Nightingale Songs (25 page)

He was at a loss. She seemed to be ignoring
him, yet he didn't know why. He called to her again, so loud that even the echo became distorted, and only then was there movement. Her arms fluttered at her sides, then they wrapped around her head and scratched
at it. She doubled over, then stepped back from the ledge and disappeared
behind the perch, back into the trees.

Something was wrong.

Liam ran for the path he took down, but it was so thin he could not find it. He started climbing
the slope anyway, desperate to get to the top and find Marcia. Liam called to her as he climbed, and slipped
on the loose dirt and leaves under his feet until he reached the top and saw the remnants of the gravel path on the ground. He ran through the forest, hurdling
the fallen debris, his breath ripping
his throat as he screamed for Marcia. He searched for where he had left her, but couldn't find it -- the forest swallowed everything and transformed
it into a homogenous barrier against him, and after a while he was no longer sure if he was travelling
further into or out of the woods. Wherever it was he was going, Marcia would not be waiting.

Eventually, he found his way out. An hour had passed since the two couples entered the woods, and only Liam returned, pale and sweating. He ran with all he had left to the cabin, calling
Marcia's name. Halley and Ken emerged when they heard him, looking
confused. Ken ran
over as Halley limped outside. The door to Liam and Marcia's cabin was open and the two men raced in, but she was not there. Liam checked the bedroom and found only a cool breeze blowing
through from the open window.

II

They never found her.

Police had been called, questions asked, searches done, but nothing
came of any of it. Marcia had disappeared. Liam stayed at the cabin in case she returned, in case there was any sign of what had happened to her. He stayed long after Halley and Ken had left, long after the police moved on to other things. Eventually, he knew he had to return home, but dreaded the idea of entering
the house without her.

The official police report said she had run away. He didn’t believe it, but conversations with her friends and family all revealed the same information -- she felt alone, trapped. She most likely used the weekend as an escape -- perhaps had it planned out in advance. It didn't matter that the idea was ludicrous; he told them it was unlike her to do something
so irresponsible. Until they had proof otherwise, though, the official report would stand.

It wasn’t until she was gone that Liam realized how truly alone he was without her. His every friend had drifted away without notice, and his own family barely recognized his voice. Everyone he knew was a friend of Marcia, and with her gone they wanted nothing
to do with him.

He drank for the first few months, anything
to dull the memories of her that streamed through his head. It didn't help; instead, it fuelled
hallucinations of her return. He would wake, only to discover he was wrong, that she was not there. Every day broke him a little more, until he could feel the string
of despairs that followed him like a child.

He wanted nothing
more than to move beyond the pain and the hurt of her disappearance, but every time he thought he had made headway, it would all come crashing
down at the sight of a book she had enjoyed or a room she had painted. Everything
around him was a reminder of her, and it soon started to infect him. He had trouble eating or sleeping or thinking
straight, the events of that day rewinding and playing
over and over again in his head. If he could just find that one mistake he had made, he could correct it and bring
her back.

Yet, there was nothing
more he could have done, and his despairs piled upon him and weighed
him down.

The months passed, and he grew more and more desperate for release from the burden. He wished he could go back in time to that moment he and Marcia stood together in the woods -- the last time she had said his name -- and talk to his past-self, explain to him all he had to lose. He would have convinced him to take hold of Marcia tight and never let go; to lose her was to lose everything. She was what made him whole, and without her there was an emptiness that nothing
filled.

Like a cut that ran deep, the initial wound eventually healed over, but the throbbing
pain beneath it remained -- debilitating him under the slightest pressure. He found no help from the world around him. When he ran into Halley on the street outside the library, quite by accident, she said almost nothing, but her words seethed with anger and blame.

"She's gone, Liam. You drove her way from all of us."

She left him in the middle of the street, sobbing
into his hands.

# # #

He was not sure when he decided to return to the hotel, but it seemed inevitable once the idea occurred to him. It had been over a year since he had been there, and though the weather had become colder, he wanted to see where everything in his life
had begun to fall apart. Perhaps if he stayed within that cabin again, walked those woods, he might be able to piece things back together and finally be able to move on. He was the only one who believed she loved him, that nothing
could keep her from him, and he found the idea of her lying
dead, undiscovered, far more comforting
than the idea she had run away and had never loved him at all.

Autumn brought with it cold dark days, and the sky above Liam looked as though it was ready to crack open as he drove northward. There was something unsettling
about the journey. Enough time had passed that he should barely remember the previous trip, yet he was lost in a stream of old memories: the way Marcia's legs emerged from her shorts at the fast food drive-through; her squinting
eyes behind dark glasses. Each memory struck with the force of a hammer, and drove
into his chest like a ten-inch nail. His head swam, and he found he had to concentrate upon the road. He prayed
for focus to keep from losing
control.

