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(A/N: Not totally pleased with this chapter, or this story as a whole, but it has been sitting in my documents for a long, long time and it's about time I started posting it, so I fixed it up and hopefully it's okay quality now. It may get a facelift in the future, but I'll feel that out.)

Seeking Answers

Mr. Washington trudged through the snow determinedly, heading towards the radio tower. He kept his ears open for anything that might be a threat, be it natural or supernatural. It wasn't long before he reached the tower. He knew this mountain well. He clambered up it quickly and looked guardedly around in case any hermit or animal had decided to make it home. It was clear and so he went to the radio and began fiddling with it until it crackled to life. He let out a shaking breath upon making a connection. "Hello? Hello, who is this?" a man's voice asked.

"Is this the Park Ranger Service of Blackwood County?" Bob asked.

"It is," the man answered. "You've reached the ranger station on Mount Madahee. What do you need?"

"I'm calling from Blackwood Mountain. My name is Bob Washington. I believe you're familiar with me," he answered. There was silence and Bob winced. Oh, this person was definitely familiar with him.

"I'm aware of you. You purchased the land from my Band. My late brother, Jack, begged you not to go through with your plans to develop it. He told you it was sacred to our forefathers. You didn't listen, like you white men tend not to do when it comes to the First Nations," the stranger on the other end answered.

"Were I white, that might insult me," Bob flatly replied. "I happen to be of Middle Eastern descent, but that isn't important right now. What's done is done. The place is burned to the ground regardless. For what little it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't listen to him. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I admit that freely. He was right. He was so, so right… I should have heard him out. Because of that obstinance, I lost everything. The house was the absolute least among them."

The man on the other end was silent. Finally, he said, "I am sorry about your children."

"And I'm sorry about your brother. Now I want to make things right. In every respect," Bob said.

"Compensation will not bring my brother back," the man on the other end flatly said. "I don't want your money."

It wasn't what Mr. Washington had meant, but he'd roll with it. "Very well. Think about what you want. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss a matter of legend with you, if you would humor me. Recently I was reading up on the legend of the Wendigo. My son's friends mentioned something about them when they were rescued from here. They talked about a curse on the mountain. The curse of the wendigo? Do you know if there was a way, in the stories, to break that curse? Either on the whole or… or even on one individual wendigo?" Bob said.

"You contacted me for that?" the stranger deadpanned. "A funny question to ask. If there was ever a way to break the curse on the mountain, or on the wendigo, only the shamen of old knew it. It is less likely those alive today do, and even if they did, they more likely than not would never tell. The sacred secrets of our people were religiously guarded, protected, and concealed like nothing else ever was. Many secrets of old are locked up within those men even today."

Bob Washington was quiet. "How can their secrecy be broken?" he soon asked.

"Respect our ways, Mr. Washington. The secrecy will not be broken," the stranger answered firmly.

Bob Washington was quiet, thinking. There was a way. There had to be… "I can't accept that. Not in this," he finally replied. Before the other man could answer, he cut the connection.

UD

The stranger on the other end stared at the radio in his tower in vague surprise. An unsettled feeling passed over him. Picking up a pair of binoculars, he looked from his ranger tower towards Blackwood Mountain, aka Mount Washington. He scoffed at the alternate name. Scanning the slope, he frowned and put the binoculars down. Something was going on, and it didn't sit well with him. Perhaps, when he found the time, he would go carry out some investigating of his own. His brother had died up there, in pursuit of the wendigo that had killed their grandfather. Why was Bob Washington there now? What had he meant by making things right? What had he meant in asking about ways to break the curse?

There was one thing he could think of that it could mean and that one thing was nothing good. He frowned. He hoped he was wrong and that he was just reading too much into it. Bob Washington had no clue what he was doing and was just speculating in the wake of the deaths of his children. Probably lost in regret. Still, just in case something deeper was about to happen, he wanted to be there to monitor it. Hopefully talk the man down too. Why couldn't Washington just let sleeping dogs lie? He himself had done so for his brother and grandfather! But then he had never had children of his own either, so just how deep a parent's love went for their little ones was only something he could speculate on. He shook his head. Regardless, he would be sure to stop by Blackwood Mountain in the very near future. Just in case.

