the officers who were looking curiously at the area of dirt he pointed out. “I’m going farther.”

  “Why?” one asked. “We found Dan.”

  “There’s something else I want to see.”

  ************************************

  They did not talk the entire time that Brandon was leading them back through the forest. Lilly and Grace held his hands while Crystal walked behind a few feet, muttering words he could not hear and did not want to understand. Lilly asked many times where Michael was, looking worriedly around, but Brandon had no answer. There was no possible, helpful way to tell her the truth.

  Michael was gone. And it was his fault.

  What Crystal had screamed was etched into him, now, digging deeper every moment. It was his fault. Michael tried to save him, but it was of no use. Instead, Michael himself had died, and had given his own life, whether purposefully or not. How was he supposed to tell Lilly that he had killed her big brother? How was he supposed to convince Crystal he did not mean to kill the teenager she was in love with? How could he explain to himself that his life-long, best friend had wanted it this way?

  Michael and him were closer than anyone. There was no other friendship, or brotherhood, or relationship that could strike a deeper bond than theirs. And yet, it was over, now. Everything was over.

  Hardy may have looked the same, still, and there may have been the same people. After all, only two teenagers died in this whole catastrophic first half of summer. But those were two people that had changed Hardy forever.

  His Hardy wa
s much different. Losing half of their group was like losing half of himself. Now, with Crystal despising him, and Brandon hating himself more than she could ever imagine, it would never be the same. However many years he had left to spend here would be in despair and hopelessness.

  This was growing up. Losing all of his childhood friends, realizing every mistake they had made, understanding where they had gone wrong; it was a change he hated, a change he resisted. This long, torturous walk through the forest, back to the start of it all, assured him that this was a journey only made once. Now, things were never going to be like before. They were too far gone; turning back was lost a long time ago.

  It was a long day of hiking back over the familiar terrain. Now, in broad daylight, it was a journey mixed with fear and grief and anxiety. What is the lady came back to finish what she had started? Could this all be part of her plan? While Brandon fretted nervously, holding his sister’s hand tighter than ever along with Lilly’s, Crystal stood a few yards behind them, walking solemnly.

  Memories haunted her, snagging every thought she had and twisting it into a sharp object, before poking and prodding her with it. At one point, she could have sworn physical pain and mental exhaustion were really feelings, tangible things that she could understand but never control. This was the worst part of the month. Not the mystery, not the uncertainty, not the feeling of hopelessness, and not the dread that had encompassed her for the entire summer so far. Now, without Michael, the boy she loved, without Christian, the brother she had taken for granted, without Brandon, who she hated with every nerve in her body, she faced the end. But it was not like the past month, when they were together, and she had friends beside her, siblings to support her, peers to give her hope and comfort. She was, for the first time, truly alone.

  While they traveled, brains screaming and nerves ready to snap, there was silence except for the occasional chatter of the little girls. Brandon would nod and grunt and shake his head, but that was it. He could not find the words to say any more and the strength to be anything else. Instead, he felt like a mute donkey, pulling along others with no hope for comfort or to voice what he felt.

  The sun began to set, blinding them at times and casting a red glow over all the trees and the river while evening progressed. Animals crept back to their nests and hovels, wondering who these people were, and why they looked so solemn. Such a parade was never seen in the forest. To the animals, the forest was only life and joy. To the humans, who gazed emotionlessly all around, it was just another place in the word, full of trees instead of buildings and birds chirping instead of cars honking.

  Nighttime came swiftly and without warning, shading them in darkness. With the use of a flashlight and the moon still outlining shapes, Brandon was able to lead them on still. Despite the shadows, he felt no longer afraid. If he died, or was kidnapped, it would be a better fate than the one he faced now. Loneliness. Heartbreak. Growing old without a friend. Seeing the change that nobody else could understand.

  Late that night, when the cold was unbearable and they shivered more than they walked, finally all four travelers stumbled blindly through a thicket of bushes and, looking up from the ground where they had fallen, Brandon found himself staring into the worrying, alert eyes of Detective Smith. After counting quickly in his head, Detective Smith looked confusedly at them.

  “Where’s Christian?” he asked Brandon. “Where’s Michael?”

  30. Homes

  Brandon’s eyes wandered across the white, plain waiting room of the Riverfront Hospital in the direction of. Crystal. She sat in the uncomfortable blue-backed chairs, surrounded by her parents and a few other family members. Once again, she was crying, as she had done for much of the past three days, when Lilly and Grace lay in the hospital beds, many machines hooked up to them, beeping all the time.

  It was a mystery how those three days had passed; being in a hospital for so long without a proper bed to sleep in or home cooked meals to eat made everything blur together. Worse than those combined, he had nobody to talk to. That was becoming the normal state of things, though. It was something that took time getting used to, a lifestyle he dreadfully wanted to avoid.

