Chapter Five
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 limbs of 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 not all 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 for something, 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 that it’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.
“Troy, listen to me. You don’t have to do anything else but listen right now. Can you do that for me?”
Troy nods, and you take a second to look around at the others, half in their sleeping bags, a safe distance from the fray. You want to tell Diana everything that just happened with her bag, but she’s too far away. And when you turn back, Silas is looking directly into Troy’s eyes.
“I need you to understand that you are with friends,” he says. “And there is nothing to be afraid of. Your body is just going through a series of checks to see if you’re in danger. But you’re not. So now we’re going to breathe. Can you breathe with me?”
You look down and see that your hands are shaking. Troy takes a full breath. A bead of sweat runs right down the middle of his nose and drops onto his lip. Then he says one word.
“Turbo.”
“What’s that, brother?” says Silas.
“He needs to take his heart pills.”
“Who?” says Silas.
“My parents aren’t going to remember,” Troy says. “And then he’s going to get sick again. It happened before and he was super dehydrated. I thought he was going to die.”
“I’m sorry,” says Silas. “I just don’t…”
“HIS DOG!” yells Diana. “TURBO IS HIS DOG, MAN! WAKE UP!”
Everyone turns to look at her. She has a T-shirt on.
A faded red shirt that you recognize instantly as Sean’s.
It’s from the ice cream place where he worked one summer and was fired from for giving away free cones to just about anyone who knew who he was (and some people who didn’t).
You’re staring at it, but everything is hitting the fan with the Troy situation and you have to look back.
“He got sick before,” he says. “He has heart disease, so he has to take the pills. But my parents won’t remember…”
“That’s not going to happen,” says Silas. “Turbo is fine. Turbo is cool. Everything else is just the anxiety. Don’t let the anxiety decide what’s happening.”
Then Silas is full-on holding Troy’s hand.
And he’s doing it super comfortably. You’re not sure you’ve held another man’s hand since you were six years old.
And you’re wondering why that is … Why don’t people just hold hands?
It’s very comforting. You are so impressed by this that you almost forget what you saw earlier.
Almost.
Because that is when you look at Silas’s face and find him not looking at Troy as you assumed he would be, but staring right at you. It’s not for long. Probably just a glance in the scheme of things, but you know in that moment that he saw you. He saw you watching him with the bag. It’s clear.
What is not clear is what it means.
So you take this opportunity to edge your phone gently out of your pocket.
It wouldn’t be hard to call your parents.
That’s the thought that pulses through your brain.
Your contacts are right there, glowing from your pocket.
Your thumb hovers over the number for the landline your parents refuse to get rid of.
You’re ready to tell them this didn’t take.
Come get you. They might be disappointed, but you’re sure they won’t be surprised.
Your dad has been laser focused on fixing you since your brother’s death.
He’ll probably just find somewhere else to send you.
But your mom, who thinks that nothing bad will ever happen again if she can just keep things perfectly organized and in her field of vision, will be happy to have you safe in the car.
You inch your thumb down, but when you finally press the number, nothing happens.
You stare at the phone, waiting for the screen to show the call going through.
It’s only when you press the call button again that you think to look in the right-hand corner where those tiny, all-important bars—the ones that signify the possibility of contact with the outside world—remain as hollow and dim as your prospects for escape.
“Okay,” says Troy, sniffling. “I think everything’s okay.”