Back The Woods Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. August 2008
  7. NOW
  8. Chapter 1
  9. Chapter 2
  10. Chapter 3
  11. Chapter 4
  12. THEN
  13. Chapter 5
  14. NOW
  15. ANOTHER SUMMER OF DEATH?
  16. Chapter 7
  17. Chapter 8
  18. THEN
  19. Chapter 9
  20. NOW
  21. Chapter 10
  22. Chapter 11
  23. Chapter 12
  24. Chapter 13
  25. THEN
  26. Chapter 14
  27. NOW
  28. Chapter 15
  29. Chapter 16
  30. Chapter 17
  31. THEN
  32. SECOND BODY FOUND
  33. NOW
  34. Chapter 19
  35. Chapter 20
  36. Chapter 21
  37. Chapter 22
  38. Chapter 23
  39. THEN
  40. Chapter 24
  41. NOW
  42. Chapter 25
  43. Chapter 26
  44. Chapter 27
  45. Chapter 28
  46. Chapter 29
  47. THEN
  48. Chapter 30
  49. NOW
  50. Chapter 31
  51. Chapter 32
  52. Chapter 33
  53. Chapter 34
  54. Chapter 35
  55. THEN
  56. Chapter 36
  57. NOW
  58. Chapter 37
  59. Chapter 38
  60. Chapter 39
  61. Chapter 40
  62. Chapter 41
  63. TRAGIC TALE OF ARABELLA COOPERREACHES ITS SAD CONCLUSION
  64. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  65. Discover More
  66. About the Author
  67. Also by Vanessa Savage

I haven’t smoked since I was sixteen but I can taste it. I want to. I want to stand in the kitchen of my flat at two in the morning smoking with my sister, pretend it was something we did together even though I never used to because I was the good girl.

“Couldn’t you sleep?” she asks, and I shake my head, frowning.

This dream is too real. Are you awake or asleep? my mind whispers. Of course I’m asleep. How could Bella be here otherwise? All my dreams of Bella since the accident…they’ve always been about after, nightmares: I’ve never dreamed her alive, never talked to her. The longing to hold her again, not let her go, is fierce, a physical pang.

“Remember when we were kids?” she says, stubbing her cigarette out in a plant pot. I don’t say anything—the plant’s fake anyway. I don’t like fake plants, don’t see the point, but I inherited it with the flat. Here are your keys and a fake plant to welcome you. Like half of my day-to-day life, it’s just there, existing unseen in the corner of my eye until now.

“Remember how you could never sleep until I came home?”

“I used to worry,” I say. “I liked to stay awake until I heard you come in. Until I knew you were safe.” I wipe a tear off my cheek as she sighs.

“Dad would go off to bed, trusting everything would be fine, but I’d stay awake and watch the minutes ticking away and wait. I’d imagine so many awful things happening as every minute past midnight ticked away.”

“You always were an old woman for worrying,” she says.

“I was right to worry, though, wasn’t I?” I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Funny, all these years I’d never realized how angry I am. I’m angry at how irresponsible she was.

“Are you still waiting?” she asks, and I frown.

“What do you mean?”

She leans in. I can smell cigarette smoke in her hair. I can hear her breathing, her breath overlapping mine. “Is that why you can’t sleep now?”

I exhale, release it and reach out a hand, wishing I could touch her. It’s Dad’s phone call doing this. Calling me home. Making me remember.

I don’t want to remember.