UD

Bob stood in the tower thinking his next move over. He needed to contact Dr. Alan Hill, he decided. He had questions to ask. It was how to phrase them without arousing too much suspicion that would prove difficult. He could speak in hypotheticals he supposed, but anyone with any kind of mind for cliché knew that generally, when people claimed to speak in hypotheticals, they probably weren't speaking in hypotheticals. Alan was no one's fool. He had hired the best of the best for Josh's sake when his boy had first been diagnosed with psychosis. Of all the mental illnesses his son could have dealt with, it would have to be psychosis. He inwardly scoffed in disgust. No child should have to go through that. Josh had adapted well, it had seemed… At first… Until Hannah and Beth had… He shook his head, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose.

He looked at the radio again then pulled out his cell phone. Up here there was a signal, but it was very, very faint. Any lower down and he'd have been out of luck. Flipping it open, he scanned the contacts until he found Dr. Hill's number. He hesitated only a moment before making the call and putting the phone to his ear. On the third ring, it was picked up. "Dr. Alan Hill speaking. How may I help you?" the man said.

"Dr. Hill? This is Bob Washington," he answered.

The man was silent. "Good morning, Mr. Washington. I must admit I had expected you to call sooner than this in the wake of, well, everything you're going through. I'm sorry for your loss. And now to hear of your wife's condition… It can't be easy for you. If you're calling to make an appointment, I would be more than happy to fit you in," Alan soon said.

Bob closed his eyes, willing away the tightening in his throat. "I'm not ready for that, Doctor," he answered. "I just… I had some questions. About a couple of disorders, actually. Amnesia and wendigo syndrome."

"Wendigo syndrome and amnesia? Are you feeling alright? Why such specific and unrelated topics?" Dr. Alan asked. Bob tried to find an answer, but couldn't think one up. "Mr. Washington, is this about the stories your son's friends told? Or is it because you're having trouble coming to terms with everything that happened to Hannah, Beth and… and Josh."

"Do you believe the stories they told were just a coping mechanism? That whatever actually happened up in those mountains was too horrible for them to come to terms with? It seems more likely they would need a coping mechanism to cope with their coping mechanism, if that were the case. The stories they told were horrifying," Bob Washington said.

"Something that seems more horrifying than the truth to us, might not be more horrifying than the truth for them," the doctor replied. "Put yourself in their place. To find out all that had happened to Hannah and to Beth, all that was happening to Josh and what he was doing to them…"

"I've put myself in their place. Many times. I still can't fathom how they could come up with a mechanism like that to cope with it," he answered.

"To be fair, you are a middle-aged man. They're still basically children," Dr. Hill answered.

"Children are more adaptable than adults, I always assumed," Mr. Washington answered.

"In some regards, yes, but not all," Dr. Hill replied. "Oftentimes children need help navigating through things. At least for the first little while, before their natural adaptability kicks in."

"Just answer my questions, doctor," Bob Washington flatly said.

Alan was quiet for a moment. "Wendigo syndrome is a desire for human flesh despite alternate available resources not being too hard to come by," he answered.

"I know what it is, doctor," Bob Washington replied. He wished he could explain what he meant, but if he did then he'd end up the one being psychologically evaluated. "Is it possible for someone suffering psychosis to experience both amnesia and wendigo syndrome as well? Simultaneous with the psychosis?"

"Yes," Dr. Hill warily replied.

"It is possible for someone suffering such a situation to be helped?" Mr. Washington asked.

"I would imagine so," Dr. Hill answered. What was Washington talking about, he wondered? None of it made sense. There was no logical connection between his questions. Not ones that made sense, unless… His eyes widened. "Did you find Josh?" Dr. Hill asked immediately. "Is he actually still alive?"

Bob was quiet. That depended on what you called 'alive'. "It's just… I'm wondering, doctor, is all. I suppose you're left to wonder a lot of things when in mourning."

