by Laura Wolfe
I looked at my friends. Jenna bit her lip, Charlotte shifted her weight, and Kaitlyn nodded.
“Okay, yeah.” All the color had drained from Jenna’s face. “Screw the evidence. We don’t have a ton of options.”
“I’ll get a blanket,” I said, picturing the flowered polyester quilt from the twin bed in the upstairs bedroom.
I separated from the group, hiccupping as I forced my leaden feet up the stairs of the musty cabin. The faces of Sam’s doting husband, Thomas, and the adoring eyes of her young boys, Leo and Brett, proudly displaying their Lego creations formed in my mind. Grief rose in me, but I pushed it back. Don’t think about it, I told myself. Not now. The human mind had an unbelievable capacity to compartmentalize feelings. Someone had just murdered one of my closest friends in a hate crime, but I couldn’t let anguish consume me now. Our lives were at risk. There was only one mission in front of me—getting the rest of us the hell out of here.
I yanked the quilt off the bed, Charlotte’s sobs growing louder as I hurried downstairs. She was not compartmentalizing her emotions. She was falling apart.
“This is all my fault. All because I was trying to pinch a few pennies. Now Sam is dead because of this stupid place. Because of me.” Charlotte’s face crumpled as she spoke. Snot dripped from her nose.
I stepped toward her, laying down the quilt and hugging her. Charlotte’s muscles quivered beneath my arms. “None of this is your fault,” I said. “Kaitlyn was in shock. She didn’t mean what she said. Every one of us agreed on renting this cabin. No one could have envisioned this outcome.”
Charlotte gulped some air and wiped her nose with the back of her arm. I guided her over to a seat on one of the deck's metal chairs, where the others joined me in reassuring her.
Kaitlyn blinked her bleary eyes and touched Charlotte’s arm. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I shouldn’t have said that to you before. I’m not thinking straight.”
Charlotte nodded, her dazed stare holding on to Kaitlyn in a moment of forgiveness.
A few minutes later, Charlotte had collected herself and we decided to return the woods. I carried the quilt. Jenna limped along beside me, not speaking until she caught sight of Sam’s body. She gasped as she covered her eyes with her hands to shield herself from the gruesome scene. Kaitlyn looped her arm around Jenna’s shoulder to comfort her. I laid the blanket out next to Sam, not allowing myself to look at her lifeless face. Jenna and Kaitlyn stepped to the sides and grabbed the far corners. Amid sniffles and whimpers, the four of us shadowed each other as we moved around our friend’s body, finding equidistant positions.
“Let’s roll her over on the count of three,” Jenna said without looking up. Her face was the color of ceiling paint and her lips turned down. “One, two, three.”
I pulled Sam’s limp arm over, pushing her shoulder as others struggled with her legs. She landed on the blanket. A leaf stuck to her hair and a twig clung to her shirt. Bile rose in my throat and I felt as if I might throw up. Just as I had the thought, Jenna lunged to the side and vomited beneath a tree. We waited for her as she coughed and spit. I averted my eyes, breathing in and out.
Grief pummeled each of us in turn, like a hurricane set on an unalterable path. Everything about the situation was surreal—the setting, the circumstances, and the agony. We sobbed and yelped and collapsed, all of us battered against the shore like wind-tossed boats. We did our best to comfort each other. As a therapist, I knew that grief wasn’t linear; it surged and receded like a turbulent sea.
Finally, Jenna wiped the tears from her face and took charge. She wrapped the quilt tightly around Sam. “On the count of three, we’ll lift her.”
I stood across from Jenna, my insides hollow and shaky after the outpouring of emotion. Each of us positioned our hands under Sam’s shoulders. Kaitlyn and Charlotte grasped the curves of Sam’s legs and ankles through the blanket.
“One, two, three.”
We heaved up Sam’s dead weight. The bulk was awkward, and it took a few steps and several adjustments before we found the right position. Jenna winced and I wondered how much her ankle must be hurting. We moved Sam’s body slowly but steadily toward the cabin, the threat of Travis’s return lighting a fire under us.
