The Match (Wilde, #2)(19)

Could be, Wilde thought.

He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He’d never really hunted for his true identity because he could never see the point. It wouldn’t change those first five years, and while he understood that he was “not normal,” he wasn’t unhappy this way either. Or maybe he was and was fooling himself. Living in the woods didn’t make you any less prone to the same self-delusions the rest of mankind conjures up.

Too much self-reflection today. That had to do with Matthew, of course. And Laila.

Especially Laila.

The bright red lettering said CLICK HERE FOR NEW MESSAGE! Wilde did so and the message popped up:

To: WW

From: PB

Your father’s profile isn’t related to me, so I guess that we are related on your mother’s side. I hope it all works out with seeing your father. Let me know how that goes.



Since my last message to you, my life has taken a dark turn. When you find out who I am, you will probably hate me like everybody else does. I was warned this would happen. What goes up has to come down. That’s what they always say. The higher up you go, the harder it is when you crash. Well, I was up high without a care in the world, so you can imagine the crash.



Sorry if this seems all over the place. I don’t know where to begin. There are so many lies out there about me. Please don’t believe them.



I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t see any way to survive. Then your message came in like someone had thrown a life preserver to a drowning man. Do you believe in fate? I never did. I don’t have family I can trust. Everything I knew about myself and my upbringing turned out to be a lie. You’re my cousin. I know that doesn’t mean anything and yet maybe it does. Maybe it means everything. Maybe you messaging me back right now is meant to be.



I’ve never felt so lost and alone. The walls are closing in. I really can’t escape it. I just want to sleep. I just want peace. I want it all to go away. You probably think I’m crazy, writing to you, a stranger, like this. Maybe I am. First, they lied to me. Now they’re lying about me. They’re relentless. I can’t fight back anymore. I try but it only makes it worse.



Could you call me? Please? My private mobile is listed below. Don’t give this out to anyone. Please. You’ll understand when we talk.



Wilde looked up past the branches to the sky. The message had been sent almost four months ago. Whatever crisis PB had been dealing with had probably passed. Even if it hadn’t, Wilde saw no way that he could help. It sounded like PB mostly needed a shoulder to cry upon. That was not Wilde’s forte.

Hester would be with Matthew by now. It would be wrong to keep them waiting.

Then again, what was there to lose by making a phone call?

Wilde dreaded it, of course. Having to explain himself. Tell PB that he was the anonymous WW. Apologize for not replying sooner. And then what? Where would the conversation go?

Wilde started heading back down the other side of the mountain, toward David’s house. He still thought of it that way, even though David had been dead for eleven years. When he’d walked two hundred yards, Wilde stopped, took out his phone, and dialed PB’s phone number. He put the phone to his ear and felt a thud-thud in his chest as he listened to the ring. Somehow, he knew that this decision—the decision to reach out to the seemingly tormented PB—would change everything. He didn’t believe in the supernatural or any of that, but when you live with the animals, you start to trust a certain buzzing in your body. The danger instinct is real. You have it too. If your bloodline has survived this long, it’s because, unbeknownst to you, that primitive instinct has been a part of your DNA makeup.

And speaking of DNA…

PB’s phone rang six times before a robotic voice pronounced that the owner of this mobile phone had not set up their mailbox. Interesting.

Wilde hung up. Now what?

He considered sending an anonymous text, but he was not sure what exactly he would say. Did he want to reveal that the message was from WW?

Or should he just let this be?

Not really an option. Not this time. Leaving out the possibility that following up could lead to his mother, PB had written to Wilde for help. PB had been desperate and had no one to turn to, and Wilde had ignored his cry for four months.

He sent a short text:

This is WW. Sorry for the delay, PB. Text or call me back when you can.



He jammed the phone into his front pocket and started down the mountain.





Chapter

Seven



Fifteen minutes later, Wilde stood at the tree line separating the Ramapo Mountains from the Crimsteins’ backyard. He saw movement in the second-floor window on the right. Laila’s bedroom. Weird to think it, but the truth was the truth: Wilde had spent the best nights of his life there.

Wilde flashed back to the first time he had stood in this tree line, though the memory had faded. Six-year-old David had been playing in the yard with his two older brothers. There was a fairly elaborate cedarwood swing set in the yard with slides and a clubhouse and monkey bars. Wilde had been, he now realized after meeting his father, five years old. Up until that day, Wilde had never talked to another human being.

Or at least he had no memory of it.

Young Wilde did know how to speak. He’d spent most of that winter in a lake cabin near the New York–New Jersey border. Most people only used these homes in summer. Wilde remembered going from house to house, trying doors and windows, frustrated that they were all locked. He finally kicked in one small basement window, forming an opening barely big enough for the little boy to slide in. Luckily, the cabin had been winterized, and while that meant there was always the threat that someone could visit, it also meant that young Wilde had running water and electricity. The family that lived there either had children or grandchildren. There were toys to play with and, more important, VCR tapes from PBS television like Sesame Street and Reading Rainbow. Wilde spent hours watching them, talking out loud, so despite the comparisons to Tarzan and Mowgli, Wilde had educated himself enough to understand that there was a world out there, that the world was larger than him and the woods.