Reed reaches up and runs his hands down my cheeks, then back over my hair. All I can do is shiver when his lips find mine. He’s gentle, hesitant, like it’s taking every ounce of strength he has to make it so. I slide my trembling hand to his shoulder and his lips press harder.
He’s touching me like I’m the last girl on the earth, like his every breath depends on mine. When he breaks away, I hold on to him, fairly certain I’ll drop to the ground if I don’t. He holds my face so carefully, runs a thumb across my bottom lip, eyes full of longing.
“Reed, I don’t know if you want to come back, but if they catch you, you’ll have to.”
“I’d stay here for you.”
“But what about them? What about Bee?”
He’s silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I have to make sure they’re safe. They . . . they are my family.”
“Where will you take them?”
“There is a place, far from here.” The baying of the hounds is growing closer. If I listen hard enough, I can almost hear voices yelling behind them.
“I wish I could come.” I hold up my cast, trying to smile past the burning in my throat. This could be the last time I see him. What if he decides he’d rather be with them? I’d never be able to find him again.
“I’ll take you home first. We can outrun them.”
My eyes are starting to burn. “I will slow you down.” My voice cracks. “I can’t run like you.”
“No, but she can.” Reed looks over my shoulder with a grin.
I whirl around to see Bee. I will never understand how either of them keeps managing to sneak up on me.
She towers over me, staring down with large doe eyes, and pulls her lips back into a toothy grin.
“Oh.”
When Reed laughs, I’d swear she does too.
chapter twenty-seven
We stop at the grotto. Reed slides down the incline and skirts the edge of the pool. “She’s not going to put me down, is she?” I call out to him, snug as a bug tucked up against Reed’s adopted Bigfoot sister. He shakes his head as he reaches up to a crevice in the back of the shallow recess, tugging at something shoved in a narrow crack.
I blink when he pulls out a backpack.
“What is that?”
He shrugs as he slides his arms through. “Stuff. Matches, books, toothbrush, clothes.”
“You have clothes?” I nearly shriek. Bee huffs loudly at my hair. “I mean,” I say in a less hysterical tone, “why aren’t you wearing them if you have them?”
“They itch,” he says evenly.
We crawl out of the grotto, and when they run again, Reed has to take three strides to Bee’s one. The crunch of pine straw is everywhere, beneath her feet and against her body when she runs through the young pines.
Without warning Reed comes to a dead halt, reaching out to grab Bee’s arm. She freezes, becoming as still as a statue, hunching down over me as her eyes scan the forest and her nose tests the air. The familiar sound of an aging tractor cranks in the distance.
The quick, metallic staccato is all the warning we get as I feel something whip past me and lodge itself into Bee’s neck. She grunts and starts to growl but doesn’t drop me. “Reed!” He jerks the dart out and takes me from her arms.
“Nobody move!” I recognize Sheriff Hanson’s voice immediately, but the trees are too thick for me to see him.
Bee lets out a deep, guttural growl, pawing at her neck. Before I can blink, two more darts fly out of the forest, finding her chest. Reed gasps as she drops to her knees, her fingers too sluggish to find the darts and pull them out. I flinch at his scream of rage as he removes them, and position myself to block her from any more darts. Reed pushes me back and wedges me between them, protecting both me and his sister.
“Leah, get out of the way!” I freeze, confused by this new voice. Why would my . . .
Suddenly they converge, coming out of the trees like wolves to a dying fawn. “Surreal” doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m seeing. Twelve bodies appear from the trees, all dressed in some kind of camo tactical gear, looking like an overexaggerated Hollywood version of Special Forces. Everyone has black Flir goggles propped up on the top of heavy helmets and thick bulletproof vests over their chests. I see rifles, guns, and knives wrapped around hips, and a few even have grenades strapped to their belts.
They form a wide circle within seconds, every eye and scope trained on Bee. Her head is resting against my back, her breath hot on my skin. Every few seconds a faint growl emanates from her, but that’s all she can manage. When her head starts to slip to the side, I reach back to steady her, twisting my fingers in her hair. Her hands rest around my ankles now, her grip getting looser.