We lowered Sam onto the dirt driveway when we reached the minivan. Charlotte’s hands trembled as she opened the back and cleared a space. “We’ll have to put our luggage under our feet.” No one responded. Rearranging our luggage was the least of our concerns.
I helped hoist Sam’s body into the back of the van, only vaguely aware of the hot tears streaming down my face. The door closed with a final click.
“Let’s push this thing out of the pothole. Do you have the keys?” I looked at Charlotte, who felt her pocket and nodded. She climbed into the driver’s seat. I motioned for Kaitlyn and Jenna to join me at the front of the van. The ignition turned and the motor hummed. “Put it in reverse,” I yelled to Charlotte. “When I say ‘go,’ hit the accelerator, and we’ll push.”
Jenna and Kaitlyn braced themselves against the front of the minivan, knees bent and ready to push.
“Ready. Go!”
I strained against the metal so hard I thought my head would explode. Kaitlyn and Jenna grunted and pushed. Memories of survival stories of people facing imminent tragedies spun through my mind. Fueled by adrenaline and fear, these bystanders had suddenly found themselves infused with superhuman strength, able to flip over cars and trucks to rescue someone pinned underneath. I hoped the same phenomenon would happen here, but my weary body was no match for the stranded vehicle. The flat tires squealed, unable to spin themselves out of the pit. The minivan didn’t budge. We repeated the process three more times, each effort unsuccessful. We switched to the back of the van and pushed forward. That didn’t work either. The two flat tires and the pit were too much to overcome.
My toes dragged across the dirt and up the steps to the deck. I sat down, physically and emotionally drained. The others fell into their chairs and slumped forward, but we didn’t have the luxury of waiting around.
Kaitlyn’s mouth turned down. “How will we get out of here?”
I rested my elbows on the table and lowered my head into my hands. “Let’s get some water and hike back to the camp. There might be a landline in the office.”
“Are you sure?” Jenna asked.
“No, but I thought I remembered seeing a phone when I looked inside.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “What if it’s disconnected?”
I tipped my head toward the sky. “I don’t know, Charlotte. It’s worth a shot. It’s better than asking the guy who killed our friend if we can use his phone to call for help.” My voice had become frenzied.
Charlotte cowered away from me. “I guess.”
I hadn’t meant to yell, but the situation was desperate. I pressed the balls of my feet into the wooden deck and took a breath, remembering a professional seminar I’d attended a year and a half ago regarding how to help clients cope with trauma. Unfortunately, the course hadn’t covered a situation like this, where the therapist herself had experienced the ordeal alongside her client. Still, I could recall useful bits and pieces—Agony is temporary… A person’s mood always returns to a baseline of normal… Loss is an expected part of life. My job was to stay calm and separate myself from the situation, to keep my wits about me and my thoughts organized. I needed to offer hope and prevent my friends from falling apart so I could guide us all back to safety. My training had prepared me for dealing with catastrophes precisely like this.
“Megan’s right. We should hike over to the camp phone,” Kaitlyn said. “It’s our best shot.”
Charlotte looked at Jenna. “What about Jenna’s ankle?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jenna said, shifting her leg. “We need to stay together.”
I tipped my head back, relieved to have a viable plan.
Jenna peered toward the door to the cabin. “We should get our bags packed in the car and ready to go.
That way, we can leave as soon as we find someone to replace the tires.”
“They’ll need to send a tow truck,” Charlotte said, studying the minivan.
“Either way,” Jenna said, “we’ll be ready to get out of here as soon as help arrives.”
Kaitlyn nodded. “Okay. Let’s get our stuff. I’ll gather Sam’s things too.”
We filed into the cabin, scattering like birds, and checking for any forgotten items, especially phones or purses. Grief filled my mouth as I joined Kaitlyn and forced my shaky hands to help pile Sam’s belongings into her suitcase. When the upstairs was clear, I dropped the packed bags inside the kitchen door. The others languished near their suitcases. No one bothered to load up any of the food.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said, envisioning the long hike ahead of us. With my eyes stuck on the floor, I took a heavy step forward.
“Leaving so soon?”
A raspy voice cut through the subdued atmosphere. I spun toward its source as my heart reached into my throat. Travis rested his skeletal arm on the door frame, eyeing our packed luggage and blocking our escape route.
