CHAPTER SIX
What the River Remembered
They didn't sleep.
By dawn, the storm had weakened into a steady drizzle.
The photograph remained on the table between them.
Neither Gila nor Thelma touched it again.
There were some discoveries that demanded immediate action.
Others demanded courage.
This one demanded both.
"I want to know where this was taken," Gila said.
Thelma looked toward the window.
"You know where."
Gila shook her head.
"No. I know where we were told it was taken."
Thelma understood.
That distinction mattered.
They had spent years accepting a version of the past that had been handed to them by other people.
Now they had evidence that the story had been altered.
Gila picked up the photograph.
"The river."
"The Amazon?"
"Not necessarily."
Thelma leaned closer.
Gila pointed toward the background.
"There."
A narrow structure was visible beyond the people in the photograph.
A wooden dock.
Beside it stood a marker.
Most of the writing had disappeared, but enough remained to identify the location.
Thelma stared.
"I've seen that place."
"When?"
"Years ago."
Gila waited.
Thelma's expression changed.
"Before everything happened."
The room became quiet.
"What were you doing there?"
"I wasn't alone."
"Who were you with?"
Thelma looked at her.
"That's what I don't remember."
Gila frowned.
"You don't remember?"
"I remember being there. I remember the river. I remember someone telling me not to ask questions."
"Who?"
Thelma closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered:
"Rymus."
Gila felt the old anger return.
"So he was there."
"Maybe."
"You just said his name."
"Because that's what I remember."
Gila walked to the window.
The rain had stopped.
Mist hovered over the trees.
"We need to go back."
Thelma immediately shook her head.
"No."
"Yes."
"That is exactly what whoever left that photograph wants."
"Then perhaps that's why we have to go."
Thelma stood.
"Gila, think about what we're doing. We don't know who is watching us. We don't know how much Rymus knows. We don't even know whether that photograph was meant to help us or trap us."
"I know."
"And you're still willing to go?"
Gila turned.
"I'm tired of being afraid of places I haven't seen in years."
Thelma stared at her.
Gila continued.
"We spent too long allowing other people to decide what our memories meant. I'm not doing that anymore."
Thelma's eyes softened.
"You've changed."
"So have you."
"No."
Thelma looked at the photograph.
"I'm just finally remembering who I was."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Gila noticed something.
"Wait."
She took the photograph again.
"What?"
"There is something written on the back."
Thelma came closer.
Gila turned it over.
Four words had been written in dark ink.
THE RIVER REMEMBERS EVERYTHING.
Below them was a date.
A date from years ago.
A date both women recognized.
The day their lives had changed forever.
Thelma stepped backward.
"No."
Gila stared at the writing.
"It can't be."
"It is."
"That date..."
"I know."
Thelma's voice broke.
"That's the day we were told he died."
Gila looked at her.
Neither woman needed to say the name.
The photograph had already done it.
For years, they had believed the river had taken someone from them.
Now they had proof that the person had been alive at least long enough to appear in that photograph.
And if he had survived...
Then everything after that day was built on a lie.
A vehicle passed outside.
Both women turned toward the window.
It slowed.
Then continued.
Gila watched until it disappeared.
"We leave today," she said.
Thelma looked at her.
"Where?"
"Toward the river."
"The Amazon?"
"Eventually."
Gila folded the photograph and placed it carefully inside her bag.
"But first, we find out who wants us to remember."
Thelma picked up the documents.
"And if that person is Rymus?"
Gila looked toward the road.
"Then we stop running from him."
She opened the door.
The morning air entered the room.
For the first time in years, Gila felt strangely calm.
The fear had not disappeared.
It had simply changed.
It was no longer the fear of discovering the truth.
It was the fear of discovering how much of the truth had been hidden from them.
Behind them, the room remained silent.
Ahead lay the road.
And somewhere beyond that road waited the river.
The river that had carried secrets for years.
The river that had witnessed betrayal.
The river that had separated the living from the dead.
The river that remembered everything.
Gila stepped outside.
Thelma followed.
Neither woman noticed the figure standing far down the road beneath the trees.
He watched them leave.
Then he raised a phone to his ear.
"They found the photograph," he said.
A voice answered from the other end.
"And?"
"They're going back."
There was a long silence.
Then the voice said:
"Good."
The man lowered the phone.
"Why good?"
The answer came after several seconds.
"Because Rymus wants them exactly where they are going."
The call ended.
The man looked toward the road.
Gila and Thelma had already disappeared.
He smiled.
The hunt had begun again.