Pines

A man pushed him, said, “Do you drive that way?”

  At the next intersection, Ethan stopped, doubtful he could make it across.

  He stumbled back and sat down hard on the sidewalk against a building.

  The street had become crowded—he couldn’t see anything distinctly, but he could hear footsteps moving by on the concrete and snippets of passing conversation.

  He lost all sense of time.

  He might have dreamed.

  Then he was lying on his side on the cold concrete, felt someone’s breath, their voice right in his face.

  Words came at him, though he couldn’t assemble them into any sensible order.

  He opened his eyes.

  Night had fallen.

  He was shivering.

  A woman knelt beside him, and he felt her hands gripping his shoulders. She was shaking him, speaking to him.

  “Sir, are you all right? Can you hear me? Sir? Can you look at me and tell me what’s wrong?”

  “He’s drunk.” A man’s voice.

  “No, Harold. He’s sick.”

  Ethan tried to pull her face into focus, but it was dark and blurry, and all he could see were those streetlamps shining like minor suns across the road and the occasional streak of light from a passing car.

  “My head hurts,” he said in a voice that sounded far too weak and pained and fear-filled to be his. “I need help.”

  She took his hand and told him not to worry, not to be afraid, that help was already on the way.

  And though the hand holding his clearly didn’t belong to a young woman—the skin too taut and thin, like old paper—there was something so familiar in the voice that it broke his heart.

  CHAPTER 4

  They took the Bainbridge Island ferry out of Seattle and headed north up the peninsula toward Port Angeles, a convoy of four cars carrying fifteen of the Burkes’ closest friends.

  Theresa had been hoping for a pretty day, but it was cold, gray rain, the Olympics obscured, and nothing visible beyond their narrow corridor of highway.

  But none of that mattered.

  They were going regardless of the weather, and if no one else wanted to join her, she and Ben would hike up alone.

  Her friend Darla drove, Theresa in the backseat holding her seven-year-old son’s hand and staring out the rain-beaded glass as the rainforest streaked past in a blur of dark green.

  A few miles west of town on Highway 112, they reached the trailhead to Striped Peak.

  It was still overcast, but the rain had stopped.

  They started out in silence, hiking along the water, no sound but the impact of their footfalls squishing in the mud and the white noise of the breakers.

  Theresa glanced down into a cove as the trail passed above it, the water not as blue as she remembered, blaming the cloud cover for muting the color, no failing of her memory.

  The group passed the World War II bunkers and climbed through groves of fern and then into forest.

  Moss everywhere.

  The trees still dripping.

  Lushness even in early winter.

  They neared the top.

  The entire time, no one had spoken.

  Theresa could feel a burning in her legs and the tears coming.

  It started to rain as they reached the summit—nothing heavy, just a few wild drops blowing sideways in the wind.

  Theresa walked out into the meadow.

  She was crying now.

  On a clear day, the view would’ve been for miles, with the sea a thousand feet below.

  Today the peak was socked in.

  She crumpled down in the wet grass, put her head between her knees, and cried.

  There was the pattering of drizzle on the hood of her poncho and nothing else.

  Ben sat down beside her and she put her arm around him, said, “You did good hiking, buddy. How you feeling?”

  “All right, I guess. Is this it?”

  “Yeah, this is it. You could see a lot farther if it wasn’t for the fog.”

  “What do we do now?”

  She wiped her eyes, took a deep, trembling breath.

  “Now, I’m going to say some things about your dad. Maybe some other people will too.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t still love him.”

  “I know that.”

  “Would he want me to talk about him?”

  “Not if it made you feel uncomfortable.”

  Theresa shut her eyes, took a moment to gather herself.

  She struggled onto her feet.

  Her friends were milling around in the ferns, blowing into their hands for warmth.

  It was raw up on the summit, a strong gale pushing the ferns in green waves and the air cold enough to turn their breath to steam.

  She called her friends over and they all stood in a huddle against the rain and the wind.

  Theresa told the story of how she and Ethan had taken a trip to the peninsula several months after they’d started dating. They stayed at a B&B in Port Angeles and, late one afternoon, stumbled upon the trailhead to Striped Peak. They reached the summit at sunset on a clear, calm evening, and as she stared across the strait at the long view into southern Canada, Ethan dropped to one knee and proposed.

  He’d bought a toy ring from a convenience store vending machine that morning. Said he hadn’t been planning anything like this, but that he’d realized on this trip that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Told her he’d never been happier than in this moment, standing on the top of this mountain and the world spread out beneath them.

