I sigh. Beck’s theory is compelling, but she’s right. I doubt my text from Paisley is even enough to get cops to look.
My phone goes off. We both jump, our eyes falling to my screen.
My phone is on do-not-disturb, but somehow something came through.
A text from a number I’ve never seen before.
UNKNOWN:I assume you heard the news about Paisley Horne.
My blood runs ice cold.
What in the hell—?
Another text.
UNKNOWN:Your friends didn’t die because of a hiking accident. There’s something wrong with this town and your friends found out. Everyone in town knew she was dead back in October.
Beck gasps as my wooziness from this morning turns to world-turning dizziness. I bury my head between my knees. Beck grabs my phone out of my hand.
“Who the hell is that?” Beck says. She sounds like she’s on the surface while I’m underwater.
This is happening too fast. Beckjustsaid she thought it was a murder. Who is this person? How did they get my number? How did they know what Beck and I were suspecting? How did they know we read the reports? Is someone watching us?
And more importantly, why reach out to me and not Beck?
Another text. Slowly, I sit up to read.
UNKNOWN: I want to help you. Here’s proof I’m not lying.
Then the person sends an attachment. A video.
The world turns on its head.
The thumbnail shows Paisley in selfie mode, recording herself in the woods where she died.
The Woods, Pt I
This forest was the kind of place that swallowed up screams. The woods were thick, relentlessly filling in every free space with their root networks. The brush formed around the people inside like babies huddling around their mamas. The fact that they could even fit a campground in this space felt strange to Opal Bushida. When she’d imagined camping, she’d pictured a meadow. A big, fluffy meadow where you could see the trees swaying from a distance. Open spaces had always brought her peace—the biggest music festivals, state fairs, dune buggy rides through the desert with her dad and siblings.
But this place was like a cage, the foliage thick and impenetrable. Even the animal noises felt like part of the structure of the forest, repeated sounds programmed as a base track for someone else to put lyrics over. As if the breaking twigs and chittering of squirrels and hoots of owls weren’t really connected to real beings that could react along with Opal.
When Paisley turned her phone on selfie mode and started talking, Opal knew the three of them would be the only living creatures in theforest to hear her. If the animals around here were real, they didn’t care about the girls’ tiny lives. Who would when the trees seemed endless?
“So, turns out there’s a part of this place Emma didn’t tell us about,” Paisley said into the camera.
The three of them sat around a fire on logs they had to purchase at the visitors’ center. The bark dug into her thighs. Still, Opal didn’t complain, even though she knew what went wrong with this whole trip. Paisley would never admit it, but she had no idea what to pack for a camping weekend. Something as simple as chairs to sit around a fire had completely eluded her. Opal could even guess that Paisley had jumped to her feet because her flat ass was hurting on the ground. God help Paisley Horne trying to sleep on the ground without the mattress pads she’d forgotten as well.
Opal hugged her knees to her chest, looking up at the sky. The one thing she’d been looking forward to on this trip was being able to see stars. The only other place she’d ever seen a blanket of real stars was at her uncle’s house in Montana, sitting in the back of his pickup truck with the little Buddha statue on the dash enjoying the view with them. When they’d driven up to Kingston, Opal had counted the miles with giddiness in her heart, thinking of all the stars they’d see away from the bright lights of LA.
Turns out, the tree coverage was so thick she could only see a handful of them. They were beautiful, but it wasn’t enough to name any constellations like she’d do with her uncle.
Paisley turned the camera on Harlow, who sat on a rock, just as uncomfortable as Opal. But Harlow wore that discomfort all over her face. The kind of deep, deep scowl that Harlow’s mom would chide her for, saying she would get wrinkles that way.
Still, Harlow turned her frown upside down when she heard Paisley’s voice.
“Bet Emma didn’t even know there was more to the story,” Harlow said.
Opal’s stomach twinged in guilt over the mention of Emma. Even if Harlow and Paisley never did anything, Opal would have to make it up to her somehow.
