Cassie was awoken early Monday morning by her father. He knocked on her bedroom door, ushering her into her sweatshirt and down the stairs where a sketch artist from the police station was waiting. She spent the morning describing Jude and Aidan and Corey to him, her mother serving her pancakes in the living room.

She could hear the searches being conducted outside, the organizers splashing through mud puddles and pushing further into the underbrush now in search for, what they undoubtedly thought, would be a dead body.

It was harder to describe the three men than Cassie initially thought. Part of that was because she didn’t know which version of them to describe. Young and lively like they were in the clearing, their shoulders broad, stomachs flat? Or how she had seen them at the carnival, lined faces and creases by their eyes? It still didn’t make sense in her own head, how these three could shift so easily. Young, attractive men, hands warm and soft, to older men, looking worn down by years of alcohol abuse or drug use. Their skin became sallow and sagging. Jude’s gut was definitely pronounced, Cassie remembered it straining against his stained, white tank top. Corey had been boney and looked worn.

Aidan.

Well, Aidan had looked older, Cassie remembered that much, but he also had those same piercing blue eyes that nailed her to the spot.

To the sketch artist, she described three young men, a cross between the two versions of them she knew. She made them to be in their twenties because that was what Rebecca said when she had described Aidan to Cassie. She described them as attractive because, in the clearing, they had been. It seemed to take forever for the squirrelly little man to get Aidan’s eyes right. She wasn’t sure why it was so important that he did, only that it was his most distinct feature. Cassie couldn’t help but feel that if she got that right, someone would recognize him. No one else alive had eyes as fierce as Aidan did.

Ryan showed up after breakfast, just as he said he would. He had Rebecca with him. She pushed through the door and wrapped Cassie immediately in her arms. Cassie squeezed her tightly, grateful to have something solid to hold on to.

“Was it them?” she whispered. A breath Cassie hadn’t known she was holding escaped in a sigh. She nodded into Rebecca’s shoulder, and her friend held her tighter.

Cassie should have known Rebecca would understand. Of course she did. She was there in the clearing; she knew about these men. They were the reason Jessica was dead and the reason Laney was missing. She didn’t realize how relieved she would be that someone understood.

Rebecca and Ryan spent most of the day with her, not doing anything particularly exciting, mostly just trying to pass the time. Ryan asked about school and how long Cassie would be allowed to stay out for. Rebecca caught her eye, a sad smile lingering on her lips.

“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Cassie answered. Rebecca reached out and squeezed her fingers while Ryan just looked confused.

“Isn’t it a bit soon?”

“It won’t get better any faster if I don’t,” Cassie answered.

“I’ll come pick you up then,” Ryan said, even though Cassie sputtered that her dad could bring her. He shook his head, the matter decided.

Cassie preferred to drive in with him anyway.

Ryan left just before dinner, driving Rebecca home. He lingered at her door, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her cheek. “I’m coming back after I drop her off,” he whispered. Cassie felt her eyes widen as he pulled away.

“You don’t have to.” He frowned at her, his eyebrows drawing together in question. “I mean, I want you to, but you don’t—”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he interrupted, giving her fingers a brief squeeze.

Cassie saved a plate of dinner for Ryan, pushing it at him as soon as he came through the door. He ate quickly, and they settled back in the living room. He picked up the book he had dropped on the side table the night before and sat on the couch, his hand outstretched toward her. She sat next to him, letting him pull her flush with his side and drape his arm around her shoulders.

“This is what you came back for?” Cassie asked, looking up at him. He offered a wry grin.

“You look exhausted,” he said, opening the book and flipping through a few pages. “I thought you might want to just rest.”

“I am exhausted,” Cassie admitted, tucking her head against his shoulder. She could hear the gentle clacking of plates and utensils as her parents cleaned up the kitchen. They had been quiet and supportive all day. Her mother had stayed home from work and spent the day with her father, ducking their head in to check on her, allowing her space with her friends. But the effort it took Cassie to pretend that things were normal, that her chest wasn’t seizing and falling, the spiral of nervous panic that Laney was off somewhere, hurt and needing help, had been draining. She appreciated Ryan and Rebecca’s efforts at distracting her, it had been helpful. But now, at the end of the day when she could hear the volunteers packing up, drifting back to their cars in defeat, there wasn’t much that could distract her from the awful certainty that Laney was gone forever.

“Don’t you wish you could be out there with them?” Ryan asked, his head twisting toward the window and the drawn shade as the last of the volunteers’ car doors slammed shut. Cassie shook her head, her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his shirt.

“She’s not out there,” Cassie said. Ryan looked down to her in surprise.

