This Was A Bad Idea

chapter 12 - broken fences

I sent a quick text to my mom during World History.

It's a quick message about a baking club meeting being hosted today after school. It's two hours long and I'm thinking of trying it out to see if I like it.

The only problem is that none of it is even remotely true. Not even the club's existence.

The only other alternative would be telling her that, "hey I'm going to the creek where my friend went missing. Forgot to mention that she might very well be dead by now. Also I'm meeting up with the police there." Yeah, because that would go over great.

We all meet near the strip of fencing at the parking lot. I watch the cars pulling in and out, the sounds of radio stations and music drifting in through their open windows. It coats the air in a jumble of decapitated sounds and static. Xen's last class is also in the science hall, so we get there at the same time. Elliot's last class is art, which is in a small run-down portable that's on the other side of the school. We have to wait a solid five minutes until he gets here.

"Who are we even supposed to call?" Xen asks as she ambles up to me.

"I have the number. It was on the screen. Somehow I've memorized it- I couldn't stop thinking about it all day." I recount. I still remember the harsh black numbers illuminated against the pale blue background, the way they bore into my eyes like knives. "Should I just get it over with? Hell, what would I even say?" I stamer.

"I think I know." Xen says, a half-curve of a smile materializing on her face. "I'm good with words." I shrug and tap over to the phone icon, plugging in the black numbers that I saw this morning on the television. I hit the button with a tight gasp, handing the phone to Xen. The phone picks up after two rings. Xen presses it to her ear. I can't hear what the person on the other line is saying.

"Hi. I have information regarding the girl who went missing last Saturday, Samantha Evans. My name's Xen Nguyen. I was a part of the group of friends that Sam was with on Saturday and....." Xen takes a deep breath. "I think we know what happened to her. We were there." I can hear muffled words on the other end, loud voices.

"Can you send someone over to 39 pinewood? It happened there, it'll be easier to explain." By now, out of the corner of my eye, I see Elliot rushing over. Xen's still talking with the person on the phone.

"Xen's calling the station," I stage-whisper over to him. "She's seeing if they can meet us at the creek." Elliot nods, eyes riveting towards Xen whose eyes are knitted in sharp concentration.

"-We'll be there. Thank you so much." Xen says before the call closes with a muffled click. She hands my phone back.

"Did it work?" I say breathlessly.

"They're on their way in fifteen minutes." Xen nods. A look of determination crosse over her features. Elliot gives her a grin in response. I adjust the thick straps of my backpack, ready to set off into what might be our worst escapade yet.

Elliot knows the route by memory, so we crisscross the quiet streets, using secret shortcuts that Xen points out. A small path in-between a line of houses. An opening in a fence. Both of them seem to know this town as well as they know their own bodies, the curves of their hands. After all, they grew up here. They found ways to ease the boredom of the small town, finding cracks in the symmetric houses and square green lawns.

They found their own way.

We reach the run-down street on the outskirts of Stoneridge. The one that guards the missing girl, the hidden creek. It's still the same as I last remember it, the house with the limp american flag sending a chill down the back of my neck.

The faded streets look worn and pitted with shallow potholes, the sagging rooftops with cracked shingles that look like broken teeth. The houses are smaller here, their scrubby yards devoid of pastel childrens toys and plastic lawn decorations.

The loneliness echoes through me in a deep ache as we find the small alleyway. It's strewn with more plastic bags of overflowing trash, splitting at the seams and reeking of rotten food. From here on the curb, I can see the torn fence and the dense path of overgrown trees that leads to the spot. A thin breeze shakes the skeletal trees overhead, rattling the few remaining leaves that cling to their branches.

A chill passes over the backs of my ankles, the curve of my neck. Spikes of fear prick down my spine.

"Here we are," Elliot murmurs tonelessly. His words fling into the open air, only to be met with the distant sound of tires churning on the worn roads. I see the car curve around the corner. We all watch quietly as it gently rolls to a stop a few feet from us. Two officers get out.

They're both white, maybe mid-thirties. One looks younger than the other, with a swath of untidy dark brown hair. The other has black hair, combed neatly back and exposing the slightest hints of graying roots.

"I'm officer Anderson," The man with the brown hair says. He gestures to the officer next to him. "This is Officer Wilson." Wilson offers a slight nod, the gesture practiced and composed. I shift a little on my feet, unasy.

"Listen. We're just here to try and find out the truth, to try and find her. I know that, as her friends, I'm sure that's what you want too. It was a very smart decision coming to us, though I wish you'd come sooner," Wilson says calmly.

"The easier you make this, the easier it is for everyone involved. Give us the full story of what happened, try to remember as many details as possible." Anderson continues.

"Thank you," Elliot says. "This is the creek. We've been using this spot for years just to hang out, I guess? We don't drink or anything, it's not like that. But we just talk and be with each other." He offers. "The fence has been like this since we came here, I think it was cut by some upperclassmen a few years back who used to come down here." He gestures towards the jagged slash ahead of us, past the alleyway.

I stare forwards at the gaping fence, the broken links torn and hanging downwards. I grimace at the sharp edges, at the haphazardly done slashes. It wasn't a single clean cut, it was a ragged sawing motion that finally tore the metal links apart. I start to edge my way forward, ready to just get this over with. I ease myself up onto the curb, past the tight patch of space in between the two houses bodering the fence.

I see the others following me, and the Officers following them. I reach past the mess of foliage, past the overgrown trees that climb for any path of space available. I remember coming here the first time and hearing Sam's voice, guiding me down the path. I break through onto the small slope that curves downwards to the creek.

A spike of fear suddenly reverberates through my entire body. Pinpricks of phantom pain spike up the back of my neck. I freeze, suddenly unable to move. Something's different.

Something's wrong. I listen for the sound of the rushing river over the smooth rocks. Still there. The patches of sky that echo through the webbed canopy above us. Still the same. I train my eyes towards the thin patch of bushes that slightly obscure the tunnel opening. A cold shiver creeps up my entire body, coiling around my hands, my ankles.

I see a splosh of color that stands out amongst the gray, the dark green. A pale streak of something that cuts through the monotone of earth-toned hues.

I hear Xen creep up behind me, hear her footsteps crunch across the loose dirt. A bit of it gets knocked onto the toes of my converse.

I stumble down the slope, suddenly unable to stop as I run towards the opening of the tunnel. I hear the others yelling, their confused shrieks hitting the freezing air. They jumble together, the sounds pushing against each other in a clash of noise that I can't hear.

But nothing stops me when I reach the patch of dirt, when I reach the open hole that leads down into the dark abyss.

Nothing stops me when I see the charred face staring up at the sky.