His cheeks are pink, either from the emotion or a recent sprint or both.
“I hear you, Will,” says Silas. “I’m listening. And I’m sorry that’s how you feel. But I can’t leave you at the smoked-fish place. I just can’t. The train has left the station, brother. There’s nowhere else to take you.”
At this, Will puts his head in his hands for a moment, like he needs to hold it in place. He runs both hands through his shiny black hair. Then the whole bus watches as he trudges onboard. His eyes are wet, and you try not to meet them. Instead, you risk a look at Diana sitting at the front of the bus, and you find her looking back at you. And that’s the moment when the reality finally sets in:
She’s going to be on this whole trip.
Another thought comes quickly on the heels of that one, and it’s surprising how clear it is.You should have made a run for it like Will.
This was supposed to be an escape from your life, but your life, it seems, has followed you here. And as the bus pulls away from the last public place any of you will see for some time, youknow it’s too late to get away. You are all a version of Will right now. Sitting in a ruined tracksuit. Trapped in your seat. Scared and powerless to change whatever is coming next. Which is unfortunate because things are already feeling strange.
And the next strange thing happens only hours later at the lodge.
FIVE
You’ve never been in a lodge before, so you don’t know if this one is representative of all lodges, but it looks like it was made of Lincoln Logs about two hundred years ago and it’s infested with spiders. Fishing spiders to be exact, which are very large and got their name because they can walk on the surface of a lake and kill small fish(!). Troy saw one in the shower and has vowed that he will not bathe again until he returns to his fumigated house in the suburbs. The spiders, however, are not the strange thing.
The strange thing happens later, when everyone is asleep.
You, of course, are not asleep. This is partly because seeing Diana has done weird things to your brain. But it’s also because you don’t sleep anymore. At least not consistently. For much of each day, you can keep your grief and panic at bay with distractions. But at night, after your parents have gone to bed and the house is monastery-quiet, there’s nowhere else for your brain to go but to him. Sometimes to the accident. Other times, you just land on small moments.
Like the time when you were six and you were running after Sean in the sprinkler, trying to do the same karate kick he was doing, and you slipped on a patch of wet grass and broke your ankle. You blacked out almost instantly from the pain. And all you really remember after that is looking straight up at the limbsof the big oak tree and then closing your eyes and coming out of surgery to the bright lights and sounds of an operating room.
When you were finally awake in your hospital bed, Sean was next to you, his leg also bandaged up. You were scared he was hurt too until your mom told you that Sean had the nurse put some bandages on his leg so you wouldn’t feel alone. You thought maybe he was just doing it for the day, but instead, he sat with you that way for the next week, watching movies and drinking those little hospital capsules of apple juice with the peel-off lids.
You’re thinking about this, trying to focus in on his ten-year-old face. The missing tooth he lost when he got pushed into the water fountain at school. And the freckles that appeared on his nose in the summer. You’ve almost successfully transported yourself back to those days, when you hear a noise next to you.
The sleeping bags are all in a circle on the old pine floor, so you think, at first, it might just be someone turning in discomfort. But when you open your eyes and your vision adjusts to the dark, you see somebody tall.
Silas.
He’s still wearing the same clothes as earlier, down to his hat, and he is looking around to see if anyone is awake. He doesn’t notice you because you’re not moving a muscle and your eyes are 90 percent closed. But they are notall the way closed, and you watch as he goes over to a duffel bag and starts yanking things out of it, tearing it apart like he’s hunting for something.
He’s quiet about it, but meticulous, opening each compartment and sticking his hand inside. He does this a couple of times, but it seems like he’s coming up empty. Finally, he zips the bag and just stands there in the dark. Obviously, he’s looking forsomething, but what could it possibly be? You go down a list, trying to keep your mind focused so you don’t move.
Toothbrush?
Toothpaste?
Steroids?
Jock-itch cream?
Night-light?
That’s as far as you get before you see him reach out and scoop an object up from the floor. You blink. It’s another bag. And this time, it’s definitely not his. It’s Diana’s bag. You recognize it because it’s covered in safety pins just like her jean jacket. He unzips it and rifles through it, leaving no corner untouched. And for some reason—okay, fear—you don’t stand up and ask him what he’s doing.
You are technically part of the “troubled-teen industry” now, and maybe random bag searches are just part of the deal. He has his hand around something, and he’s about to pull it out when you decide to take action. So you tense all your muscles and you…
Clear your throat.
Okay, so it’s not the bravest thing you could do, but it actually works because he immediately drops the bag and whatever was inside and looks in your direction. You close your eyes all the way. You try to swallow, but your mouth is parched, and you feel like you might start coughing any minute. You open your eyes again and see Silas take a step toward you. And right when you think maybe you should just stand up and run out of the lodge forever, you hear a scream from across the room.
At first, you’re sure someone has been axe-murdered, because that’s what happens in the woods, isn’t it? But you quickly see thatit’s Troy, and he’s having some kind of night terror. He’s shaking and covered in sweat. He can barely breathe. And Silas, who was so close to you only seconds ago, is by his side in an instant, parting the crowd of bleary-eyed recent sleepers and putting a hand on Troy’s back. There’s no hint of the intensity that was in his search just moments before. In fact, the voice he uses to talk to Troy is easily one of the calmest things you’ve ever heard in your life.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey, Troy. Look at me.”
Troy is not responsive. But Silas focuses on him anyway.