“No?”

“No,” Cassie answered firmly. “She’s with them.”

“Her new boyfriend?” Ryan prompted. “At his house you mean? Hasn’t anyone been over there to question him?”

Cassie shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the cops had tried, but she was positive they hadn’t been able to find Corey. “I’m not sure they know where to find him,” she answered after a moment.

“How hard could that be?” Ryan asked. “He went to St. Paul’s, didn’t he? Just head over there, ask around. How many guys named Corey could there possibly be? It’s not that big of a school.”

“He didn’t go to St. Paul’s,” Cassie murmured. Ryan stiffened.

“You’re sure?”

Cassie hummed in acknowledgment. She wasn’t sure of much, but of that she was absolutely positive.

“We’ve been saying that, all of us, to the cops and everything. Did you tell them that he didn’t?”

Cassie nodded, pulling her lip through her teeth and biting gently. She had been doing that, worrying the skin of her lip until it was chapped and raw, a nervous tic that pulled all the anxious energy spiraling in her chest and focused it into the one, exposed area, left it red and aching.

“Where do you think they’re from then? How did she meet him in the first place?”

“She said the cemetery,” Cassie said. “And I’m sure they met up there sometimes. I saw her heading off into the woods with him in that direction once. But I think they met at the carnival. You know, when she took off?”

Ryan nodded, bringing his arm tighter around her. He murmured a soft expletive and Cassie sighed, letting her head rest on the warm crook of his shoulder. His hand rubbed soft circles up and down her side, and she felt, at the same time, pleasantly warm and despondently empty.

The guilt ate at her, left her hollow. She would feel bursts of anger, chastising herself for ever allowing Laney out of her sight, for not chasing her down and tackling her into the bracken to keep her from Corey. Then despair would hit, and she’d realize how fruitless any effort like that would have been anyway, how Laney was drawn, pulled toward Corey and his shifting skin and the way he sucked the energy of the forest around him and concentrated it into that relentless stare.

There was more she could have done. Cassie was sure of it. There was more she could still do. The nervous agitation that had her chewing her lip all day made her limbs tremble. She wanted to get up and run, not into the woods where she knew Laney wouldn’t be, but to the carnival grounds, to some carnival, anywhere, to search for her friend.

What if she hated it? The romanticism of the moment—running to Corey and giving up everything to follow him— what if it wasn’t what she wanted anymore? Would she be allowed to just leave? Cassie didn’t think so. Like a cult, they had pulled her in, and Cassie knew they wouldn’t let her out.

The anxiety that provoked left her jittery and shaking. Cassie looked up when her parents came in; they paused on the threshold when they saw the pressed forms of their daughter and Ryan. Cassie cleared her throat and sat up.

“We’re heading to bed,” Cathy said, her eyes locked with Cassie. There was a silent understanding there. “Just call if you need us.”

“Lock up after Ryan leaves,” her father said, following his wife up the stairs. Cassie heard the soft plodding of their footsteps, but not the close of their door. It would be left open tonight. Cassie wasn’t surprised. She collapsed back into Ryan, her lip once more between her teeth.

“Will you stop that,” he murmured, twisting a bit to look down at her. She blinked up at him in confusion. He tugged at the lower swell of her lip until she released it from between her teeth. She pressed her lips together, her tongue darting out to moisten them, and then she sighed, resisting the twitch that made her want to drag the flesh back between her teeth. She tucked her face against his shoulder.

The air around them stilled. Ryan had picked up his book, but he hadn’t turned the page in a long time. Cassie doubted he was actually reading it. It started to rain again, the soft splatters on the bay window soothing, drawing Cassie into a trance-like state. Her breathing evened out, slowed, paced with Ryan’s. Deep breath in, hold, release; her body melding closer to his with each exhale. He was warm and solid next to her—not pushy, not grabby. His fingers were gentle on her side, dallying on her waist and circling up to her shoulder. Hypnotic.

“Where do you think they are?” Ryan asked, putting the book down. Cassie looked up at him, only to find him staring off across the darkened room. Only the lamp next to him was still lit, and it left him glowing in a soft, golden light. She was reminded of just last night, how he held her together, how he was still willing to. Her breathing hitched as she watched him. “You said they worked the carnival, right? Do you think they still are?”

“Well, they weren’t, not for the last few weeks anyway,” Cassie answered, her focus drawn to his lips as he talked. “But maybe now, maybe they got what they came for.”

“Laney?”

Cassie nodded, and Ryan sighed. She could feel the warmth of his breath across her face. “Thank you for staying with me today.”

