Chapter 2 #3
And then, it starts again. Rain falls upward. My own bike passes me between the trees with nobody riding it. A child giggles behind my left shoulder for ten minutes, and when I finally stop, take off my helmet and tell it to pick a better hobby, the giggling becomes a old woman’s laugh.
“That’s a little creepy,” I tell the trees, “but I respect the commitment.”
By the time my phone says midnight, I am starving.
My water is almost gone, the camera is dead and the witch has apparently decided she is done entertaining me, which is rude considering I have been very supportive of her little performance.
I spend another hour trying to find her. Nothing.
“Fine. I can take a hint.”
I turn toward what I assume is the direction I entered from.
The first trail ends between two trees.
The second brings me to a clearing filled with hundreds of dead birds, which is dramatic enough to feel personal until I blink and find the clearing empty.
“Bit much if you ask me.”
The third trail leads me toward thinner fog.
I do not realize what is happening until the trees begin spreading apart and open ground appears ahead.
I slow.
“No.”
My front wheel leaves the forest, while the rest of the bike follows. I stop on the grass and look behind me.
Hoia Baciu stands silent and dark, like it did not just spend the last few hours rearranging itself around me because one ancient forest woman has rejection issues.
“I wasn’t trying to leave!”
Nothing answers.
“Did you just kick me out of your haunted forest?”
Her laugh floats between the trees.
“Right. So we’re being petty now.” I snort.
My helmet suddenly rings loud enough to make me flinch. Mike’s name flashes across the display, and I answer immediately.
“Congratulations,” I say. “You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack.”
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?”
“Why are you shouting?”
“Where have you been, Colt?”
“In the forest. You were there for that conversation.”
“Three days ago!”
I pause. “What?”
“You have been missing for three fucking days!”
I laugh because there is absolutely no other reasonable response to that sentence.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I. I went for a ride.”
“On Sunday!”
I look at my phone. The signal has returned, and notifications are appearing across the screen faster than I can read them.
“You told me you were entering Hoia Baciu on Sunday,” Mike continues. “It is fucking Wednesday!”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It fucking is.”
I check the date.
Wednesday.
“That’s weird.”
“That’s weird?” Mike repeats. “I thought you were dead!”
“Why?”
“Because you disappeared for three fucking days, that’s why!”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
“You went into a forest famous for people disappearing and then disappeared.”
“When you say it like that, I can see how you reached the conclusion.”
Mike starts swearing in Romanian. I recognize enough of it to know his grandmother would be disappointed.
“I was in there for a few hours,” I say when he finally stops.
“No, you weren’t.”
“My phone said midnight.”
“Check your work phone.”
“Mike…” I sight.
“Check it!”
The work phone is in the inside pocket of my jacket, switched off because I am technically on holiday and The Legion has an irritating habit of deciding people need to die at inconvenient times.
I turn it on.
The encrypted app opens with the last message from D sitting at the top. A location in Germany. A photograph. A name. Sent five days ago.
I finished the job two days later, flew to Romania the following morning and came to Hoia Baciu after spending one night in a hotel Mike insisted I needed because normal people apparently recover from travel before riding into cursed forests.
That was Sunday.
My phone says Wednesday.
The work phone says Wednesday.
Mike keeps breathing into my helmet like he is trying not to have a stroke.
“Well…” I say, while looking back at the trees.
“Well?” Mike snaps. “That’s all you have?”
“I think your grandmother might have had a point.”
Mike goes silent. For once, I do not blame him. Somewhere inside that forest is a woman who knows my name, turns snow into mud, makes wolves solid only when I stop believing in them and apparently stole three days of my life because she had nothing better to do with her week.
Honestly, I respect the work ethic.
“Colt,” Mike says slowly, “go to the hotel.”
“I was already planning to.”
“Do not go back.”
“I need food, Mike. I’m not going back right now.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“I know.”
“Colt.”
“What?”
“I know that voice.”
“I only have one voice.”
“You’re going back?!”
“I’m hungry.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is an answer to a different question.”
“Do not go back into that forest.”
I keep looking at the trees. For three days, she kept me inside her forest. Then she threw me out. At least, I think she did. Either way, it feels rude.
“Colt.”
“I’m going to the hotel.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll sleep.”
“And after that?”
“Breakfast.”
Mike exhales sharply. “And after breakfast?”
I smile beneath my helmet. “Depends how good the coffee is.”
“Colt!’
“Tell your grandmother I said hello.”
“Do not hang up on me.”
“Goodnight, Mike.”
“Colt, I swear to God—”
I disconnect the call.
For the first time since I landed in Romania, I already know exactly what I am doing tomorrow.
I’m taking my grumpy little pixie out on a second date.