Hidden Deep (2 page)

“Exposed? Half-naked? Don’t try to make me believe
you
were embarrassed. Sorry, but I’ve got the market cornered on humiliation today.”

“I’m sorry. Really. It’s not like I planned this.”

I studied him. Though I had no rational reason to believe him, I did. Something in his voice told my self-preservation instinct to stand down.

“Okay then, assuming you’re not a registered sex offender—you’re not, are you?”

“No.” He looked insulted.

“Unregistered?”

“No!” He gave a frustrated huff of a laugh.

“Okay. So you were walking back from the library… to where?” I thought of the few houses bordering my grandma’s property. Most of the owners were old, like her. Maybe he was somebody’s grandson, visiting for the weekend.

“I live… near here.”

“Near here, like, off the county road, you mean?”

He glanced around. “Uh… yes.”

Now that I was calm enough to care, I noticed he looked… different… not like any of the guys I’d ever seen in school. He was fresher somehow, healthier-looking, like no artificial color or flavor had ever crossed his lips. I couldn’t decide if it was the skin or something else, but he looked like he’d never had a bad night’s sleep. There were no freckles, no marks on him anywhere. His eyes were a pure, clear green, like sunlight shining through a leaf.

He wore ripped, faded jeans and an ancient plaid shirt with cut-off sleeves. It hung open to expose his smooth light brown chest and stomach. His feet were bare. It was like an Abercrombie ad gone wrong, because you didn’t want to buy the clothes, just… him.

“You don’t go to Deep River High. Did you just move here?” I had to ask—if I was going to have Spanish class next fall with a guy who’d seen me almost naked, I wanted to be forewarned.
Bonitas chichis, Senorita.

“Oh, no, I uh… I’m home schooled.”

“Good,” I said quickly then slowed myself down. “I mean, all right. So what’s your name?”

He hesitated but answered. “It’s Lad.”

“Okay then. Lad—I’m Ryann.”

“I know.”

Not
what I was expecting to hear. I fired back at him, “How do you know my name?”

He looked away for a second then back at me. His eyes held a pleading I-know-I’m-busted look. He shook his head and opened his hands, palms-up to the sides. “I just… do?”

Wrong answer. I didn’t care how cute he was, this was all too weird. I started backing away. “Well, um, Lad, now that we’ve
talked
, I have to get home. My mom and grandma are going to have the National Guard out here combing the woods soon.”

He moved toward me and wrapped a large hand around my arm, the pressure not bruising, but firm. The heat of it sizzled on my wet skin.

“No. Not yet. Please, I have to show you something.” He tilted his head down and stared directly into my eyes, lowering his voice. “You must come with me.”

His gaze was so intense, almost like he was pushing me with his eyes, like he thought he could simply will me to agree with him. Right. My breath evaporated along with any feeling of comfort that had begun to develop. I leaned back, putting some space between us, and laughed nervously.

“You know what? The only thing I
must
do is get home. I’m not kidding about the National Guard. You’ve never met my mom or you wouldn’t doubt it.” I tried for flippant, but it came out sounding stressed.

“I can’t let you go yet.” He paused and then his tone turned up, like he’d just had a great idea. “I have something of yours. I want to give it back.”

“What could
you
possibly have of
mine
? No thanks. I’m leaving.” I wrenched my arm free, turned and stomped off, praying he didn’t repeat that freaky dropping-from-the-branches move, and growing more nervous every second about this guy’s inability to take no for an answer.

“I found your book.”

His quiet words stopped me. I slowly turned to face him again, my stomach lined with ice. Finding the breath to respond was a challenge.

“What book?” But I already knew what he was going to say.

“The book you left out here… that night.”

Ten years ago.
“How do you know about that?”

“You can have it back. You want it, don’t you?”

I did. More than that, I wanted to know how this stranger knew about my beloved childhood book. And what was he doing with it after all this time? There was really only one explanation.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

He smiled and just looked at me, those scorching bright eyes like a magnifying glass over a dry leaf, burning a hole through everything I’d believed for the past ten years.

Ten years earlier

We always had New Year’s Day dinner at Grandma Neena’s house—collard greens and black-eyed peas with ham hocks for good luck. Berry cobbler, my favorite, for dessert. As usual, there were plenty of old people and no young cousins to play with. I was the only child of two only-children.

The grownups stayed at the table for what seemed like hours, drinking coffee and talking about things I didn’t remember. Bored, I sought out my favorite reading spot, a cozy chair by the picture window overlooking my grandma’s backyard.

As the sun set, a spark in the gray winter landscape outside caught my attention. Fireflies. In January. Even at six years old I knew that was strange. Still clutching my book, I slipped out the door to get a closer look and maybe capture a few for a nightlight like I did every summer.

The mysterious lights multiplied, changing colors. Pretty. Fascinating. I followed them down the path then off it as they danced over the ground in the darkening woods. By the time they rose up into the trees and blinked out, it was completely dark. I looked around. I couldn’t see the house, couldn’t even see the smoke I smelled from the chimney.

I wandered for hours trying to get back, finally collapsing at the base of a big tree. It was way past my bedtime. Huddling against the trunk, I wished for Mommy, Daddy, my white canopy bed with the warm purple unicorn comforter.

