What Lies in the Woods(73)

Fists thudded dully against ribs. Oscar wheeled away. Cody caught him by the collar and swung him around, throwing him to the ground, and then it was his boots connecting with Oscar’s torso.

“Go near her again and I will kill you,” Cody said, ragged but calm. He looked at me, eyes still burning. Oscar groaned, clutching his stomach. “Get out of here, kid.”

I ran. I didn’t look back. I ran to the trees and down the trail, in among the forest paths that still felt like safety. I ran until my breath was a sharp wheeze and a knife’s point of pain was lodged behind my lung and then I stumbled to a stop, braced against a tree trunk.

You and me were meant to be. Because I was trash.

I’d never forgotten it. I’d never entirely stopped believing it. And that day in the shed when I was newly fifteen and trying to discover what kind of oblivion might suit me, he’d whispered it again, and I’d said nothing. Nothing at all.





We pulled up in front of the motel, and Ethan sat tapping his thumb against the steering wheel.

“We need to talk to Oscar soon. Before the FBI does,” Ethan said. I grunted. “Or … we let the FBI do what the FBI does, and we take a breather.” I stuck out my chin mulishly, and he sighed. “Right. Dumb idea. So what do you think? Could Oscar have attacked you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I rubbed my thumb along my jaw. Oscar had known Jessi. He was perfectly capable of violence. It was easy to imagine him as the thread stretching between Jessi, me, and Liv. Our monster.

But that would mean that Cass almost certainly lied. And Liv …

Could Cass have convinced her to cover for Oscar? I had a hard time believing it. But maybe Liv, in her panic, hadn’t seen him clearly. Cass had pulled her away, after all. Oscar fit the basic description they’d given. It was possible that Liv hadn’t put it together. Maybe even Cass hadn’t.

No. She’d told me she watched the whole thing. She couldn’t have failed to recognize her own brother, which meant that if Oscar had attacked me, she’d lied. Lied to Dougherty, lied on the stand, lied to my face, only days ago.

“Naomi?” Ethan asked. I’d been staring out into the distance for over a minute, and my hand was shaking. I tightened it into a fist. Ethan looked at me, his expression open and guileless.

I didn’t want him talking to Oscar. I didn’t want him finding out the things I’d done or the things that had happened to me. But I couldn’t avoid talking to Oscar any longer.

“I’m starving,” I said. “Any chance you could go pick us up some lunch?”

“Or we could go sit down like civilized folk,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “I’m beat. You go, I’ll lie down for a bit until you get back.”

“Sure,” Ethan said. He hesitated like maybe he sensed something, but he got back in the car. I stood with my hands in my back pockets, watching him pull out. I waited until he was out of sight before I walked over to my car.

The Chester Lumber Company was a ghost of its former self. With the mill shut down, all that was left was a muddy lot filled with trucks and equipment—skidders, loaders, woodchippers that could handle a small elephant. The offices were single-wides on blocks.

Big Jim was out in front of the offices, talking to a grizzled strip of a man with a graying ponytail and stubble you could grate cheese with. The guy gave Jim a nod and headed into the office as I approached.

Big Jim came by his name honestly. He was where Oscar had gotten his massive frame and squared-off features. He loomed literally as well as figuratively in Chester. He’d been mayor for twenty-eight years, and the only person who’d ever come close to unseating him was Clark Jensen, who’d carried three wounded fellow soldiers through a hail of gunfire and still lost the election by six points.

I’d never been sure where I stood with Jim. He didn’t like me, but he didn’t dislike me either, as far as I could tell. Every time I’d talked to him growing up, he’d seemed surprised, like he hadn’t noticed I was there. After the attack he’d pulled strings to make sure I got taken care of. He’d even given me a summer job once, filing paperwork in the office. It was mostly code for keeping the pencils sharpened and filling the candy dish, and I’d still managed to fuck it up spectacularly.

He didn’t seem to hold it against me. But then, he didn’t hire me again either. Now he offered a furrowed brow and a grunt of greeting.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, like I was any customer waltzing up.

“I’m looking for Oscar,” I said.

“What do you need him for?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. As if I was the bad influence Oscar needed protecting from.

“To see what he remembers about a girl named Jessi Walker,” I said. Jim’s face transformed from faint puzzlement to complete confusion.

“What’s she got to do with you?” he asked.

“You knew her?” It made sense, if she’d spent time with Oscar; he’d been living at home.

“In passing,” Jim said, shrugging. He scratched the back of his broad knuckles.

“That’s what I need to talk to Oscar about. I know they were friends. I’m just trying to put together a picture of her time in Chester and figure out where she was heading when she left,” I said. “I won’t take too much of his time.”