24. The Bridge

I leave before Kelsey’s father gets home. I don’t want him coming home wondering what I’m doing there so late. Not that I think he’d mind, and Kelsey assures me it’s fine, but regardless I tell her that it’s time. She’s comfortable on the couch with her legs over my lap, and I think she’d be content to fall asleep like that. I would be too.

Maybe it’s because I know Mr. Page is coming home any minute. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to rush things. Because deep down, I’m afraid to.

Since every girl I like ends up dead or gone.

Maybe it’s all of those things. Maybe that’s why I don’t spend much time kissing Kelsey before I leave. I know that she wants to—I can tell by the way she looks at me. And I do kiss her once before leaving. Not a good-bye, brotherly, friendly kiss, but a real good one. A kind that might be perfect simply because it leaves you wanting more.

What do you know about kissing, you dork?

I’m driving through the night thinking of kissing Kelsey and about epic love stories. It’s cold, but I’m smart enough to be wearing a cap and gloves and Uncle Robert’s leather jacket. Well, maybe not that smart, because I’m not wearing a helmet, but at least I’m warm.

The winding roads tend to look the same, but as I make the usual turns that lead to my house, I find myself on a dirt lane nobody else is going to be driving on this time of night. Then I see a road I’ve never noticed before jutting to the left up a hill.

The Crag’s Inn.

That’s what I first think, because even though I’ve managed to see Iris again, I still haven’t ever been able to find the road leading up to the former lodge on top of the mountain.

No, this isn’t the same road. But it looks similar.

I slow down and then decide to see where it leads. It’s after midnight, and nobody’s waiting up for me at the cabin. At least I hope nobody’s waiting up for me. If there is, I’d better stay out here for a long time.

The road is narrower than the main roads around Solitary, the trees closer to the sides. Perhaps I’ve always missed this road because the overgrowth has been so dense. Now the trees are barren and look like skinny kids huddling together on a cold night.

I drive for ten or fifteen minutes until there is a turn in the road so abrupt that I’m glad to notice it before driving off into the woods. I slow down, and then I see another path descending into the woods.

I steer my bike toward the path so I can see.

The light shows a narrow path flattening with a stone edge on either side, then continuing on into the woods. For a second I can’t make it out, then I hear the sound of a creek and realize that what I’m looking at is an old bridge.

I turn off my bike but leave the light on.

This might be the moment the couple in the audience or the critic in the seat goes, Come on Chris get a clue what’s wrong with you and why haven’t you learned? But this is far less frightening than the abandoned cabin I found in the woods. And definitely less freaky than the dark underground tunnel that I can only go forward or backward in. Yeah, sure, I’ve learned there are some nasty things in these woods, like demon dogs and lisping old men, but I’ve also come to understand there are other things.

I still never know when a bridge in the middle of the woods might lead me back to Iris. Or Lily. Or Jocelyn.

It feels unusually cold right here. I look around but can’t make out anything in the pitch black.

I hear the sound of a cracking branch. Then something shuffling on dead leaves in the woods. The crinkle of stone underneath someone’s feet.

Then I see it.

No. Not it, but them.

Figures standing on the edge of the bridge. Dark figures—a group of them—all standing there waiting for something.

Maybe waiting for me.

I can feel my heart racing as I squint to try and make out faces or features. But all I see are these shadows in the shapes of men.

For some reason, I recall the boxcar in the middle of nowhere, which I opened and discovered death inside.

Get out of here Chris now.

I’ve been scared so many times before around this place, but I’m not scared now, not totally. A part of me wonders who these people are and if I can in any way—

Then one figure emerges out of the pack—maybe six or eight total—and starts walking across the bridge toward me.

I want to see a face.

But as the seconds scratch by, I don’t see any face. The figure is cloaked in black and seems to be carrying something large and heavy in one hand.

The light is now directly on his face, but I still don’t see anything. I don’t see skin or hair or features or anything.

Just a shadow.

Okay bright guy now’s the time to bolt before things get really bad.

I start up my bike and am thankful that it kicks in right away, and I head back toward the main street where I came in.

I’ll check this place out in the daytime. When I can see faces and figures more clearly and the night’s not playing tricks.

I shiver and drive as fast as I can.

But I keep expecting a cold hand to touch my neck at any moment and jerk me off the bike and take me back to the hole the figures came from.