“Leah. Move, now,” Dad says, taking a step forward, marking him as twelve on the clock of people around us.
“What are you doing here?” Anger overrides the shock at seeing him. He’ll have to tranq me, too, before I move an inch. “Why are you all dressed like the damn military?”
“Leah, you need to get away from it. It’s dangerous,” Dad says, quieter this time. His eyes flicker down to where she’s touching me, worry fleeting across his face.
“She isn’t dangerous. You’re the ones with the guns.”
“Leah, please.” That voice again. I was right. It’s my mom. She’s next to Dad, in the one o’ clock spot, almost unrecognizable in her gear except for the hint of a blond ponytail.
“Mom? What is going on?”
“We’re trying to protect you and find your brother.”
“Matt’s with Ashley and Ben. He’s fine.” I don’t mention the wrecked RZR or angry Bigfoot.
She hesitates, her voice trembling. “Your other brother.”
My mind shuts down. “What?”
“Sam,” Mom says, her voice dripping with hope.
“Sam’s dead,” I say automatically. Because to acknowledge that Reed is standing beside me is to accept that Sam must be dead if he’s not with him. That is why I was so afraid to believe that the boy could be Reed. Because the miracle of one boy coming back from the dead would be overshadowed by the fact that my brother didn’t, and that my family still won’t be healed.
“We never found their bodies, Leah. We knew they weren’t dead, but taken, and we’ve been trying to find them for a decade. This is the closest we’ve ever come.” The look she gives Dad is one I haven’t seen before. Her tearful smile is full of hope, joy, almost, and he returns it. I’ve never seen either of them look at each other like that. Not in years. And the fact that they’re doing it now, when they could never do it in front of me and Matt, sends me over the edge.
Something in my body snaps, like a string pulled too tight. “Wait. You two don’t even like each other.” Their heads whip around, and I know my words are the last thing they expect to hear. I should be overjoyed that they believe my brother is alive, but all I can feel is irrational anger. “You stay drunk half the time and scream at Dad the other half.” I ignore her gasp and raise my finger at Dad. “And you? You act like there’s nothing else in the world but your precious church and doing whatever you can to keep me and Matt under your thumb.”
“Sweetheart—” Mom interjects.
“No.” I ignore her, feeling the last ten years of pent-up emotion coming out whether I want it or not. “No, you’ve got to be kidding me. Everything we’ve been through has been for what, a complete lie? Why would you do that? Instead of telling us the truth, you’ve ruined us.” My parents gape at me in shock. Surely none of this comes as a surprise to them. But we’re in my forest, my sanctuary, and here, I only speak the truth.
“You think . . . ?” Mom’s mouth works soundlessly. “I don’t . . .”
“I can’t even breathe Sam’s name in our house, and yet you two have been searching for him all this time? How could you be so selfish?”
“We don’t have time for this, Michael.” My head swivels to the left, hearing Coach Banks at my eight o’ clock. Why is my teacher he
re?
Understanding trickles through me as I begin to study the faces around me. Sheriff Hanson; Charlie Brooks, the owner of the local grocery store; and Keith Willis, my seventh-grade math teacher. I can name and place every other person here as well, because they’ve all got one thing in common.
They’re deacons at our church, close friends of my father’s for decades, faces I’ve grown up with, trusted.
Steve Becker is behind me, the man supposedly hog hunting instead of having dinner with my parents. They likely were all hunting. More of the puzzle pieces fit into place, and it makes me nauseous. My father has used his place of power to do this, to accomplish this. The only reason they would all be here, dressed like this . . . prepared, is if they knew what they were going to find.
“You knew about them? All this time?” Fury unfurls deep within my stomach, churning with the hurt and betrayal already there.
“We knew the boys were taken and we knew what took them. We just didn’t know where.” Dad’s voice is tired, lacking any of his usual preacher tone.
