Page 24 of Into the Dark, We Go
"I agree with you on this one," Nick concurred, smoothing things over.
"Whatever,mommy," June muttered sarcastically.
Mitchell stifled a quiet laugh with a cough. I, secretly relieved, shook my head, catching Nick’s faint smile out of the corner of my eye.
8
Chapter Eight
June, 2016
For as long asI can remember, my mother had a strong aversion to processed foods. The sight of pizza at kids’ parties made her face pinch with distaste, while at home, we always had a hot, homemade dinner. As a first-generation immigrant, she treasured her mother’s old handwritten recipe book, frequently consulting it when cooking or baking. Our pantry was a testament to her culinary traditions, lined with labeled jars of marinated goods and homemade jams. Every Thanksgiving, she’d proudly place her cranberry jam alongside the turkey, only for my father to sneak in a can of jellied cranberry sauce, teasing that "the bad stuff" was better for the soul. My mother would frown but never protested.
Whenever my dad and I went to an arcade or theme park, she’d pack me a healthy lunch, complete with carrot sticks, and warn him not to let me indulge in "those places." But every time, he’d disobey, and I’d end up enjoying pizza, hot dogs, ice cream, and cookies.
When I was a child, their constant tug-of-war felt like a game. But as I got older, it became exhausting. My mother was all about rules and expectations, while my dad was just about having fun.
After he died, my mother stopped cooking as much. She picked up more shifts at the hospital and was home less often, leaving me money to order pizza—something once banished from our house. She started making trays of lasagna and freezing them to save time. To my seventeen-year-old self, it felt like all her nutrition rules had only existed to challenge my dad. With him gone, so was the discipline. It seemed like she’d been pushing him away all along. And my teenage brain couldn’t forgive her for that.
September, 2020
The nearby vintagediner we settled into screamed retro: red leather booths lined one side of the restaurant, and a long, shiny counter with spinning stools stretched along the other. The walls were plastered with posters from classic 80s movies. As we were flipping through the laminated menus filled with greasy goodness, I took charge of the conversation.
"I think we can push through and make it to Ohio before stopping for the night. From there, it’s only about four to five hours to Black Water."
Mitchell gave a thumbs-up. "I like the way you think, Foster. Let’s do it. June, your turn to drive."
"I know," June grumbled.
"Tomorrow, we’ll get up early and have a few hours of daylight to look around," her brother decided.
"What are we going to do in Black Water?" Nick asked.
"Good question, Boyd. That’s why…" Mitchell eagerly cleared a space, pushing the condiments and water glasses aside. He reached under the table, pulled out his backpack, and extracted a folded paper map of the United States, a notepad, and a mechanical pen, carefully laying them out.
June, used to her brother’s methods, watched with a detached expression, sipping her Coke through a straw. Nick maintained a deliberately neutral face. Mitchell’s enthusiasm felt slightly over the top, like that of a child absorbed in a game.
He spread the map across the table, taking up a significant portion of the surface. "So," he said, clicking his pen, "What do we know?"
"Lucas’s parents are here," I said, pointing at Black Water on the map. The town was too small to be marked, but I’d studied it so much on Google Maps that I’d memorized the area. Mitchell circled the spot.
"When Amanda went to West Virginia, her last known location was here." He placed another mark not too far from where Lucas’s parents were. "Do you recall where your mother was found?" Mitchell asked Nick.
Nick turned the map and quickly scanned the surrounding areas before pointing to a spot near Black Water. The fact that the three locations were all close to each other didn’t surprise me.
"But they didn’t go missing in Black Water. Lucas disappeared in Minneapolis, and Amanda in Kansas City." I voiced the obvious, just to keep track of everything.
Mitchell nodded and marked them on the map. Now, the area was too vast, the connections too tenuous.
June raised an eyebrow. "This doesn’t add up."
"Perhaps we should focus on Black Water and not other places. At least for now," Nick suggested.
The waitress brought our order, and the aroma of tangy tomato sauce, sweet caramelized onions, and rich melted mozzarella instantly shifted our priorities to the most basic one: hunger.
Mitchell swiftly folded the map with practiced motions, clearing space on the table.
"Maybe it’s not about where they went missing. Maybe these are just symptoms, and the main cause is there," Nick continued, slipping a slice of pizza onto his plate. Cheese strings trailed from the tray with a gooey, melty resistance.
