And the ravine.
Tears well up in my eyes, and my movements quicken, the walk to my childhood hideout known like the back of my hand. I tear through knee-high grass until I make it to the woods, where winter has cleared out most of the underbrush for me.
I slip through the trees, sweat beading up along my spine. My mind replays the man in the Grab n’ Go.How was that not Noah?The man had his eyes. Iknowit.
But Noah’s in prison.
I run my hands down my face, and as I do, a branch breaks to my left. I still, dropping my arms. Squinting through the trees, I try to find the origin, but the heavy white haze makes it nearly impossible.
Bullet bays somewhere in the trees, and I shudder in response.
Freaking dog.
I push forward, my converse crunching on dead leaves. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, but I’m not all that sure it’s reliable.
‘I don’t know why you like the woods so much, Rue,’Matthew’s voice drops into my brain unwantedly, as my palm brushes the trunk of an Oak.‘If we get married, you have to do normal shit. You can’t just walk around touching stupid trees.’
Rage, old but familiar, swells in my chest.
Fuck you, Matthew.
He talked so big for a guy who had to steal an old man’s truck to pay a debt to a motorcycle club. And why did he have the debt?
Because Nancy’s little precious baby boy was using drugs.
I pause as I reach the bluff overlooking the ravine, sensing something else in the air. I take a long, deep breath, and name the scent.
Smoke.
My brows furrow as my lids open, and I glance around once more. My heart jumps to my throat. If someone lit a fire down on the shore, would it reach all the way up here?
But maybe it would. I don’t know.
I dig my nails into the trunk of a nearby tree, and lean forward, peering over the edge, down the ravine to the seasonal creek bottom.
And I’m met with those translucent eyes again.
My chest constricts as the man peers up at me, his jaw set. My lips part, but not a single freaking sound comes out of my mouth.
“Rue.” His voice cracks through the still air like a gunshot.
I blink, my lungs suddenly not getting enough oxygen. But I can’t look away from the man twenty feet below, standing in the sand, right outside the cave we built.
It has to be him. It has to be. But he’s in prison.
“Rue…” He narrows his eyes as he continues to study my face.
He’s not real.
“You’re not real,” I say stupidly, like talking to a ghost is going to make it go away. “You’re not really here.”
He tilts his head, anger flashing across his face.
And I don’t give him a chance to say anything else before I take off at a dead run, back toward my mom’s house. My feet crash through the leaves, and my calves burn as I tear through the briars, ripping my jeans.
I gasp for air as I see the clearing to the backyard up ahead.
But I don’t make it.