Reed shifts, shaking his head slightly. Bee’s head pushes into my back, almost asleep. “Reed, she’s falling,” I mutter, feeling the rest of her weight follow her head.
He spins around to catch her, gently laying her down on the ground behind us. He crouches over her unconscious form.
“Leah, please. Move out of the way and let us handle this.”
Dad’s pleading voice has no effect on me. “You let us sit through their funerals and think they were dead? Why would you do that?”
“Look behind you, Leah,” Sheriff Hanson says. “Who would believe us without a body? We found the tracks of the male that killed Mark, the boys’ tracks that ran into the woods, and eventually all three met up and disappeared at the river. Any strings I tried to pull to get government help were cut. We’re not the only ones that know about them, and the government wants no proof made public that they do.”
The male that killed Mark. The rocks. The final pieces click into place. Reed and Ashley’s dad was killed by a rock to the head . . .
“It wasn’t his fault.” Reed’s voice cuts through the silence.
“Reed. Come with us, let us take you home,” Sheriff Hanson says.
Reed shakes his head, his eyes blinking fast. His breathing has accelerated, and his knuckles are white where he’s fisted them in Bee’s fur. “Dad didn’t know. He thought it was a bear.”
“Reed, what are you talking about?” I say quietly, wanting to touch him but afraid to move.
“Something was moving around the camp. We saw glimpses of it. Dad thought it was a black bear.” He runs his hands through his hair, eyes wide and glassy. “He took the shot. But it wasn’t a bear.” His voice cracks.
“Reed?” He stares blankly ahead, the events of that day passing like shadows across his eyes. No one moves.
“He was angry, throwing rocks at the truck. Dad ran to start it up, to get us out. It was just . . . He should have stayed with us, out of the way.”
“Reed, son, what are you telling us?” Dad asks as Mom reaches out to grab his arm.
“It was just a baby, no bigger than us. Dad shot their baby. The rock was an accident. We ran away, and he found us, carrying the body of his child. It was dark, we were scared, and . . . and after that, we took its place.”
chapter twenty-eight
When I can breathe again, I have to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. It’s horrible. A terrible, horrifying tragedy. All because of a mistaken identity.
I almost feel guilty for asking, but it’s the first thing I want to know. “Is my brother alive?”
Reed continues to stare into his memories, almost oblivious to the barely bridled chaos about to explode around him.
“Reed.” I place my hand on his shoulder, willing him to come back from wherever he is. “Is there a chance my brother is—”
“Sam’s dead,” Reed says, cutting me off, his voice loud and detached. “He got sick. He fell asleep and never woke up. It was years ago.”
His words pass through us like a shock wave. Feet shuffle, gasps and whispers drift through the circle, and silence follows, heavy and still.
My parents’ faces pale, and I can see the denial in their eyes. Dad shakes his head, like Reed said something he can’t understand. A moment that resembles eternity passes, and then the stunned silence is broken. A ragged sob escapes Mom, and Dad pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Was this was it looked like when they first heard Sam was missing?
As my parents slip over the edge into heartbreak, something shatters inside me. I realize why the funerals seemed so surreal to me, why I never felt closure. Some part of me knew, deep down, that they weren’t dead, that sixth-sense kind of thing that siblings share. It’s why we could never heal, because it wasn’t really over yet. And now, hearing those words that fall into my heart like stones, I realize what just broke.
Hope.
The shards rip me apart as they go, and when the tears come, it’s not the healing ones I’ve come to experience within the forest. These burn with regret and endless pain. We’re here, once again, hearing my brother is dead. Will the last ten years of my life repeat now that we’re back to square one? I don’t think I can endure it.
“That’s it, then,” Sheriff Hanson says quietly. “We’re done.” He motions to the men on his left, and they move forward, one of them unwrapping cable cord from a tightly wound roll.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say as threateningly as I can.
“We’re taking Reed home.”
And with those words, all hell breaks loose.
