At Woods Edge Page 2

  Ryan’s rust colored car was idling on the curb as Cassie threw open the lobby door. She tugged her jacket tighter against the sudden gust of cold wind, noting the floral scent that just tinged the air. Cassie rushed to her boyfriend as he got out of the car to greet her and launched herself into his arms.

  He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers.

  “Nice to see you, too,” he mumbled a moment later. “Good practice?”

  “Mhmm,” she hummed, burying her nose against the slippery fabric of his jacket. Sandalwood invaded her nostrils. He must have stopped home to shower between his hike and picking her up. “I’m Captain.”

  His arms squeezed her tighter, and he nuzzled his nose into the juncture of her neck. “I knew you would be,” he said, pulling back to beam at her. “Congrats!”

  She smiled up at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “You had time to shower.”

  “I assumed you’d prefer that,” he joked. His hands left her side and he gestured for the strap to her bag.

  Cassie handed it over, grateful. “You didn’t go for long today, did you?”

  He shrugged, knowing already what she was talking about. “It was a short section and I thought there’d be more hills.”

  “Was it close by?” Cassie asked. Again he shrugged, pulling open the passenger side door for her. She frowned, but moved to sit. The heater blasted warm air; it hit her in the face as soon as she leaned back into the worn seat.

  Ryan opened the trunk and lifted her duffle into it. She watched as he walked around the side of the car and pulled the driver’s side door open. Cold air swirled through the heated space as Cassie turned toward him.

  “It wasn’t a new section, was it?” she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone. He avoided her gaze. “Ryan.”

  He glanced over as she sighed his name, a small smile tugging on his lips. The car shifted as he put it into drive. “Put your seatbelt on,” he said, looking back through the windshield.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” Cassie muttered, twisting back in her seat and reaching for the belt. It popped into place with a small, metallic click. “I might never be ready to go out there again. But you love it. You have to prepare if you’re going to hike all summer.”

  Ryan was leaving after school ended to spend the entire summer hiking the Appalachian Trail. The thought still caught her like a punch in the ribs. The heat from the blower felt too warm all of a sudden. She reached forward and angled the vents down. There had been a time when Cassie had considered joining him, losing herself in the woods and the challenge of the thru-hike. Last fall had dashed all those dreams to dust.

  It wasn’t just the flowers, or that Aidan was still out there watching her that made her unable to step foot in the forest. She still woke up terrified sometimes, dreaming about being out there, about branches whipping around her and the ground opening up to swallow her whole. The very thought of entering the woods again caused her heart to race, and a feeling like a fist closing over her throat made drawing breath difficult.

  The first day Ryan went back to the trails had been torture. Cassie hadn’t realized he would be going; he hadn’t mentioned it to her. She’d had a meeting after school, a quick session with Coach Kelly and the other seniors to discuss tryouts and practice schedules. Coach wanted everyone “on board” right from the beginning of the season. She’d scheduled pasta suppers and warned them at length not to haze the younger freshmen.

  When Ryan hadn’t answered her texts after she got home, she’d eventually called his house, concerned. It wasn’t like him to miss her messages. Mrs. Buckner had been waiting at home for his call to go pick him up. She’d told Cassie where he was.

  Cassie had spent the following hour alone in her room, her stomach a mess of knots, nails bitten to the quick, before he finally called her back. She’d heard the joy in his voice, even over the phone, as he quickly apologized for not telling her. His phone had been on vibrate in his backpack, and he hadn’t felt it. According to him, the weather had just been too perfect to miss the opportunity. A foot of snow still on the ground and Ryan felt it was time to start hiking. Cassie had been annoyed. Looking back, she realized she had probably been a bit short with him, but he had been too exhilarated to notice.

