What Lies in the Woods(40)

“I know, but—”

“For fuck’s sake, Naomi, I just lost one of my best friends. I cannot be worried about you, too,” Cass said fiercely. She grabbed my hands. “I need you to promise me that you’re going to leave this alone until we’re sure it’s safe. And then we will find out what Liv knew. Together. And we will decide what to do about it. Together.”

“No, you’re right,” I said, nodding. It was the only sensible thing.

“Promise me, Naomi. Promise me you aren’t going to go chasing ghosts,” Cass said.

I hesitated. I couldn’t leave it alone. Liv wanted Persephone found. I couldn’t bring her back, but I could do that much for her.

But I couldn’t do this to Cass. She was already frantic with worry, with grief. She looked ready to crack in two. And she was right—we should at least wait and see how things shook out. Be smart.

I was never the smart one.

“I promise,” I lied, guilt slithering under the words. Cass gathered me into a relieved hug, and her tears were damp against my cheek. I surrendered to her embrace.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “We’re going to take care of each other.”

“Nothing’s okay. She’s gone,” I said, and squeezed my eyes shut.

“I know,” she said. She held me tight, and I let her, because she was trying. Even though the last thing I wanted right now was to be touched. “You should stay here. With me. I can make up the guest room.”

“No, you don’t have to,” I said immediately.

“You’d rather be in that ratty motel?” she asked, a wounded edge to her tone.

“I’d rather not run into your mom constantly,” I confessed, and she gave a harsh grunt of amusement.

“Makes sense,” she acknowledged.

I didn’t tell her that she was the one I wanted to avoid. That her touch made me want to flinch away. She was trying to be a good friend. She was a good friend. But she wasn’t Liv.

That was all I could think about right now. Liv was gone, and Cass was here, and part of me wished it was the other way around.

And I hated myself for it.

I pulled away from her, murmuring my excuses. I was tired, I was drained, I needed to be alone.

I headed down the stairs and out the open front door, pausing for only a moment as the light hit me, and with it the scent of cigarette smoke. I squinted toward the side of the house. Oscar Green was leaning against the fence, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his hand. He’d been sturdy even when he was young. Middle age had given him his father’s large build, though he’d kept it from getting quite so well padded. His gray tank top showed off thick, muscular arms, indistinct tattoos twining up them.

He nodded at me in greeting. I couldn’t read his expression. I looked quickly away, shame darting through me minnow-quick. You and me are meant to be, I thought, the echo of an echo of a memory.

He straightened up like he was coming over to talk to me. I walked briskly to my car, got in, and shut the door behind me. When I looked in the rearview mirror he was standing there in the side yard, smiling a little. He waved as I pulled away, friendly as anything. I kept my eyes on the road and put Oscar Green firmly out of my mind.

Liv had found Persephone. That meant she could be found. All I had to do was retrace Liv’s path. Find her name. What had happened to her.

And maybe, why someone would kill to keep that a secret.





The trouble with a town as small as Chester was it didn’t take long to drive from one end to the other. No time to mull things over in motion. After I left Cass’s place I ended up back at the motel by default, pacing back and forth.

I hated police procedurals. I didn’t read mysteries. The two episodes of Forensic Files I’d watched the day before were the extent of my true-crime education in the last decade. Being part of one of those stories had ruined the rest as far as enjoyment was concerned, and I had no desire to gaze into the maw of human darkness in some quest for understanding. Until now, it hadn’t presented a problem.

Which meant I didn’t know where to even start piecing together what Liv had found. I was failing her already and I hadn’t even gotten started.

I grabbed my phone and plugged in searches. Missing persons. Identifying a body. Identifying a skeleton. There was too much and not enough. I had no idea where to begin, and everything I clicked on was either a sad story that had nothing to do with mine or a bunch of basic information anyone who’d ever watched a cop show would know.

Maybe if I was one of those true-crime aficionados who could recite the name of every serial killer since Jack the Ripper, I’d be better off. Mitch’s sister was constantly listening to murder podcasts. She’d been nice enough to ask if I minded her listening to the ones about me, and she hadn’t asked any intrusive questions afterward, but she was always looking at me weirdly. Somewhere between worship and hunger. Though maybe those were the same thing.

Idly, I typed in “Ethan Schreiber podcast.” A handful of podcasts popped up, his name in the credits as a sound editor. I was surprised to see that they weren’t anything crime-related at all—one that seemed to be general news, one about pets, and one about UFOs. But on the last one, he was listed as the host. Aftershocks. I pulled up the description.

Aftershocks explores the lasting damage left in the wake of violent crimes. Beginning with the crimes themselves and then moving forward, examining the impact on those left behind—victims, perpetrators, friends, family, and communities forever altered by these unthinkable events.