"Yes, you are," the doctor answered.

"Assuming the story Josh's friends told is true, do you believe it would be possible to restore humanity to a person who became a wendigo if their memory was returned?" Josh's father asked.

"Mr. Washington, your line of questioning is confusing and worrisome. I would assume it is possible for anyone who regains memories of a life they once lived to find humanity again. Memories would come with emotions and sensations I suspect, but sir, you aren't making any sense. Why are you asking these things? What's going on? Where are you? I think that perhaps you should come in to talk to me. I'm free this evening. I can…" the doctor began, increasingly more concerned with this matter. Something was very wrong with Bob Washington.

"I can't come in this evening, doctor. I'm on the mountain. I just… I needed time alone. To come to terms with everything. Maybe the questions are just my own wild fantasy of a coping mechanism, I just… Goodbye, doctor," Bob answered. He hung up without waiting for a response. He didn't want to deal with the questions Alan would have badgered him with anyway. Besides, he had more calls to make and he wanted to conserve as much battery power as possible in case of emergency, so these calls had to be short and sweet and as to the point as he could possibly make them.

UD

Dr. Hill stared at the phone in his hand in disbelief and concern. Was Bob Washington having a psychological break, he wondered? One thing was for sure, the man was in no condition to be left alone up in those mountains. He had half a mind to set the rangers on him, but maybe if he went there, he could have a meaningful talk with the man and convince him to come back down and be with his wife. There was nothing to be done for his children anymore, but his wife? He needed to be at her side. She was only worsening, last he'd heard. Now wasn't the time for either of the two to be alone. He was also concerned as to any potentially suicidal tendencies Mr. Washington might be having. Yes, he most definitely needed to go up there and bring him home. He would find the time to go to Robert soon enough. He was known for taking a personal interest in his clients, and he'd be damned if he stopped now. The Washington family had seen enough tragedy.

UD

Mr. Washington entered a small diner and looked around. Now where were the people he was meeting? They would have gotten there first, he knew. He had a much longer drive than they did, so they had to be here somewhere. He couldn't stay long. He needed to get back up to his campsite before night, preferably; though if he had no other choice he could make his way to it in the dark. He'd just be a bit slower. He spotted one of the two in question, and grief came to his eyes. He approached. "Chris," he said, sliding into the booth across from him.

Chris looked solemnly up from the hot chocolate he was drinking. "Mr. Washington," he greeted quietly. He'd been very quiet since that night. All of them had been. Rather, closed off. More so than usual. Even those who had tried to get back into some semblance of a normal life and routine had maintained this underlying sense of grief and ever-present fear and insecurity… It had been particularly hard on Chris. And on Sam, but on Chris most of all. He had always been a sensitive boy. Him and Matt both. Matt… He was taking it perhaps roughest of all. Not grief-wise, no, that was all Chris and Sam, but when it came to coping, that was another matter entirely. Matt had been one of the youngest of them, and as such one of the least equipped to handle such a situation. Overall he'd done very well, in no small part thanks to his surprisingly strong support network, but 'very well' in this case meant not well at all. If not for said support network, Mr. Washington wasn't sure the boy would even still be alive today…

He should have been such a support network for Josh…

Chris had this ever-present, underlying sadness about him. Not so much fear and insecurity, but sadness and resignation and guilt and regret. Mr. Washington had never pressed. He'd never wanted to know. Until now. "Where's Sam?" Bob asked.

"Bathroom," Chris replied. "Why did you want to speak to us?"

"I wanted answers," he said simply. "About that night." A visible shudder and look of fear passed Chris's face before vanishing again. The boy looked down into his drink in frustration. Probably cursing it just so he could have something to curse or blame that wasn't himself. "I won't press for more than you're comfortable giving," Mr. Washington assured.

"Yeah… I know…" Chris answered. "I… I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry for all you went through as well," Mr. Washington said.

Chris looked quickly up at him. "You mean… Mr. Washington, do you actually believe us?" he asked.

