SAM
United States Embassy
Ottowa

I thought we had a connection.

Her own words rang violently in her ears hours after her interview. The slate room the FBI agent left her in had all the charm of a cemetary. It even had the same eerie feeling. Invisible eyes following her. Ears that could hear her many questions but not answer them. A place so uncomfortable only the dead could rest there. She was thankful for her rescue and for being away from the hell that was Blackwood Pines at last, but at the moment the room she was in felt colder than the mountain and just as wrong.

Sam raised her head slowly and looked around at her fellow survivors. Ashley and Chris sat together on one of the benches. Ashley was asleep, curled up in a ball as she leaned into him. Chris's arms caged her shoulders as if he was guarding her in case the Wendigo somehow found them. In any other situation it would have been cute, but under these circumstances it was heartbreaking. There was no warmth in his expression or how he held Ashley, only fear. He looked like a wide-eyed fawn, corned and waiting. Waiting to see when the horror would resume, not if it would. That was all any of them knew at the moment. Horror.

Even Emily, always unshakeable, trembled like a volcanic eruption. She sat in a chair in the corner far away from the others. She made sure she was especially distanced from Matt, who made his nest in the seat next to Sam, making known some unspeakable grudge she'd formed over the course of the night. She wouldn't even look at anyone else; she just sat there with her hair pulled in front of her face to hide her obvious tears. Matt on the other hand didn't seem to be angry at her like she was at him. He kept glancing over at her before turning away almost in shame. Sam didn't know what happened since neither Emily nor Matt would talk about it, but it was clear their relationship was over for the moment. She couldn't blame them for not talking about it. Everyone had been through so much over the course of the night. No one was ready to talk about it. Not to each other. Not this soon.

The fact that they had barely anytime to recover emotionally before being prodded with questions made the interviews so much worse. As soon as the rangers moved them to the US Embassy, they were greeted by men and women in suits and taken to this little waiting room. One by one they took them into the interview room and questioned them for hours. It must have been late into the afternoon by now. Sam wondered when they would be allowed to leave. The woman who was watching over them, Special Agent Morasco (as was proudly displayed on the FBI badge she waved in their faces earlier), said that all they were waiting for was for the doctors to sign off on Jessica's transfer to a US hospital and for some international clerical bullshit to get approved. She was very vague on the details, but Sam didn't care to ask nor did she think she would get any actual answers if she did.

Another half-hour passed by at an agonizingly slow pace. Waiting for time to pass was like trying to push a car that won't start uphill. Finally, Matt stood up and brushed off the front of his pants.

"Welp," he spoke in a half-whisper as he pat Sam gently on the shoulder. "I'm going to go check on Mike. Hopefully they let him visit Jessica by now. Dude's been trying to talk his way in there for almost two hours." He talked so lightly, as if the slightest hint of roughness in his voice might hurt someone. Matt's kindness and considerate nature was always overlooked because of his reputation as a jock, but if there was ever a time for that side of him to shine through, it was now. They all needed to be there for each other more than ever before.

It wasn't long after Matt had left that Chris began to stir from his almost catatonic state. He slowly turned his head to face Sam, pausing as he collected his words.

"Do you think they'll actually go?"

Sam didn't understand what he meant at first.

"Go...where?"
"To the mines."
"Oh. Yeah, I...I don't know. I hope so."

Sam curled her lips inward, wetting the chapped skin. She'd made it adamantly clear during her interview that they needed to investigate the mines. Whether or not they would believe what she said and listen to her advice, that was another story.

"You saw something down there, didn't you?" Chris continued. "When you and Mike went after Josh, you saw something?"

A deathly silence followed his question. Sam wasn't sure if she was ready to talk about what she saw. The agents forced her to talk about it already. But Chris was not a prying interviewer. Chris was her friend. He'd been through the same trauma as her. Who could she confide in if not her friends?

"We saw its lair. We saw where it...where it took its prey after it caught it. We found..." Sam trailed off. She was going to bring up discovering Hannah's fate, but then she decided that it was best to leave that particular detail out until later. "It's where we found Josh."

"Was he...was he already dead when you found him?"

"No. He was alive. He was having a seriously bad breakdown. Seeing him like that really hurt."

It hurt even worse considering that was his life for the past year and Sam never even knew. She thought he trusted her. She thought she could help him. She thought-

It didn't matter what she thought in the end. She was wrong. There was a whole other side to Josh that no one knew about. It made her feel like a shitty friend. This was something he needed support through, but did he not think she could give him that support? She tried her damnedest, but there was nothing she could do to help him fight demons she didn't even know existed. It was Josh's choice. And yet, Sam could only blame herself.