  Cassie had spent several weeks when he had first started to get back out there wondering if Aidan would care that Ryan was out there alone, wondering if he would do anything to hurt him. She’d asked him if he had seen anything strange, pestered him incessantly, but he never complained of anything odd happening while he was hiking. She’d asked if he remembered those bizarre eyes carved into a tree trunk that they had noticed on their hike before and if he ever saw anything like that while he was out there, asked if anyone weird had approached him or if anyone was messing with his car, if he found any new scratches or dents on it when he got back from his hikes. He regarded her curiously whenever she brought anything up, but the answer was always the same. No. Nothing abnormal, nothing out of the ordinary.

  Just like with the flowers, Aidan seemed to only have eyes for her.

  Brown slivers of tree trunks and dead foliage blurred past the passenger side window. Cassie shifted in her seat, jerking with the uneven pavement that flew beneath the worn shocks in Ryan’s car. Her gaze flit from empty space to empty space, waiting to find a set of striking blue eyes staring from beyond the tree line.

  Cassie hadn’t seen Aidan yet. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to see him, she wanted him to go away, but she experienced a near constant unnerving feeling, like knowing a shark was swimming beneath you in the ocean. You didn’t want the beast there, but you’d rather have a warning—a slice of a dorsal fin that would prompt you to move away quickly—rather than the sharp tug on your ankle when it pulled you under.

  “You’re going to learn to love it again,” Ryan said softly, keeping his eyes to the road. Cassie jerked out of her musing, turning to him in confusion. “The woods,” he clarified. “You love them. You can still be a part of them.”

  Cassie hesitated. Ryan was right, she knew he was. But she was unable to admit that her love of the trees, the way she knew she could still be a part of it if she so chose, was what terrified her so much.

  “Someday, Ry,” she answered eventually. “But not soon. Please, don’t stop because I have to.”

  “I can wait,” he answered softly.

  Cassie didn’t answer. They’d had this conversation before. Ryan reached over and laced his fingers with hers, a soft smile playing on his lips. She rested her head back against the seat, relishing the simple movement of his thumb along her skin.

  He took the route that led them past the Gray Lady Cemetery. It drew Cassie’s eye, as it always did. The place was empty, the snow left undisturbed in piles and drifts. The plot of land was so shaded underneath a canopy of spindly trees that stretched above it—the branches thrashing and twining together in the wind that kicked up—that none of the snow had a chance to melt yet. It blanketed the stubs of gravestones that poked through the frozen ground. Only Lizzy Palmer’s gravestone could be seen now, a gray beacon in the white.

  Whenever they passed by the cemetery, Cassie unavoidably thought she might see a green backpack resting against the Gray Lady’s headstone. She never did. Laney, every last trace of her, had been gone since the day of her wake.

  “What are your plans tonight?” Ryan asked, raising Cassie’s hand briefly to press a kiss to her knuckles. She grinned over at him.

  “You.”

  “Me?” he asked, bemused.

  “Yeah, you’re my plans. Wanna come over and see how long we can make-out before my parents catch us?”

  A faint blush colored Ryan’s cheeks, and Cassie laughed. It was a game she played with him, seeing how uncomfortable she could make him. Though it hadn’t been as funny when her mom had actually caught them. Ryan squirmed in embarrassment, and C
assie knew the memory was part of the reason why.

  Not that what they had been doing was that bad. Her mom had squinted over at them, remarked casually that they should be careful not to get a crick in their necks, and strode out of the room. Still, Ryan sat on the opposite end of the couch for the rest of the movie that night.

  “Actually, as much as I enjoy that game, I can’t tonight.”

  Cassie’s stomach dropped. “Oh. Okay,” she said, trying to play it off as casual.

  “Sorry. Mom’s bugging me about actually making it home for dinner one of these nights,” Ryan said.

  “No biggie,” Cassie said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I’ll find something to occupy my time.”

  Ryan shot a concerned glance over at her and turned the car down the wrong street, driving out of sight of the main road before pulling over and cutting the engine. Cassie looked at him in confusion. His lips quirked in a smile. “Well, dinner doesn’t start for another half an hour.”

  “You okay?”

