The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(52)

“You’re crazy, kid,” Enzo said, but he was smiling, and I knew he meant it in a good way, not like how the kids at school said it.

“So left?”

“Yeah. Left.”

The road was a little worse than I thought it would be. I had to drive really slowly, and at one really big dip, the front of my car thumped against the ground. I rolled up the window, because the bushes and trees were so close that I felt like something could be waiting in the shadows to reach inside and pull me out. A couple times, a branch scraped the side of the car, making a nails on a chalkboard screech. Enzo seemed tense, but I thought the whole thing was fantastic.

I turned the radio to an AM station that was mostly just static and a few garbled words.

“What are you doing?” Enzo asked.

“Setting the mood. Now it’s really like we’re in a horror movie.”

After a while, the road widened a little, and we came to a gate. It was made of rotting wood and closed but not latched. I stopped the car. Enzo and I looked at the old gate through the windshield.

“I suppose there’s no way you’re turning back now,” he said.

“Go open it,” I replied.

Enzo didn’t move, so I got out of the car. From what I could see, the road continued on for a short distance, then opened into some sort of clearing.

I grabbed the wooden gate and pulled. Rusty hinges groaned, and the rotted wood started to collapse. I jumped back with a squeal.

Enzo finally got out of the car and looked at the pile of wood at my feet. “Well, your car certainly isn’t getting over that.”

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” I said.

“What do you think is back there?” Enzo asked, peering down the dirt road. He sounded a little too hesitant for my liking.

“I think someone used to live here.”

“Maybe we should go back.”

“Are you kidding? We got this far. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

I could tell he was.

“Let me just turn my car around first,” I said.

“Why?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention to all those horror movies? If there’s a demon back there waiting to eat us, we’ll need to get away fast. Do you really want to take the time to make a U-turn?”

“How often have you been in situations like this?”

“Well, never. But I’ve thought about them a lot.”

After I had the car situated, Enzo and I started down the path. The woods around us were quiet except for our footsteps and the papery sound of dry leaves rubbing against each other.

Enzo and I didn’t talk much while we walked. He smoked a cigarette and glanced back every few feet, as if he wanted to make sure the car was still there. In all the time we’d spent looking for Lizzie, I’d never noticed how out of place he seemed in the woods. Enzo lived his life in dark rooms, making art that only he understood. The camping trip must have been Lizzie’s idea. Was she the one who got the fire going and set up the tent? Enzo could sculpt and draw and write music, but I couldn’t imagine him using his hands to drive a stake into the ground. He wouldn’t know what berries you shouldn’t eat or how to use the sun to figure out where you were. I wondered if he even knew how to use a compass.

There was a time when I thought Lizzie was the same way, that she wouldn’t have survived a weekend without a hair dryer. But Lizzie had changed. Or maybe I just never understood who she really was. Maybe a person could be equally comfortable out in the woods and at the top of a cheerleading pyramid. Just like Emily could be as comfortable playing a classical piece on the piano as she was swaying in the audience at sweaty rock concert. I used to think there were so many rules about how people could be. Maybe I was wrong.

Enzo and I reached a clearing and stopped short. It was like something from my imagination had come to life.

The farmhouse had seen better days, but it was still standing. It was possibly in better shape than some of the houses in downtown Griffin Mills. The paint was mostly gone, but the clapboard siding was intact. Same with the windows. I only saw two that were broken, both on the second floor. The steeply pitched roof was covered in moss, and a lot of shingles were missing, but it wasn’t sagging.

A sea of tall weeds separated us from the house. I could see where there had once been a path leading to the front porch, and I started in that direction. I couldn’t wait to get inside. It was like getting a second chance to explore the Griffin Mansion. This time, I wasn’t letting the opportunity pass.

“Wait,” Enzo said. “The whole place will probably collapse if we go inside.”

“Old houses were built with solid materials,” I told him.

“I hardly count you as an architectural expert, Hawthorn. This place has probably been here for a hundred years.”

“No way.” I pointed toward the front door. “There’s a porch light. It can’t be that old if they had a generator out here.”

“Well, what if there’s someone in there?” Enzo asked.

“That’s sort of the point. What if Lizzie is in there? She’s been gone for almost two months now. She must have found some kind of shelter. Maybe a cave or old mine or something. Why not an abandoned house?”

Enzo frowned and looked at the house more thoughtfully.