"Was it quick?"

"Huh?" she blinked, snapping back to the conversation at hand.

"When he died. Was it..."Chris shook his head, visibly struggling to ask what he wanted to know. His voice cracked as he continued. "What he did was shitty, but he didn't...he didn't deserve to die for it! He was my friend and I left him in a shed for that thing to take him! Just, Sam, I...I need to know. Did he suffer?"

Sam knew exactly how Chris was feeling at that moment. Like somehow it was his fault that Josh died. She felt the same thing. There was a seeping, perverted guilt about being alive when their friend wasn't that didn't feel right. The fact that they were abominably furious at him before he was taken made things worse, as if somehow their bad feelings were what wished these things upon him. It wasn't true, of course, but just because the feelings were false didn't mean that they weren't felt with all the intensity of truth.

"I don't know. I didn't see him die. I left him and Mike to get back to the lodge, and when Mike caught up to me Josh wasn't with him. I'm sorry, Chris. I should have stayed."

The veiled panic slowly flushed out of Chris's expression like the air being let out of a balloon. She couldn't answer his question, but she wouldn't lie to him either. It was a strange mercy for both of them. He waved off her apology.

"No, don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. It was the best decision you could've made with the situation and with what you knew. Besides, even if you stayed behind with them, it probably wouldn't have made a difference. That thing might have gotten you instead, or maybe even both of you. Don't convince yourself otherwise Sam. It won't do you any good."

Chris was right. Not only about her, but about himself. It was strange how quickly they could defend and forgive each other when they couldn't do the same for themselves.

"I should say the same to you," she replied, looking down towards the plain tiles on the floor, as bleak as the fresh terror that still racked their brains. "Maybe someday soon we'll stop blaming ourselves right?"

"I hope so," Chris sighed as he peeked down at Ashley, still fast asleep. "I can't wait for the day that I don't question every decision I ever made as if it could have changed anything."

"That day might never come. We might question everything for the rest of our lives. Even if the questioning and pointless guilt goes away, I don't think Blackwood ever will. I think it will always be there in the back of our minds," Sam lifted her eyes from the dismal flooring and looked to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. It was dim enough that it didn't burn her eyes as she stared at it but bright enough to blur out the surroundings as time passed. Such a mundane thing was trance-like a the moment, lulling her to the point she forgot to blink. The longer she stared the brighter it seemed. Eventually everything looked white, almost like snow.

This shook her from her absent gaze. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to see snow again. It was a shame. Snow was beautiful. Sledding was fun. Skiing was also fun. She thought of happy snow days visiting Colorado to hike, and the few times she was invited to Blackwood with the Washingtons for vacation before Hannah and Beth's disappearance. She closed her eyes to try and remember, but the happiest of the memories were interrupted by painful snippets of the previous night's events. How sad it was that such happy memories could be ruined by a tragedy that happened much later. She didn't want the memories to be ruined. She didn't want to hate snow. She thought of building snow sculptures with Hannah and Beth and how they would fight over what to make before erupting into a snowball fight. She thought of Josh's booming, infectious laughter that echoed all three times he shoved snow down the back of her shirt during a trip once, and how much louder it was when she finally got her revenge. A lump formed in her throat. Melancholy, yet somehow resolute.

"But that doesn't mean we can't learn to live with it,"she continued as she remembered Hannah, Beth, and Josh. Blackwood took all three of them from her. She wouldn't let it take the memories as well, nor the happiness she knew would come back to her one day. "We'll live with it. Someday. Somehow. We survived the monsters. We'll get through the aftermath as well."

Chris only nodded in response. Sam's declaration was enough to quell him for the moment. Instead it was Emily that caught her eye. As Sam turned her head, she saw her glossy brown eyes peeking from the curtain of hair that guarded her tears. Of all the people to see break down, Emily was the least expected. She was always so unflinching and confident in her actions and words, but right now it was clear that she was far from stone-hearted. Sam felt for her. It was always hard for someone as gentle as Sam to connect with someone as sharp as Emily. But trauma and tragedy wouldn't respect sharpness nor gentleness, thus in tragedy there was always a shared bridge.

Sam rose from her seat and made her way over to Emily, taking the seat next to her. "Are you okay?"

Emily's expression was tell-tale. At first her eyebrows curled in annoyance, causing Sam to wince in response. She was ready for her to berate her for asking such a stupid question, expecting something along the lines of 'Do I look okay to you?' or 'Of course I'm not okay you dipshit!' or "What do you fucking think?'Instead, Emily's features softened once more as tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Sam reached out and took her hands in her own, rubbing softly over the tops with her thumbs as an offer of comfort.

