63. Random and Profound

It’s Friday, and there’s no way that Jocelyn has any idea of how Thanksgiving turned out for me. I awaken that morning too early for anyone’s good and can’t stop thinking of Jocelyn and my mother and this place. I hope that the rest of Jocelyn’s holiday was uneventful.

I vow to find out and find out soon.

I know that someone is watching me. One person, several people—I don’t know.

I think of the email I got and consider again telling Mom or the cops. I think of Sheriff Wells’s words: “Anything funny happens—anything—you call me, okay?”

Would I call the email funny? How about freaky? How about a quarter past frightening?

I don’t know if I can trust the sheriff. I know that withholding information in the movies usually ends up getting a character in hot water, but I just don’t know if I can afford to tell him. Something might happen to Mom, and I can’t risk that. No way.

Then there’s the issue of telling Mom.

I don’t want her to worry.

Yeah, I know I’m the son and I’m sixteen and I can’t do everything. I don’t even have my license. But I don’t want her worrying, and I’m still a bit nervous that whoever sent me this email will really do something bad.

I try to figure out how they might be watching, whoever they are.

Cameras in the house? Bugs that can hear everything we say? How about spies in the woods? It would be more than easy to hide out and remain concealed in the trees.

And what about those footprints on the deck?

If someone knows my email, then maybe they’re monitoring that.

Same way with the phone.

I’m not a techie, and neither am I James Bond. No need to go crazy or obsessed or overboard.

But someone drugged Mom to make a point.

I change clothes quietly.

Point taken, thank you very much.

I spend an hour searching my room for anything that might be funny. Anything.

I find nothing.

I decide to write a note to Mom saying where I’ll be when she wakes up later.

The sun isn’t even up, so she certainly isn’t.

I can get out of here and take a little bike ride.

The morning breathes cool air against my face as I ride in the fog.

It might be spooky or haunting, but it really looks beautiful.

I understand why they call these the Smoky Mountains. I’m literally riding through a thick mist.

I listen to random songs on my iPod. I love that out of 20,000 songs there can be one chosen for any particular moment. The reality is that usually the random songs are the ones that have the most meaning.

Even when things are random, they can still be profound.

The trees alongside of me stand like soldiers at arms. The road is visible for only a few feet in front of me, the sun somewhere rising but still unseen. I feel a mist covering my face as I pedal my bike.

I know where I’m going even if I can’t see that far in front of me.

I like this feeling. If I can’t see that far ahead of me, nobody else can see me either.

Well, maybe someone can see me now. But if He’s really there He’s been ignoring me for long enough, so a little longer isn’t going to really matter.

When I reach the road turning to Jocelyn’s, I decide to get off my bike and walk it the rest of the way.

I’m not going to go up to the door this time.

This time I’m simply going to be the lurker, checking to see who’s at her house and hoping that I might get a chance to see her.

Maybe she’ll be taking an early morning stroll looking for berries and will suddenly see me.

Right.

I walk down the driveway in the gloom and damp forest and see the house in a distance. I pull my bike up into the trees and then rest it against one, finding a place where I can hide out and spy.

Maybe this is what someone is doing to me. Who knows.