Hansel 3(18)

No she wouldn’t asshole. She was taken from there. Why do you think her family moved?

Her closed eyelids are making me crazy. I feel fucking sick myself, and I’ve got a goddamned iron stomach.

We pass through Fairplay, Jefferson… Sprawling valleys, lots of sky, and of course, the snow-capped peaks.

I want to say her name. To take her hand. I know for damn sure that she’s not asleep. Why won’t she talk to me?

Our highway road winds between massive mountain peaks, twining alongside a river, and I know we’re nearly at the turnoff to the forest. I hang a sharp and sudden left, pulling into the parking lot of a rural, mom and pop establishment that probably serves the summer crowd, and as I park, her eyes slit open. Slide to me.

“Han— Edgar?”

“You can call me Hansel,” I say. “Edgar is a stage name, and you’re right, it’s kind of fucking stupid.” I lean toward her, struggling to keep my fingers from a strand of hair that’s drifting in the stream of warm air from the heat. tucking hair behind her ear. “Listen, Leah, do you want to turn around—or keep driving? The turnoff isn’t far, but this is fucking dumb. I’ve got one thing to do there with plumbing. I can do it after I take you to the airport. You can change your mind.”

Her mouth draws up, and she shakes her head, but she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are trained on the wood and stone building in front of us, with a sign advertising Best Burgers East of China.

“No,” she says. “I need to do this.”

I exhale. Back out.

“We can make it fast,” I say. It’s a struggle to keep my gaze off her face and on the road. “I stay there some, and I changed how it looks.”

After a long moment she says, “That seems strange.”

My throat feels full and tight. To answer her, to talk about this shit…it kind of throws me off, but I say, “Why?”

“Well, you made The Forest look like it, that’s all. I would think you would want it to look the same.”

I try to think of how to answer her. I’ve gotten used to hiding myself from people, so it’s hard to think of being honest—even with Leah.

A moment later, she speaks again. “You really stay there? Why?”

She cuts her eyes at me, and I decide to give her something honest. “Because…I like to leave.” The words feel big in my throat and clumsy on my tongue, but I manage them. “The groundskeeper watches it when I’m not there,” I say, as if that matters.

Then we’re at the turn. It’s just a little dirt road, marked only by two food carts. We’re in a rural ass area, so I’m not sure who buys the jerky and burgers, but I guess someone does, because the carts are always there.

In late fall and winter, the forest is closed off sometimes, but I’m a resident. As long as my car can make it, I don’t let the snow or cold restrict me.

The road is bumpy, sharply curving, lined with trees and topped by low-lying power lines that service other houses tucked away in the forest. We pass a modern-looking home with a large, grassy yard and a swing set sitting unused at this moment. On the left of the road, a river runs; over it, metal and wood bridges stretch, leading to houses.

“We’ve got a few more miles. We’re on the other side of the forest, more toward Georgetown,” I tell her.

I watch her look around as I navigate the dirt road. It winds up through mountain peaks so high they’re bare except for rock and snow. Gravity bares down on my chest because it’s high up here—about twelve thousand feet above sea level. I’m used to the sensation, having come here dozens of times since our captivity. But Leah isn’t. I can see her panic in the pallor of her face.

I open my mouth to suggest we turn around, or just keep driving. We’re descending slightly from the last summit we passed, surrounded by nothing but the rock-scattered desolation of the high Rockies. All along the left of the road is a frozen lake. I think something in her recognizes it, because, as I wind slowly down the road, toward the fork that leads to Mother’s place, her lips press flat together, and her shoulders stiffen.

I hold my right hand out for her to grab, then realize she probably won’t, because it’s swollen and still wrapped up in gauze from yesterday.

She’s got her left elbow propped on the console, so I just let my fingers brush it gently.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Her eyes, stretched wide, flick over mine. My chest aches as I slow the car from twenty to ten. Over to our left, there’s a smaller dirt road, winding past some aspens, down a slight slope.

“Leah.” Her name catches in my throat. “This is the turnoff, baby. Are you sure you want to—”