The voices fade in one direction, but I remain behind. At first, the three of them were like a pull, like I could see my own shadow, see where it should be as I followed them. The hole left behind, an ebb of darkness. But the farther they get, the less I feel the need to catch up.
But now I’m stuck. I don’t want the guy in the clearing to notice me—since Sutton knows him, I’m assuming he’s not going to abduct me. But I also don’t want him telling Sutton that some girl was out here, watching them all. By reasonable deduction, they would probably realize that it was me.
I crouch lower behind the row of bushes, peering between the branches near the ground, watching the guy in the clearing. He’s lying back on the table, staring up through the circle of trees. It feels like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t. Or maybe I’m witnessing something I should. Someone should be here, other than the nothingness, to bear witness. How many things happen to us in the dark, alone?
There’s a bag at his feet. It looks like he’s asleep, but his eyes are open, the whites reflecting in the moonlight through the clearing.
I imagine his story: running away, using his bag for a pillow, hiding out in the park at night. Sutton called him Nolan. Sutton didn’t really care, though, didn’t think it odd that some guy was in the park alone.
Behind the hedge, I open my phone for comfort. There’s a new message from Visitor357, sent sometime during the last hour.
I’m not in that county, but close. Next one over.
I pull the phone closer to my face, my heart racing. So, this is a location thing. I think about asking Visitor357 to meet up with me at the college. I’m thinking of how to explain that I don’t know much about the instrumentation, or how to decipher it on my own.
I write back:
Do you know anyone else who could analyze this signal? My contact didn’t exactly work out.
I stand, ready to retreat from the scene, imagining that the situation is reversed and there is someone watching me when I want to be alone, when the guy on the table suddenly darts up. I panic, thinking he’s heard me. I stand perfectly still, in hopes that I will blend into the surroundings. But he doesn’t look my way. Instead, he feels around beside him, and I see the light of his phone illuminate his face. It’s the first time I’m getting a good look at him, but the light cuts him into angles and shadows. Like he’s half here, half gone. His hair is dark, and sort of messy, and he runs a hand quickly through it, pushing it to the side, before bringing the phone close to his face for a few moments, his fingers darting across the screen. Then he places it on the table as he lowers himself again.
Maybe he’s meeting someone. A girl. Or a guy. Or the second person of some drug-deal-exchange thing.
I’m still holding my phone, so I see it light up with a new alert. Another message notification. The message says:
No. But I’m trying to get some more info tonight.
I look back up at the boy on the table. No, I think. It can’t be. But…the next county over, he said. This park runs the line between two counties. Still, it’s most likely a coincidence. We all live and die by our phones. It wouldn’t be too unusual for someone to send a message at the same time I happen to receive one.
Visitor357 is not some teenager in the middle of the woods at night, looking for ghosts. Not some friend of Sutton’s. Not some kid who won’t know any more than I do. He can’t be.
Test, I write back, then stare across the open space of the clearing.
He sits up again. Types something, lies back, and then I have a new notification.
The message is blank, except for three question marks.
Oh my God. My hands are shaking as I type.
Please tell me you aren’t sitting on a table in the middle of Freedom Battleground State Park right this second.
He sits up slowly this time, turning his head in every direction. His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open, and he grabs his bag, like he’s afraid, like he’s got something in there to protect himself. As if I am the thing, suddenly, to fear.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.