I turn back to look at him, and I can’t see a soul, but that’s when I see it there, off to the right, illuminated by a single shaft of moonlight.

The chimney of our cabin.

Consumed by vines and moss, the cabin itself is unrecognizable. My landmark. I fling myself toward it, my muscles remembering those old races with a bittersweet tang as they are pushed, pushed, pushed through the muck and the damp, into the warmth and comfort and safety I want to believe are inside, I need to believe are inside, even though they’ve gone extinct.

My veins are thick with adrenaline when I reach the door. My legs shake like jelly, like my knees will give at any moment. There’s a strange latch on there, that must have been added after we left. I wipe at my itchy right cheek, and it’s wet; I must be crying as I struggle against the door, pushing and pulling, leaning my weight in, praying for it to give. I’m kicking at the lock, and that’s when I slide against the wood frame, falling into the open cabin, teeming with dust mites and so much—too much—invisible forgotten life. I push the door closed behind me, choosing in over out, legs aching. I lock the door, then shove a small chest in front of it, all adrenaline.

It is silent inside, or at least, I can hear nothing over the beating of my heart.

It is dark inside, but the moon glows through the windows, even though they’re furred with old growth. I use my phone—no bars—for more light, and I wander through our cabin, holding my breath.

There is the corner where we laid out a rug to play backgammon, checkers, chess. Bare, now.

There is the ledge where she left the prizes for our games, and other treasures: a rogue acorn, every heart-shaped rock, an empty shell, so far from its sea.

There is the table, where she served us tea.

My phone jitters, flashing once. I check for bars. Nothing.

It’s brighter now, inside—there’s this luminescence seeping from the walls somehow. A smell … the smell of roasted rice tea, blows in from somewhere, and tears fill my eyes.

I settle on the floor, unsure where I should hide, where I should wait.

And then I hear it. Someone humming the song she always hummed.

“Hello?” I whisper, voice cracking. I whip around, wiping my eyes.

And I see her.

NONI

After Tai bolts from Dad’s bedside and Teddy follows her, I don’t think. I move. I shout at Saxim to call the police and an ambulance again and when I hear her speaking into her phone, I just run. I run out to the drive, phone slipping in my grip, to find her.