My memories fail me. My childhood double binds my adult mind, turning every thought into an endless, convoluted knot. I was in the garage. I was in my bedroom. My brother was there. He’s gone. Both are true. Both are false.
I walk through the rain to the cabin at the end of the trail. Even in the growing gloom, the silver padlock sparkles like a beacon. It draws me to it, like I hear the song of the siren once again. I know where it leads. I know the doom. But I walk nonetheless.
As I stand before the door, I reach back and touch the grip of the pistol that rests against the small of my back. It is there still, as I knew it was. Nodding, I remove my key and unlock the door. The hinges creek as it swings open. A smell washes across my face. Not death, not really even decay. Instead, it is the aroma of nature’s relentless force, ever pressing to reclaim what was once hers. What will be again, regardless.
The inside of the cabin is dark. I pull out Patsy’s phone, switching on the flashlight. A harsh beam cuts into the corner, shining on the crumpled blue tarp. I move to it, kneeling down reverently. The light pans and I see the human skull still lies among the pile of blackened bones. The empty darkness of its eyes stares at me, pleading with me to let the past rest in peace, as I have for so many years. But that isn’t going to happen. I am ready to face it now. Nonetheless, I can barely breathe as I snap a photo and text it to my brother.