I used to roam these woods without fear of what was there. No stray hunters or animals kept me from exploring the ravines and seasonal creek beds surrounding the lake. That was before I smattered crimson across the forest floor I loved.
“Rue, what have you done?”I hear my father’s panicky voice in my head.
My chest tightens as my own reply kicks off.“He took your truck, Dad. He stole it, and he got so mad at me…”
A crunch in the woods off to the left halts the memory, and reality comes crashing down. I glance around, realizing I’ve walked nearly a hundred feet from the house.
When did I do that?I turn back to the front porch, which sits empty, and then back to where I’m standing, surrounded by trees. Bullet’s choppy barks fill the silence around me, and I shake my head.
Get it together, Rue.
But as soon as the thought comes, I hear another rustle in the leaves ten feet from me. I whip my head around and startle as a cottontail rabbit bursts through a pile of forest floor debris.
Bullet lunges right behind, his eyes on the prize.
I watch the dog chase the hare across the driveway and into the overgrown front yard where I lose sight of the white tip of his tail. My eyes jump from the chase to my bedroom window on the far side of the house.
My tongue glides along my lower lip and I turn my attention to the back porch, thinking about the day my dad sat there beside me on the porch swing.
“They’re charging someone for Matthew’s murder.”His expression and voice burned with the conflict we both felt.“He’s a biker Matthew owed money to, according to the guys they interviewed down at the station. He’s got a motive. They found my truck at the back of his property, beat to hell.”
“But he didn’t do it…”
“Look, the guy is trash, and would end up in prison one way or another.”My dad had argued.“You’ve got a whole life ahead of you, Rue. Go live it, and don’t worry about this.”
Later on, I’d seen the guy’s name on the news, and nothing about it resonated.
Thomas Peterson.
I haven’t forgotten it since.
Because trash or not, I’ll be forever indebted to him.
4
NOAH
My feet fucking hurt,and I’m hungry.
And that’s all I think about as I maneuver through the trees, now under the cover of night. I waited it out in the ravine, dozing under a few fallen trees. The grime of the sand lingers in the sweat still sticking to my skin, and these fucking boots that are a size too small are starting to catch up to me.
Escape from prison is not what it’s cracked up to be.
I grit my teeth, thinking back to Richard Longley, the fucking creep of a child killer who started to laugh manically when the three alarms sounded at once, drawing the attention of everyone on the yard.
Just then, the special diet cart had rolled in, the gate got stuck open, and I was out of there. I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I justran.
Like a real Forrest Gump.
“And here I am,” I mutter under my breath, itchy from the sand and starving from only having eaten a granola bar in the last three days. Honestly, it’s looking pretty grim for me out here. I need to get it together before I end up turning myself in out of sheer annoyance and starvation.
Finally, just as I assumed, a small two-bedroom home comes into view from the tree line. The sight of the little brick house brings a flood of unwanted emotion, and I suddenly picture my dad playing catch with me in the backyard—back when I thought I actually had a shot at making something of myself. And convincing Rue Iverson to marry me.
What a fucking joke.
I carefully detail the state of the residence, searching for any signs of life. I know my parents sold it to the Wilsons after the divorce, but I have no idea if they’re still here. I purse my lips and creep toward the front, spotting where my dad’s old Harley used to sit.
Now, there’s nothing in its place.
