“I don’t think someone following you and Vanessa’s disappearance are related,” Natalie continues. “Statistically speaking, when people go missing, it’s because of the terrain. I know true crime has every woman convinced she’s going to be some exception to that, but I promise, if you’re smart and careful, the forest here is safe.”
Still, Natalie grabs her gun before the three of us head back into the darkness.
In a way, Natalie’s words are comforting. Because whatever just happened to us with the stalker confirms what we need to do.
We need to go to the old mining town.
“Could you help us with a trail for tomorrow? We want to go to the old ghost town,” I say, cringing, waiting for Natalie to connect the dots of how reckless we’re being, waiting for her to finally tell us to go home.
“Okay,” she says, relaxing as we take the subject away from disappearances. “It’s a really easy trail. There’s a more scenic way, but that one goes along the road a bit and tucks back in. You go around a lake that way and it’s really pretty if the sky’s clear. But the most direct way is just through the woods following the creek. It’s the most popular path, but you have to be careful.” Natalie’s eyes widen. “It’s…it passes by where those girls fell.” My heart freezes. “The trail narrows and you need to keep your eyes peeled. Don’t do it at night.”
My skin crawls as Natalie speaks. I knew logically we’d go by where they were found, but actually nearing that moment fills me with a tar-like dread. And then to have Beck go there knowing it was her sister—god, my heart already hurts thinking about it. Beck chews on her thumbnail. It may not have nail polish on it anymore, but the sight of it flashes me back to her hands at the burial.
“Do you recommend one?” I ask, despite knowing which trail we’re taking before she says another word.
Natalie bites her lip. “The only other thing I’d consider is if you want a pair of extra eyes. The long route has you passing by my partner Evan’s ranger station. He still patrols the whole area, but it’s always nice to get face-to-face. He’s like me, not from here. He doesn’t buy all that witch stuff either. He’s cool.”
My stomach burns thinking about Evan; there’s a whole rangerassigned to that area and he couldn’t prevent three teenage girls from getting murdered? Not exactly a ranger I’d trust to save my own life.
“We’ll go the direct way,” I say.
“Okay,” Natalie says. “I’ll let him know you’re headed out.”
She hands us each a paper map with the two routes highlighted, as if that’s really all we need to stay safe in these death woods.
Twenty-Four
Beck and I agree—we’re going to stay at the mining town Sunday night, even though neither of us brought the right kind of backpack to carry enough equipment for a proper setup out there. Come Sunday morning, I can barely keep my eyes open after another terrible sleep. Beck convinced me to try melatonin to help with the discomfort, but instead of sleeping I slipped between nightmares about the stalker reaching us and about bodies at the bottom of a ravine. Not even co-sleeping in the sleeping bags helped. Nevertheless, we pack sleeping bags, food, water, a first aid kit, and all our keys before the sun’s gotten intense enough to need sunscreen. There’s no way to take the tent, but given the weather, I don’t think we’ll need one.
We place our weapons and the walkie-talkies at the top of our bags before securing them shut. Beck says one thing to me:
“Please tell me when we’re close to the spot.”
Her words weigh on my shoulders, another unfathomable amount of pressure compounding the supplies that will keep us alive. I’vewalked through cemeteries with Beck before but never a spot where someone actually died. It’s rawer, somehow.
On the other hand, as we set out the hike itself is gorgeous. The day is eerily perfect, the sun just peeking out through the clouds, warming up an otherwise chilly morning. The kind of weather where you can hike in a T-shirt and shorts and your only concern is getting bitten up by mosquitos. Not sweating, not shivering, just existing.
The trail itself is flat and well-worn. I have to imagine it got a lot of walk time when the state authorities came out here searching for evidence. The idea makes me almost mournful for the nature out here, which never asked to be the setting for humans slaughtering one another. At the same time, though, maybe the dirt itself likes the death. Death is what keeps the ecosystem running without humans there. Maybe it’s a special treat to get a couple apex predators.
Before I know it, we’re less than a ten-minute walk from where Opal and Harlow’s bodies were found. Where Paisley’s body was dragged off from.
I open my mouth to say one of my thoughts out loud but catch myself. Every feeling I have about the deaths is amplified tenfold for Beck. She might not be in the mood to talk about death and nature. She very likely is not. She’s been quiet this whole walk, knocking a stick she found against the rocks and tree trunks we pass.
When does Beck want to be warned? Although judging by her body language, she might already sense it.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I say as I step over a tree root far away from its trunk.
Beck blows air into her cheeks. “I dunno. I’ve just been thinking about the last thing I said to Paisley before she went. I don’t even remember with Harlow and Opal.”
She touches her throat, lost in a sadness she can’t hide from me.
“You weren’t friends with them. It’s okay if you don’t.”
She smells like sunscreen, her shoulder brushing mine every now and again as we navigate the trail. “Do you remember what you said to them?”
My throat hurts, the emotions from that night flooding back. “It was just us confirming that we weren’t doing a sleepover. Paisley went to the bathroom before that. I don’t even remember the last thing I said to her. I was so upset by the sleepover that I told them I was called in for a work shift.” Beck winces.
“I…” Beck hugs herself. “The last thing I remember her saying to me was that my T-shirt was covered in Gizmo’s hair.” She chuckles, the sound fizzling out. “That little bitch’s last words to me were aboutdog hair.” She swallows, rubbing her throat again. “I don’t even think Paisley’s shit talk is personal for her. I keep telling myself that, anyway. Especially hearing what she did to you with this trip and all the passive-aggressive stuff I witnessed over the years. It’s whoever’s in her path when she’s feeling small.”
