Page 87 of Fragments of the Lost
“Caleb?” I call. It’s tentative, unsure, because I’m standing here soaking wet, and I feel outside myself for a moment. That if I were to step back and look at the scene, I’m sure I’d be witnessing the unraveling of a girl in the dark, in the woods, who has swum through a river in the cold, because she thinks her ex-boyfriend isn’t really dead.
I take another step, away from the sound of the river. There’s a sliver of light through the trees, and as I move, it disappears. And then there’s the noise: like water hitting something else. I move through the trees, closer and closer, until I’m upon it. It’s a green tent, the front flap moving in the wind. I throw it open, my hands shaking, and peer inside, into the darkness.
I wait for someone to speak, for a hand to reach out and grab me, but there’s nothing. I crawl inside, feeling for anything left behind. And then I hear heavy footsteps outside. A light shines on the outside of the fabric. My shadow, illuminated on the far side.
“Caleb?” I call, but no one responds.
I crawl back out of the tent, because someone’s here, and I’m running for him, for the shadow, but the light is in my eyes, and I can’t see who’s there.
Then the shadow’s edges take shape: He’s older, heavier, harder. It’s the man we saw on our hike. It’s his father. I hold up my arm to block the light, and my steps slow. A deep voice says, “No one by that name here.”
“Please,” I say, walking all the way up to him. “I need to talk to Caleb.” I’m shaking, because I’ve done it. I traced him back to this man, from the pieces left behind. I grab onto the front of his jacket—here, solid, the image of a photograph, brought to life.
He steps back, pries my hands off his jacket, looks me over again—this crazed girl dripping wet, who has dragged herself from the river, like a memory.
He shakes his head, sadly.
“I know he’s alive,” I say.
“Sweetheart, you need to get out of here.” He looks over his shoulder, and I know he’s there somewhere. I know it.
“Caleb!” I call. “I made a mistake. Your mom followedme.”
The man freezes, and that’s when I know I’ve won. His grip tightens on my arm and he drags me farther back into the woods. But I don’t understand. The trees close around us, and there’s no one here but us.
“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he hisses. He has pulled me out of sight, and I think I should be afraid, but I’m not—I’m too close. I’m driven forward, to see it through.
“I do,” I say back. “I know exactly what I’ve done. That’s why I’m here. I’m telling him. To run.” I hiccup, and he lets go of my arm.
I step back, and he looks down at what’s in my hand. What I have grabbed from my pocket and held out in front of me, the only thing I have left. Caleb’s Swiss Army knife.
He frowns. “I’m not going to hurt you. You need to go back,” he says. “Now.”
“I can’t go back.” He looks down at me then, as if just finally understanding what I’ve done to reach them. He turns his back on me, and starts moving, but he doesn’t object when I follow him. We’re on a trail, leading to a clearing. In the clearing, the sound changes, to rain on a roof.
There’s a small circle of metal trailers, not attached to cars. They’re rentals, I see. The door to one creaks open, the light behind silhouetting a figure. It moves down the steps, to the darkened shadows of the trees. A hood over it, to protect from the rain.
Standing in the shadows is a shape. The shape becomes human. Becomes real.
He lifts his face, to both of us. “Dad,” he says.
And then I’m standing across from a ghost. Except I’m not sure whether the ghost is him or me, because he looks at me like he’s never seen me before. Like he has no idea who this person is before him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
But all I can think is,I’ve done it.He is here, exactly as I believed, as I hoped.
“I found you.” That’s the only thing there is. The only thing to say. I found him. When no one else believed it, or no one else could do it, I was the one who fit together the clues he left behind, who traced the beginning and end, to here.
But I don’t step any closer.
We are standing across from each other, and I am suddenly afraid. I thought I knew him, but the pieces I’ve discovered do not line up to the person I thought I knew.
“How?” he asks. He also does not move to come closer. In fact, I’m scared he might turn and run at any moment. That I’m not understanding something, that this Caleb was never meant to be found. That he’s already gone, somehow.
“Your mom had me cleaning out your room. I figured it out. I know what happened in that room.”
He cuts his eyes to his father.