  “I hadn’t been planning anything like it either,” Theresa said, “but I said yes, and we stayed up there and watched the sun go into the sea. Ethan and I always talked about coming back here for a weekend, but you know what they say about life and making other plans. Anyway, we had our perfect moments...” She kissed the top of her son’s head. “...and our not so perfect ones, but I think Ethan was never happier, never more carefree and hopeful about the future than that sunset on the top of this mountain thirteen years ago. As you know, the circumstances surrounding his disappearance...” She pushed back against the storm of emotion that was waiting, always waiting. “...well, we don’t really have a body or ashes or anything. But...” A smile through the tears. “I did bring this.” She dug an old plastic ring out of her pocket, the gold paint of the band long since flaked away, the flimsy prongs still holding the emerald-colored prism of glass. Some of the others were crying now too. “He did eventually get me a diamond, but it seemed appropriate, if not more cost-efficient, to bring this.” She pulled a garden spade out of her wet backpack. “I want to leave something close to Ethan here, and this feels right. Ben, would you help me?”

  Theresa knelt down and swept away the ferns until she saw the ground.

  It was saturated from the rain, and the spade speared through easily. She dug out several chunks of earth and then let Ben do the same.

  “I love you, Ethan,” she whispered, “and I miss you so much.”

  Then she dropped the ring into the shallow grave and covered it with the upturned earth and leveled it off with the back of the blade.

  * * *

  That night, back at their home in upper Queen Anne, Theresa threw a party.

  Packed the house with friends, acquaintances, coworkers, loads of booze.

  Their core group of friends—now responsible, tame professionals—had once upon a time been wild and prone to excess, and on the drive home, they’d all vowed to tie one on in Ethan’s honor.

  They kept their word.

  They drank like fish.

  They told stories about Ethan.

  They laughed and cried.

  * * *

  At ten thirty, Theresa was standing on their deck that overlooked the small backyard, and on rare clear days, the Seattle skyline and the hulking, w
hite mass of Mount Rainier to the south. Tonight, the buildings of downtown were obscured in mist, their presence relegated to radiating the cloud deck with a neon glow.

  She leaned against the railing, smoking a cigarette with Darla—something she hadn’t done since her sorority days in college—and nursing her fifth G&T of the night. She hadn’t had this much to drink in ages, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but for now, she reveled in this beautiful padding that protected her from the sharp edges of reality—the unanswered questions, the fear that was always with her. That haunted her dreams.

  She said to Darla, “What if his life insurance benefit doesn’t pay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it, honey?”

  “No proof of death.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’ll have to sell this house. I can’t swing the mortgage on my paralegal salary.”

  She felt Darla’s arm slide through hers. “Don’t think about that right now. Just know that you have friends who love you. Who’d never let anything happen to you or Ben.”

  Theresa set her empty glass on the railing.

  “He wasn’t perfect,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Not by a long, long shot. But the mistakes he made, when it came down to it...he owned them. I loved him. Always. Even when I first found out, I knew I’d forgive him. He could’ve done it again, and the truth is, I would’ve stayed. He had me, you know?”

  “So you two had reconciled completely before he left?”

  “Yeah. I mean, there were still really...tough feelings. What he did...”

  “I know.”

  “But we’d come through the worst of it. We were in counseling. We would’ve made it. And now...I’m a single mother, D.”

  “Let’s get you to bed, Theresa. It’s been a long day. Don’t touch anything. I’ll come over in the morning, help you clean up.”

  “Almost fifteen months he’s been gone, and every day I wake up, I still don’t believe this is really happening. I keep waiting for my cell to ring. For a text from him. Ben asks me constantly when Daddy’s coming home. He knows the answer, but it’s the same thing as with me...same reason I keep checking my phone.”

  “Why, honey?”

  “Because maybe this time it’ll show a missed call from Ethan. Because maybe this time when Ben asks me, I’ll have a different answer for him. I’ll tell him Daddy will be home from his trip next week.”

  Someone called Theresa’s name.

  She turned carefully, unbalanced by the gin.

  Parker, one of the young associates at the law firm where she worked, stood in the threshold of the sliding glass door.

  “There’s someone here to see you, Theresa.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Guy named Hassler.”

  Theresa felt a quiver in her stomach.

  “Who’s that?” Darla asked.

  “Ethan’s boss. Shit, I’m drunk.”

  “You want me to tell him you can’t—”

  “No, I want to talk to him.”

  Theresa followed Parker inside.

  Everyone had hit it too hard, and the party had crashed and burned.

  Jen, her college roommate from her junior year, had passed out on the couch.

  Several of her other girlfriends had gathered in the kitchen around someone’s iPhone, very drunk and attempting to call a cab on speakerphone.

  Her sister, Margie, a teetotaler and possibly the only sober adult in the house, grabbed her arm as she passed and whispered that Ben was sleeping peacefully upstairs in his room.

  Hassler stood waiting in the foyer in a black suit, black tie loosened, bags under his eyes. She wondered if he’d just come from the office.

  “Hi, Adam,” she said.

  They exchanged a quick hug, quick kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier,” Hassler said. “It’s been...well, it’s been a day. But I just wanted to drop by for a minute.”

  “It means a lot. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Beer would be great.”

  Theresa stumbled over to the half-empty keg of Fat Tire and filled a plastic cup.

  She sat with Adam on the third step of the staircase.

  “I apologize,” she said. “I’m a little bit drunk. We wanted to send Ethan off like the good old days.”