  Nobody would tell him what was happening with the two girls, or if they were going to die, despite one being his own sister. It was just something the adults would not tell him, no matter how hard he pressed. His parents, thrilled to have both of their kids back, spent most of those days talking to Nicole Walker, who never really answered their questions. She would sit there, staring into the distance, nodding when appropriate, shaking her head when questioned. It was a haunting sight, her eyes hollowed and lips never moving. Every day the realization dawned on her that her son was not coming back. Michael was not coming back.

  One thing she and Brandon’s parents had in common was that they both worried an awful lot about the two little girls. When they got back from that forest and into town, the doctors had immediately rushed them into the hospital. Were they poisoned somehow? Did they have broken bones or something? It was all a mystery to Brandon. They had seemed fine on the way back from the bridge. Although, even that was beginning to become more of a distant dream than a memory.

  Crystal, however, clearly remembered everything, or so it seemed to him. She would occasionally glare at him from across the room, and once he passed her on the way to the bathroom, innocently minding his own business. She slammed her shoulder into him roughly, giving him a bruise, before whispering in a sharp, biting tone, “I hate you.” He tried to forget the experience, but it gnawed at him even now. Despite trying to believe that it was just a phase and she would be okay someday, they could be friends again, his mind still told him that was a lie. She would always hate him.

  She was lost; Christian was lost; Michael was lost. Now, he was alone.

  Once again, the adults were whispering in their group, pointing at the doctors bustling around, pointing at the hallway, pointing at Brandon, pointing at Crystal. They all looked grim, not willing to laugh or even think about smiling. Adults had a different way of dealing with fear, or so Brandon decided. Whereas most teenagers and maybe some young adults would laugh, trying to ease the tension and make things more comfortable, adults did not. They looked fear straight in the face, tried to resist, crumpled, and went back to filing for tax refunds.

  Turning his back to them, Brandon stood up from the chair, which made his back ache worse every time he sat down. Looking out of the pearly, clear window, he could see all of downtown Marcy. People were bustling about, shopping, talking, gossiping no doubt about the little girls and the two teenagers who had died in that awful bridge collapse. He could almost hear the voices, it seemed, talking and talking and talking, as if his best friends were something to be gawked at, like an animal in the zoo.

  “Did you hear? Did you hear about the boys?” they were probably saying.

  “What about the dead policeman?”

  “Oh, yes. What a terrible event. Bet some people are really scared.”

  “Most certainly, oh, yes. But not me. No, I think they had it coming. I mean, do you know about that Nicole Walker who lives up in Hardy? Gone completely bonkers now!”

  “Oh, yes. She always was such a strange lady. No surprise, honestly. And those Gray children, always getting into trouble. Brandon was such…”

  His stomach clenched inside of him while he imagined the conversations they were having, spewing out rumors like vile poison.

  Across the room from Brandon, Detective Smith stood, talking to Marcus, who had arrived earlier that morning. To the dismay of the chief, finding the four children had gained Detective Smith much fame and recognition around the area. Some reporter came to the station wanting to interview him, but the chief said no interviews were allowed. It boiled his stomach to think of that wretch getting recognition for something as lucky as finding four kids wandering around. The travesty of it all!

  “That kid doesn’t look good,” Marcus commented, pointing across the noisy room to Brandon, w
ho had his face pressed up against the glass.

  “No,” Detective Smith said, “he doesn’t.”

  “Should we go talk to him?”

  Detective Smith looked at Brandon, asking himself the same question. The boy was clearly distressed and malnourished, but that was not the real problem. The issue was everything he had known in life was crumbling, falling down on top of him. That was a feeling he knew all too well himself, but understanding did not help with healing.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not, Detective? He needs help; can’t you tell?”

  “Marcus, do you know what it’s like to lose a best friend? Or a close sibling? Or someone you love?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. I had a toad, once, in elementary- I mean, no, sir. Why?”

  “No reason,” Detective Smith answered, shaking his head. He had been going to say something, but decided against it.

  “Do you think you’ll get a promotion for finding the kids?”

  Detective Smith forced out a chuckle. “A promotion? I’ll get fired.”

  “Why would you get fired? You found them!”

  “Good Old Grumps doesn’t like me too well.”

  “ ‘Cause of what you said about the lady?”

  “For the most part.”

  Marcus shook his head in bewilderment. “What a dumb reason. I don’t think he’ll fire you, though. I mean, your popular. He can’t.”

  “It’s a small town. Grumps can do whatever he wants while the mayor still needs him for politics.”

  There was an awkward pause after that. Marcus did not dare break it, since he was not yet sure whether Detective Smith was the mean kind of policeman, or just the tough one who has gone through lots. Whatever happened, if the detective was right, he would never have an opportunity to find out.

  “You know what I think, Marcus?”

  “Huh? About what?”

  “About the kids.”