"Isabelle." Mom reaches for my hand. "Stay with me. We're going to outrun this."
We interlace our fingers just to make sure we stick together. Of course, since I'm the runner of the family I end up pulling her along behind me. No amount of terror and adrenaline can make up for the stamina I've built up over the last few years, but it helps. Mom pushes herself until we're running side by side.
"How do we outrun a fire?" I pant. I can feel the heat behind me and the crackle and pop of the flames are getting louder.
"We find…water…and…stay there," Mom gasps out. I nod and tug her left where I know a stream to be.
A hand reaches out from the dark. My mom disappears.
My eyes open in a flash and I regain consciousness in the gray light of the morning coughing, my head fuzzy with the dissipating smoke. On the edge of my consciousness I could swear I hear a woman scream. But that could just be a residual memory from my dream of last night.
Last night. Flashes of memory bombard my brain. Heat and flame, terror as we run, Mom holding my hand tightly, Mom disappearing.
Not a dream.
Mom.
I gasp in fear as I try to rise and a coughing fit sends me back to the forest floor. Gazing around wildly from my vantage point I try to pick out the blue of Mom's sweater or the golden tint of her brown hair. But there's nothing. No sign of life anywhere except my own. I try to collect my hazy thoughts and piece together the events that happened after Mom and I had to change course, but I just can't think in this smog.
Eventually I rise and start my search. I am not going back home until I find Mom. But after what feels like hours of tripping over roots and chasing shadows, I begin to lose hope. And then a twig snaps behind me. It brings forth a memory.
Snapping twigs that started the fire. No, wait, that doesn't make sense. But shadows behind the flames do. The men who snapped the twigs started the fire.
There is something else, niggling at the back of my mind, but I whirl quickly behind a nearby tree and push the feeling away. Peering out from my hiding place, I see two men pass, a makeshift sled pulling behind them. An arm had fallen out from under the blanket covering the body. I thought that only happened in movies. And then horror strikes me – the arm is clad in blue. Mom's blue sweater. Is that blood dripping off her fingertips?
A strange mixture of nausea, fear, and rage overtakes me and I begin to shake. I latch onto a branch to keep myself standing. I decide to wait for them to pass before I take action, though what I can do I'm not sure. All I know is that I must make sure it isn't Mom so I can keep looking for her. It just—it can't be her. Right? It can't be. It's Mom; she can't die. She can't die. She can't die. She. Can't. Die.
I startle at the sound of the men's voices and clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from making any noise. "Reckon we'll find the girl?" One asks as they pass by my tree.
"We can't keep lugging her mother around if we're gonna keep looking for her," the other answers. "Damn woman, pushing the girl down the hill just before we caught her. It don't matter that she's the one we were after, Joe. If the girl's half as smart as her mom, she'll piece things together. He'd want us to take care of her too."
"Why'd the Caron woman cross the boundary if she knew that he'd send—"
"Shh, Joe. Did you hear that?"
I look down at my foot in horror, the little betrayer. I'd stepped on a twig in my attempt to get closer to the men who'd murdered my mother. I'm planning on dealing with that life-changing, horrific fact later. Like after I slit their throats. I should probably find a knife. I quickly dart back behind the tree before the unnamed man turns around.
"Probably just a squirrel or somethin', Royce," Joe said, waving him back. "Come on, let's drop her off back at the house and then look for the girl."
Royce lifts his hat from his head and combs his hair back before replacing the hat as he returns to his partner. "Alright, Joe." And they head off.
I move to follow them after a few moments, but my body gives way and I crumple to the forest floor instead. Sobs begin to rack my body as my shock wears out. I just—I can't. My mom—she's…oh my god. Oh my god. Mom. I start sobbing as reality begins to set in.
I try to stay quiet, knowing my would-be captors could return any minute, but even curling up into a ball and burying my head in my crossed arms couldn't muffle everything. Eventually, I manage to wrestle my tears under control. My body shudders one last time as I take in a deep breath and stand to my feet. I hastily wipe my face and tie back my hair. I look down the path Joe and Royce took with my mom's body. Their final comments wash over me and I turn in the opposite direction.
Towards home.
My mom is dead. Killed by the men who are currently dragging her to some house in the woods. I've seen enough horror movies to know what happens if I follow them, no matter how much I want to. Because right now my dad needs me more than my mom.
And I need to stay alive so I can bring the man behind my mom's murder to justice.
At least, that's what my foggy brain is trying to tell me. The rest of me just wants to curl up into another ball. My mother is dead.
It takes me a while, but I finally stumble back onto the trail that leads me home. Home. One that is now broken. Silent tears make their way down my face and I stop trying to wipe them away. I'm not sure they ever ceased. I'm not sure they ever will. I pause in the clearing at the mouth of the trail, straighten my shoulders, and try and walk as calmly as possible to my house, ignoring the stares of the villagers as I pass by. I focus instead on the random thought running circles in my head. I wonder if our new books survived the fire. I've heard that happens to people in shock. Am I in shock? I'm sure I look terrible with torn and bloodied clothing and soot in my hair. This will help my village-wide reputation of being a little odd.