He smiled, lifting one shoulder in acknowledgment. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is,” Cassie murmured. He hadn’t asked her about Aidan, about what happened that night after the dance. She knew that he would, knew that she should tell him at some point. For now, he seemed willing to let it lie. She reached out for his hand, the one that had been injured that night. “How does it feel?”

He watched her fingers trace the outline of the tendons on his injured hand, knowing what she meant. “It’s fine. It was just a sprain.”

“How did it happen?” She watched as his throat bobbed, remembering, as she was, that night.

“I was in the bathroom. It was stupid really. Someone slammed a door.”

“Did you see who?”

“No, it just happened,” he answered, frowning. “But it must have been someone, even though I didn’t see anyone. The door slammed really hard like it was forced.”

“Not the wind?”

“There was none,” Ryan answered. Cassie felt her brow wrinkle, wondering, just how much of an accident it really was. Aidan was there that night, cornering her, watching her. She brought Ryan’s hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles softly, letting his fingers fall back into her lap. He turned toward her, bending low. His fingers were on her face again, tugging at the lip she didn’t even realize she had pulled back between her teeth. “And stop doing that.”

She could feel the breath of his whisper against her mouth. She closed her eyes as he moved closer, pressing a soft kiss to her bottom lip. He moved over her slowly, bringing his hand to her cheek. He captured her lips, teased her into a long, slow kiss before he broke them apart, leaning back. She looked at him, and found him staring back at her, questioning her. She leaned toward him, slanting her mouth over his.

They kissed, slowly and softly, for several minutes, Ryan pausing when he felt her smile against his mouth.

“What?” he whispered, his fingers tracing a path from her cheek to her neck. Cassie shook her head, her eyes fluttering open. She kissed him quickly, catching the corner of his mouth.

“This is your thing now, isn’t it?” she asked, a gentle smile playing on her lips. His brows drew together in adorable confusion. “Kissing me and not saying anything about it. It’s your thing.”

He grinned, ducking his head and sitting back.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to stop,” Cassie teased, leaning into his chest. He kissed the tip of her nose, breathing a soft laugh. “It’s much better than when your thing was broken Ferris wheels.”

He laughed at her cheeky grin, pulling her firmly into his chest. His lips were inches from hers and his smile dissolved. He stared at her with fervency she was unaccustomed to in his gaze. When he kissed her this time, it wasn’t slow. It was firm, full of conviction. She found herself pressed to him, exploring his mouth with a fervor she hadn’t imagined was possible for them. His arms, previously entwined around her, shifted. His hands traced the planes of her back, lingering at the base of her neck. The pads of his fingers were warm against her skin, and she could feel her pulse bounding.

The little thrill that shot through her chest, spiraling toward her limbs, made her jerk. It was too close, too much like the nervous spirals of anxiety that coursed through her all day. And with that came the crushing feeling of loss, of Laney cold and alone, and everything around her came crashing down. She broke off with a sob, burying her face in Ryan’s chest. His heart pounded out in a staccato rhythm, bounding against his chest. She could feel her heartbeat as well, feel like it was choking her with the pressure in her throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cassie muttered, pressing her lips to his chest in a lingering kiss. His hands came to her hair, stroking the base of her skull and running through the loose strands. He murmured reassurances, whispered that she would be okay.

She would be; of course she would be. But she didn’t feel okay now.

He kissed her once more at her door and Cassie thrilled in the warm pressure of his lips. She pressed against them, against him, reveling in it even as hot tears threatened behind her eyelids.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning?” he said, more a question than a statement. She nodded, and he smiled, turning once more back into the rain.

Cassie locked the door, pressing her back against it and listening for his car to rev in her driveway. When she looked up, her mother was peeking from her room, eyeing her daughter cautiously.

“He’ll be back in the morning?” Cathy Harris asked, starting down the stairs. Cassie nodded. She took the first two stairs and then stood, her mother staring at her. They sat down together in wordless agreement in the middle of the staircase and Cassie let her head fall to her mother’s shoulder.

“That boy really cares for you,” her mother said, stroking Cassie’s hair. Cassie nodded.

“Yeah, I think he does.”

“This has all been so horrible,” Cathy started. Cassie could sense she was trying to lead this somewhere. “Just don’t let the grief make you do something you normally wouldn’t.”

“I won’t, Mom,” Cassie whispered, bringing her arm around her back in a small hug. Cathy squeezed her daughter tightly and then just sat, silent, letting the nighttime settle around them.

 

 

 

 

The morning started with a phone call. Cassie had been packing her lunch, the refrigerator door open. Her hand felt icy on the handle.

