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Halloween pulls everyone out of their houses around here.
It’s not until the SUV is closed and locked that I glance one more time at the two of them, and I see it.
The man on the left, tall with tousled black hair, turns to nudge the other with his elbow, a wolfish grin on his face as he carries a tray of something. The other laughs, not turning to him, but he’s not the important one now.
Phoenix.
Memories of going over to my best friend’s house and trying so damn hard not to let her older brother know I had a crush on him flit through my brain. He’d been forced to babysit his sister, Daisy, and I, more times than I can count, but even though it was clear he wasn’t into it, I’d been a lovestruck thirteen-year-old unable to act normally around the handsome, older boy.
God, it’s no wonder he acted like I didn’t exist at school for the most part. Especially after, when everyone was too afraid to talk to him, since—
I close my eyes hard, my heart twisting in my chest. I have no idea why he’s back or what he’s doing at the fairgrounds, and I definitely won’t be the one asking him. Instead, I make a mental note to mention his reappearance to Nic, knowing she’ll at least pretend to be interested.
I also wonder if the guy with him, who looks like he might be around the same age as Phoenix Hawthorne, is his boyfriend. If he is, they make a hot couple, even though I’ve only seen the other guy’s profile, and only for a few seconds.
They don’t turn as they walk, so I’m free to stare until I take the pumpkin under one arm and head back to my parent’s booth. I deposit it there and leave again, though I make sure to note where Phoenix’s parents’ booth is. Worst-case scenario, I run into him and he gives me that look.The sad but frustrated one he’s so good at, from eyes that are the darkest shade of sapphire possible.
Best-case scenario, he’s forgotten I exist or what I look like. He hasn’t seen me with my black hair inyears, since I was thirteen and decided I wanted to be a red-head for the rest of my life. That had lasted until about the time he’d left for college in my junior year.
I don’t realize I’m at the strangers’ vendor booth until I’m staring up at Michael Myers again, the gray, darkening sky an ominous backdrop above his dirty white mask and shock of light brown hair. The plastic knife is stained with fake blood that wouldn’t fool a child, and the two men behind the table have disappeared, likely to get more stuff out of their car.
Sure enough, their voices bring me back to myself, and I stride behind the vendor tents before they can see me, heading toward the woods that act as a backdrop to the fairgrounds.
My heart twists at the love I used to have for these woods that’s dulled over time. I still enjoy them, as a concept. But they’d lost their magic for me years ago, except for around this time of year when the leaves are in the middle of turning and dark branches reach toward the sky like twisting, gnarled fingers seeking help.
I’ve always liked the contrast they make against the cold autumn or winter sky, though not enough to go exploring in them like I used to.
But maybe the sight of Phoenix makes me bolder than usual. I don’t stop at the edge of the woods, though I keep to the lit areas of the forest as I head between the trees that line the parking lot. I don’t need to get lost here in October, with the temperatures getting colder every night and me just dressed in an old, ratty hoodie and leggings.
I won’t get lost.The certainty of the thought is…surprising, if I’m honest with myself. It tingles through my brain like a promise, though the voice that whispers the words isn’t quite mine. If it is me, then it’s a younger, braver Bailey who had never been lost in the woods in the first place.
My steps slow, then stop. at the last minute; the toe of my sneaker is bright white against the dark ground and the thing that lies in front of me.
It’s so close I could touch it.
So close I can smell the sweetness in the air that’s been drawing me in this direction for the last ten steps or so, though I hadn’t registered that until this moment.
If Phoenix’s reappearance in Hollow Bridge has been a surprise, then the only thing I can think as I stare down at the dead crow at my feet is that this is a bad omen.
Chapter2
My toes curl in my shoes, though I don’t make a move away from the bird at my feet. All I can smell is the sweetness of rot, but it’s not bad enough or pervasive enough to make me step away. And it’s nothing for me to kneel, my knees cracking from a combination of years of falling out of trees as a child and dance classes that had done little more than make me miserable.
Well, I guess not too miserable, since I’d taken three classes a week through high school without much complaint. My hands rest on my knees, thumbs and forefingers squeezing on either side of the joint there in a well-practiced movement that barely requires any thought to hopefully soothe the cracking there. The pain isn’t bad.
Certainly not bad enough to distract me from the dead bird.
One of my hands lifts, and I grope on the ground beside me until I can find a suitably long enough stick. It’s a little thinner than I’d like, but still good enough that I can poke the stiff bird until it flops onto its back.
The fact that the bird looks like it died from a broken neck is just more proof to this being some supernatural bad omen, if such things exist. The bird’s eyes are wide as if it had been afraid before it had died, and its beak is parted just enough that I could wedge the stick in between if I really need to.
I don’t.
I resist the urge, the curiosity, and poke the stick up under the bird’s wings, looking for some other reason for this bird to have spontaneously broken its neck. I could understand it, if there was something else. Even a sign of some predator having snagged the bird out of a tree, or a hawk having grabbed it out of the air.
But there’s nothing.
Just a terrified crow with a broken neck that’s lying a few feet from the edge of the trees. With how stiff it is, I can’t imagine it’s been dead for very long. And not long enough for the predators that roam the upstate New York wilderness to have found it. At the very least, someone’s dog will be at it soon, dragging it into a backyard and scaring their owner with a big mess of black feathers.
