Page 136 of Into the Dark, We Go
"Sometimes it feels like this will never end," I murmured.
"Hm?" His breath was warm against my ear.
"Like we’re stuck in limbo. Like the storm will go on and on, and we’ll just be here forever."
Nick’s arms tightened around me. "You feel stuck here? With me?"
I let out a quiet laugh, suddenly self-conscious. "No... not like that. I just meant?—"
"I know what you meant," he said gently. "I feel it too. But honestly? I kind of like it. It’s like the rest of the world disappeared."
I thought of my mom, how far away she seemed, as though she was living on a different planet. Was she thinking of me, too?
Nick gave my hip a light tap, pulling me back from the spiral. "Come on," he said. "Let’s go to bed."
36
Chapter Thirty-Six
March, 2021
At the beginning of March,the weather was bitter, forcing us to venture out only when absolutely necessary. We huddled indoors, where Nick coaxed warmth from the fireplace almost every night; the central heating wheezed and groaned, struggling to hold back the cold.
Now, nearly five months after our trip to Black Water, we still hadn’t heard anything. It was like nothing had ever happened there. I occasionally Googled the area to see if there was any news, looking for posts about Robert’s death. I wanted to be prepared, just in case. And I was worried the investigation, if the Sheriff had started one, would circle back to me, dragging up questions about my involvement in both Lucas’s and his father’s disappearances. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and still, nothing.
Curiously enough, I was finally left alone. No one contacted me for interviews or tried to push me for answers anymore. I didn’t think it was a miracle, just the natural passage of time. My story had gone stale, and people had moved on.
Even as the drama surrounding me died down, none of my former friends from Minneapolis ever followed up with me. My social media accounts were still active, although I hadn’t posted in ages, and my phone number hadn’t changed; yet, nobody reached out. To be fair, neither did I.
My phone stayed silent, except for the occasional spam call about my car’s extended warranty. Those were easy to ignore. Since my number was registered in Ohio, most of them came from the same area code.
But not this one.
The screen lit up with "Unknown Number." I hesitated, still wary of unfamiliar callers, then decided to take the risk.
"Miss Foster, this is Officer Jenkins from the Minneapolis Police Department," a woman’s voice said. "I’m calling regarding your recent inquiry about Lucas Whitman."
I almost fainted.This is it,I thought.They found Robert. They’re investigating. We’re done.
It took me a few seconds to remember the officer and my visit to the station in September, nearly half a year ago, before our trip to Black Water.
The woman continued, "This is a courtesy call to inform you that we did look into the links between the individuals you brought to our attention. Are you still there?"
"Yes?" I croaked.
"While I can’t disclose specifics, a small connection between Lucas Whitman and the car accident victim Erin Boyd was discovered. Both lived in the same region?—"
"Black Water?" I interrupted, too shaken to hold my tongue.
She paused. "Yes. But our investigation suggests that was an isolated coincidence. Erin Boyd died in a car accident. Lucas Whitman is still considered missing."
Relief washed over me, slow and staggering. "Okay." But as her words sank in, a cold dread began to seep into my veins. "Wait. Erin Boyd? Not Mary Flynn?"
"Yes. That was the legal name of the woman."
"And she died in a car accident? She wasn’t murdered?"
"Like I said, Miss Foster. A car accident." Her tone cooled. "If that’s all?—"
