flathead chapter 13

hat night, Sloane refolded all of her things, laying out her warmest layers and set her coat out to try off. She also put her boots on the heating vent on the floor to make sure they’d be dry for the next day. She wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, so she just took a long shower (the hot water ran out eventually) and curled up in the motel bed. She put cable on and clicked between a few random movies she found, and then the news to see how the storm was progressing.

She fell asleep early, looking through her phone for the first time really that trip. She checked Instagram, looking at her roommate’s pictures, and The Bitch’s story. It was typical - shots of fancy drinks on nice tables at chic bars and skyline pictures from rooftops in Brooklyn and glimpses of new shoes. She missed it. She ached to be back in New York, ached to return to a life where her friends were waiting for her at dinner, waving her down.

In the morning, true to his word, Jackson called. Sloane did not answer. She instead pulled on her thermals and boots and zipped her jacket all the way up. Then she texted Todd to come get her. He was there within fifteen minutes. By that time, Jackson had texted her:

Going to swing by the diner in half an hour. Would love to see you.

Sloane was already in Todd’s car by this point, asking him to take her to Whitefish Ranger station. In the car, she sent a text herself, but this time,

something w her mother happens here that’s the nail in the coffin

Little ways away from the ranger station Sloane asked to be let out, which Todd did reluctantly.

“Will you need a ride home?”

Sloane would. But she wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

“Be careful,” were Todd’s final words to her before she set off. She stayed just beyond the tree line, since she figured the boys would be at the ranger station themselves. And she was right about there. Four cars were parked outside. Michael was outside, sending something on his satellite pager. Sloane realized she had no idea what she was looking for.

She rounded the tree line to get to a trailhead where there had been a decent number of steps slightly packing down the snow. She followed it as quickly as she could. The snow was too deep - she could hardly walk off the trail. So even though she worries the boys might discover her before she could see what was going on, she pushed through. Some trees had been spray painted off in the distance, so she kept heading for that. And even though her feet were numb, and she was freezing, and she felt a sense of dread she’d be found out, Sloane enjoyed the walk. Enjoyed the sound absorbed forest. The snowfall was gentle at this point, and it felt like the sun might peak through. The trees were heavy with it. Their branches sagged. And before long, Sloane had come to the place with the spray paint. The scene that lay before her froze her to the spot.

The snow was packed down in between a circle of trees. The snow was also bright red. The branches above sprung free, without any snow on them. Flakes feel from the sky in the small break in the trees. The flakes dances as they fell and settled on the scene before her.

A body hung from one of the branches. Well, what was left of a body. It had been partially eaten, it seemed. A chunk of midsection was gone. It hung from its leg. Sloane couldn’t be sure if it was a man or a woman, only that it was missing huge pieces, slightly blue, and someone was suspended in the tree line.

Sloane gagged, threw up a little in the snow beside her. Another body, on the ground, laying on top of yet another corpse. These two looked like they’d been having sex. Legs wrapped around a waist, arms around a back. Both of their necks broken - heads off at unnatural angles.

Camping equipment had been ripped to shreds and was strewn all over the small clearing. Chunks of flesh littered the ground on the opposite side of the clearing - the other two bodies. Hardly anything left.

Sloane heard a scream and then her vision blurred. She tried to run away but just staggered backwards and fell into the deep snow.

Sloane woke up on a cot, in the warmth, feeling heavy as lead. Someone she didn’t recognize was checking her blood pressure, the wrap tightening around her arm so she could feel her heartbeat radiating through her whole body. She shuddered, her eyes still closed.

The corpses came back to her in flashes. Their mangled bodies. Their blue skin. The chunks of half-eaten flesh. She shuddered again.

“Something ate them,” Sloane said her eyes slow to open.

Jackson appeared over her. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Why were they out there?” But again, she’d passed out before she got an answer.

Finally, another twenty minutes later, Sloane was back in the land of the living and conscious. She looked over to see Jackson and Nick, who were looking at the computer at the ranger’s desk. They had some pictures of people pulled up.

“Who are they?”

Jackson whipped around.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling by the cot. She sat up and scooted away.

She looked past Jackson to Nick. “Who are they?”

“The victims,” Jackson eventually answered when Nick didn’t.

“Why were they out there?”

“Having an orgy.” That was Nick. He hadn’t looked away from the computer screen.

Jackson sighed and stood, went to the desk chair and sat.

“An orgy.” Sloane rolled that over in her mind.

“Yeah, you familiar?” Nick said, and Sloane was glad to know he was just always a dick.

“Been part of two or three,” Sloane threw back. And it was not a lie.

Jackson examined her, shook his head, and rubbed his face with both of his hands. “I’m taking you back to the Ranch.”

“Like hell you are.”

“If you keep arguing, I’m bringing you back to my mom’s so someone can keep an eye on you.”

Sloane stood. She felt shaky, but she didn’t care. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

Todd had texted her, and she managed to type out that she found a ride home and thanked him for checking on her.

She waited for Jackson to come out and found that her frustration was such that she could’ve cried. She desperately held that instinct back, though, until she was alone. She had to be alone for that. She would not cry at all, if possible.

When he finally did come out and turned the car on, Sloane with her hands pressed to the heat vents, he told her he would not drive until they’d had a conversation.

“Why did you come out here?” Jackson asked, turned sideways in the driver’s seat. His eyes burned a hole in her head. She really had not thought this through.

“I wanted to see what happened.”

“But why? You could’ve frozen to death. Look at how you’re dressed.”

Her clothes were damp, but she wasn’t freezing. She couldn’t have been out there for very long.

“Nick heard you screaming. Good thing he found you fast.”

“Why? Because whatever got them would get me too?” Sloane said, finally turning to face Jackson.

“I just don’t know why you’d want to see a crime scene so badly.”

“What do you care? You can really stop pretending now. Love bombing isn’t a good look for you.”

He recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“Love bombing? What the fuck are you talking about?” Jackson said.

“This was a one-night thing. And that’s fine. So stop with the breakfast and the hospitality.”

Jackson searched her face for something, but Sloane was doing everything she could to keep her face neutral. Tears stung at her eyes but she would not let them fall. She would not let him get the better of her. Her heart was thudding in her ears, in her chest, she felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t move.

Sloane, though, understood the importance of restraint. So she sat perfectly still, staring at him. And the look in his eyes - the way his face was so open to her, and his hands were about to reach out to hers, she felt a flicker of doubt creep into her. Was it possible that he really did just care?

Sloan wanted to say more. She felt the words in her throat. She wanted that look on his face to go away. But every time she had tried to do that before, every time she had bore her heart and offered it up, admitted she had a heart at all, she’d regretted it. They’d looked at her heart like it was a small, bloody, disgusting thing. And she’d have to tuck it back inside of herself.

She couldn’t do that again here. Not where she was stuck in that God forsaken motel in this remote, boring town with no comforts of home. She could not have a breakdown.

And with Jackson staring at her, her heart pounded, her eyes burned, and one tear slipped over. And then another. And they were streaming silently.

“Sloane, what is going on?” he asked softly, and he started to reach out to her but then stopped himself.

“I want you to tell me the same thing,” she answered. “I want to believe you’re not lying to me.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Jackson asked, his eyebrows knit together over his eyes.

“Everyone lies to me.”

There: she’d said it. That was the ugly truth, and she’d finally said it.

Back at the cabin, she waits by the window all night for the torch to be lit.