My heart pounds in my ears. Something big is out here in the woods with me. It’s coming closer. And I’m hurt and can’t run away. Ignoring the pain, I press myself to the ground, still as a rabbit.
But wouldn’t a bear or any other animal be less, I don’t know, less noisy? One with nature? I realize I’m being ridiculous. Whatever is moving through the woods must be a person.
“Help!” I shout. “Can someone help me?” My voice is weak. I feel stupid, like a little kid playing a prank.
“Hello?” a man shouts back, surprise coloring his voice.
“Can you help me? I’m hurt!”
A few seconds later, Stephen Spaulding walks into view. The chief of police who was trying to get everyone to calm down yesterday so they wouldn’t form a lynch mob and go after Benjy.
“Hello! It’s Olivia, isn’t it? What’s wrong?” He’s scanning me from head to toe, and then his gaze sharpens as he sees my unlaced shoe. “Your ankle?”
“I was hiking. I might have broken it.”
He comes closer and drops to his knees. “Okay if I touch it?”
“Yeah.”
As he gently pulls off my shoe and sock, my shoulders relax. Even though his cool fingers leave hot pain trailing behind as he pokes and twists, it’s nothing compared with the fear that was devouring me.
“I was worried you were a bear,” I say. Part of it comes out as a squeak as he moves my foot.
He laughs. “A bear! Bears are usually more scared of you than you are of them.” He starts putting my sock and shoe back on, and even though he’s careful, I suck in my breath. “I’m pretty sure your ankle’s sprained, not broken. Of course, you’ll need to get an X-ray.” He returns his gaze to my face. “Was that your car I saw when I drove in here?”
I nod.
He tilts his head. “Kind of a weird spot to pick to go hiking. There are no marked trails around here, so it’s not easy going.”
“Yeah. I learned that the hard way.”
He’s still looking at me, waiting for an explanation. I have to give him a little more. Better to stick close to the truth.
“After hearing everyone talk about what happened to that Naomi and Terry, I decided to come out here and check it out.”
He frowns. “Don’t you think that’s kind of morbid?” There’s a burst of chatter from a microphone clipped to his shoulder. His eyes never leave my face as he reaches up and turns down the sound.
What can I say? “I don’t know.”
“You should realize after what happened yesterday that it’s not a game to her friends and family.” He shakes his head. “It’s not a human-interest story to them. Two people died in these woods.”
“I’ve just been thinking about them a lot, sir. I wasn’t being disrespectful.” My voice breaks a little.
His face softens, almost imperceptibly. “Okay. And call me Stephen.”
“Are you here because of the case?”
He nods. “We’re going to be conducting a new search because of the jawbone that was recovered in this area. If we find more bones, we might be able to figure out exactly how Terry Weeks was killed. After all these years, though, we’ll be lucky to find any. Animals like to chew on them. They get splintered and pockmarked and scattered.”
I push away the mental images. “I’ve got one for you. I think.”
“Got one what?”
“A bone.”
He jerks his head back. “Are you serious?”
For an answer, I hold it out, pinched between finger and thumb.
His eyes widen in amazement. Then he pulls a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and puts them on. He holds out his palm, and I let go. I let go of my father’s hand, or at least what I believe is part of it.
He catches his breath as he regards it. “Where did you find that?”
When I point, I find myself noticing my own finger, thinking about the bones beneath my flesh.
He squints, then looks back down at his palm. “It does look like a human knucklebone. Although you would be surprised how much animal bones can resemble human bones.” With his free hand, he carefully takes the glove off by turning it inside out, leaving the bone trapped within. He knots the glove and then slips the makeshift holder into the front pocket of his uniform. Then he gets to his feet and walks to where I was pointing. “Is this the spot?”
“I think so.”
He crouches and inspects the ground, pushing aside ferns, but finally stands up. “At least now I know where to center the search.” He pulls what looks like a roll of orange tape from his pocket. But when he tears off a strip and ties it to a branch, it doesn’t stick to anything, just flutters in the light breeze. He turns back. “Okay, now we need to get you to a hospital. Put your backpack on your lap. I’m going to carry you.”
My face gets hot. “Maybe I could just put my arm around your shoulders and hop.”
“That would take too long, and you’d probably just hurt your other ankle in the process.” He’s already squatting, lifting my arm and putting it around his neck, threading his own arm under my bent legs. When he stands up, I hear him trying not to grunt. I’m guessing I weigh more than he thought, but he’ll never admit it.
“I swear I’m a pretty good hopper.” I’m babbling, trying to ignore the fact that I am now clasped to this cop’s chest. “And this time I would pay attention to where I’m going.” His face seems to be getting red. “Are you sure this is okay?”
“I used to hunt around here when I was growing up. Back then I could field-dress a deer and carry it out myself on my back. Pretty sure you weigh less than a deer.”
The last time I was carried through the woods, it was probably a lot easier. I would have weighed about a fifth of what I do now.
And it’s now that I have a flash of memory. Of the last time I was carried through these same woods.
Only it’s not my dad who’s carrying me. It’s not my mom.
It’s someone who is holding me tight and muttering under their breath. Pressing the back of my head with the flat of a hand. My face so tight against their shoulder that I can barely breathe.
All I can see is a pair of dark boots hurrying through the snow.
Snow churned pink, freckled with red.