“Maybe she was coming to help,” Lewis guesses.
“Even if she was, she was supposed to be at Mom’s house, like, minutes ago. She wouldn’t have had time to make it here. We’re too far away, especially with the rain. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“We need to look for her. Make sure she’s okay. Maybe she had car trouble and tried to walk to find you. The storm may have knocked cell service out. We’ll walk this way and look for her,” the man with Conrad says, nodding his head farther into the woods. “You guys go that way. Oh. What’s her name? So we can yell for her.”
“Greta,” I tell them, moving to the opposite side of the car. With serious looks, the two men move away into the woods, and I hear them calling for her.
I shout her name, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the storm. If she’s out there, she’ll have no way of knowing I’m calling for her. Is she hurt? Is she hiding? Did I…misunderstand somehow?
I think back over our conversation. Did she ever tell me outright that she was at home? I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. She wouldn’t lie to me. She wouldn’t. I know her. Something else happened. Something I’m not understanding.
She was…she was showing a house. And then…she was home taking a shower.
Thoughts swirl in my head like a wind tunnel, as unstable as the storm raging around me. I open my text messages, reading over the last one I received from her.
Checked your mom’s. No lights on, and no one answered the door. Garage doors are closed and doesn’t look like anyone’s home. I’m heading to Lewis’s now. Keep you posted. Hang tight.
There’s no way to misunderstand that. And there’s no possible way she was just at my mom’s and is here now.
It doesn't make sense and yet…
I stare down at my phone again, finding her name in my call log. As it rings, I beg her to pick up—beg for some sort of sign or signal, an answer.
Ahead of me, Lewis disappears into the tree line, his face shielded with both hands.
After several rings, it’s clear she’s not going to pick up. I curse under my breath and lower the phone from my ear. Just then, it connects. I rush to raise the phone again.
“Hello? Hello? Greta, can you hear me?” I plug my opposite ear. “Greta? We found your car. In the woods. I can’t hear anything. Where are you?”
There’s no answer.
I switch the phone to my other ear. “Are you okay? It’s storming out here. I’m worried. Where are you? You’re really scaring me.”
I think I can vaguely hear soft breathing on the other line, but it’s hard to tell. Either way, she doesn’t answer. “Greta? Can you hear me? Please say something.”
“Corinne!” Lewis shouts, and when I look over, he’s disappeared farther into the woods somewhere.
I’ve lost him. I’m standing alone in the dark, the rain pouring down around me.
My heart climbs into my throat as I end the call. I hurry forward, past the car and into the trees. “Lewis?”
“Corinne!”
I can hear the panic. The fear. He’s close. “Lewis!”
“Corinne!” he shouts again, still hidden somewhere ahead in the darkness.
“Where are you?” I bellow, brushing water from my face and blowing it from my lips as quickly as it falls. I’m practically drowning.
“Here!” His voice is close.
I don’t think, I move.
I dart in the direction the sound is coming from.
“Keep talking! I’m coming!” I run, and I race, and I pray that he’s okay. That this is all some misunderstanding.
And then, all at once, I trip. Over a root or a rock, I’m not sure. My hands slam into the muddy ground, my face next. I taste the mud, and it feels as if there’s sand in my mouth.