Fortunately, the man was saved from having to dodge that question by Sam's return. "Mr. Washington," she greeted. He turned to her and saw tears in her eyes. He rose and she hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry for everything that happened, for everything you lost, for…"

"I know, Sam. Everyone's sorry," Mr. Washington said. Perhaps it had come out harsher than intended, because she flinched and pulled away, looking ashamedly down. "I'm sorry for you kids most of all, and all you went through. I apologize. I didn't mean to sound harsh, but after a while 'I'm sorry' starts to sound stale and repetitive and… Well, at this point it's just stopped meaning anything to me. Sorry doesn't fix any of it. Nothing ever will… I was always the sort that preferred to mourn alone anyway. It always seemed easier. Or at least I convinced myself it did."

"Yes sir," she answered in a whisper, sitting next to Chris in the booth. "Why did you want to meet us, Mr. Washington?" She'd thought it was to reminisce and mourn, to help each other through this. It didn't sound like that was his intention, though, so what could he possibly want with them?

"I want details," Mr. Washington answered. "As many as you feel able to provide. I want to know exactly what happened to Hannah and Beth. Not the night they disappeared, I'm not ready to hear that yet, but afterward. Tell me all you know." Chris and Sam were silent. Soon, though, they told him everything they had deduced. That Hannah had survived. That she had been all alone up there and been forced to resort to cannibalism of her sister. That… that she had become one of the wendigo upon the mountain, the strongest of all the ones they'd crossed. They mentioned something about the stranger's grandfather and the name of the wendigo that had taken over his daughter, but they knew little about any of that. He would have to get in contact with the stranger's brother again, he decided. He cursed the fact he hadn't gotten the man's name. Eventually, they finished and waited tensely for his response, be it laughter or to put them in an asylum or whatever else it might be.

Bob Washington was silent. He could find no words to say. "Mr. Washington?" Sam uneasily asked. "Do you believe us, or do you think we're crazy?"

"Seven people can't go crazy all at the same time and still have the same story to tell all around," Bob answered. "Yes. I believe you."

They were gone… His baby girls were gone. They were passed the point of no return. Nothing would bring Beth back. Nothing would bring Hannah back. Grief felt like it was crushing his heart again, making it hard to breathe or think.

But there might still be hope for Josh…

He felt the grief lift ever so slightly. He wouldn't tell Sam and Chris there might still be a chance for Joshua. He didn't want to give them false hope. They'd suffered enough for this cursed nightmare. It was his turn to suffer now. Let them try and move on where he couldn't.

"I want every single clue you found up on that mountain. I don't care how unimportant it seems. I want it all. Every note, every book, every letter, every clipping, everything," he soon said. "I need… I need to put it all together for myself and come to terms with it all." He doubted even the kids had tried to put it all together. Maybe they'd been too afraid to see the full picture, but he had to. He had to know. If he'd met with them all, he could have gotten the story from every one of them, but he didn't want to make them relive that. He hated even doing this to Sam and Chris. "Every one of you will give me everything," he said, looking at them seriously. They didn't even want to try and ask why. Something told them he wouldn't tell anyway.

UD

He left the last house, Mike's—he had left the young man sitting at the kitchen table and silently weeping, his parents near at hand—with a box full of clippings and papers and objects and whatnot from each of the children who had been more than willing to part with those memories of that time. None of them wanted to look back. They just wanted to get on with their lives even if it was just so hard. He couldn't blame them. His life, though, had ended when his children had died and when his wife had gone into the hospital with no hope, or little, of ever coming out of it. There was nothing for him to lose… It was interesting how often he revisited that thought. Each time he did, the truth of it became clearer and clearer. He had nothing left to lose… Nothing left to lose, and everything to gain, for as short a time as it might be.

He went straight to his manor. It seemed so very cold and empty now… If he lost his wife, and Josh, he didn't think he would be able to bear being here any longer. He could barely stand it now. He would look into downsizing and moving, perhaps, when this was all done. He went into his office and laid all the bundles of clues on the floor, sorting them into various piles. Clue lines, so to speak. When he was done, he looked the display over and began to pour over them again, from oldest to most recent.

