Page 62 of I’ll Find You

It all feels so normal. I see Alex talking with his parents, and Ezra, of course, is chatting up a blonde, helping her stretch. He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes at his theatrics. My phone buzzes, and I get a message.

Chelsea: I’m with Maxwell and Lucinda. Running a bit late.

Me: Okay!

Chelsea: See you soon. Knock ‘em dead.

They gather us near the start, loose lines of runners forming along the road. Bodies bounce lightly in place to keep warm. The chatter around me grows louder as the music swells through the speakers. Footsteps crunch over the gravel. Alex jogs over and kisses me. I lean into him before he can pull away.

“Good luck, babe,” he says with a wink before returning to his parents. They'll be waiting for me at the finish line when the course loops back to the clearing. Someone calls out instructions near the start, and I find my place somewhere in the middle of the pack. I'm not slow, but I'm not running seven-minute miles either. The sky deepens into richer shades of gold as the afternoon slips toward evening. I draw in a steadying breath before the race begins. Everything is exactly how I helped plan it. Exactly how it's supposed to be. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong.

My eyes drift toward the trail. The trees stand close together, their shadows swallowing what little light reaches the ground. I tell myself it's only pre-race nerves. That, and the pressure of making sure everything goes smoothly.

I roll my shoulders once, shaking off the tension, and spot Alex standing with Ezra, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. I wave. Alex nods, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ezra starts blowing me a kiss before Alex elbows him in the chest, cutting him off mid-gesture and making him wheeze. I shake my head at Alex, who answers with an enthusiastic two-handed wave. What a nut.

I turn back to the road as someone at the front calls out, “Alright, runners! Five minutes!” A ripple of movement passes through the crowd. Runners bounce in place, adjust their watches, loosen their calves, and tug their sleeves over their hands. I settle into place, rolling my neck around. I place one foot slightly ahead of the other and draw in a measured breath.

“Two minutes!” the same voice calls out. My fingers flex at my side.

“Ten seconds!” the voice cries out. The chatter fades as the opening notes of “Wake Me in the Morning” by The Bollox burst through the speakers. The crowd shifts forward, runners bouncing lightly on their toes as anticipation crackles through the air.

“Three!” The crowd draws a collective breath.

“Two!” I lean forward, every muscle primed to move.

“One!” A sharp whistle pierces the air, and the crowd surges forward.

The first miles settle into an easy rhythm as the cheers fade behind us. After twenty minutes, the trail entrance comes into view. The green ribbons flutter in the light breeze. I follow the route with a few others as my shoes leave the pavement for packed dirt. The footing turns uneven almost immediately, exposed roots twisting through the earth despite the trail having been cleared for the race. The sound changes too, softening into muted thuds against dirt and leaves. The woods close in around us.

The air feels different here, cooler and heavier beneath the canopy, carrying the damp scent of earth. The light dims as the trees thicken overhead, their shadows stretching longer across the path. I ease my pace, careful with each step as the runners ahead of me spread into smaller clusters. The voices begin to fade behind us until the music and cheers dissolve into the distance. Soon, only the rhythm of my footsteps and steady breathing remain.

The trail narrows around the next bend, forcing me to shorten my stride over the uneven ground. Up ahead, something moves between the trees. At first, I barely register it, assuming it's another runner stepping off the trail for a moment. Then I see him. A brown-and-white beagle. My chest tightens at the sight.

“Watson?” I call, slowing without thinking as my eyes search for him. The dog jerks its head up as a guttural howl echoes through the trees. I flinch, my heart slamming against my ribs as my stomach drops.

“Hey!” I call out, instinct taking over. “Is he okay?” But the person holding the leash doesn’t answer. They don’t even look at me. They turn and start moving. Fast. They go deeper into the woods and off the trail.

I follow. The ground is wet under my feet as branches brush against my arms. The sound of the race fades behind me.

“Hey!” I call out again, louder this time. “You can’t just—” The figure is gone. I scan the trees. My breathing turns ragged, and it has nothing to do with the run. Maybe it's fear.

The dog is tied to a tree, trying to get loose. The leash is looped once around the trunk, tied off in a hasty knot as the beagle whines and paces in a frantic circle. Relief hits me first. Then confusion. I step closer, crouching slightly.

“Hey, buddy…” It isn’t Watson, but she could pass for his sister. She has different markings and different eyes. Her whining eases when I reach out to stroke her fur.

“Where did they go?” I murmur. I glance over my shoulder, but there's no one there. No retreating footsteps can be heard. Not even the snap of a branch. There’s no trail left either. It's just trees and a silence that suddenly feels oppressive. A prickle crawls up the back of my neck. Something rustles behind me. A squirrel darts through the leaves, its claws catching the bark as it races up a tree and disappears.

I turn, but I'm too slow. A hand clamps a cloth over my nose and mouth, hard enough to smother my scream. I gasp in surprise before I can stop myself, and the sharp, chemical odor hits me immediately. Anesthetic. The same smell that lingers in the operating room after induction or escapes from the breathing circuit when it's disconnected to transfer a patient onto the stretcher. I've smelled it countless times before.

My body jerks as instinct takes over. I claw at the hand pressing the cloth against my face while frantic barking fills my ears. Panic steals my control. Every desperate struggle forces another sharp breath into my lungs, drawing in more of the fumes no matter how hard I fight against it. I finally try to hold my breath, but it's already too late. A buzzing pressure blooms inside my head, followed by a sickening wave of weightlessness. My vision blurs at the edges, and the trees seem to fold inward around me as my knees buckle beneath me.

The barking fades. Cold seeps through my clothes as I hit the ground. Then everything goes dark.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

Rose