Chapter 19
Then
Dammit.
Someone saw me get in the truck bed and thought it would be funny to take me on a joyride. I hoped to hell they weren’t drunk. I’d only glimpsed my fate briefly before Ruth took my cup, but surely this couldn’t be my ending.
We crossed over the cattle gate too fast, and my head bumped against the metal floor hard enough to chatter my teeth.
I sat up, turning to pound on the glass and demand the driver pull over, ready to throw in some of my most colorful cusses.
Instead, I was shocked into silence.
My sister’s fuzzy blond head was behind the wheel.
I froze, my knuckles inches from the glass as she pushed the pedal down, hunched forward in the seat.
We took a pothole going full speed, and my face almost smacked the rear window.
It was dumb luck that I fell backward onto my butt instead of lurching forward.
I laid down, at war with myself. Stranding me at a party because we were in a fight and she was pissed at me was a jerk move. I wanted to bang on the window and call her on it.
But my gut told me no. That place inside seemed to whisper, wait and see.
A month ago, I wouldn’t believe Frances would do any of this.
If someone had told me they’d seen her and Mr. Fortenberry I’d have called them a liar.
Depending on who it was, I’d have tried to knock their teeth in.
If they told me she’d steal my truck and drive off into the night, I might’ve even laughed at the ridiculousness. But now?
My head bumped and my body slid from one side to the other as Frances rounded turns too fast. She didn’t have her license yet, but Ruth had taught us both to drive at the same time, and she’d been traveling the country roads for years.
It didn’t mean she was good at it, and as I braced myself in the back of the Rust Bucket, I couldn’t help but think how, if she crashed, I was toast, the Sight fulfilled.
I stared at the pink and orange sky as we turned first onto the highway and then off the main road and eventually onto another bumpy back road until the tree canopy over me felt familiar. We weren’t far from home.
I waited for us to pass the service station where Ruth worked, thinking I’d be able to see the sign from my hiding spot, but it never came.
The familiar canopy thinned, and soon we were turning yet again.
Frances slowed to a crawl, and the branches overhead were closer than they should’ve been.
Limbs scraped the sides of the truck in a way that was certainly scratching the paint.
We lurched to a stop.
My lips pressed together. Wait and see echoing in my head. The truck door opened.
A slice of light cut through the evening haze and bounced over the tree line.
If Frances had a flashlight, then she’d planned this. Anger clashed with curiosity and concern. What did she think she was doing? Then, no, this can’t be what I think it is.
Leaves crunched underfoot as she passed and I sat up quietly, right in time to see her disappear into the trees. It wasn’t dark yet. The sky burned pink, but it wouldn’t be long before the sun was swallowed up by the horizon.
Somewhere an owl called out. Soon they’d be lighting the bonfire at the party. Casey would think I’d left him without saying goodbye.
I couldn’t worry about that right now. This was about me and my sister.
The faintest beam of light floated through the trees. If I was following her, I needed to move.
I jumped to my feet, flung them over the side of the truck. It wasn’t until I landed on the ground that I noticed the car parked nearby. The vehicle was familiar, though part of me still refused to accept what I was seeing. I turned to race after my sister, then paused.
These woods were dark and deep. Ruth was superstitious, and I grew up hearing her stories of how you don’t ever go into strange forest at night. But not following my sister wasn’t an option. Frances hadn’t seemed afraid.
But still.
No one knew I was here. If I went missing, how long before anyone would look for me?
Doesn’t matter. Not right now.
I wished I always carried a knife like Aunt Ruth but settled for the shovel, grabbing it from the back of the truck—better than nothing—then jogged toward the trees.
It wasn’t long before I lost sight of the flashlight’s glow.
The outdoors didn’t scare me, but standing alone in unfamiliar woods at dusk, while the night song sang its opening chorus, was unsettling.
Ruth’s stories of the wampus cat with its giant teeth and fearful screech as well as the other creatures that called the deep woods home mingled in my head with very real accounts of girls disappearing from campsites without a trace.
I wiped away the pinpricks of sweat on my upper lip.
My eyes adjusted to the dimming light until I could see the forest scrub spread around me. There was a small path winding through the underbrush. Puddle Creek was littered with overgrown old hiking trails. That had to be what this was.
