Page 12 of The Last to Vanish
“He’s staying in it.”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised. “You’re kidding.” She laughed. “Well, I guess that’s one way to get him out of here.”
I shook my head, slightly startled. I’d thought it would be what he wanted, to be as close as he could, to feel the echo of his brother left behind. But now I wasn’t so sure.
Marina stepped closer, just as more guests filed into the lobby. “What do you know about him, Abby?”
In truth, I knew almost nothing of Trey West: He shared a few mannerisms with his brother, something I couldn’t quite place when he’d first walked into the inn. He’d been overseas when his brother went missing, and as far as I knew, he didn’t come home when he heard. He was a nonentity, then. Someone who contributed to a joint statement, but remained far removed from reality. It had not concerned me to find out why. Maybe others knew more. Maybe I was missing something.
“Not much,” I said. “Why?”
“I just think it’s weird, him coming here now, after all this time. What’s the point?”
“Closure?” I asked. Like the sheriff said, maybe he was here to pay his respects. Maybe he felt a pull, had to see it for himself.
She gave mea look, like I should know better. “Wishful thinking doesn’t help anyone.”
Neither Marina nor I grew up here, didn’t have the history of her husband or the sheriff, or Cory, even, who only saw this place for how he wanted to see it. Ray had vouched for her, just as Celeste for me. Marina had grown up only two towns east, but she said it had still taken her years to be accepted as a true resident of Cutter’s Pass.
“People want action. Even if it’s just for show.” She paused. “Maybe especially then.”
The front doors opened behind her then, and she must’ve seen it in my face, because she turned slowly to see who had just arrived.
My stomach sank. He didn’t look good.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but Trey West seemed transformed by his stay in Cabin Four. Hollow-eyed and unsure, hair unruly, like he hadn’t slept.
I imagined him up all night, picturing his brother’s last movements. Falling asleep in the morning, in a fitful exhaustion, until my call after noon had roused him. The disorientation that comes from sleeping the wrong hours. Like stepping out of a dark room after too long.
It was a common refrain from anyone who’s lived here for a time that Cutter’s Pass changes you. There was an atmosphere that drew people here, or kept people returning. While this town was most known for those who had disappeared, many others seemed to find what they were looking for instead: people from the outside who would find a way to remain, uprooting their entire lives. Like there was something you might discover here, about yourself.
I thought of Georgia, stumbling out of the woods, with blisters and ill-fitting shoes, like some ethereal being made solid. Becoming, in time, more grounded, and real. Cleaning the corners of the halls with a set determination. Celeste’s husband, Vincent,transforming from a man in a suit working with numbers in a back office to one whose imagination could turn a plot of land and a heap of wood intothis. Like magic, Celeste had said. Even me, learning to move in harmony with the town, and the inn.
It wasn’t magic so much as the crisp mountain air. The necessity of everything in town, and the familiar routine of all the pieces working together. It was the contribution you brought to the order here, and the confidence in the choice you’ve made to be here. Just like the choice I’d made ten years earlier, and the choice I continued to make, in staying.
So maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Trey West differently one day in, uncertain about his choice to come, his purpose for staying, after spending the night alone in the spot his brother was last seen.
But the town had done the opposite to him; Cutter’s Pass had complicated his understanding, taken something instead. Marina was right—there was one sure way to get him out of here, and I was well on my way to achieving it, by putting him in that room. Not in an act of kindness, as I’d thought, but cruelty.
Marina stepped aside as Trey approached the registration desk, and I tried to look unfazed by the pronounced shift in his demeanor. “Glad you could make it,” I said.
He nodded, distracted, as he pulled out his credit card, a faint tremble to his hand this time. There was a scratch on the back of his wrist that I didn’t remember seeing yesterday.
As I ran his card, his gaze drifted to the barrel of walking sticks. “Weren’t there umbrellas in this yesterday?”
“There were,” I said. “Today seemed like more of a walking stick day.” I smiled, trying to get his face to mirror my own. Standing so close, I could see the twitch of a muscle at the corner of his eye.
“That’s it, right?” he began, turning to the back window for a moment. The mountain, invisible last night, now the million-dollarview. “The Vanishing Trail?” His voice dropped, and my throat tightened.
That’s what they called it, the visitors who were more interested in the myth than the people. Who were more captivated by the mystery than the reality.
“Yes, that’s the trail to Shallow Falls,” I corrected. “But you can’t do it now.” Not with the rapidly setting sun, the narrowing of the path, the lack of clarity and direction. “You’ll never make it back in time.”
His gaze was hooked on that mountain still, and I needed to pull him back.
“You know, we offer guided tours. For safety. I can take you tomorrow.” The words were out before I could consider them, weigh them. I cleared my throat. “But it would have to be early. I need to be back by lunch.”
He slowly turned my way, eyes slightly unfocused. “That would be great,” he said.