I’d never forget the nighttime noises that filled those dark woods. I fell asleep with my hands tightly cupped over my ears. Once during the night I awoke to the faint sound of voices calling my name through the trees. No one heard the weak croak that came when I tried to answer. My throat was dry and raw.

The next time I awoke, I was in pain. I had wet my pink corduroy pants, and I couldn’t stop shaking. My thin sweater was useless against the freezing temperature. My fingers and feet would no longer move. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished I could stop waking up, stop feeling anything, and sleep forever.

And then he was there.

I opened my eyes, my breath coming fast. Something very warm had touched my face. A boy, a little bigger than me, squatted in front of me, smiling. When I let out a surprised sound, my breath clouded the moonlit air between us. The boy jerked his hand back. We both jumped. Then his smile widened, and he laughed.

He had on even less than I did—no shirt at all and bare feet poking out from under his pant legs. He should have been freezing, too, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold. I wasn’t afraid of him. He looked friendly… and curious. He reached out again slowly and put both his warm hands against my cold cheeks, holding my face. It was the nicest thing I’d ever felt.

I smiled at the silent boy with wide eyes and messy blond curls. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer, but only stared at me, his eyebrows pulling together as he studied my mouth. I started to repeat the question, and he put his fingertips across my lips. Touching his own lips, he breathed out with a puff. I giggled at that. He laughed, too, but his smile went away when he saw my hard shudder.

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny bottle made of metal. Holding it out to me, he tipped it toward my mouth. He wanted me to drink. I expected water, but it wasn’t. It tasted like—I don’t know—nothing I’d ever tasted before, sweet and sort of warm, bubbly almost.

I was so thirsty I didn’t care what it was. I drank it all, and immediately heat filled my stomach, spreading quickly throughout my body, finally reaching my fingertips and toes. I felt… perfect.

The next thing I remember was the sound of boots crashing through the underbrush, a man’s frantic shouting. “I found her. She’s here.” There was a lot of walkie-talkie noise.

It was just after dawn. Someone had spotted me on the shoulder of the county road that bordered one side of my grandma’s land. I’d been missing for fourteen hours.

I looked at the grown-up version of the strangest, most magical memory of my life. All I could manage was a whisper as it truly hit me. “Is it you? Are you real?”

Lad reached out and gently cupped my face in his large hand, causing me to shiver. His mouth slowly spread into a wide smile. So beautiful. So familiar.

“All right,” I breathed, my stomach quivering, “I’ll go with you. Where is it?”

Lad wasted no time capitalizing on the moment, scooping my hand inside his and starting to pull. “I’ll show you.”

He stopped as we passed the pool and retrieved his books then led me deeper into the woods, much farther than I’d ever explored. It was like walking back into a simpler time in my life, a time when magical boys and enchanted forests and happily-ever-after families were entirely possible. As we walked, I was hyper-aware of his hand around mine. Warm. Strong. Rough-textured but gentle. It seemed silly I should even notice that stuff. I’d touched people and been touched my whole life, but this felt like a whole new thing.

And the fact that I was actually with him, that it was actually happening, was just… breathtaking.

None of the searchers had recalled seeing a boy when I was finally discovered the next morning. The ER doctor told my parents hypothermia was known to cause hallucinations, though they said I was in much better condition when they found me than anyone had dared to hope.

At first I’d been eager to tell everyone
why
I was okay, about the boy, fiercely insisting it was all true. But I’d quickly learned discussing that particular part of my adventure was “not okay.” My story was initially met with sympathy and later with discomfort and disapproval. Even at that young age, I’d understood no one believed me or even wanted to. As time passed, the memories had grown hazy, mixing with my recurring dreams about that night, confusing me, and it had all started seeming less and less likely. Eventually I’d accepted the grownups were probably right.

Lad dropped my hand and moved ahead of me, finding the easiest path through the wildness of the late-spring undergrowth. His bare feet smoothly and unflinchingly navigated the rough ground.
How does that not hurt?
My mind skipped from wondering about that to wondering how angry my mother would be if she could see me—agreeing to go somewhere with a strange man—okay, a boy, but a man-sized boy.

Maybe I should have been afraid of him, but I just wasn’t. He was the living answer to all the questions I’d been told to stop asking. I tried to get it through my head that maybe I
hadn’t
imagined the whole thing, as everyone had insisted.

“They said it was hypothermia.”

“What’s that?” he said.

“It’s when the body gets too cold and…”

“Oh—
Call
of the Wild
!” Lad said with perplexing enthusiasm.

“What?”

“
Call of the Wild
. Jack London? I read about hypothermia in
Call of the Wild
. You don’t have it.”

“I know—I didn’t mean now—never mind. How did you know it was me?”

Lad gave me a side glance as we walked. “I recognized you as soon as you came up from under the water.”

“You did? But… you look so different. Don’t I look different?”

“Well…” I could swear he darted his eyes at my chest as he searched for the right words. “In some ways. But I knew when I saw your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Yes, I’ve never seen hair like yours. It’s the color of wet maple leaves in the fall.”

Wow
. That was definitely the first time someone had spoken poetically of my hair. Or anything else about me. I felt myself flush.