Lingering Echoes (3 page)

Brooke and I weaved through the crowds, trying to stay close to each other’s sides, despite the young children who shoved past us in their haste. The mass of people inhabiting Hidden Pines never diminished before the conclusion of the three-day festival, making the crowds busier and pushier by the hour.

One such incidence ended with a double-scooped
, strawberry ice-cream cone smearing onto Brooke’s shoulder and absorbing into the ends of her hair.

“Ugh!” Brooke cried out in disg
ust. “Rotten, spoiled children,” she grumbled over her shoulder, as she used her fingers to pinch off the sticky cream.

“Speaking of children, how’
s work going?” I asked, pulling off pink clouds of cotton candy and letting them melt in my mouth.

She made a face.
“Well, I’m glad I have the day off. I
so
need a break. I wanted to ring those kids’ necks yesterday!”

“Why, what happened?” I didn’t know why I asked. As I h
ad learned over the past week, the story was already on the tip of her tongue anyway.

“I was just doing my job and making sure all the kids had
life jackets on. Then this eight-year-old started running along the dock. He wouldn’t listen to a word I said! And then—you’ll never believe this—as soon as I turned my back, he pushed me into the lake! My makeup and hair were ruined!”

Brooke ran her fingers through her pale hair in
memory of the awful incident. “This is the last time I ever work at a youth camp, that’s for sure. I could not believe someone would do something like that.”

“Brooke, you did say he’s eight, right?
And a boy?”

“Well, yeah, but—that is just so rude!”

I laughed to myself, while Brooke continued to frown at the absurdity of it all. Glancing over her shoulder again, her expression changed.

“What is it?” I asked, waiting for her to expel more of her frustrations over the wild children of today’s world. Her steps came to a halt.

“I thought I saw someone,” she murmured, still looking behind her.

I followed her gaze.

“Hm. Maybe not,” Brooke said, more to herself than to me. She shrugged.

We
walked passed a book sale a few minutes later. Brooke looked with disinterest at the used books lined up before us, while I ran my covetous hands along the covers of classic novels. I ignored the slew of fictional romance, evident by the scantily clad figures decorating their cover. I had decided long ago that it was a worthless genre. Passionate summer romances never played out like that in real life.

“Allie!”
Brooke’s hushed, but urgent, voice caught my attention. She was facing me, arms rigid at her side.

“What
—” I began, confused at the brusque change in her demeanor.

“
Shh. Just listen to me,” she ordered. “Do you see that green tent behind me with the polka dots on it?”

I flicked my eyes over her shoulder
with discretion. My eyes searched around the booths and multi-colored tents. Through a haze of sweet smoke billowing from a grill, I found the tent and nodded.

“There’s a guy standing there. He’s tall, has dark hair, he’s wearing jeans… See him?”

My eyes flew across the throng of people passing by me in every direction. Young families, teenagers, a few elderly...I focused on the tent, inspecting its surroundings. Squinting my eyes, I shook my head.

Brooke made a sound of exasperation and turned around. She surveyed the scene, eyebrows crumpled together.
“Where’d he go?” she demanded, hands on her narrow hips.

“Brooke, what’s going on?”
I was growing impatient with her game.

Still scanning,
she said, “This guy has been watching me all day. I keep seeing glimpses of him, but whenever I try to get a good look at him, he disappears.”

I had not told Brooke about the motorcyclist who chased
me in the rain. I tried to hide the slight edge in my voice. “You think we’re being followed?” I folded my arms across my body and rotated a full circle, watching the whirlwind of people pass me by. Despite the hum of the harmonica and the strumming guitars from the folk band, their jovial tune did little to ease my apprehension.

She nodded. “I know it was the same guy. He looked a few years older than us. He had this creepy stare in his eyes when I caught him
looking at me.” She paused in thought. Then she turned to me, her own eyes wide and a hand at her open mouth.

“Allie, what if he’s som
e homicidal maniac? Some stalker who targets his prey during festivals, when people are unaware of danger—and then BAM! He snatches them right up into his cold, murderous hands. I can hear it on the news right now:
Teen girls go missing at Hidden Pines. Their bodies have yet to be found
.”

She exaggerated a shiver. “Or worse:
Their severed remains resurfaced weeks later from the depths of the lake
.”

I stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“Ok, now you’re just being ridiculous.” I whirled away from her, my quick steps distancing myself from Brooke and her theatrical headlines. I stopped and looked back at her in disbelief. “You truly are a drama queen, you know that?”

She threw her arms in the air with a raise of her shoulders. Her final response was a simple statement. “You just never know.”

***

I removed my shoes and tread
east along the shore, stepping away until the music was a low buzz behind me. Despite Brooke’s efforts to drag me to the center of the dance floor, it had only been minutes before I tired of the jostling crowds and the over-friendly hands grabbing me from behind. I didn’t feel bad ditching Brooke, or the bright lights that lit up the late evening. Last I saw, Brooke had her head on Aaron’s shoulder, and her arms comfortably latched around his neck during a slow song. That’s when I made my escape.

