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1
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
Everleigh
I always thought I was a good person. I helped old ladies across the road. I paid my bills on time. I didn’t speed.
But it didn’t matter what kind of person I was. Because bad things happened to good people too.
Six weeks ago, my brother, Archer, disappeared without a trace. And I was no closer to finding out what happened to him than when I first landed in Guyana.
It was the first stop on what was supposed to be his trip of a lifetime. I bought him the ticket for his college graduation. The guilt of sending him to the place that took him from me was overwhelming.
The authorities had all but given up searching for him. Which was the reason I was now in the middle of a jungle, following Adriano, my trusted tour guide. We’d been hiking for hours, but the dense rainforest slowed us down. I hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Archer’s face. What if I was too late?
I was breathing hard, not used to the physical exertion. I was an accountant. A genius with numbers. There was nothing I couldn’t add up. But the most exercise I did at home was walking to my mailbox and back.
Adriano hiked in front of me, slicing at the vegetation, carving us a path to walk through. I was small, only five foot three, and could duck under and squeeze through. A fact that—for the first time in my life—I was grateful for. It was hot and muggy, and sweat was running down my body. I had to stop often, slowing our already sluggish progress even more.
Adriano stopped without warning and pointed to a branch off to the side, using his sparing English vocabulary to let me know what he saw. “Something there.”
The plants on the ground were trampled, and a maroon piece of fabric flapped in the wind. I tore it off and couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped me or stop my legs from giving out. Archer had a T-shirt in that exact color that I gave him last Christmas. But the color wasn’t what made me pause. It was half of the print I could make out from the torn piece.
It was the first sign that he might have been in this area.
I forced my legs upright again, my body aching, my mind jumbled. I was light-headed, not used to the heat. It didn’t help that I hadn’t eaten in hours. I used to be a picky eater, but once we arrived here, I quickly realized that I could either eat whatever was put in front of me or starve.
I ate without thinking twice about it now. I even stuck my entire face into a river today. A few weeks ago, the thought of the bacteria alone would have driven me to wash my mouth out with bleach; now I couldn’t care less.
My carefully crafted bubble was gone, and I didn’t recognize the person left behind.
But my life meant nothing if Archer was gone.
“Come now, now,” Adriano called, snapping my attention away from my burning legs and rumbling stomach. He had a habit of repeating words, but I was getting used to his odd way of talking.
I followed his gaze through the forest that was thinning out and was momentarily stunned by the beauty before us.
A small lake was up ahead, nestled between the trees and mountains. The only sound was the rushing water and occasional bird call. According to one of the girls at the small hotel Archer had been staying, he was planning on spending a few days up here.
He set off on his trip six weeks ago but never came back. He was supposed to be camping, swimming, and hiking. Having fun. I’d spoken to him the morning he left for his hike. He’d been excited, loving the country and having made a lot of friends.
But that wasn’t a surprise, since he’d always been outgoing.
The only signs that anyone had been here were the scrap of fabric I was now clutching in my hands and the trampled grass. No trash, no campfires, and no footprints.
“Could they have lost their way on the hike up here?” I asked, talking slowly to make sure Adriano understood me. Despite English being the primary language spoken in Guyana, Adriano preferred the Guyanese Creole most of the locals spoke in the remote villages.
He shrugged, a gesture that seemed to be his standard answer. “Keep looking.”
We circled the lake three times, each lap wider and wider. Our breaths came out harsher and harsher, the rain forest humid, making my clothes stick to my skin and my breathing laborious. The only time Adriano broke through our panting was to point out local wildlife. “Krapo.”
I watched a cane toad hop underneath dense foliage. We had seen little more than small animals, and I was grateful. I had no desire to meet anything larger, which included jaguars that in the jungles of Guyana.
There were no more signs of broken branches. But if Archer had come here a few weeks ago, all signs would have been erased. I was stumbling more and more and struggled to keep up with Adriano. He was making his way out of the jungle, not asking if I was ready to go back. After having a few fruitless arguments, I’d come to accept that my ornery tour guide liked to finish early. Eventually, I had to give in and follow him back down the hill. Another dead end.
We made it back to the small village I was staying at much faster than going up. My eyes were so heavy I hardly noticed the tension in the air. People looked as if something was going to jump out at them around every corner, the village eerily quiet.
Guyana had never given me creeper vibes before, but now my instincts told me to run. Hide. But Adriano, my trusted companion for the past few weeks, seemed at ease. Relaxed. And as much as I didn’t know him, I trusted him. He’d driven me around the country, talking to locals, gathering information. He might have given me an occasional eye roll, indicating his disapproval of my search. But he hadn’t steered me wrong yet.
