What I don't understand is why. What's the point of the Rift mind-torturing us? To get us to leave? That's not going to happen.
As we ride past a never-ending parade of woodsy sameness, I become semi-paranoid about my own thoughts, because now they may have physical power.
Random images shoot through my mind. They swoop in like sparrows. I can't stop them.
I see Shadow's inky black tail, swishing.
Isabel's warm hands wrapped around a teacup.
Josie's chocolate-chip cookies.
Dad, wiping his red face with a towel after his Tuesday-night tennis match.
Mom with her gardening gloves and sun hat, kneeling at her flower beds.
I keep scanning the woods, waiting for one of them to materialize. But hours pass until we see another-and it's nothing I've been thinking about.
It's a dog.
A tiny white dog, tied to the root of a tree with a thin purple leash. It has a snowy white coat and beady black eyes. A purple ribbon is tied around its neck.
I love dogs, and I've always wanted one. It's why I keep thinking about Chief-the puppy that would've been mine if only I were home in Connecticut.
In my entire life, I can't remember ever meeting a dog I haven't liked on sight. But this little ball of white fur starts to yap furiously and lunge at the leash as soon as we come near. Something about it instantly puts me off. A mean-spiritedness at odds with its adorable appearance.
Jode says, "Ah, lucky me. That's mine again. Well, he's my mum's. His name is Baudelaire. Bodie, for short."
"He seems … sweet," I say.
"Yes," Jode says. "Charming, as you can see."
By his strained expression, I can tell there's a story here. Maybe Baudelaire isn't part of a tragedy, like some of the other anomalies we've come across. But he's not part of many happy memories, either.
"Riot wants to eat Bodie," Gideon says. "Can I let him?"
Jode laughs humorlessly. "No."
"Then what's the plan? Are we taking him?"
Jode shakes his head. "We can't. He's too loud."
"Are we leaving him?"
"I can't. He's my mum's dog."
"Okay, so what are we doing?"
Jode looks from Bodie to Gideon. "This dog died five years ago."
"Oh."
Silence descends.
Baudelaire has stopped yapping. He pants as he looks at Jode, his tiny pink tongue lolling. Then he turns and runs right into the tree.
Into a hollow knot in the tree.
Into it.
Disappearing inside.
The leash snaps loose and trails after the little white dog like a kite streamer; then the knot closes, sealing shut. In seconds, an instant, there's no dog, no leash. No sound in the air.
Then Marcus says, "The tree just ate the dead dog."
"Yes," says Jode. "So it seems."
"Jode," I ask, "were you thinking about him? Before we found him?"
"He crossed my mind briefly. An hour ago, though. Not recently."
We look at each other, hoping theories will emerge. None do. All we have is questions, and we've already asked those.
The Rift, score a million.
Us, zero.
There's no further discussion necessary. What is there to say? We sit in our saddles and quietly try to file this away, accepting the anything-is-possible-ness of this place.
The hours string together, one after another. We don't see any planes or cars or dogs. We don't see my mother, only occasional patches of flowers winding through the trees.
Dawn breaks. The sun reaches its zenith. Dusk falls.
Nothing new has appeared, and neither has Bas. Tiredness seeps into my muscles, but my imagination shows no sign of slowing down. I imagine the trees growing eyes and mouths and taunting us with deep rumbling voices. I imagine them hiding small dogs inside them. I imagine Sebastian inside them. And Harrows. Harrows like rotten black maggots, packed and squirming inside.
I don't notice the chill in the air until Gideon speaks.
"It'll be dark soon. We need to lay camp," he says.
He looks unhappy with his own idea.
We've been riding for fifteen hours and haven't slept in twice as long. The horses don't tire, but we do. I'm sure I'm not alone in being exhausted.
As I dismount, my legs wobble and my stomach sinks with disappointment. We've accomplished nothing. And we're going to sleep here.
Necessary, sure. But somehow it seems foolish.
After weighing the pros and cons of making a fire to warm up, we decide to do it. We're already visually exposed, thanks to Riot and Lucent. A fire won't make that much difference. And we're not just trying to go undetected by the Harrows and Samrael. We want Bas to see us.
Jode and Marcus go in search of wood. Gideon takes a slow stroll around the clearing, like he might see something different from what we've seen all day.