The narrow road to the cabin was hidden well by time, and he almost missed it in his stupor. It was no longer as smooth as he remembered -- potholes rattled the car's undercarriage as he drove over them. Debris blocked him frequently, and those branches he could not drive over or around he had to leave his car to clear. It was tiring work, and it slowed his progress considerably. When he did make it to the mud and gravel of the parking lot, only a single small light burned in the window of the main cabin.

Everything fell into total darkness when he turned off his headlights.

He half expected the main cabin door to be locked, but it swung open easily. Inside, the reception was dim from bulbs burnt out and not replaced. Those that remained flickered and made
pale shadows that danced around the furniture. The activity board still stood in the corner, streaked and empty.
No one was around, but a trail of muddy footprints marked the way through the door. Liam rang the familiar bell and waited. There was a dull thump from somewhere beyond the wall as though something
had fallen, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps walking
towards him.

Around the corner emerged a figure in coveralls, the name "Garfield" stitched above his breast. The wrinkles on the maintenance man's face were twisted into confusion and surprise when he saw Liam standing
there, but if there was recognition, he kept it hidden.

"I called ahead. Cabin fourteen is supposed to be held for me."

The man laughed; his teeth the color of rotten corn. "I didn’t need to do too much holding. You're the only one here. Even the staff only comes occasionally now. Just to clear out the stragglers."

"I suppose you don’t get many visitors this time of year."

"No," the man said, and lowered
the screwdriver held tight in his white-knuckled fist. "Not many at all."

He pulled the register book from beneath the desk and offered it up for a signature.

"Liam, huh? My name's Connor." He extended his hand. Liam shook it, but did not mention the different name on the man's coveralls. "I keep this place together. If you need anything, find me. I'm pretty much the only one up here with any regularity."

"That's good to know."

Connor did not respond, only stared, and Liam began to fidget. It was as though he was the first person the man had seen in months.

"Um . . . Is there a way to light the path to number fourteen?"

"Even if we had outdoor lights they'd be out this time of year. Wait here a minute. I'll get my coat and flashlight and take you over."

"I don’t want to be trouble."

"Don’t worry. I could use a walk; I've been inside alone all day. Give me a minute."

Connor disappeared into the back hallways again, and Liam could hear quiet cursing and the sound of boxes being moved.

Upon the wall, Liam noticed a painting
that did not seem familiar, yet hardly looked new. It was a rather generic image of a forest, the kind of painting one might find for sale on the side of the road or at the back of a thrift shop. It did not seem out of place hanging
in the cabin, however, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to the hotel retreat. Into the tree line a thin gravel path snuck, tiny amid the large trunks and leaves that surrounded it. The painting
depicted a summer scene, with sunlight dappling
the ground, possibly a slight breeze pushing
the leaves. Upon closer inspection, Liam realized it was not a painting
at all; instead, it was only the photograph of a painting. It wasn't even a
good
photograph -- part of the picture was faded, a light hazy spot the size of a coin near where the gravel path disappeared into the trees. The picture of the painting
hung crooked on the wall and Liam tried to straighten it, but as soon as it was corrected it slid back out of place.

"I can't get that thing
to stay," Connor said, newly emerged from behind the rear wall. "I think I'm going
to have to take it down."

"It's a nice picture."

Connor pointed a scolding
finger at Liam. "You don't have to lie to me. I’m not as ignorant as you think. I can tell crap when I see it and that is definitely crap."

Liam smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Connor tested the beam of the flashlight twice, and then pulled the key for number fourteen from the rack behind the desk.

"Let's go."

Once away from the cabin, the night closed in immediately. Connor's flashlight emitted a strong beam, but the light was swallowed by the darkness, and lit no more than a tiny circle upon the gravel path. Even the stars were hidden behind a layer of dense cloud, and Liam kept his eyes focused on the bouncing
beam for fear of becoming
lost.

"Are you a writer?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you one of those writer-types? The last time we had someone up here this late in the year was because they were a writer looking for some peace."

"No. I'm a teacher."

"You are?"

"Yes. No. I don't . . . I took some time off."

"Yeah," he said, and his voice trailed
off. "I guess you would."

The two men walked the rest of the way in silence, and though he could not see them, Liam felt the trees squeeze
closer to him in the dark. Their leaves whispered in the wind, and the noise they made sounded like words.

The way opened up into a clearing, and Connor's flashlight fell upon a wooden structure that took Liam's thoughts back over a year. It was as if no time had passed. The beam danced along the side of the cabin while Liam heard the sound of too many keys in the darkness. After a moment, there was the heavy click of a lock and lights came on, the whole area around the cabin was lit. Liam squinted a moment.