"No." The softly whispered word was Emily's only response. It was still more than Sam expected.

"Your shirt's ripped. It's a shame; it was really pretty," Sam noted, looking down at the torn hem of Emily's grey shirt. One of the only things she really knew well enough about Emily was her passion for clothes. It was a drastic change in subject, yes, but Emily looked like she needed that change. "As soon as we get back to Los Angeles and you're feeling better, we should go shopping to replace the luggage we lost. I need a wardrobe update anyway. Who better to ask for style advice than you?"

Emily was quiet.

"...I mean if you want to leave me to my own devices, that's fine too. I'm sure if I just buy some track suits in sets my clothes will match at least. Maybe I can get them cheaper at Target-"

"Ugh," a scoff and sniffle ended Emily's silence. The water threatening to leave her eyes receded, and she wiped away the crust of the tears that had already fallen. "No way in hell can I in good conscience let you do that to yourself. I'm taking you to Rodeo and we're getting you actual clothes, not yoga pants or sweats."

"Yoga pants and sweats are real clothes."

"Yeah, for athletes and yoga instructors and people that live off of dry shampoo."

"It's practical, and there are a lot of better things to do in the morning than spend three hours in the bathroom trying to look a certain way."

"If that's what you think then you need an intervention. No wonder you don't have a boyfriend."

"Wow, thanks, Em."

"I know that's sarcasm but trust me, you will be thanking me when I introduce you to Louis Vuitton."

"Who's that?"

"Are you kidding me, Sam? It's a company, and a very famous one at that. How can you have lived in L.A. and not heard that name once? Wow, I am shook."

Sam responded with a giggle. Hear Emily speak in such a blasé manner a good sign. Blackwood hadn't taken Emily's personality, which gave Sam hope for the rest of the group. What made it even better was the faint smile she saw on Chris's face from the corner of her eye. She knew they they were all permanently changed, yes, but it was good to know that they could be some semblance of themselves; that smiling wasn't impossible now.

As another hour passed, a man with slicked back black hair and an even darker suit entered unabashedly accompanied by Special Agent Morasco. In his hand he held four separate Manila folders, which he passed out to the group. "Wake her up," he said as he pointed at Ashley, plopping her folder down carelessly on the coffee table in front of where she and Chris sat. Chris complied, though off-put by the man's unsympathetic demeanor, and gently shook Ashley to wake her. She raised up and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Before she could say anything, Chris merely pointed to the man in the suit and gestured for her to listen.

"Alright then, now that sleeping beauty has decided to rejoin the waking world, I'm going to brief you on a few things. I've already explained this to your friends in the infirmary wing, so if you miss anything just ask them for a refresher later," the man spoke, his voice as insensitive as his brazen mannerisms. "I am Matchitehew, director of the Canadian-American Joint Commission for the Preservation of Indigenous Culture. I know that a bunch of American kids whose most complicated vocabulary word is the word 'Chipotle' might not be able to pronounce let alone remember that, so you can just call me Director M."

He walked back to the coffee table, opening the folder meant for Ashley to display the contents to his audience.

"I'm sure you're all well aware at this point that what you saw last night was something you were never supposed to see in the first place, let alone feed yourselves to it. So what we've got here is a non-disclosure form for you to sign before we let you leave. What this basically means is you cannot tell anyone about the Witiko. Don't give out any details, don't tell anyone that you encountered it, don't even mention that it exists at all."

"Witiko?" Chris interjected curiously. "You mean, the Wendigo?"

"Sure, if you want to call it that," the man shrugged. He closed the folder and placed his foot flat on the low table to lean on leisurely as he continued. "You're not stupid, and I'm sure you've all seen movies about conspiracies and Area 51 and other shit like that. Well kids, this isn't a movie, but the general concept still applies. I'm not gonna stuff you with some bullshit and try to discredit what you all went through and tell you what you saw wasn't even real. It was. It was very real. Just have to look at yourselves and how messed up you are to know that. You were chew toys for that thing. But the catch is, the world can't know about any of this. You can't tell anyone about it. You got pictures on your phone? Delete them. Because, and I'm just going to come right out and say it, if you don't then we will 'delete' you instead. Understand, kiddos?"

"Why?" Sam questioned, her expression disturbed just as her friends' were. "Why does this have to be a secret? Shouldn't we tell people to keep them from going there and becoming the next victims? Maybe even the next Wendigo if they're unfortunate enough?"

