CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The drive up the mountain trail was steeper than any other time we had taken one up before.
Pines loomed high above us, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon light. The van’s tires crunched over gravel, the engine humming steadily as Tristan guided us higher into the wilderness.
A soft song was playing.
I had a throbbing headache. We’d stayed up too late in the motel laundromat, washing all our clothes. Towels and rags. We had been surrounded by so many people the past few days, I needed a break. So, when Tristan offered a couple of days in the mountains to unwind, I jumped at the chance.
We’d checked out of the motel and grabbed a quick breakfast. Tristan was tired, too, but stubbornly wanted us in a nice camping spot.
I was in the middle of taking a sip of water when something moved through the fog.
A deer stepped onto the path ahead of us.
Tristan slowed the van.
It stood there, its thin legs stiff and its ears angled toward something farther up the mountain. Then it took a few careful steps forward.
That was when I saw the truck beyond it.
The deer stopped several feet away. Its head lifted as it stared at the driver’s-side window.
Then it backed away.
It didn’t turn. It moved one slow step at a time, never taking its eyes off the truck.
A moment later, it bolted into the trees.
A truck. Parked in the middle of nowhere just ahead of us. No trail. No signs. Upon quick inspection, it looked abandoned. Collecting dust. But who would abandon a truck all the way up here, so far away from civilization?
I felt it before I could name it—a strange, crawling sensation under my skin. Like something was watching.
Like this very something had already decided we didn’t belong.
“Tristan,” I said, my voice low, “do you feel that?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes locked on the truck up ahead. His knuckles tightened around the wheel. Then he exhaled and slowed the camper. “Yeah. I do.”
We stared at the truck for a moment longer.
I wanted to ask if he thought the owner was around, or maybe inside. If perhaps they were on a trail walk and were going to loop back around.
Except no words left my throat.
There were no trail walks here. It was literally a narrow path up the mountainside. No two cars could fit alongside it.
“Let’s turn back,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
We didn’t speak again. He didn’t drive past the truck, either, to find a spot he could turn us around in. Instead, he put the car in reverse and drove backwards for most of the way.
Gravel shifted beneath the tires as he guided us down. I watched the edge of the path through my window, trying not to imagine one wheel slipping too far. The drop beyond it disappeared into the fog.
Neither of us suggested stopping.
Eventually, we found a clearing we could turn around in. Then we left the path and went back on the main roads. He chose a different route, one that felt less haunted. We still hadn’t spoken.
Even the music stopped playing.
That night, parked in a quiet grove, I lay in the van with the image of that truck burned into my mind.
The deer, too.
The way it had backed away without turning.
We didn’t even want to drive past it.
I kept thinking: What if we should’ve checked it out?
What if that’s how bad things stay buried—because people feel something’s off and just…walk away?
I turned to Tristan, who was lying beside me, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for sleep to find him.
“Do you ever wonder,” I whispered, “if the worst things in the world stay hidden because people don’t want to feel uncomfortable?”
He turned his head toward me. He stared at me for a beat longer. “You mean like that truck?”
He knew. It was on his mind too. I nodded. “We didn’t even try to understand it. We just felt something was wrong and left.”
“Isn’t that instinct?” he asked. “Survival?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But Plato would’ve disagreed.”
He raised a brow. “Plato?”
I smiled faintly. “In The Republic, he talks about justice. Not just laws, but the idea that every person has a role. That a just society is one where people—all of us—act not out of fear, but out of reason. That we’re supposed to face the uncomfortable truths, not run from them.
” I looked down, suddenly unsure of myself.
“At least, that’s what it made me think about tonight. ”
Tristan was quiet for a moment. “First Seneca. Now Plato. I didn’t know you were so familiar with philosophy.”
I shrugged, weakly. “I know a thing or two.”
“So, you think we failed some philosophical test?”
“I think we missed a moment,” I said. “Plato believed that when individuals avoid discomfort, when they act selfishly or ignore their duty, society starts to unravel. Not all at once. Just slowly. In moments of silence. In moments like that truck.”
He turned fully toward me now, eyes searching mine. “But what if our duty was to protect ourselves?”
“That’s the paradox,” I whispered. “Fear keeps us alive. But sometimes it also stops us from looking. I don’t know how you’re supposed to tell the difference.”
Tristan’s gaze intensified as he watched me. “Your mind never leaves anything alone, does it?”
I stiffened slightly.
“I like that about you,” he added. “I like it a lot, actually.”
Stunned, it took me a beat to gather a response, but by then the moment passed and he looked away, thoughtful.
We lay there in silence, the van creaking softly in the wind.
“I think,” I said finally, “next time…I’d want to look.”
Tristan reached for my hand, his grip warm. “Then next time we look.”
I nodded. “Next time we look.”
Then Tristan surprised me.
“You know what else it reminds me of?” he said quietly. “The Allegory of the Cave.”
I blinked. I hardly heard myself speak. “You know that one?”
“The cave,” he said. “People spend their whole lives chained up, thinking the shadows are real. Then one of them gets out and sees the world for what it is. When he comes back, the others don’t thank him for telling them the truth. They reject him. The lie is familiar, and the truth hurts.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You’ve read The Republic?”
“More than once,” he said. “I know a thing or two as well. Used to think the cave wasn’t just about ignorance, it was about fear. That people would rather live in shadows than face the light because the light hurts.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s exactly it. It hurts.”
“We didn’t look at the truck. Maybe we stayed in the cave. But maybe next time, we walk toward the light. Even if it blinds us.”
I didn’t speak.
I just held his hand tighter.
We walk toward the light…
The words disturbed something inside me. The panic that hit me was fleeting. A quick reminder of my past. Of something else, too. Something intangible.
I swallowed thickly and breathed. Here, nothing could hurt me. Here, I was safe from the shadows. From myself. I hadn’t wigged out on Tristan. I was being good. No black-out moments.
I was good.
I needed to stay that way.
I dreamed of June that night.