After the unspeakable tragedy of last year, Charlie Pruitt never would've guessed she'd leave her sunny safe haven in California and return to that mountain. A mountain tainted with loss, horror, and unknown death. Thrown back into a group of friend...
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"CHARLOTTE, WE NEED YOU TO TELL US exactly what happened to your friend Joshua Washington," the female police officer glanced up from her clipboard.
Charlie tightened her grip on the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her wet hair beginning to dry. She kept her dark, sad eyes glued to the floor, refusing to catch the officer's gaze. "Charlie, never Charlotte."
"Right, sorry. Charlie. Tell us what happened to Josh."
The girl's bottom lip began to quiver, and she didn't know if it was from the grief or because she still had not warmed up yet and they had already thrown her in an interrogation room. "The thing. It got him."
"Thing?"
"The Wendigo."
The woman police officer narrowed her eyes at the Pruitt girl in disbelief, her pen lightly tapping the paper. "Wendigo?"
Charlie scoffed, sourly rolling her eyes at the incredulous woman and reclining in her seat. "You don't have to believe me. But you need to get a team together and go down to those mines. I've seen it myself. Maybe you will too, and maybe then...you'll believe me."
The interrogator shuffled uncomfortably, briefly jotting down notes with pursed lips. She continued with a husk, emotionless tone. "Your friend Emily says that Mike almost shot her. Is this true?"
The brunette looked up at the older woman, her expression quickly ripening to anger. "Yes, that's true. But I talked him out of it," she answered in a steady, though cold voice. Her fingernails had begun to grip the blanket's soft fabric impossibly tight.
She nodded, clicking her pen and writing down another thought onto the clipboard. A clipboard Charlie wanted to rip from her hands and scream into her face to leave her alone.
"So say you hadn't been there to talk Michael out of shooting Emily. Do you think he would have done it?"
Charlie looked up again, her gaze now clouded over with malice and furious surprise. "What?"
"Answer the question please. Would he have shot Emily?"
"He wouldn't," she replied almost immediately, her teeth grinding together like metal as she fought to keep back vicious words. "He was scared, sure. She had been bitten and we didn't know if she would turn. We were all scared."
"Maybe," the woman clicked her tongue against the front of her teeth, tapping the pen against the metal clip. Charlie shook angrily in her seat at the sound, nearly losing all of her patience. "But Miss Davis reported that he had held the gun on her, right to her face."