For the next eight hours, he examined every clip, every detail, every happy memory now turned mournful with the knowledge that they would never get that life back. He would never see or speak to or hug his daughters again, he would never need to quiz or threaten a boyfriend, he would never get to comfort them when they were sad, he would never give them away at the altar, and he would never attend another father-daughter dance with both of his beautiful baby girls on his arms showing off their daddy the movie mogul. He would never speak to his wife again and hear her actually respond, he would never pull her close or be pulled close during a cold night, and they would never grow old together or experience the joy of being grandparents. At least not as a set. Every life he had imagined, every future, she was there and their daughters were there and their son was there, and they were a family. There was no premature death, no pain beyond what was to be expected. He had pictured every happy and content outcome there was! What he hadn't pictured was this…

It was your fault for enabling them to have their little parentless parties. Your fault for not being firm and saying no and instead falling for the puppy eyes.

Gently his fingers brushed over a picture of his children. He could still remember the day they had told Joshua that mommy had two babies inside of her tummy and not just one. He had been so excited, hopping up and down and bragging about how he would be the best big brother ever. He'd always wanted to listen to the stomach and talk to it and make the babies kick so he could feel them, and everything just… It was so good… He suddenly realized he was crying when a tear fell on the picture. He gently wiped it off. Josh had been so excited to hold Beth and Hanna the day they were born. You would never find a prouder big brother… He needed to find his son. If it was the last thing he ever did, he needed to find him and bring him home. The answers were here, somewhere, or the story at least. In a story, answers or theories, if nothing else, could always be found, but he needed to take a break now. His eyes ached and he decided that rather than return to the mountain, he'd stay at his wife's side tonight. Maybe talking to her would help him clear things up and get a fresh perspective. Leaving the notes on the floor, he grabbed his jacket and headed out to go to the hospital.

When he arrived, he lay next to her on the bed, holding her close and listening to her breathing and heartbeat. She was still here… For now… He knew it wouldn't be long before she was gone for good. "Do you remember the first time we showed the children the mountain getaway? They were so excited. We could hardly keep them still. They wanted to explore every path, every nook, every building, every tree… It took our all to keep them in sight. They played in the snow for hours and hours. Sledding, snowball fights, snow angels, snowmen, snow forts. They begged us to join them in everything. How could we say no? Then when the evening came, we all huddled inside under a big blanket by the fire making smores and drinking hot chocolate… Remember how they fell asleep in our arms? Josh tried so hard to stay awake. He kept insisting he was too old to go to sleep so early, that he was a big boy and could probably stay awake all night if he tried. He was out within an hour even though he tried so hard… I'll bring him back, Melinda. I promise you I will bring our little boy back or die trying… You and the children were my world. Without you…" He trailed off. "I love you, sweetheart. I love you so, so much… I'm sorry I couldn't save our babies. I'm sorry I couldn't be the protector I should have been. For you and them all. I didn't even know what I had, did I? I was so busy with work and earning more and more money that you and the children became my second priority. You never should have been my second priority, and I will never be able to make that right, but I'll try. I love you, Melinda, and I will do whatever it takes to bring our little boy back." Whether she heard him or not he didn't know. He doubted it. If, though, there was some chance that she had, at least she would have that last hope when she passed. Closing his eyes, he fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

UD

The snow crunched under his boots as he walked back to where he'd seen his son. He wanted to investigate the area for any sign of… of what? Where he'd gone? He didn't know. Just to see some sign of life. A sign he had been real and not just some waking dream. As he walked, he scanned the ground for signs of animal tracks. It helped take his mind off of things, finding and identifying them. He stopped, suddenly, and squinted at something at the base of a tree. Was that another totem? He approached it and picked it up. He gasped and paled at what he saw. He saw his daughters, heard them scream, saw them running, falling, trying to save themselves but unable to. They had come into this world together and had left it the same, or tried… But Hannah had lived, he had been told. Hannah had been afraid, cold, desperate… He saw death. He watched Beth fall to her end and could do nothing! He let out a sob, clutching the totem close as he sank to his knees.

