The shift reveals a box of loose Ascent trifolds. The only reason I don’t roll my eyes is because it’ll make me throw up. I wonder how the leaders at Ascent Discovery Weekend would make this my fault. Something about negative energy attracting bad actors, probably.
I close my eyes to block out the scenery moving by outside. That makes the dizziness worse, so I focus on the handle to the glove compartment instead.
A wordless, voiceless whisper brushes against the shell of my ear. I flinch away from it like a dog from a fly.
“What is it?” Ellis asks.
There’s no one in the back seat but Ripley. I look forward to the glove compartment, and ignore the feeling of a hand hovering just above my shoulder.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine, if I’m honest. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
I hesitate. What if he doesn’t believe me? On the other hand, how is he supposed to help me if I don’t tell him what I need?
“Someone drilled a hole in my gas tank while I was on the property. My phone wasn’t working, so I walked to one of the houses on Harmon. The man who lived there, Clarence, called the sheriff. Sheriff Cory.”
I take a long, slow breath. “The sheriff, when he got there, he said he’d drive me to the station. Clarence was gonna follow us. But the sheriff—he shot Clarence in front of the house. We were already in his vehicle. I didn’t know what to do, so I used my pepper spray. We crashed. I walked back to the house and called 911.”
We come to an intersection. The perpendicular road is asphalt—old and cracking—but asphalt all the same. Every second we’re getting closer to a vet and away from this property. Soon the feeling that a specter is trailing after me will go away and everything will be fine. I’ll never have to think about something too tall and looming watching me from behind the trees again.
“Also, there was a rabid coyote on the property. It chased us. I haven’t seen it since.”
He shoots me a look as thoughthisis the part that’s surprising. Wait until he hears about the maybe-monster. That is, if I decide to tell him.
“Huh.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Did you talk to anyone else?”
Ellis is not smiling. He’s frowning. As soon as he notices me noticing, his expression goes back to concerned. There’s something perched on the tip of my tongue. It’s a song I know the tune of but not the name.
“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just trying to get the full picture. This isa lotto process.”
Try living it, I want to say. Instead, I motion to the water bottle in one of the console cup holders. “Can I?”
“Of course! Please do.”
Half the water is gone in a few swallows. Once I’m done, I breathe through my nose to curb the urge to throw it all up. I try to put the bottle in the cup holder closest to me, but there’s something in it already. What I pull out is the same dark black as the interior of the car.
A small, stone cicada.
“Neat, huh?” Ellis says.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. All the pieces of information I’ve tacked up in my brain are connected. I just couldn’t see it before.
It’s the way that Leah and Greg spoke. Phrases like “emotional parasites” and acronyms like “FT,” Frank Talk.
It’s the way that, when we spoke this morning, Ellis said he’d be in constant meetings, but just now he said it was a slow day.
It’s the box of brochures in his back seat despite him telling me he’d never taken a class.
A beat. Two. Ellis unspools. His back goes from straight to relaxed. His left hand drops from the steering wheel tohis thigh. His posture says he’s never been touched by tension, never been overcome with anxiety once in his life.
My hatchet—
Is in my backpack, which I am no longer wearing. The holster is snug on my belt. The gun, however, is gone.
My eyes burn—not from tears but fury. I didn’t even think to check if the gun was still there when I woke up.
I lay my head back on the headrest and watch the canopy move by through the sunroof.
