May 9, 2017
The door opens. Abigail “Abby” Ryder steps in. She is a young white woman, her dark hair cropped to chin length, her features sharp and uncomfortably severe. She walks with a slight limp, favoring her right leg, but otherwise appears recovered from the Oregon incident.*
ABBY: You asked for these.
She sets a stack of papers on the desk. Ashford flips through them momentarily, nods.
ASHFORD: Thank you, Abby. That will be all.
ABBY: Did you ask her about the photos?
ASHFORD: Thank you, Miss Ryder.
SARA: Ask me about which photos?
ASHFORD: We will get to that in due time. Miss Ryder, please see to our other guest.
Abby gives a curt nod and exits, pulling the door shut behind her with a bang.
ASHFORD: I’m sorry about that. Miss Ryder’s training is . . . informal. We’re still working on her people skills.
SARA: What did she mean about the photos?
Ashford hesitates, indecision in his expression. Then he reaches for the folder containing the photos he showed her earlier.
ASHFORD: We looked at some of these earlier, but we haven’t had the chance to discuss them in detail yet.
He sets two on the table. The first is the photo of Nick Dessen. The other he removes from the folder is one he has not shown her before, a photograph of Miranda taken with a flash, mist hanging in the air around her. There is something odd about her skin, and the shadows that lie on it. The viewer can almost imagine that they see the faint lines of the bones beneath her skin. Sara reaches for the photo of Miranda, pulling it toward her across the table.
SARA: Miranda. I remember taking this.
ASHFORD: Then Miranda was with you.
SARA: Yeah. She came with Mel. But you knew that.
ASHFORD: I did, I only . . . We’ll discuss that later. You haven’t said anything about the other photograph. Earlier, you hardly looked at it.
SARA: That’s because I’ve never seen it before.
ASHFORD: You don’t remember taking it?
SARA: I didn’t.
ASHFORD: It came from your camera.
SARA: Becca’s camera.
ASHFORD: Yes, but it was taken when you were in possession of the camera. And look at the background. The same tree is in both of them. These photos were taken in the same place.
SARA: That’s not possible.
ASHFORD: Why not?
SARA: Because whoever this kid is, he wasn’t with us. And we hadn’t met anyone else on the road yet.
ASHFORD: Excuse me?
SARA: We hadn’t met anyone else yet.
ASHFORD: Yes, but—you said “whoever this kid is.” You don’t recognize Nick Dessen?
SARA: Who?
Ashford stares at her for a moment in silence. Then he reaches for the papers that Abby brought in, flipping through once more.
ASHFORD: In your written statements, you don’t mention that Nick Dessen was with you.
SARA: I told you, I don’t know who that is.
ASHFORD: Miss Donoghue, how many people were there when you walked through the gate at the beginning of the road?
SARA: Me, Anthony, Mel, Miranda, Trina, Kyle, Jeremy, and Vanessa. So eight.
ASHFORD: But there was an odd number. In your testimony, you state more than once that there were nine of you. And three of you had to go through the darkness as a group as a result.
SARA: No—I mean, yes. That’s right.
ASHFORD: But you only listed eight names.
SARA: There were nine of us, though. You’re right.
ASHFORD: So who was the ninth?
SARA: I—No, I must be wrong. Me. Anthony and Jeremy. Mel and Miranda. Trina and Kyle. Vanessa. That’s eight. So there were eight of us.
ASHFORD: Then why did you need a group of three?
SARA: I don’t know!
She shoves herself up to her feet, stumbling back from the table. Her hands cover her face. Her left sleeve rides a little lower than the right; inked letters on her wrist appear to form the tail end of a word in spiky script, though not enough is visible to determine what it might say.
ASHFORD: It’s all right, Miss Donoghue. We don’t need to talk about this right now. We can return to the subject later.
He sweeps the photographs together and slides them back into the folder, resting his hand on it as if to reassure her that it won’t spring open of its own accord.
ASHFORD: Miss Donoghue?
Her hands drop. Reluctantly, she creeps back to her seat, sinking into it. Her eyes fix on the folder, and she chews on one thumbnail.
ASHFORD: You were telling me about the crow. That was before you found Becca, correct?
SARA: Yeah. Yeah, it was still early.
ASHFORD: When you described the gate, you called it the first gate. Can you explain that?
SARA: Yeah. Um. There are supposed to be seven gates. That was the first.
ASHFORD: What was the second?
SARA: You said there was another guest. Someone else is here? Who is it?
ASHFORD: Melanie Whittaker.
Sara nods, as if she expected this answer.
SARA: What has she told you? About the second gate?
ASHFORD: I would rather hear it in your own words.
SARA: The second gate was where things went wrong. Or where we realized how wrong they already were. The second gate was where we realized we weren’t the only ones on the road.