Chapter Fifteen
A dirty white T-shirt hung loosely from Travis’s emaciated frame, untucked above his camouflage pants. A rifle dangled from a strap over his shoulder. Wherever he’d run off to after murdering Sam, he’d now returned.
I backed away from the menacing figure, glancing toward the tear-stained faces of my friends. Kaitlyn stepped toward me, fear flashing in the whites of her eyes. “He’s going to kill us,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Charlotte hugged her arms around herself and squeezed her eyelids closed.
My eyes darted around the kitchen. With as little movement as possible, I slid open the drawer behind me and located a butcher’s knife, closing my fingers around the handle.
Travis moved toward us, his twitching body entering the kitchen. His ice-blue irises held the crazed stare of a killer. “You got a problem?” He squared his shoulders at Charlotte. “I got security cameras. Saw you at my door.”
Charlotte shook her head but didn’t speak.
“We needed to use your—” I began to say.
Before I could complete the thought, Jenna rushed from the living room. She raised an iron fire poker in the air, letting out a guttural scream as she swung it forward. The tip of the poker scraped across the ceiling. She lowered it and swung again, slamming it down on Travis’s shaved head.
Travis toppled sideways, stunned. Blood glistened from his scalp, and he lifted his hand toward the gash. The gun slipped from his shoulder and dropped to the floor. Without thinking, I released the knife back into the drawer and rushed toward the rifle, snatching it up.
Travis moaned from the floor. His eyes flickered open. “What the—”
I pointed the gun at him, my heart thrumming against my ribcage. He was the one who’d extinguished Sam’s bright smile and a lifetime of memories. He’d taken Sam from us, from her family. She’d never get to see her kids graduate from high school or college; she’d never help them plan their weddings or meet her grandkids. He’d snuffed out her education, knowledge, and compassion when he strangled her. He’d erased her accomplishments, destroyed the legacy of her business. All because she was born with more skin pigment than him. I hated him. I hated his ignorance. I cocked the gun.
“No, Megan. Don’t.” Kaitlyn lunged toward me, trying to pull the weapon from my hands. Charlotte moved in the corner of my eye too, but I couldn’t focus on them. I was only looking at the disgusting man clutching his bloody head. Visions from years earlier surfaced in my mind—the other man in the mall who had blocked Sam’s path and had practically accused her of not being American. I’d regretted staying silent back then. I should have joined Sam in standing up to him. I should have used my privilege to help her, but I’d only stood mute and dumb as she defended herself. I should have done a thousand other things since then. Now I had a chance to do something. My temples pulsed with pressure as the gun shook in my hands.
Jenna dropped the fire poker and it clattered against the floor. She pushed Kaitlyn away. “Do it, Megan,” she said. “Kill the son of a bitch. Or I will.”
“He murdered Sam,” Charlotte said, standing like a statue. Her round eyes ricocheted between me and Jenna and Travis.
Travis’s eyelids flickered as another moan oozed from his throat.
“No. Don’t shoot, Megan. You don’t want to live with that.” Kaitlyn spoke quietly and widened her eyes as if she were talking to a child.
I swallowed, thinking twice about what I was about to do. My kids’ pudgy faces and melodic giggles appeared before me like a vision—Marnie and Wyatt. They were my world, and I was their role model. I didn’t want them to remember me as a murderer. I’d be no better than Travis if I pulled the trigger.
Kaitlyn inched closer to me and wrapped her slender fingers around mine, shaking her head slightly as if to say, “Please. Let it go.”
Things were already bad. I didn’t need to make them worse. I took a breath and exhaled, releasing my rage along with the air from my lungs. I lowered the weapon.
Just as I relaxed, Travis jerked forward. His eyes bulged and something resembling a growl unfurled from his mouth.
“Watch out!” Charlotte yelled.
Another wave of terror jolted through my veins. I yelped, raising the barrel of the gun in a knee-jerk reaction. Jenna and Charlotte lunged toward me, grasping for the gun. Kaitlyn was there too. Everyone grappled for the trigger. I wasn’t sure if the others were trying to prevent me from shooting or struggling to defend themselves from Travis. It wasn’t clear who squeezed. A grip tightened around my hand. The gun fired and its violent recoil threw us backward. The blast rang in my ears. The others stumbled away and my arm dropped to my side. I was the one left holding the gun.