Compose yourself! There's nothing you can do for Beth and Hannah anymore, but there may still be hope for Joshua. Get up and save your boy!

Body shaking, he willed himself to stand and get a grip. Swallowing, he got to his feet, gazed at the totem, and put it into his bag. These were memories. A visual record of all that had happened on this damned mountain. Lost memories. Lost… He froze in place eyes widening. Could that be it? Could it really be possible? He gasped, pulling out the two totems he'd collected and staring at them. Memories. Magical remembrances. Fight magic with magic, if not science and psychology. Until this last year, he had never believed in such things, but now… If Josh could see these totems, these mystical things, would they help him regain his memory? Would they show him what had befallen the others? Would they reach some human part of him, if any human part was left? Were these tiny, magical relics the key to curing his son of this curse?! It had to be more complicated than that, but at least this was a step, dammit! It was a step in the right direction. Immediately tucking the totems away, he set out on a scavenger hunt to religiously collect every last one he could find.

UD

He spent the rest of the day hunting down every single totem he could find, scouring every inch of the property that he could think of. Come nightfall, he was almost one hundred percent certain he had them all. He was also almost one hundred percent certain that he was hungry. That didn't bode well for camping. He needed to eat and keep up his strength. He should maybe try his luck at hunting. It had been a while, but he hadn't forgotten how to do it. He would try for a small rabbit again, he decided, or a game bird. He returned to the camp and dropped the bag containing the totems with a sigh. The things he had seen… He massaged his eyes. The picture was so much clearer, now. To see their fear, what they'd gone through… He inwardly shuddered and looked up again determinedly. Hunting, hopefully, would distract him from everything. Anything to distract him from the reality of it all. Taking a gun, a knife, and some snares, he headed out.

It was easy enough to catch the rabbit. It hadn't taken more than an hour or two. They were plentiful up here, this year, which meant the predators were out in force. Very few would starve to death. Next year said predators would dominate the mountains and far more would die off because of lack of food. The year after the prey would be back up in numbers and the predators would start to make a comeback. Such was the cycle of nature. Most natural predators, though, didn't have to worry about wendigo.

Bob approached his catch to kill it. Apparently, he didn't have to worry. Suddenly, from out of the bushes sprang Joshigo! Or so he'd dubbed the wendigo that had once been his son. A little humor couldn't hurt, after all. He froze in place and watched as what had once been his son killed the creature and began to devour it. A stab of grief tore through his breast and he swallowed over a lump in his throat as he observed. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I couldn't save you in time. I'm sorry that you were driven to this. You must have been so afraid… So broken and weak. How often did you call for your mother or for me? I'm here now, Josh. I'm here. I won't let you go. I won't let this be your fate. Do you hear me, Makkapitew? I won't let you take my boy," he murmured to the creature.

Joshigo suddenly stiffened and turned swiftly. Either his son had heard him, or something he had said had caught his attention. Likely the name he had spoken. Mr. Washington didn't move a muscle. He knew it was no guarantee the beast wouldn't see him, but he held his ground. Joshigo scanned the area, growled lowly, and then turned back to his kill. Soon he finished and looked around once more for the origin of the voice he'd heard before determining the would-be prey had slipped away. Quickly he raced off to try and find it.

Bob Washington waited until the sounds of the creature had long gone before he finally let himself sigh in relief. He looked in the direction his child, now partially a monster, had gone. If he could capture Josh, it would be easier to show him the totems. It was the process of trapping him that would be the problem. He had only ever snared small game. Large game he shot to kill. He couldn't do that for this large game. He would call to mind all his knowledge of traps and snares and he would devise something, one way or another. If it failed, what did it matter? He had nothing to live for at this point anyway. Better to die trying to save his son than doing nothing. Turning, he headed back to his camp determinedly. He needed to draw up some ideas and figure out what he had that could be useful.