Chapter Twenty-Five The Old Kiss and Run
“Because it’s the only way to keep you safe.” I feel Jude’s words—on my skin, in my soul—more than I actually hear them. “And no matter what, that will always be the most important thing to me.”
“It’s not your job to keep me safe,” I tell him.
The look he gives me says he disagrees. “Go back to the dorm, Clementine. There’s nothing for you out here.”
I reach a hand out for him before I can stop myself. “Jude, don’t just—”
But he’s already pulling away—already running away—head bent and shoulders hunched against the wind.
And no. Just no.
I’m not fourteen years old anymore, and neither is he. He doesn’t get to say shit like that and walk away from me. Not this time.
So instead of just letting him go, I chase after him, plunging through the underbrush and into the forest like an animal running for its life. And maybe I am—or at least, running for my sanity, because I can’t spend the next three years the same way I spent the last three, wondering what I could have done to make things turn out differently.
But Jude’s already gone, slipping through my fingers like the raindrops that fall so steadily around me. And still I run, still I chase after him, determined not to let this shred of hope disappear as easily, as completely, as he has.
But no matter where I look—the old huts, the boarded-up wishing well, the surrounding forest—I can’t find him. My heart settles heavily in my chest as I realize he really is gone. Again.
In the distance, I can hear sirens going off. The storm must be getting bad if my mom is resorting to the old hurricane sirens that she keeps locked up in the groundskeeper’s hut to call everyone back to the dorms. This is only the third time I’ve ever heard them in my life.
I really do need to get back. Maybe Jude is already heading there—hell, for all I know, he’s already changed into dry clothes while I continue to run around like a girl who can’t take a hint.
Shoving my hair out of my face for what feels like the millionth time since this wild goose chase began, I glance around and try to get my bearings. I’m close to the edge of the forest on the east side of the island now, which clears at the back of the dorms.
It’s a shortcut, one I don’t normally take because it involves going through the teachers’ quarters. But dry clothes are calling—and so is my bed—so shortcut it is. Besides, most of the faculty is probably at the dorms anyway, making sure the students don’t get into any trouble now that they’re all penned up.
As soon as I get close enough to the forest to get some cover from the trees, I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Eva.
Me: What’s going on? I hear the siren
Eva: Where are you???????
Me: Other side of the island
Eva: What?!?!
Me: Long story
Eva: Well, get your ass back here
Eva: There’s a mandatory meeting in the dorm common area in twenty minutes. If you’re not there, you’re going to end up living in that damn menagerie
Eva: Or getting blown away by this category-five hurricane
Me: It’s category five now?
Eva: Want to stay out there and find out?
Me: omw
I shove my phone back in my pocket and start moving again just as the loudest clap of thunder I’ve ever heard rumbles through the air. Wind whips through the trees with an eerie howl, sending leaves and sand into a frenzied dance as lightning spears the sky. Moments later, the ground beneath my feet shudders from the force of the strike.
I really need to get out of this mess.
I start jogging now, weaving in between the old, stooped trees as I head straight for the dorms. When Jude, Carolina, and I were young, we used to explore this forest all the time, so I know all the shortcuts. I turn left as soon as I get to the huge, ancient live oak tree at the center of the dirt path, and then I make a right at the tree blackened and split down the middle from a long-ago lightning strike.
It’s a straight shot between here and the dorms, and I start to run faster, determined to get back before my family notices I’m missing.
But as I weave between the trees, my stomach starts to feel funny. It doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels hollow and a little uneasy, which makes my whole body feel a little shaky all over. It’s probably just running around in the heat without any water—normally the rain cools the steamy September air off a little, but today’s storm just seems to be packing it on, turning the air more dense with each passing minute.
Add in the fact that the granola bar I grabbed for breakfast is the only thing I’ve eaten all day and it’s no wonder I’m feeling off. I’m sure it’s nothing a bottle of water and a sandwich can’t cure.
I weave around a couple more trees, the low-hanging moss tickling my arms, and then pass the therapy circle. The psychiatric faculty likes to lead hikes and group discussions through here sometimes. Apparently, they think walking through trees is much better than walking next to a giant wall that reminds people that there really is no getting off this island.
I don’t think it actually matters, though. Prison is prison, no matter what it looks like.
I’m in the deepest part of the forest now, where the tree canopy is so dense and moss so heavy that barely any rain penetrates the leaves. But that means that very little light filters through them, either, so I once again use my flashlight to illuminate the way as I wind through the thick expanse of trees. Despite the light, shivers work their way down my spine as the leaves rustle around me.
It’s just birds taking shelter from the rain, I tell myself. Maybe even a few bats discombobulated by the preternaturally dark sky. Either way, it’s just nature. Nothing to get freaked out about.
But my heart rate picks up a little anyway.
I speed up a bit more, but before I can go more than a few steps, a wild gust of wind sweeps through the trees above me. It’s so hard and fast that I swear I can hear branches cracking. My stomach flips sickly. That strange hollowness spreads out from my midsection to my limbs, and even though I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder.
There’s nothing there but tree trunks and shadows. Absolutely nothing to worry about.
And still unease dances around me like the wind.
I skirt the tree that Caspian, Jude, Carolina, and I built a treehouse in when we were little. The treehouse is long gone, but the blocks of wood we’d hammered into the tree trunk for a ladder are still there.
I let my fingers run over one of them as I walk by, memories of my cousin welling up inside me. Her face dances in front of my eyes, and I finally admit to myself that she’s the real reason I don’t like coming through this forest anymore—not the fact that it borders teacher housing. Carolina and I spent so much of our childhood playing together in this forest that walking through it is filled with the ghosts of what used to be.
Sometimes I miss her so much I can barely stand it. Not getting to say goodbye, not even knowing she was dead until Remy came to tell us… Some days it really is unbearable.
A sob wells up in my throat, but I swallow it. I’ve already shown way too much weakness today. It stops now.
I weave around the large rock in the middle of the path—and totally ignore the fact that it’s got all of our initials carved into it. Three sets of C.C.s and a J.A. from that day we were playing hide-and-seek and all got lost in the forest for hours.
All of a sudden, the picture of the four of us shimmers in front of me like a movie. Nine-year-old Carolina crouches down to carve her initials first while the three of us wait excitedly for our turn. But then something nebulous and icy dances across the nape of my neck, and the image dissipates like mist.
I turn away, jumping over the large hole in the path that’s been there as long as I’ve been alive. As I do, I refuse to think about the way Jude used to swear it was made by a meteor.
Old memories are just that—old. They don’t have any bearing on—
Something suddenly whooshes by my face, so close that I can feel the chill of it brush against the hot skin of my cheek.
At first, I think it’s a ghost, but when I look around, no one is there.
I shrug it off—probably just the wind—and keep going. But I’ve barely made it twenty yards before another one slides by on the right, its coldness slicing my biceps like a knife.
I whirl around to see what it is—and where it went—but it’s gone, too.
What the actual fuck?
Every hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up now, and I spin in a circle, flashlight lifted, as I scan the darkness.
But there’s nothing in front of me but inky blackness and the crooked oaks.
Maybe it was some freaked-out bird, I tell myself as I keep walking. Or perhaps a ghost?
Definitely nothing to worry about.
But that doesn’t stop a bead of sweat from rolling down my spine any more than it keeps my heart from hammering in my chest. Still, I keep moving, a little slower now that I’m sweeping the flashlight all around the forest in front of me, but moving all the same.
It’s just a little bit farther, I remind myself. Just a half mile or so more and I’ll be out of here.
Not a big deal.
At least not until a strange, staticky sound fills the air around me.