But is it that simple? The scorned husband? How does the Bob connection fit in then? And Anne knew about us? And they work together. That can’t just be coincidence, right? I’m trying to connect the dots on how it could be possible for all three of them to be in this together.

Maybe Anne was the one who told Deputy Summers in the first place. Yes, that makes sense. She might have wanted Deputy Summers to be the one that confronted Kelly since Anne couldn’t seem to tell Sarah or face me herself. But she probably didn’t anticipate Scott’s response. But what about Bob? He would have wanted Kelly dead more than anyone. I mean she killed his fucking brother…

The numbness that had been holding me let loose for a second, and I began to realize the number of insects accumulating on my hands and legs. My first reaction was to flail and remove them all, but then I remembered where I was. This was their home, not mine. They were seeking warmth and shelter the same as me, so how could I blame them. I wanted to be one of them. Every morning I would have a purpose. Trekking into the woods, searching for building material and food to bring back to the colony. I would have friends, a team, a clear sense of direction. For all of the wrong I did, my sloth, my lies, my infidelity, I didn’t deserve this. Ant Adam would be born anew. At night I could rest knowing I put in an honest day’s work. Fill my belly. Once in a while plant my seed in the queen. Really not much different than my own life. Just not aimless. And finally, fair.

* * *

I wake completely soaked and colder than I have ever been. My muscles do not want to respond. They are frozen in stasis, hoping warmth will come to them. My brain assures them that that will not be the case and finally they release. I head in what I think is the direction of the road. My guess turned out to be correct as I hadn’t walked as deep into the woods as I thought I had.

As I continue to tread, I notice that my hands are caked in dried mud. The patina begins to crack and shed itself into a slow falling helix of flakes. My own dirty Hansel and Gretel trail, I think. Then I look back and realize that dirt falling into dirt leaves no trail.