Page 77 of Into the Dark, We Go
September, 2020
They’d been gone too long.I sat by the window, watching through a hole in the curtain for the familiar sight of the Dodge. Nick was in the kitchen area, but I couldn’t bear to look at him. The memory of his toned chest supported above me made a warmth stir low in my belly, and we didn’t have time for that again.
One set of headlights followed by another cut through the curtains. Moments later, Mitch and June spilled into the room.
"Everything alright here?" Mitchell asked cautiously, as if he’d expected to walk into a crime scene.
"All good," Nick said. "No problems."
After we got dressed and tried to compose ourselves, the awkwardness had settled in. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I was double-happy to have the siblings back. But deep inside, a sliver of panic twisted in my stomach.What if they could tell?
I jerked up from my chair, too fast, too stiff, too sore, and forced a smile. "Sure," I said, my voice a little too bright. "Get everything from the hotel, okay?"
"Yeah, but someone beat us to it," Mitchell said.
Nick joined us by the door, standing beside me so casually that it was as if nothing had happened. "What do you mean?"
I envied his composure.
"Somebody dug through all our stuff," Mitchell explained.
"Is anything missing?" I asked.
"I don’t think so. At least, nothing I noticed."
Relief came with knowing that most of my belongings, as well as the papers and photos from Duane’s, were safely stored in the car. I’d refused to let them out of my sight, keeping them either in the car or with me, tucked away in a backpack or purse.
The search of our belongings didn’t surprise me. In fact, I was convinced it had been their plan all along: scare us, send us running, and buy themselves time to dig through our things. I was sure they were after the photos. There was nothing else of value we had. But how did they even know the images existed in the first place? If they were so important, why hadn’t they searched for them at Duane’s place? Either way, carrying these photos was putting us in danger. Getting rid of them, however, wouldn’t necessarily take the target off our backs.
The hum of anxiety was growing stronger. My movements were jerky, and I kept dropping stuff. The only thing distracting me from it was Nick. I let out a breath, trying to focus, trying to be normal. But my pulse was still off-rhythm, my body betraying me every time I caught the slightest movement from Nick at the edge of my sight. He was too close. Not touching me, not saying anything, but there. And I didn’t know what to do with that.
June was surprisingly quiet, going in and out, carrying bags and handing them to me to unload. I’d never seen her like that before. Tense, her lips pressed into a tight line. I got up to helpher. Mitchell tossed the last of the grocery bags onto the tiny kitchen table, and June followed with my Ikea bag.
"Oh my, did you guys stock up for a zombie apocalypse?" I asked, pulling out several cans of beans.
"Figured it was best to be ready, just in case." Mitchell nudged another bag with the toe of his boot. "We’ve also got some fresh veggies and whatnot."
Nick chuckled softly behind me. It was barely a sound, barely a reaction, but it wrecked me. Because he was standing there, completely fine, while I felt like I was about to combust. I needed to pull myself together, so I rummaged through my belongings, trying to determine if anything was missing.
"June, mind getting a pot of coffee going?" Mitchell asked, sinking wearily onto the sofa—the same one where Nick and I had hooked up earlier. I cringed. June, unusually obedient, began fiddling with the ancient coffee maker. It was a bit late for coffee, but Mitchell looked exhausted, and we had a long conversation ahead.
"I’ll have a cup too," Nick said.
"Then get off your ass and make it yourself," June retorted without turning around.
"And she’s back," Nick said, getting up to help.
We movedthe very next day. Nick found a rental cabin on some website, not too far from Black Water, but far enough to keep us hidden. Though tiny from the outside, the cottage’s interior was surprisingly spacious. With multiple bedrooms—three upstairs and one just off the living room—we could finally enjoy some much-needed privacy.
"Nice, we can make a fire!" Mitchell eyed the fireplace. A stack of wood sat ready in the backyard, overlooking a neglected pond.
Later, we discussed our options. Going after the Sheriff felt too risky. Digging deeper would only paint a bigger target on our backs. The fact that he’d managed to cover up the disappearances and deaths, including Duane’s, for years only proved how powerful and well-connected he was. The Reverend seemed like a more plausible lead, just as unsettling, but slightly more within reach.
Sammy’s vanishing had taken a backseat, but I could tell everyone felt guilty about it, including myself. Whenever his name came up in connection with the Reverend, our eyes would dart away, and an uncomfortable silence would fall until someone resumed the discussion.
Nobody said it out loud, but I was sure we all thought it: Sammy was gone for good, and we’d eventually uncover the truth about what had happened to him, along with Lucas, Amanda, and the others.
We owed it to him since talking to us might have sealed his fate.