  Cassie nodded in response, pressing her lips to the juncture of Ryan’s neck and jaw. The sun had lowered since he’d pulled to the side of the road. The air outside the car was probably cool; inside the car, Cassie had never felt so warm. The dashboard was lit, casting Ryan’s features a dull green. He grinned before he pressed his mouth softly against hers.

  “I’m fine,” she answered eventually, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. He hummed into her skin, trailing his lips down her throat and nipping lightly at her shoulder.

  “Fine enough to come hiking with me tomorrow?” he asked, shifting closer and kissing his way back up her neck. She swallowed hard when he reached her chin, ducking to capture his mouth and avoid the question. He humored her for a moment, lingering with soft kisses before he pulled back. “Think how much easier this would be.”

  This would be easier.

  More spacious for one, and more comfortable for another. The emergency brake was jammed into the side of Cassie’s thigh, and it was hard to ignore. Not impossible, she realized, losing herself in the movement of Ryan’s mouth, but still distracting.

  “No,” Cassie finally answered between kisses. “But it’s your most persuasive argument to date.”

  He chuckled against her skin before lowering his mouth to hers again. It had been such a relief lately, to always be surrounded by a crowd, to always have parents, teachers, peeping neighbors nearby to keep Aidan at bay. But there were moments, an increasing amount of them, when Cassie really did want to be alone. Or, at least, alone with Ryan.

  He twisted in his seat in an attempt to press nearer to her, his fingers dallying on her waist. One hand reached for her neck and she moved more firmly into his arms. The pads of his fingers played with her earlobe, tugging playfully. He liked to do that, though maybe it was because it always got her to nip at him in response.

  “I thought you had to be home for dinner?” Cassie asked, pulling away to glance at the dashboard clock. They had certainly used up most of their half hour. Ryan ignored her completely, pulling her back to him.

  She went willingly, snatching breaths when she could, thrilling in the intensity of pressing against him.

  Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she registered the scratching.

  It was faint but high-pitched, like the sound of nails dragging across a flat surface outside of the car. She wondered what could cause it here on the side of the road. But her mind didn’t allow her to linger on the possibilities for long. Ryan was warm and distracting, his hands firmly drawing her closer, lips teasing hers in a way that pushed all thought from her mind.

  The rhythmic scratching outside the car was probably nothing, a branch blowing in the wind, leaves scattering over the hood, some animal foraging for food nearby. Nothing strange.

  Then the smell distracted her. It came out of nowhere, invaded her nostrils, and drove out the scent of woodsy sandalwood that exuded from Ryan. This new smell was sweet, weighted, almost cloying, like it was laced with sugar. She could picture it in her mind, visualize the density of the air as it drifted closer to her.

  Ryan’s hand slipped under her shirt, his palm warm on her bare stomach. Every muscle zinged and her skin felt heated. Little pinpricks raced to her chest, spiraling in mad confusion between her lungs. It made it difficult to take a deep breath.

  Fear snuck its way into Cassie’s mind, and she froze. Her body spasmed with tension even as Ryan’s hand slid higher up her stomach.

  Mist.

  That’s what it tasted like. The mist that Aidan had plagued her with, the reason everyone had lost control of themselves in the woods the night Jessica died. It was what Aidan used to try to convince Cassie to come to him after he had put her and Ryan down that hole. He was here, somewhere in these woods, taunting her with it once more. Watching.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan murmured, feeling her stiffen under his hands. He pulled away from her. Cassie sunk back in her seat, her lips parted. “Cass? You okay?”

  Her gaze darted wildly around the interior of the car. The windows were steamed and she couldn’t see out into the night. The scratching had stopped. She couldn’t see any mist in the car, but she could smell it. At least, she thought she could. Now that Ryan had stopped, she wasn’t so sure.

  “I was pushing,” Ryan said, grabbing at her limp hand and tugging, trying to get her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “Hmm?” Cassie asked, looking to him. “No, it’s not … I’m fine.”