“Oh shit!” Kaitlyn yelled.
Charlotte’s hands clutched her head, horror stretching across her face. I looked up to see the cause of her reaction.
Travis’s pale head slumped forward, hiding the knife tattoo on his neck. Blood seeped across his T-shirt. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d shot him in the chest.
“Why did you shoot him?” Kaitlyn crouched down beside Travis as blood pooled on the floor.
Hot bile burned my throat. I raced toward the sink and vomited. My body couldn’t contain the jumbled mix of emotions swelling inside me. I hated Travis, but I hadn’t meant to shoot. I hadn’t meant to kill. Someone had bumped my arm and squeezed my hand. It had happened so fast.
“It’s okay, Megan. It was an accident.” Kaitlyn crossed the room and rubbed my back.
Jenna huffed. “It was self-defense. Our lives were in danger. What were we supposed to do? Wait around for the neo-Nazi who killed our friend to murder the rest of us?”
Kaitlyn stood up and faced Jenna. “He didn’t even have the gun after you hit him over the head! Megan had it. Now we’ll never get any answers.”
“The answer is obvious, don’t you think?” Jenna leaned forward. “The only one of us who didn’t have white skin was murdered in the woods. It just so happens this ex-con, neo-Nazi lived next door. There is no need to question anyone.”
“Wow. Some attorney!” Kaitlyn said.
Jenna turned her back on Kaitlyn, looking from Charlotte to me. “We’re going to say it was self-defense. The police will never doubt it as long as we all stick to the same story. This guy, who murdered our friend, barged into our cabin and pointed a gun at us. I whacked him over the head. Megan grabbed the gun. He lunged at us. Fearing for our lives, Megan shot him.”
Kaitlyn jutted out her chin. “That’s not what happened. I’m not going to lie.”
Jenna tightened her fingers into fists, swinging her steely gaze toward Kaitlyn. “Are you serious? That’s exactly what happened. Do you want to risk Megan going to jail over this?”
“Not Megan.” Kaitlyn sucked in a breath. “You.”
Jenna lifted her head. “What?”
“You we
re the one who tried to grab the gun, Jenna. You were afraid Megan was going to wimp out. Charlotte was grabbing for it, too, except she was trying to stop Megan from shooting. It was you. Or Charlotte. I’m not sure. One of you caused it to fire.”
My body had gone numb, and I couldn’t speak. I only stood in place, listening to my friends argue about the surreal events that had just unfolded.
Charlotte’s mouth pulled down. “We were all struggling for it, Kaitlyn. It was an accident. No one is to blame.”
“The only person we should blame is this piece of shit.” Jenna motioned toward the dead man slumped against the kitchen wall. A crimson puddle had formed beneath him. Sweat reflected off his scalp, a sickly reminder of how recently he’d been alive.
My eyes darted away from the gruesome sight. I steadied myself against the counter. My thoughts were jumbled, my recollection of the shooting shifting like sand beneath the churning tide. “I need to leave. We all need to get out of here. Now.”
“Are you going to the camp to call the police?” Charlotte asked.
I tightened my jaw. “Yes.”
Jenna held up her hands and strode toward the doorway, blocking the opening the same way Travis had done moments earlier. “No one is going anywhere until we get our story straight. I’m not going to jail over this. I’m not losing my law degree. I’m sure we all feel the same way about our freedom and careers.”
My kids’ faces hovered before me, their laughter ringing in my ears. I thought about the years I’d spent in school to get my master's degree in psychology. All the training I’d done and the experience I’d gained over years of counseling clients at the clinic. Jenna was right. There was too much at risk.
“We should tell the truth,” Kaitlyn said.
Jenna pressed her fingers into her temples. “We can’t. This dirtbag was unarmed when we shot him. They won’t consider it self-defense unless our lives were in danger. We need to bend the truth just a little bit.”
Kaitlyn pressed her lips together. “I need some time. I can’t think straight right now.” Her eyes flickered toward the dead body. “Can we cover him up or something?”