My brisk walk carried me
towards the grove of evergreens growing a short distance from the lake. With Hidden Pines located in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas, the mountain was full of pines, cedar, and Douglas fir—but with purposeful steps, there was only one specific pine tree that I was looking for. Dropping my flip-flops, I rubbed my hands along the thick tree trunk before me, feeling small pieces of bark peel away in my fingertips. Wrapping my arms around the trunk, I leaned back and hung my head, staring up at the intricate details above me. I loved how the branches grew out in circular patterns higher and higher, making perfect layers for climbing.

A cracking noi
se caught my attention from an indistinguishable area behind me. I whipped my head around and stood up straight. I listened for a minute, my eyes struggling to make sense of the shadows that leered behind the trees. Despite straining my vision, I could not see anything through the quiet darkness. Yet I felt certain that something was watching me.

If Nick is trying to scare me, he is going to regret it!
I turned my back on the trees, remembering the cute brunette last seen in Nick’s arms as I fled the dance. He wouldn’t leave her for something so dumb.

But someone else might have followed me.

I felt a sudden urge to get off the ground. Bracing myself on the branches above my head, I pulled myself up. More cracking noises from behind me caught my attention, this time closer—like twigs snapping under pressure. I threw a wary glance over my shoulder, biting my lower lip, but the sounds were buried again in quiet eeriness. I blew out a breath of air, unaware that I had been holding it.

I tried to reassure myself that it was probably just an animal. But then I
thought of the crazy motorcyclist from that rainy morning, and Brooke’s fear of the strange guy watching her today at the festival.

What if it’s him, out there right now?

Images of a dark-haired maniac raced in my mind. My speeding heart urged me upwards through the spiral of branches. I ignored the pull on my hair, where it snagged on twigs and flaking bark.

I climbed higher.
Perspiration dampened my palms.

I felt a presence boring into the back of my head. There was no doubt now. Heavy
, shallow breaths caught in my chest. I scrambled through the thicket of limbs. An instinctive fear fueled me upwards.

In my haste, my foot slipped off the next branch as I reached for the one above my head with clammy hands. I
lost all footing, swiping in vain for anything to grab onto. Gravity pulled me down, my back colliding with the branch below me. The propelling movement slammed the back of my head onto something solid as I continued my speedy descent.

In seconds
, I hit the ground on my side, my thigh landing on top of a thick root jutting out of the ground. I tried to cry out, but my breath caught in my throat. My chest felt weighed down with pressure. Quick, shallow breaths were all I could manage, pinching pain racing along my back. Squeezing my eyes shut, I laid my head on the dry dirt beneath me. My right thigh throbbed right down to the bone. I laid a hand on it, gripping the muscle.

S
omeone approached me in hasty, heavy steps.

This is it. Please let it be quick,
I pleaded in my mind. I kept my eyes closed, yet sensed a nearby presence.

A rough hand slid under the s
ide of my face and an arm swept my legs around, moving me into a sitting position. My aching back rested against the tree trunk. I grunted in protest, sucking in more quick breaths, unable to convey how much I opposed moving any part of my body. I chanced opening my watering eyes.

A dark-haired young man sta
red back at me with striking gray eyes. His disheveled black hair hung just over his ears, matching the day or two of shadowed scruff framing his face. His mouth was closed tight, lips pressed against each other. Heavy eyebrows curved above his eyes, though at the moment, they were pinched together. I watched him scan my body from head toe, kneeling a mere foot from me. My face grimaced in discomfort.

“Try not to move,”
he said in a deep voice.

It took another minute for me to regain some control of my breathing. I f
orced slow, even breaths. Groaning once more, I adjusted my position. “You’re the one—agh—that moved me,” I accused, grumpiness settling in to replace my fear. Placing a hand on the back of my throbbing head, I winced at the sharp pain that coincided with my touch. “Who do you think you are, sneaking around in the dark? What are you, some kind of pervert?”

The young man
continued to stare at me for a few moments with an amused look on his face.

Curious, I took the ch
ance to examine him. He looked like he could be nineteen or twenty, wearing a fitted, solid blue T-shirt against his broad chest and thick arms. A hint of a tattoo was visible, black lettering not quite hidden under his left sleeve. Small tears spread along his faded blue jeans. Returning my eyes to his, I noticed the gray was tinted with a light blue, like those belonging to huskies. It was hard to tell with the stray strands of hair falling over his eyes and, with him staring back, my nerves got the better of me.

H
e spoke with a soft, low voice. “I think I liked it better when you were having a hard time breathing.”

I glared back at him, daring him to say more. A hint of a smile deepened a small dimple in his right cheek.

“I’m sorry I scared you. That wasn’t my intent,” he said.

I tried moving again, feeling less resistance from my thro
bbing limbs. With hesitancy, I kicked out, testing the dead-leg in my right thigh. Frustrated at the embedded knot in my muscle, I scowled at him again. “Just what was your intent?” I inquired, blowing a strand of hair out of my own eyes. This time, he was the first to drop his gaze. In an instant, he stood to his feet.

“Come on,”
he said, approaching my side and throwing a strong arm under my shoulders. He paused, turning his head towards me so that our faces were inches apart. “Do you think you can stand up?”

H
is breath was warm as it touched my face. With his face so close to mine, a sudden shyness erupted with a flush of red throughout my cheeks.