“She’s supposed to be at school today.” Patrick’s voice was a soft murmur as he took the phone into the hallway. She heard the muffled baritone of a reply on the other end. Her mother came up behind her, taking the handle of the door from her and pushing it shut before the beeping could sound.

Cathy pulled her own phone out, squinting down at the time. She pulled up the number for the hospital and pressed the call button. “Cathy Harris,” she murmured a few moments later. “Yes, I can’t come in today.”

Patrick came back into the kitchen looking harassed. He caught her mother’s eye first, some silent communication passing between them.

“I already called out of work,” Cathy said. He nodded.

“What’s going on?” Cassie asked.

“Officer Gibbons wants to see if you can lead them back to the spot,” her father faltered, and Cassie filled in.

“Where Laney,” she cleared her throat, “was taken?”

Her parents nodded. “I don’t think I can get out of work again,” her father said, more as an afterthought. He looked first to his wife and then toward his daughter. Cassie tried to force a smile.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’ll just go change, get my boots on.”

She left her parents and their soft, concerned murmurs in the kitchen. She was partly relieved, another solid excuse to not have to face school and her peers and their questioning stares; but also terrified. The woods. The forest she loved and ran to often. It was different now, alive in ways she had never wanted it to be, overrun with shadows and whispers and trees that moved and sucked and ate. Her hands trembled as she took her phone from her pocket. She texted Ryan, told him not to pick her up, told him she’d call him later.

Cassie wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to find the exact spot. She didn’t think it would technically be that hard. The thought that came to her made her stop, a frozen statue in the middle of the room. It had just occurred to her that it wasn’t that she was afraid she couldn’t find it; it was that she wasn’t sure if they wanted her to. Would they allow it to appear? Would they create it again? The shallow bowl of earth, a perfect circle in the untouched woods.

It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t real. Cassie saw it because the carnies wanted her to see it. They all saw it that night because they were supposed to.

Officer Gibbons arrived at her house before she finished eating breakfast. Her father had already left for school, and her mother was lacing her boots up. They took the short walk through the woods to the cemetery. Cassie’s fingers drifted over the cold headstone in greeting as she passed.

“It was through here,” Cassie murmured, walking ahead of the crowd that followed her. Her mother tried to keep pace, cursing under her breath as snarls of underbrush caught on her boots. Officer Gibbons kept back, his eyes steady on Cassie’s back. She could feel them there. But it was a comfort, really, having someone sure and steady, someone with a gun on his hip, following her into these woods. Several junior officers were behind him, their footsteps loud and intrusive in this still place.

Cassie moved silently, instinctively ducking branches and following the path ahead. She wasn’t sure she would recognize it, wasn’t sure she could definitely find the place Laney had disappeared from, but once in the woods, things came back to her easily. The trees were shockingly familiar. She hadn’t expected that. The clusters of oaks that she recognized, the fallen pine that she had to step over, she knew this path. It didn’t take long to reach the clearing.

Or what had been the clearing.

It didn’t look the same, though that didn’t shock Cassie. It was just different enough though, just changed enough, that she thought others might have trouble recognizing it. Pine needles were scattered all around in thick concentrations, they covered the entire area in a rough circle. Trees, mostly saplings and one tall beech, were littered about the small circle, but the thicker trees, the tallest and oldest, did line the perimeter. She could see the tree Laney had disappeared under. It stood deceivingly still, hovering at the edge of the clearing, watching.

“This is it,” Cassie said, her voice a low, rough whisper. She cleared her throat and indicated the sloppy circle. Officer Gibbons frowned.

“I was told it was a clearing,” he said, moving toward the center and spinning slowly. “That it was a kind of bowl, a depression in the woods.” The other police officers moved out in a loose grid, kicking through the pine needles.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Cathy asked. She moved next to her daughter, her eyes only on Cassie.

Cassie nodded.

“Okay, Miss Harris, take me through this then,” Officer Gibbons said. “You came here, for what?”

Cassie hesitated. No one had asked her that yet. “To get something. Laney thought she left her scarf,” she lied, knowing full well that Laney had not been wearing a scarf that night. But if she told the police that Laney wanted to show her something, tell her about the carnies, they may assume her friend left willingly.

Which, of course, she did.

But that would halt every bit of the investigation into the three men Cassie described. Cassie herself would be called a liar, rightfully so, but the already slim chance of finding Laney would dwindle down to nothing. She’d be labeled a runaway, forever lost to her parents and friends.

“Did you find it?” he asked, watching Cassie for a reaction. She shook her head. The tree at the edge, the large, dangerous one, caught her attention. She glanced over at it but diverted her gaze almost immediately. It felt malevolent, like it would uproot and swallow her at any moment. “When did you see the men?”