  Hassler sipped his beer. He was a year or two older than Ethan. Smelled faintly of Old Spice and still wore that same crew cut he’d had since she first met him at the company Christmas party all those years ago. A trace of red—just a day’s growth—was coming in across his jaw. She could feel the bulge of his firearm off the side of his hip.

  “Are you still running into problems with Ethan’s life insurance?” Hassler asked.

  “Yes. They’re dragging their feet paying. I think they’re going to make me bring a lawsuit.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to call first thing next week. See if I can throw some weight, move things along.”

  “I’d really appreciate that, Adam.”

  She noticed she was speaking slowly and with extreme care in an effort to keep her words from slurring.

  “You’ll send me the adjuster’s contact information?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to know, Theresa, that it’s the first thing on my mind every day, finding out what happened to Ethan. And I will find out.”

  “Do you think he’s dead?”

  A question she would never have asked sober.

  Hassler was quiet for a while, staring down into the amber-colored beer.

  Said finally, “Ethan...was a great agent. Maybe my best. I’m not just saying that.”

  “And you think we’d have heard from him by now, or—”

  “Exactly. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s...” He handed her a handkerchief and she cried into it for a moment before wiping her eyes. “Not knowing... it’s so hard. I used to pray that he was still alive. Now I just pray for a body. A physical thing to give me answers and let me move on. Can I ask you something, Adam?”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “Maybe now isn’t the time—”

  “Please.”

  Hassler finished off the cup of beer.

  He went over to the keg, refilled it, returned.

  “Let’s just take what we know as a starting point, all right? Ethan arrived in Boise on a direct flight out of Seattle at eight thirty a.m. on September twenty-fourth of last year. He went to the field office downtown in the U.S. Bank Building and met up with Agent Stallings and his team. They had a two-and-a-half-hour meeting, and then Ethan and Stallings left Boise at approximately eleven fifteen a.m.”

  “And they were going to Wayward Pines to look into...”

  “Among other things, the disappearance of Agent Bill Evans and Kate Hewson.”

  Just the utterance of her name was like a knife sliding between Theresa’s ribs.

  She suddenly wanted another drink.

  Hassler went on. “You last spoke to Ethan on a cell phone call at one twenty p.m. from Lowman, Idaho, where they’d stopped for gas.”

  “The connection was bad because they were in the mountains.”

  “At this point, they were an hour outside of Wayward Pines.”

  “Last thing he said to me was, ‘I’ll call you tonight from the hotel, sweetheart,’ and I tried to tell him good-bye and that I loved him, but the call dropped.”

  “And yours was the last contact anyone had with your husband. At least anyone who’s still alive. Of course...you know the rest.”

  She did, and she didn’t need to ever hear it again.

  At 3:07 p.m., at an intersection in Wayward Pines, Agent Stallings had pulled out in front of a Mack truck. He’d been killed instantly, and because of the violence of the collision and the devastation to the front passenger side, the car had to be taken to another location to extricate Ethan’s body. Except on
ce they’d torn the door off and pried up enough of the roof to get inside, they’d found the compartment empty.

  “The other reason I came by, Theresa, was to share a little bit of news. As you know, we weren’t satisfied with the internal examination we had performed on Stallings’s Lincoln Town Car.”

  “Right.”

  “So I called in a favor from the FBI’s scientific analysis team, CODIS. They do amazing work, the best work, and they just finished spending a week with the car.”

  “And...”

  “I can e-mail you their report tomorrow, but long story short, they didn’t find anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they found nothing. No trace of skin cells or blood or hair or even residual sweat. Not even what they call degraded DNA. If Ethan had ridden in that car for three hours on the drive from Boise to Wayward Pines, this team would’ve at least found some molecular trace of him.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Theresa grabbed the banister and struggled onto her feet.

  Made her way over to the makeshift bar on the dry sink.

  Didn’t even bother with another G&T. Just scooped some ice into a rocks glass and filled it with premium vodka.

  She took a long pull, staggered back over to the staircase.

  “I don’t know how to process this, Adam,” she said, and with the next sip, she knew this would be the drink that pushed her firmly over the edge.

  “I don’t either. You asked me what I thought had happened?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t have any answers for you. Not yet. Strictly between you and me, we’re taking another hard look at Agent Stallings. A hard look at everyone who had access to the scene of the accident prior to my arrival. But so far, we’ve gotten nowhere. And as you know, this happened over a year ago.”

  “Something isn’t right,” she said.

  Hassler stared at her, his hard eyes troubled.

  “No shit,” he said.

  * * *

  Theresa walked him out to his car and stood on the wet street getting rained on and watching the taillights grow smaller and smaller before disappearing over the top of the hill.

  All up and down the street, she could see the lights of Christmas trees inside their neighbors’ houses. She and Ben hadn’t put one up yet, and she doubted they’d get around to it this year. The gesture would feel too much like an acceptance of this nightmare, the final acknowledgment that he was never coming home.