Page 50 of Lost in the Never Woods

Wendy shook her head.

“Well, just keep an eye out. If you do, you call the police straightaway, okay?” Mrs. Darling twisted her wedding ring around her finger, something she did when she was anxious.

Wendy nodded. “Have they—the police, I mean—have they … told you and Dad anything new?”

Wendy watched as her mother’s eyes slid across the room to the door of her father’s study. “I’m not sure…” she said.

“Where is Dad?” Wendy asked.

Mrs. Darling sighed again. “After I was questioned at the hospital, they asked me about the night you went missing, too.” Wendy cringed at her mom’s avoidance of mentioning her brothers. “Then they called your father down to the station, too. He’s there now.” Maybe she could see the alarm in Wendy’s face because she quickly added, “But there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, they’re just trying to get as many details of that night as possible.”

She picked up her plate and sat down next to Wendy. “They’ll probably want to talk to you again,” she said, gently placing her hand on Wendy’s arm. “Who knows.” She stared down into her bowl of soup. “Maybe we’ll finally find out what happened…”

Wendy pushed her food away. “I think I’m going to head to bed now,” she said quietly as she stood up from her seat.

It was possible Wendy saw a flicker of disappointment cross her mother’s face, but she just gave her a small smile and nodded.

“Night, Mom,” Wendy said. She wanted to reach out and give her mother a hug, but she felt like she had forgotten what hugging looked like, or even where to put her arms. She picked up her plate with her half-eaten chicken instead.

“Good night, Wendy.”

Wendy walked up to the second floor and at the top, as always, she was met with the door to her old room. She stood there for a moment, plate in hand, and stared at the handle. Even though John and Michael weren’t here, it still felt like she could open the door and there they would be, sitting on her bed, riffling through her art supplies so they could make a treasure map or draw pictures of make-believe beasts.

She rested her hand on the doorknob. It felt like cold electricity under her fingertips.

If Peter was right, and they were able to stop his shadow, she would finally get her brothers back.

A surge of energy ran from her core and down her arm to her hand. For the first time in five years, Wendy gripped the doorknob and gave it a turn.

But it was locked.

Deflated, Wendy’s hand fell back to her side. Of course it was locked. How had she not predicted that? Her father had probably locked it up after she refused to go inside. It had probably stayed locked ever since.

Wendy rubbed her stinging eyes. Even though she was alone, she felt silly and embarrassed. Without a second glance at the door, Wendy turned and went to her bedroom. She left her dinner on her dresser, having lost her appetite completely. She needed to clean up, so she went into the bathroom and scrubbed away at her skin in the shower until the smell of dirt and ash was replaced with jasmine and green tea.

She changed into her oversized sleep shirt and turned on the fairy lights that twinkled around her window. But before she lay down in bed, Wendy paused. Ever since she had entered the woods earlier that night, she’d felt a heavy weight. Not only of the anxiety around keeping Peter a secret, or the responsibility of needing to stop the shadow so she could save her brothers, but something else. Something dark. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Wendy looked out her window. The lights from the main part of town blinked lazily in the distance. For the first time all summer, she crawled up onto her bed, pulled her window shut, and locked it tight. It was still hot and humid, but she was willing to sleep uncomfortably warm if it meant not being worried that something would crawl in through her window while she slept.

She jerked her curtains shut and shoved the comforter off her bed, leaving only the white cotton sheets.

The acorn was still on her nightstand from where she had left it that morning. Taking it into her hand, Wendy leaned back against her pillows and gently rolled it between her fingers.

Even with the window shut and locked, and her curtains preventing anyone from possibly being able to look in, Wendy didn’t feel any better. It was like whatever was in the woods had attached itself to her back and was clawing its way into her skin, no matter how hard she tried to scrub it clean. Wendy shuddered and squeezed the acorn tight in her hand.

If she was going to get any sleep tonight, she needed a distraction.

Keeping the acorn in her fist, Wendy pulled out the notebook from her bedside drawer, a red Sharpie, and a stack of pamphlets. The university had sent her a large manila envelope full of information on housing and academics.

Jordan had convinced Wendy to sign up for the health sciences housing. Jordan knew what she wanted to do and was already reaching out to premed students with questions.

Wendy wished she had that confidence.

Chewing on the cap of the red marker, Wendy flipped to the page of her bullet journal saved with a ribbon. Across the top center of the page she had written Nursing, and on the next several pages were bulleted lists, dates, and calendars. After poring over the university website’s academics section, she had mocked up an entire four years’ worth of classes to graduate with a nursing degree. Wendy had used her collection of fine-tip Sharpies to meticulously map out potential schedules, all color coded with their respective credits. It had taken her weeks.

Everything was carefully laid out for her. If she followed these steps, she would have her nursing degree and be ready to enter the real world after graduation. She would have a steady job in a high-demand field.

But …