My dad runs out the front door to meet me as I walk up the driveway. "Isabelle! Oh my darling girl I was so worried about you! You've been gone all night and the woods—where's your mother? Why are you so disheveled? Honey, you have twigs in your hair. And all these scrapes and bruises. What did you get into?"
I open my mouth to try to answer the easiest question. But 'oh I spent the night on the forest floor because Mom pushed me down a hill while we were outrunning lunatic assassins who set the forest on fire' doesn't come out. A sob does. I collapse into my father's arms.
Dad holds me tight and strokes the back of my head. But his voice trembles when he asks, "Izzy, where's your mom? Where's Elaine?"
"She—they—Dad," I sob, incoherent. He holds me and murmurs soothingly in my ear until I'm calmer. "They killed her, Dad. She's gone."
"Who, honey, who killed her?" Dad asks, frantic and clutching my face. He searches my eyes, but I shake my head and lean into him once more. "Sshhh, Izzy, it's gonna be okay." But his tears soon soaking my hair belie his words.
As though I needed proof. Everything changed after that night.
Everything is a daze the rest of the day. Dad leads me into the house, shooing off curious neighbors as he shuts the door behind us. Then his arms are around me again and he takes me into the kitchen. He puts a glass of water in front of me. I think I'm supposed to drink it but my body won't move. I'm broken. Catatonic. Just one thought running through my head. My mom is dead.
"Izzy. Izzy?" Dad shakes my shoulder. I lift my eyes to his. "Honey, can you drink that? You need water."
But I just stare into the clear liquid instead. I think I mumble some sort of an apology, though I'm not sure whether it's because I let Mom die or because I can't seem to make my arm work to drink the water. Either way, Dad's quick, solid hug tells me he blames me for neither.
The next time I become aware of my surroundings is in my bed. I must have taken a shower because my hair is wet. And it's dark out so the day is gone. Day one without my mother. I unconsciously wipe the tears off my face and pull the covers over my head.
It's something I used to do as a young girl after a nightmare. It's a well-known fact when you're young that if you can't see the monster then it can't see you either and there is no safer place than under the covers. After making sure no toes or strands of hair were sticking out from underneath my trusty floral print, I'd call and call for my parents. I think they must have drawn straws because a different parent showed up each time. My mom would come in quietly and stroke my hair through the blanket until I peeped my head out. Then she'd smile and show me her handy-work. "No more monsters in here, Bella girl," she'd tell me. My dad was a different story. He'd throw open the door, frantic, and would search my room until we were both sure the monsters were gone. We'd peer under my bed together and when he smiled, so would I. That's how I knew I was safe.
I know tonight, however, that no amount of searching by either of us would chase this monster away. I don't know how I'll ever wake up from this nightmare. All I want is for my mom to coax me out from underneath my blanket with her soft voice and gentle smile, say, "No monsters in here, Bella girl," and crawl into bed with me until the sun wakes up. I want this all to be a terrible dream.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," I whisper through my tears.
I fall to sleep around the same time my tears subside. Hopefully I won't have many left to cry.
Mom cries as a masked figure yanks her back by her hair.
"Mom!" I cry out, skidding to a stop. I turn around, grab her hand and tug just as she elbows her abductor.
I push her in front of me this time and we head toward the stream. But a blaze of fire whips in front of us and we're forced to change direction. Again.
"Keep running, Isabelle," Mom commands, "And don't you dare stop."
I hear crashing sounds from behind me and know that more than one man is after us now. I put on a burst of speed and push Mom from behind, only to realize we were coming to the top of a steep hill. Damn these woods. We'll have to slow down and they'll catch us for sure.
Mom slams on the brakes and catches my arms as I almost catapult into her. "Mom, what are you doing? We have to hurry or they'll catch us!" I most definitely plan on asking questions later. Like, who the hell are these guys and why are they after us?
"I'm sorry, Bella girl, but they won't look for you if they have me."
"But they don't have to have you at all! Mom, we don't have time for this, come on!" I try to tug on her arm.
"I love you," she tells me instead. Then she shoves me down the hill. The impact jars the air out of my lungs and my head slams back on the forest floor. I start rolling just as everything goes dark.
"Mom!" I cry out as my eyes wrench open. I almost shoot out of bed when a hand stops me. I scream and try to back away but my dad's voice calls out to me.
"Isabelle! Isabelle! It's me, it's Dad." He pulls me in for a hug until I stop struggling. "Oh Iz, honey, I'm sorry."
"Dad," I croak out. We hold onto each other and I begin to calm down. "I'm sorry, Dad. If I hadn't gotten mad in the woods then we would've been able to leave Clearshore sooner and we would've been back in time. She'd be here now if—"
"Isabelle, don't you dare," Dad interrupts. "I miss her more than anything, but this is not your fault. The police will take care of this; we'll find out what happened. And we'll get through this together." He kisses the top of my head. "Go back to sleep, Izzy. I'll keep you safe."
He gets comfortable on my bed and opens his arms. I curl into his side and close my eyes. I'm asleep again in minutes. And this time it isn't masked men and heart-wrenching goodbyes that plague my dreams. I'm simply trapped in a maze of darkness, the light of my mother too far gone to show me the way home.