We Told Six Lies(77)

The crack of the stone being thrown through the forest of green, green trees, a white dog chasing after it.

“What did I say?” My father booms. “A stick and a stone and he’s Joe DiMaggio here.”

My dad has a can of Coke in his hand and a baseball cap on his head, and he smiles like he’s never had a bad day in his entire life.

I glance at Holt, who is picking up sticks, too. They are sharper than the dull one I hold. They are thin and narrow and pointed at one end. If a tree had teeth, they would look like that, I decide.

Holt points at me with one of the sticks.

He points, and he smiles.

I run to Dad, who throws his arm around me and asks, “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

When my eyes fall on Holt, Dad frowns. “Holt,” he hollers. “Stop hiding and get out here. Wanna try and hit one?” He takes the limb I’m holding and shows it to Holt.

Holt looks at my dad, looks at me, and then sinks deeper into the trees.

Dad runs a hand through his hair and sighs with frustration. His unbreakable smile has shattered.

Dad says, “Just ignore him. Let’s keep practicing, huh?”

I run to find another stone to crack through the whispering trees.

I step across the filthy floor, steeling myself against the sight of the cords hanging from the ceiling. They’ve been cut, dozens of them, so that they drape down, everywhere. Dresses litter the ground, and my lip curls in fury.

I turn and race up the stairs. If the van is still parked out front, they’ve got to be here somewhere. I freeze when I get to the landing, and my eyes fall on the kitchen table. I hold my breath and cross the room. My eyes flick across the food, the silverware, the candles. The setting looks more like a ceremony than a dinner.

I swat away a fly buzzing around the half-eaten food, browning at the edges.

It’s been sitting here, spoiling, all day. Maybe longer. As panic rockets through me, a sound snaps outside the cabin.

I turn and race toward it.





MOLLY


The branches tore at Molly’s frozen dress as she crashed through the woods.

He was a bear in pursuit, following every turn she made, nostrils flaring. It was like he could sense her everywhere. On his clothes, on his skin, in his head. She was a part of him now, and he would never let her go.

Together, she’d said, and he would ensure it stayed that way.

Molly ran faster, her feet tearing open, leaving scarlet droplets of blood in the snow. No matter how hard she pushed herself, he pushed harder. It came down to who wanted what more.

Molly wanted freedom.

But he wanted Molly.

And love always triumphed in the end.

Molly saw a cavernous space in the hillside up ahead and ran for it. She was two steps away from the hiding spot when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the ground.

She screamed.

He laughed.

Molly kicked her legs backward, but he only scooped them into his other arm and pinned them against his chest. He carried her like a new bride, but she was no longer playing games. Now he would know she was a fighter.

She slammed her head sideways and cracked her skull against his.

With a grunt of pain, he dropped her to the ground.

He covered his face, his hands full of blood.

She ran, bypassing the cave.

In a matter of seconds, he was on her again. As she screamed, he bellowed, “You said together.”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Yes, you did!”

She broke away and made it three steps before his body collided with hers. She turned and punched him in the side of the head, and he smiled in amusement before pinning her against the tree.

Her hands were restrained on either side of her, and he pressed his body against hers. He bent at the knees, laid his head on her shoulder, his lips just brushing her neck. “You nearly talked me into killing myself. That isn’t some survivalist bullshit—that’s called being a psychopath.”

Molly brought her knee up with monumental force, and he bent at the waist, groaning.

She ran, her head tipped toward the sky, and when she heard him coming, she slipped behind a tree to catch her breath.

“I’ll find you, Molly,” he called out. “I’ll always find you.”





NOW


I run outside, searching for the source of the sound.

She’s nearby. I can sense her. Can feel her in the snow and in the dead, twisting trees. I feel something else, too—something I haven’t felt for nine long years.

“Want to try and catch some supper?” Dad asks.

I look to the pond. “Out there?”

Dad laughs, and the sound fills me with happiness. “Yes, out there. Go on, and I’ll catch up with the poles.”

I run as fast as I can because Dad loves to see me run fast. As my aunt’s dog chases after me, Mom calls out to be careful. I wave at her over my shoulder. She smiles and waves back and guides my aunt into a chair on the porch.

When I get to the pond, I throw a rock into the blue water. The white dog disappears into the brush, sniffing after some animal. I try to skip the rock like Dad does, but it only sinks to the bottom.

“You’ve got to throw it sideways,” my brother says, startling me.

I turn and find him slipping out from between the trees. “I can show you how, but you’ll have to get closer to the water.”