A scream of rage erupts from the trees behind us, and a young ten-foot pine tree, roots still intact, comes sailing across the clearing, taking out half the circle around us, including my father. Mom yells at me to run, swinging around to fire shots into the trees. Reed jerks me down and throws himself over me and as much of Bee as he can. The other men scramble to take cover behind the trees when rocks come flying along with chunks of rotted tree trunk.
“Stop!” I scream. “Stop shooting!”
There is a pause in the fire. I can hear shell cartridges fall and magazines loaded. “Leah, get up,” Dad yells. “Get out of here.”
“No. He thinks you’ve hurt Bee. You need to leave!”
“Michael, we need to get it done,” Coach Banks yells.
The sheriff and two others rush toward us, dodging the nonstop barrage of whatever the Sasquatch can throw at them.
The sheriff and Keith reach for Reed, pulling him off us and pinning his arms behind him. Dad is next, and the fact that he doesn’t want to hurt my cast arm is the only thing that gives me leverage. I twist out of his grip and roll over Bee, putting her between us. “Leah, baby, please, you’ve got to come with me.”
“Why? So you can kill her? I’m not letting you.” I see the knife in Charlie’s hand as he tries to dodge around me and a kicking Reed.
“We’re not going to kill her.”
“Then why do you have a knife?” I point at Charlie. Dad moves while I’m distracted, sweeping me up in his arms and running to where Mom is. Reed lands a kick to Sheriff Hanson’s leg, sweeping it out from under him and taking them all to the ground. Reed moves like an animal, like something born of the forest. With two swift jabs, he’s incapacitated both men, leaving them lying on the grass. He spins on Charlie, and the blade flies, landing somewhere out of sight. When I look back, Charlie’s just as unconscious as the other two.
“Nora, now,” Dad says, wrapping his arms around me.
I watch as Mom gets to her feet, reaching for a gun strapped to her back. She swings it over with practiced ease, takes aim, and fires.
The scream dies in my throat as a dart imbeds itself in Reed’s chest. He jerks, looking down in surprise. “Reed!” I yell as he slumps to his knees. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“What needs to be done,” she says, and starts walking toward the Sasquatch still
screaming at us from the trees, unfazed by his relentless show of aggression.
“Don’t miss,” Dad whispers, watching her walk away.
Mom slings the dart gun over her shoulder and reaches for the Glock at her hip. “Dad, what is she doing?” Dad doesn’t answer; he just buckles down and holds me tighter, like I can even try to run now. Mom ducks out of the way when a branch comes flying toward her, crashing into a tree and sending splinters raining down on us. I feel nothing but disbelief when she raises the gun and takes aim. “Mom?” I yell. “Mom, please!”
She hits her mark.
Blood flies from his shoulder, and his piercing scream reaches down into my soul. It’s the kind of sound you know will find you in your dreams.
Mom hesitates before her second shot. She edges back as he utters a guttural howl, a mix of pain and helpless fury. I think I’m screaming, but I can’t tell. All I can hear is this tremendous rumbling. She raises her arms again, aiming for him one more time. The Sasquatch stops, suddenly as motionless as the rest of us. There is something so human in his gaze—acceptance, regret—that it stills my breath. Can’t she see it?
Something moves out of the corner of my eye and Mom flies off her feet, the bullet missing its mark, tackled by a blur with blond hair and a letterman jacket. Matt twists his body so he takes the brunt of the fall, crashing among the debris and sending the gun flying. Mom lunges away from him, her goal in clear view. My brother wraps her up in a bear hug and kicks the gun away from her desperate reach. “Matt, let me go! You have to let me do this.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind! What are you doing?” he screams, and the shock of his outburst reverberates through my parents.
“He stole my baby. He stole Sam!” Her voice is raw, her hands digging into the dirt as she inches forward. “And now I’ll never get him back.”
“What?” Matt freezes. “Sam . . . Sam’s not alive? But the folder, his picture . . .”
“Reed said he died.” Mom’s voice breaks. “We thought he was with them. We’ve been trying to find him.”
The Shadows We Know by Heart Page 20
