Page 78 of Into the Dark, We Go
Mitch and Juneset off for Virginia the very next day, planning a day trip to Richmond and back to visit the Reverend’s old parish. Thanks to the talkative, albeit odd, woman at the church, we knew exactly where to go.
A long, uneasy day stretched ahead for Nick and me. We didn’t talk about what had happened between us, and I was relieved. I wasn’t sure how to process it. I liked Nick, but everything had happened so suddenly. It almost felt like it came out of nowhere. Or had it?
It had rained all night and continued through the morning, the steady patter on the cabin’s roof creating a backdrop of constant white noise. The temperature had dropped, a clear signthat summer had given way to fall. We stayed indoors, keeping warm.
The cabin’s interior looked like a city dweller’s Pinterest board come to life: a stone fireplace, wooden signs reading "S’more Memories" and "Life Is Better by the Fire," and carefully placed throw blankets and pillows. Nick added a few more logs to the hearth. We’d found some space heaters, but the fire felt infinitely more inviting.
The room warmed quickly. I settled on the plush rug in front of the hearth, laptop open, and started sorting through the stack of photos and printouts from Duane’s place, arranging them in chronological order. I searched each name online, combing through Google and Facebook. Unsurprisingly, people from earlier years had little to no digital footprint.
One name from the more recent dates led me to a Facebook profile of a woman in her thirties who’d allegedly gone missing seven years ago. The photo I held matched the one on her profile. She hadn’t posted anything, but her privacy settings were wide open to public viewing. I scrolled through her groups, and one immediately caught my eye.
Nick emerged from the kitchen and placed a plate with a freshly made turkey sandwich beside me on the rug. "Find anything?"
I turned the laptop to face him, avoiding his eyes. "Check this out."
"Safe Space Support: Domestic Violence Survivors," he read aloud. "One of the victims was in this group?"
"Two that we know of. Amanda and her."
"Okay," he said carefully, as if trying not to spook our luck, and sat down beside me on the rug. "Now we’ve got something."
I clicked the "Join Group" button and completed the questionnaire. I had to bend the truth on a few of the questionssince I didn’t want to reveal my real reason for joining. Then I sent the request.
"What are you doing?" Nick asked, eyeing the screen.
"Trying to get a look at the member list. Maybe we can connect with the group admin. See if they can provide any insights."
"Okay." He nudged the plate toward me. "Eat something."
Nick was kind. Beneath the grumpy exterior, he was genuinely a good guy. He wasn’t the most open, but that didn’t change how I felt. I liked him, really liked him.
The problem was that everything about our circumstances made it complicated. I’d never struggled to connect with guys before, but this was different. The timing, the situation, the reasons we’d been thrown together—all of it made things awkward from the start. I did my best to keep ajust-friends-who-work-togetherdistance, trying not to let my mind wander back to the night before.
To my shame, that was difficult.
The photos of missing people in front of me should’ve been enough to keep me focused, but they weren’t. Nick was too close. His scent clung to the air around me, and I couldn’t help but notice the tattoos on his left arm, peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. I remembered squeezing them as I came undone, making a mental note to study them properly next time.
Next time?!
I felt very, very stupid.Concentrate, I kept telling myself.
The two missing persons posters provided me with the basics: cities, ages, and names. But despite my efforts, I couldn’t make any progress. No online records, no news articles, no social media profiles. It was baffling. The few phone numbers listed led only to local police departments, not to any familymembers or friends. There was no personal connection to follow, no one to talk to. Just a wall of silence.
Lucas wasn’t big on social media, but he followed a few local Facebook groups—mostly ones related to Black Water, his school, sports, movies, and bands he liked. No support groups or anything remotely related to disappearances.
Something was missing.
"Was your mom on Facebook?" I asked Nick.
"Just for the store. I helped her set it up. Why?"
"I’m checking if there’s anything online connecting all these people. Like a group or something. Did she ever mention anything like that?"
"Not to me." Nick lay on his stomach in front of the fireplace, lazily browsing something on his laptop. He looked so relaxed that he almost seemed like a completely different person. In fact, it was only the second time I’d seen him let his guard down like that. And both times, it had been with me. It was flattering, but it made my heart race and my thoughts scatter.
I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the unwarranted thoughts, forcing my brain back to the papers scattered in front of me.
The very last name, a disappearance from five years ago, was too common to be found. A multitude of people showed up, but none resembled the photo, nor did they appear to be missing or inactive over the past few years. Some obituaries also appeared, although they were all for someone else. Frustrated, I shut the laptop and lay on the floor.
