Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Mitch usually rose early, so it felt like the right time to slip away before any awkward explanations.
Not that he would say anything. I doubted he’d dare consider it his business, but some things were best kept private.
I didn’t want to disrupt the group dynamic, but hand on heart, the guilt was eating me alive.
Because, despite everything, it felt like I was betraying the reason I came here in the first place—to search for Lucas.
The next three days were uneventful. I shared my theory about the story in the book. June matched my enthusiasm and read the text several times, while Mitch stayed firmly on Nick’s skeptical side.
After sleeping on it, literally, I began to doubt the connections I had made.
But the more I reread the story, the more convinced I became that I was right.
The Harvest Moon, the string of disappearances, and the symbol all fit the sinister pattern we were chasing.
Yet everyone carefully avoided saying the word "sacrifice," even though the book spelled it out clearly.
The four of us trekked to the spot Nick and I had discovered off the hiking trail, where the symbol had marred the bark of a tree.
Dread coiled in my stomach with every step.
I didn’t want to go back, not to the engraved eye, not to the deer’s hollowed-out corpse, not to the twisting paths that had almost devoured us last time.
My earlier resolve, so firm when we were planning this, dissolved the moment we stepped into the forest. The fear of getting lost again gnawed at me, the thought of wandering in circles, never finding our way out, tightening around my throat like a noose.
But Mitchell’s skepticism steadied my nerves. His doubt, his rational explanations, his insistence that there had to be another answer. It kept the fear from fully taking hold. I clung to it, even as unease prickled at the back of my neck.
"Here, we turned here," Nick said, sounding sure, as he veered off the trail into the dense woods. Time ticked by. Minutes, then half an hour.
Nick halted suddenly. "This isn’t right."
Mitch glanced at the compass on his watch. "What?"
"We should’ve found it by now."
"Maybe we got off track?" June suggested.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe."
We retraced our steps to the trail and tried again.
And again.
Nothing.
We couldn’t find the tree at all. It felt like déjà vu—the same confusion Nick and I had faced last time—but this time it wasn’t surreal. Instead of circling endlessly, we were simply failing to find what we were looking for.
"Are you sure it was there?" Mitch asked.
"Yeah," Nick replied. "I’m certain. I remember this." He gestured toward the scenery, then let his arm drop, his eyes scanning the trees as if willing the symbol to appear.
Mitch turned to me for confirmation. I shrugged. I’d never been good at finding my way in the woods. All trees look the same to me.
After a couple more attempts, we were wet, sweaty, irritated, hangry, and eaten alive by mosquitoes, with no choice but to turn back.
When we finally trudged back to the cabin, drained and defeated, Mitch had another task lined up for Nick and me.
He wanted us to dig deeper, find more references to the legend I’d uncovered and look for any potential ties to religious groups or secret societies—anything that felt hinky, as he put it.
Mitchell himself opted out of the research, claiming he was more of an ‘action man,’ leaving Nick and me to sift through the details.
June, to her disappointment, was told to stay put until further orders.
She wandered the cabin like a restless ghost, snapping at everyone.
Nick and I spent hours in the house, poring over articles and old forums on our laptops. The legend, however, seemed frustratingly local. Neither of us could find anything even remotely similar to it.
"It’s like it was made up," I said, exasperated.
"Most stuff is," Nick replied.
When we worked, Nick remained focused and composed, fully absorbed in whatever he was reading. But when we could, we would sneak out to fool around.
"Seriously, guys, no more going out after dark," Mitchell admonished, his tone that of a scolding father. "I thought we agreed you’d be doing the research."
"We were just driving around," I said. Being trapped in the cabin had begun to feel oppressive, even with our separate spaces to escape to.
"Find anything?" Mitch asked.
"Nope," Nick said, offering nothing more.
What we eventually found was a good spot to park the car, though maneuvering in the front seats proved tricky. But we managed.
I felt infinitely guilty about our hidden rendezvous with Nick, yet I couldn’t bring myself to end it. It had become my little refuge of intimacy.
And to be fair, I was enjoying it way too much—not just the sex, but being with him.
Nick would drop random biology facts into conversation, always in some quirky context, and somehow he made even the dorkiest comments seem hot.
And most importantly, he made me feel seen, like I mattered—the first time in years.
But was I losing myself in this hookup? Was it even a hookup anymore?