"Yeah, sure, because when in history has that ever not worked out well? Oh, that's right: the rape of Africa, countries invading Japan by sea, the destruction of indigenous American tribes, tourists who visit North Korea that aren't ball players named Dennis Rodman, anytime anyone in history has ever tried to invade Russia, the list goes on and on really." Director M was exceedingly overdramatic in his display, gesturing with his fingers as he counted off his examples. "Human instinct when we learn there's something new to our little world is to see it for ourselves. People learn there's a new mystery around, they're going to want to investigate it and see things with their own eyes. And it never ends well for at least one of the parties involved. We tell people this isn't just another mountain like all the rest, then daredevils and self-proclaimed cryptozoologists will flock to it to explore. Especially now with a generation that somehow has even less respect for its surroundings than their ancestors and will do anything for some youtube views or a couple of likes on facebook. And what happens when they flock? They fucking die, and in the process proceed to contribute to the further demolition of indigenous cultures."

"I can understand that," Sam responded. "But if that's the case, then why did you allow the Washingtons to build a ski lodge there in the first place?"

"Well, we didn't allow anything. The lodge was built in the 90's before I was the director of the JCPIC. The Washingtons managed to buy off the director at the time so he allowed them to buy the land in a manner that was undetected by our organization. By the time anyone knew any better it was too late and the land was legally theirs, so there was nothing we could do about it. Couldn't quite come up with a believable legal loophole to explain why the Canadian government would suddenly seize the land, so there was no way to do it without whipping the public into a frenzy."

The group was silent. It made sense, and the trouble they'd be in for speaking out wouldn't be worth the result, anyhow.

"What do we tell people then?" Emily scowled. Disdain was plastered on her face in place of the earlier tears. "What am I supposed to tell people happened to my shoulder? That I got bitten by a bear? And what about Jessica? That bitch looks all kinds of messed up. Is she supposed to just tell people she fell off the mountain or something? Look, you're telling us to take part in your little cover-up but you forget we're just kids from L.A. with no idea how to pull this crap off. We haven't been putting Bigfoot through witness protection for the past decade like I'm sure you have."

"You tell them you were attacked by a psycho, just like your friend Josh had you believe. According to all of your interviews, he did a pretty convincing job trudging up fake evidence. Just continue that story. You did say he faked getting cut in half by a saw-blade, right? We'll just say that's what happened. That's what we'll be telling his parents, and that's what you'll be telling anyone who asks you what happened to him. All of your injuries, attribute that to the psycho somehow. As for anything that happened after you learned there was no psycho? Just don't mention any of that. And boom! Your friend has already given you a well thought out cover story to start with. Thank him for that when you visit his tombstone."

"You're fucking heartless, you know that? After all we've been through you're just going to talk to us casually like it's no big deal, or talk about Josh like he didn't just fucking die!?" Sam shouted angrily as she leapt from her seat and jammed a finger into his lapel. Director M was too disrespectful to tolerate. It didn't matter if what he said made sense or was their best option; the way he said it pissed her off. "He's dead! He didn't want to die, either! He was murdered by that thing! And we can't even tell anyone the truth! Instead we have to carry on the worst part of his legacy! Without even a chance to figure out whether we'd be able to forgive him for that very thing or not! This 'story' might have ended our friendship, and yet it gets to live on while he doesn't!"

Director M remained calm and collected. He was unperturbed by Sam's abrupt actions. He simply stood there, nodding in hollow acknowledgement. His tone became briefly serious as the two stared each other down. "I'm not saying it doesn't suck for you, kiddo. I'm not saying it's right. But it's what we both have to do. You think this is the first tragic thing I've had to cover up? Think again. And no, it hasn't exactly been healthy for my soul if you must know. But I keep doing this job because it helps stop the tragedy from being repeated. Do you want another 'Sam and Josh' to wander up to the mountain and have one of them get eaten by a Wendigo while the other has to come home and live with that for the rest of their life? Because I don't."

Sam couldn't respond. Of course the answer was no. For the first time in all of this, she felt too overwhelmed to even move. All of the pain from the night she'd held back for the sake of self-preservation began to permeate every fiber of her mind and body. It wasn't that she'd never felt loss before; it was how she lost Josh. Silently she walked back to her seat and picked up her folder. She stared coldly into Director M's eyes as she flipped through the pages and signed every place that was marked. She harshly closed the folder, eliciting a loud whoosh and a smack as she pressed the stack tightly together in her anger.

Without a word, she roughly pushed the documents into Special Agent Morasco's reaching arms and stormed out of the room. Not once during the night's terror did a single tear leave her eyes, but now they flowed from her at a pace so swift that her sleeves could not catch all of them. All night and all day she had been strong not only for herself but for her friends as well, but now there was no strength left in her. Only enduring sadness.

It had only been a day, and yet, she already knew that Blackwood Pines would stay with her forever.