  “I really should get going anyway.”

  Cassie opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t. He was right, he had to get home. And now, with electricity leaking from the air and the muggy interior of the car cooling in the cold spring night, she wasn’t sure just what had happened.

  Could it have all just been in her head? She wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

  Ryan started the car, and Cassie used her sleeve to clear a small circle of her window. Condensation dripped down the glass from where her sleeve had rubbed, dragging clarity in its wake. Beyond the glass was clear, empty forest. No Aidan, no mist.

  A sense of despair tugged in her chest, a fear that she was too damaged by past terrors to ever be normal again. She wasn’t sure what that would mean for her, for Ryan, or for any other blasted thing in her future.

  They didn’t talk again until Ryan’s car pulled up alongside her house.

  “I’ll get your bag, walk you to your—”

  Cassie cut him off. “No, you won’t, you’re gonna be late enough already. Just leave the bag, I’ll get it tomorrow.” She leaned over the inconvenient emergency brake to kiss him one last time, murmuring her goodbye as she did. He grinned a goofy grin as she opened her door.

  She meant to return the smile, but as she shut the door behind her and lifted her hand to wave, a tremor spasmed up her arm before she could.

  There, newly entwined in the passenger side door handle was a fragile-looking green vine, small pinkish blossoms spreading along the length of it.

  “Cass! She is not done until she hits all four zones. Ten pitches, on the mark, or she goes until dark.”

  Stephanie Allen threw their coach a dirty look as she turned her back. Cassie grinned from behind her mask. It was still cool out, too cold to have her sweating, even with all the catcher’s gear on. The sun would set soon, and that would make it worse, but practice should be over by then. Cassie shifted her weight from one knee to the other, settling back into her crouch. She’d been behind the spare rubber home plate on the side of the field where they normally set up for over an hour now, working one-on-one with Stephanie, their pitcher.

  Coach Kelly dominated the real home plate, hitting ground balls to the rest of the team. She mostly focused on their new first baseman, a tall and gangly, nervous, unsure freshman. Joanie Richards looked close to tears, but she was handling it all right. Cassie made a mental note to check in on her after practice. It was a good Captain-lik
e thing to do. Even as she thought it, she saw Rebecca sidle closer to the younger girl, obviously whispering encouragements.

  That was good.

  “All right, Steph,” Cassie called to the frustrated pitcher. “You got this, almost done.”

  “Forty more pitches,” the junior muttered. “Every year, I forget how much she pushes.”

  Coach Kelly wasn’t easy. She lived and breathed the game. Every year a few of her players got scholarship offers to go to college. Cassie knew there was no way last year’s centerfielder, Sage Baily, would have been able to afford college otherwise. The girl cried when the offer came, she was so happy.

  Cassie did not want to play in college. She wasn’t sure any offers would come for her anyway, but even if they did, she didn’t think she could take the pressure of the game in a college setting. You had to really love it, she wasn’t sure she did anymore.

  Though why that had changed, Cassie didn’t know. Cassie had loved softball since she was a little girl, the sound of the bat connecting with the sweet spot on the ball, the smell of the new grass and freshly turned soil of the infield, even the catcher’s gear that had become a second layer of skin and the instincts that came with it—knowing where to have her pitcher place the ball based on the position and record of the batter. The game had grown with her over the years; it felt engrained as a part of her.

  But there were other things she loved as well. The trees that still called to her, whispering in their own natural way. Hiking with Ryan, feeling the burn of a different set of muscles as she pulled herself up a steep section of trail. She loved the drama class she was taking, far more than she ever thought she would, loved spending quiet moments alone, and she used to love spending time with Laney.

  Though that last was gone, the rest remained. Except they all got put on hold during softball season. Practices were long and daily. The team was expected to see each other socially, have pasta suppers before big games, and bolster each other off the field. That was all fine, Cassie liked her teammates, but she couldn’t imagine keeping that up at a college level. It was almost too much now.