Slowly, I picked my way through, holding the shovel in front of me to help find briars before they could cut, until I stepped into a meadow. Across the field, near the tree line, I could make out the outline of two people silhouetted in gray light.
The beam from the flashlight was gone, but it had to be my sister.
And the tall man, hunched forward with his arms wrapped around her…
Mr. Fortenberry.
When I blinked, I saw them together in his classroom, his grown hands cupping the back of her head beneath the fluorescent high school lights. When I thought of the things they’d have done out here alone, bile erupted in my throat. Oh Frances. How did this happen?
But I knew. I was barely thirteen the first time I got hit on by a grown man. It’s like creeps can smell innocence, especially on girls often ignored, hungry for validation. That combination draws them like a feline to catnip. I’d told the man to go fuck himself, but Frances wasn’t me.
As a teacher, Mr. Fortenberry would’ve seen it. He’d have also known how people talked about us and treated us. How desperate she’d have been for acceptance. For understanding.
It was one thing to know this and another to see it play out. Rage consumed me.
This man was taking advantage of my sister. He was hurting her and coming between us, ruining us.
I’d promised Frances that if she ended it, I wouldn’t tell. That had been a mistake. I should’ve gotten someone the moment I witnessed what was happening, but I hadn’t wanted to hurt my sister. Maybe I was too afraid of confronting it head on, of making this all more real.
But this wasn’t going to end unless I did something.
I crouched down to stop myself from being observed before I figured out my move.
Now, telling on him wouldn’t be enough. No one would listen to me, not over him. Especially not if Frances saw me as the bad guy. Oh God. She’ll back up his story. The realization that she’d choose him over me hurt more than anything. Maybe the accusation would fluster him enough to make him stop.
But maybe not. I wouldn’t risk it.
I needed proof. A way to make Mr. Fortenberry listen, to make him stop.
I squeezed the shovel handle in one hand.
With the other, I pulled the bottom of my hoodie down over my knees to try and cover my bare legs from the gnats that appeared with the setting sun.
That’s when I felt it against my stomach, in the pocket of my hoodie.
Casey’s disposable camera. Yes. Okay. For the first time, I was hopeful.
This could offer indisputable proof, a bargaining chip.
If I could’ve peered into my leaves for longer before Ruth had taken the cup from me, would I have known this moment was coming?
Would I have seen the flash of a camera, four shocked eyes?
There was no way of knowing, but one thing was becoming clear.
That death I saw? That was me, putting this situation to rest.
With photographic evidence, Mr. Fortenberry couldn’t continue with my sister. Hell, I’d run him out of Puddle Creek for good.
I stayed low in the tall grass, approaching slowly, camera out and flash on.
I didn’t want them to see me too soon, to spook and dart apart.
As I crept, I considered what I should say.
“Get away from my sister?” “Go fuck yourself, pedo?” I had just settled on “Say cheese, motherfucker” when Mr. Fortenberry pulled Frances closer, his arms twisted around her as she giggled, chin tilted up.
My anger flared. That place in me behind the internal door gnawing. Emotions swirled, and it was like my vision tunneled. Suddenly, the door flung open for the second time unbidden.
Dark eyes, wide in shock. Frances. I was inundated with fear, the feeling coming from myself or from my future, I couldn’t say. And then a sly satisfied something crept in, and it surprised me just enough to wrench the door closed again, breaths heaving.
I stood frozen. What was happening to me? After a childhood of methodical practice, how did I keep losing control? But a deep voice pulled me from my questions, as Mr. Fortenberry panted my sister’s name.
“Frances.”
That. Fuck.
I was close enough now, the shot framed perfectly. I rose to my feet. Neither noticed me only feet away, the both of them so absorbed in each other. My words frozen in my throat. I held the camera up and snapped.
The flash was bright, and Mr. Fortenberry jerked away from my sister so fast he almost knocked her to the ground.
I stared as they blinked at me, recognition slowly dawning in the evening dark.
“What’s going on here?” Mr. Fortenberry demanded, having the nerve to look hurt as his gaze darted from me to my sister. “Frances? What is this?”
My mind roared with, “Don’t look at her, look at me you creep!” and “This is me keeping you away from my sister!” But in reality, no words came. My heart pounded. My hands trembled. I pressed the camera button again, out of panic that I needed more proof, but nothing happened.
“Milly?” Frances pleaded. “What are you doing?”
I pressed the button harder.