“They were over there,” Cassie said, pointing without looking. “Behind the big tree, the one with the crazy roots. Wait, do you see it?”

Cassie asked the question without thinking it through, suddenly afraid that maybe the tree, like the shifting men and the voices, were meant only for her, that the others wouldn’t be able to see them. Gibbons frowned at her.

“The White Oak at the edge there? Of course I see it.” He moved toward it and Cassie tensed. She forced a slow breath out when he reached out and patted the trunk. “They were behind this?”

Cassie nodded, watching him as he moved behind the tree. She pressed her lips together, her tongue darting out to moisten them. The tree was massive, a large trunk with branches that burst out, parallel to the ground. Most of the leaves had fallen, leaving the stark, gray bark bare. Her eyes followed the lines of the branches. She forced her breathing to calm, but she didn’t step any closer to it either.

She noticed his laugh first, the soft breath of air that escaped from between his lips. She found him in an instant, and she froze.

Twenty feet up, standing on a large branch that jutted out into the forest, Aidan leaned against the White Oak’s trunk. He winked down at her, smiling broadly.

She didn’t move.

Her mother noticed Cassie tense. She must have because a moment later her hand wrapped around her wrist, squeezing in reassurance, and Cassie sucked a deep breath of cold air into her lungs. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.

Officer Gibbons came around the tree again. “I don’t see anything here. No sign of a struggle.”

Cassie’s gaze darted from the tree to the base, where the roots dug inconspicuously into the pine-needle-strewn forest floor. There was no turned up soil, no stench of rot. Everything had shifted. Not changed completely, but just enough to make it barely recognizable.

Except she could recognize it. She could see it. She could see him.

Cassie watched the police officers, staring hard, pleading silently for them to look in the tree and see him, too, but they didn’t.

The junior officers were still walking in lines across the clearing, kicking through the undergrowth. Officer Gibbons paused, looked up at the tree, straight at the boy who hadn’t yet moved. Aidan, the boy with the blue eyes, didn’t look down, didn’t acknowledge the man below him. He just stared, searing holes through Cassie with his penetrating gaze. Gibbons pat the tree, shaking his head.

“And Jessica Evans, she was here, too?” he asked, watching Cassie for a response. She nodded.

“This was the last place I saw her,” she said.

“I’m sorry to waste your time,” he said, moving toward them. Cassie jumped when Aidan stepped off the branch, landing with bent knees at the base of the tree. He straightened and moved toward her. No one said a word.

Aidan paused as an officer with light brown hair moved in front of him. He inclined his head with a little nod as though to say, “After you.” The officer didn’t even pause. A cold sweat broke out on the back of Cassie’s neck.

“Did you guys find anything?” Gibbons called out to the other officers. Most shook their head or answered in the negative. One held up an empty beer can. Another said he found the remains of a fire.

Aidan stepped around Officer Gibbons, came to stand between him and Cassie. He peered down at her, not speaking, his blue eyes stormy and distracting. Someone had spoken, asked Cassie a question, but she didn’t hear it, couldn’t focus. His lips twisted into a mocking smile.

“Cassie. Cassie,” her mother said, tugging on her arm.

Cassie blinked, jerking reflexively against her mother’s hold. She glanced over, finding Cathy staring at her in concern. “Hmm?”

“The officer asked you a question.”

Aidan circled around them, sidestepping her mother with exaggerated emphasis. He looked pleased with himself, speculative but amused. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he stepped up behind her. Despite the chilly autumn morning, a bead of moisture slicked down her back.

Someone repeated the question, asked her if she knew what kind of beer everyone was drinking. She shook her head. Fingers, warm and insistent started tracing the lines of her palm. Her arm trembled, but she didn’t dare move it, not wanting him to know she saw him, felt him. The panic started in her chest, the uncontrollable fear that began to pulse with her pounding heart. It beat against her ribcage, her muscles sore with tension. His finger traced patterns, first on her palm and then slowly down each of her exposed fingers.

“Mom,” Cassie moaned, trying to make it obvious that she needed to leave, needed to get out of here. His laugh sounded close to her ear, and she shuddered violently.

“Can we leave?” Cathy asked Officer Gibbons. The officer nodded, gesturing back toward the trees. He barked some commands to his junior officers and rolls of police tape and markers were taken from bags and out of pockets. They would canvas the area, search through the pine needles. They would find nothing. He spoke to her too, but she couldn’t hear it, couldn’t focus. Because just as the words were coming from his mouth, another mouth, one closer to her ear started to whisper.

“Go now, my dear,” it said, soft and lyrical, “I can always find you.”