Whatever it was between Nick and me, it was gentle. There was something about his presence that calmed me, quieted all the voices in my head—Lucas’s, my mother’s, my own. At times, the experience felt almost spiritual. It gave me, more than anything else, peace.
But I didn’t let myself think too far in that direction. This wasn’t the time or place.
I shut down all the "what ifs" and "what happens after," because no matter how strong our connection felt, our lives were miles apart, literally and figuratively.
The age gap was only four or five years, but at this stage, it felt like a canyon.
He seemed grounded and established, like a real adult.
I was still stumbling through the dark, trying to figure out who I was.
Meanwhile, June had grown bored and irritable. She gave me grief for not spending enough time with her and was tired of her brother’s constant supervision.
"Weren’t we supposed to be buddies?" she’d whine whenever Nick and I slipped away.
The guilt hit hard. My mother was right. I was selfish.
When June asked why we couldn’t hang out, just the two of us, I’d say, "You know why. It’s safer with Mitchell or Nick. And you don’t want to go with Nick."
It was true. But the excuse still made me feel awful.
"Yeah, well, it sucks," June retorted, arms crossed. "You’re always with Nick."
All she wanted was a friend. And I was a bad one.
The past couple of days had been dry and warm, and my body was craving physical activity. I also yearned for some alone time, which seemed impossible in the bustling house.
The contrast between my pre-trip solitude and my current social whirlwind was jarring. I loved being around people, but it also drained me.
"Where you headed?" Mitch asked.
"Just for a jog. I won’t go far." I waved him off.
A short, mile-long trail behind the house beckoned. It had been ages since I’d last run, and my muscles ached for the release.
"Where’s Nick?" Mitch asked, scanning the living room, where June sat on the couch, glued to her phone.
"I didn’t see him."
"He went out," June said.
"Where?"
"I’m not his babysitter."
Mitch glanced out the window and spotted both cars in the driveway. Just then, a figure stepped out from behind the trees.
"Probably making a call," Mitch said, turning back to me. "Want me to come with?"
"Nah, it’s just a jog. I won’t be long."
He didn’t press. Since his outburst, Mitch had been on his best behavior, and we’d all taken advantage of it, sometimes bending the buddy system rules.
The trail led me right to Nick. It wasn’t intentional. The path just happened to end where he stood. He didn’t see me at first, his back turned, phone pressed to his ear.
"It’s best if you do it in person. Please," he said, pacing a short line in the dirt with his boot.
I couldn’t hear the reply, but Nick answered, "Just do it. I’ll take care of the rest."
I approached from the side and cleared my throat to let him know I was there. He glanced over and raised a finger, signaling me to wait while he finished.
"Hey," I said softly when he hung up.
He pulled me into a hug, arms around my waist.
"Everything alright?" I asked.
"Yeah." His thumb traced small circles on my shirt. "Just some shipment issues. You know how it is."
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.
"Why are you out here?" he asked.
"Just going for a jog."
He raised a brow. "You sure?" His hands slipped under my T-shirt. "I can think of better things."
"You know they can see us from the house, right?" I laughed, stepping away to maintain some distance. "I’ll stop by later."
"You know where to find me."
And that’s exactly how the evening unfolded.
The next morning, we settled into our usual routine: breakfast before going for another hike into the woods. A couple of dry days had brought some relief, and we hoped for a less strenuous trek.
The sound of tires crunching over gravel broke through my morning haze. I dropped my half-eaten toast.
"Someone’s here!" I blurted, unnecessarily.
We stilled, listening.
The engine hummed, gravel shifted, and then the vehicle stopped just outside.
June rushed to the window. Nick rose silently, moving toward the door.
Mitchell was a picture of calm control, gun in hand. He flicked off the safety with a quick thumb press and checked the chamber.
"Is that—" My voice faltered as Mitchell strode to the window, weapon at his side, posture steely and ready.
"Who is it?" June whispered.
"Can’t tell yet," her brother said, voice tight, and then ordered her, "Go back to your room."
June obeyed but lingered on the staircase, peeking through the banister posts.
A knock rang out, playful, almost musical. It landed wrong, like a happy jingle in the middle of a horror movie. Mitchell peeked through the curtain again, muttering, "What the fuck?" just before Nick reached for the door and opened it.