Danielle wasn’t in her trailer. She wasn’t wandering around the set. She wasn’t spinning in the rotating barber chair in the makeup trailer. She wasn’t sneaking stale danishes from the catering tent. She wasn’t hiding in any of the production rigs that transported the lighting equipment. She wasn’t stranded in any of the porta-potties. She wasn’t in the cemetery. She wasn’t hiding behind any of the headstones, peeking out when nobody was looking. She wasn’t shuffling alongside the gravel road that connected the cemetery to the highway, walking back to town. She wasn’t hanging out with any of the other cast members in their spacious heated trailers. She wasn’t with Jenna or Freddie or Tara. None of the actors had seen her all night.
That left the woods.
The whole woods.
All those acres of swaying pines at either end of the cemetery.
Shooting halted as everyone, from the producers down to every last production assistant, took to the pines and searched for Danielle. She couldn’t have just vanished.
Nobody just vanishes. She had to be out here, somewhere.
In the woods.
I was still in my flimsy costume, freezing to the bone, but I could care less. I grabbed a flashlight like everyone else and dove into the trees. Nobody had said anything, not yet—not to me, anyway, not to my face—about how this was all beginning to feel a little familiar, as if we’d all done this once before. The slightest whiff of déjà vu permeated the set.
“Sure you want to do this?” the electrician asked as he handed me a flashlight. His stare lingered a little longer than I felt comfortable with, insinuating something. Accusing me.
“Of course,” I snapped.
History was not about to repeat itself.
Not tonight.
I just prayed nobody else made the connection before we found her.
Before I found her.
The search party branched out. The teamsters had taken the lead, boldly embarking upon their expedition like this was all some kind of gallant quest. Find the missing princess. I could see the flashlight beams slicing through the pines. We all called out her name as we traipsed deeper into the woods, a smattering of echoes bubbling up from the dark.
“Danielle…?”
“Danielle…?”
“Danielle…?”
I had a migraine from all the constant chattering. The enamel on my teeth was about to crack. There was a full-on throbbing in my jaw.
I could take a quick detour back to my trailer and rummage through my bag—
Focus, I said to myself. You need to focus.
You need to find Danielle.
Before anyone else.
“Danielle?” I called out, my voice cracking just a bit. “Danielle, can you hear me…?”
I knew what it was like.
To be lost out here.
I was the only one who knew exactly what Danielle was going through right now.
To be alone. Out here. Cold and shivering.
To think that everyone else had forgotten you, forsaken you. That nobody cared. Not the director or any of the crew. Not your castmates.
Not even your own mother.
How could Janet have lost track of her like that? What kind of mother lets her own daughter slip through her fingers? She should have been there. She should have protected her daughter. A horror movie set is nowhere for a girl to be left alone. This was all Janet’s fault.
I knew what Danielle felt at that very moment. How afraid she must’ve been.
I wasn’t going to give up on her. Not like they’d given up on me.
I was going to be the one to find her, I knew it. Felt it in my very bones.
I knew where to look.
“Danielle?” I called out. “Danielle…? Can you hear me? Danielle?”
The woods hadn’t changed. At all. The pines were placed in exactly the same position even after all these years. I knew because I had revisited this forest practically every night for the last two decades, wandering through these swaying pines in my dreams.
It was surprising how easy it was to find my way through the dense brush. The rest of the crew had receded by now, heading in different directions, while I walked along my own path. I could just imagine everyone else struggling to navigate the latticework of low-hanging branches and underbrush.
I knew the way. Knew where to step. Where not to. I knew where I was heading.
The sound of her name from everyone else’s voice grew fainter. “Danielle…?”
“Danielle…?”
The echo of it elongated, the consonants stretching out until there was a gaping chasm between each call. “Danielle?”
“Danielle?”
“Danielle?”
Then it was gone altogether. I couldn’t hear the rest of the crew calling out for her any longer. Now there was only my voice. “Danielle? Danielle, are you there? Can you hear me?” Something didn’t feel right. She should be here. I should have found her by now.
Where was I?
I’ve gone too far into the woods. Too far in this direction.
The wrong direction.
I turned.
Then turned again.
I shined my light into the woods, only for the beam to get blocked by a pine.
“Danielle?”
I turn.
Turn again.
The trees won’t let me see. Won’t let my light through. Wherever I am, I can’t find my way out anymore.
“Danielle!”
I turn. Turn again.
Turn again.
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to find her.
I thought I knew where I was, where she’d be.
Now I’m the one who’s lost.
I turn.
Turn.
Turn.
Now I’m spinning. Spinning around and around and around. The flashlight rakes over the pines, creating a continuous ring of light. Of fire.
I’m spinning.
Spinning.
Spinning.
I can’t stop myself. Can’t stop spinning.
Can’t—
Just then, the beam blanches over something white.
Spinning.
Spinning.
A dress.
Spinning.
Spinning.
A girl.
Spinning.
Spinning.
There she is again.
Spinning.
Spinning.
A flash of white embedded among all these shadows. Black and brown and green now white then black and brown and green and white again.
I see her dress for a split second but I still can’t stop myself from spinning, losing sight of her for another moment before rotating all the way around again.
My flashlight returns to her, the beam grazing her dress’s soft cotton contours.
This time I halt.
My right foot plants itself into the soil, almost stomping the ground like a horse clomping its hooves. My head keeps spinning without the rest of me. A dizzy spell works through my skull. The pines still sway, their branches brushing over my cranium, their needles tickling my skin.
I have to close my eyes. Let the woods settle first. Let this wave of nausea pass over me. Let my brain recalibrate, so, when I finally open my eyes again, I can see her.
See Danielle.
She’s on the ground. Huddled into herself. Her back is pressed against a tree. She’s brought her knees up to her chest. Her head is buried between her knees, caving into herself.
Hiding. Crying. Silently sobbing.
For a moment, for the briefest, dizzying moment, I feel like I am looking at myself. That’s me! That’s me on the ground. It’s happening all over again.
No—not again. For the first time.
It’s twenty-four years ago. Somehow, I’ve gone back in time. To the first time we made this movie. The night I played Jessica.
The night I disappeared in the woods.
That night.
My night.
But it’s not. It can’t be. I have to shake the thought away, force it out of my head before it takes root. It’s 1995. I’m a woman now. Not some kid.
Not some girl.
“There you are,” I say to her. To myself. My younger self. “Everyone’s looking for you.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I don’t say anything. I’m too scared. Too cold. I’ve been alone, out here, in the woods for too long. The dark, the cold itself, has seeped into me. It’s in my bones. In my blood. There’s nothing else to feel now. Nothing but the numbness of this night. Of this god-awful place.
She looks like me.
She could be.
Be me.
Her hair—my hair—hangs over my face, covering her eyes. The angle of my head is bent down. I’m staring into the dark chasm between my knees. Hiding from everything. Everyone.
I remember that feeling. I remember it so well. It could’ve happened just yesterday. Just last night. I don’t know if that feeling ever truly left me.
I remember being discovered, but somehow not believing it. Not trusting it.
I have to let her know that she’s okay. That she’s safe now.
That I found her.
I’ll protect her.
“It’s okay,” I say to myself. My younger self. I’m echoing the very same words that had been said to me, that I had said to myself, all those years ago. “I’m here now. I found you.”