“I don’t have a flashlight.”
“A first aid kit?”
“Nope. Just wait for me,” she said. “I’ll be there in no time, and Misery has everything. She’s like a sporting goods store.”
“I don’t want to lose Teresa. She can’t be far. I’ve never felt someone’s emotions over a long distance. Just call me when you get here.”
“Fine. If anyone attacks and tries to kill you, including the bear, ask them to wait for me.”
“You got it.” I closed the phone and the trunk and, well, I yelled. “Teresa!” I called out. Nothing. I walked back up the trail, stopping every so often to call out to her. Admittedly, I didn’t yell as loud as I probably could have. That bear thing freaked me out.
Wednesday was still staring at the side of the mountain, and that seemed to be as good a direction as any. Then I felt it again. A whisper of fear, feathering over me like a trickle of water.
“Teresa!” I screamed, this time with heart. And it hit me. Hard. A blast of fear and hope rolled into one.
I called Cookie again as I ran toward the sensation. “I think it’s her,” I said, breathless with excitement.
“Oh, my god, Charley, is she okay?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t found her yet, but I can feel someone. Call Uncle Bob and Agent Carson and get them out here ay-sap. You were right. The cabin is up that trail. I’m heading to a hilly area just east of it, look around there.”
“Okay, got it. I’ll summon the cavalry, you just find her.”
I closed the phone and called out Teresa’s name again. The blast of fear I felt was quickly evaporating, being replaced entirely by a surge of hope that felt like a cool wind rushing over my skin. Then I remembered I had exactly zero survival gear. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need any.
I ran past Wednesday, and asked, “You couldn’t have mentioned this?”
She didn’t respond, but I saw what she was looking at. A mine. An honest-to-goodness, boarded-up old mine. I had no idea there were any mines in this area. And, naturally, I didn’t have a freaking flashlight. My lack of forethought when I’d left the apartment that morning, knowing I was going to be combing a mountainside, astounded me.
Not wanting to waste any time, I texted Cookie the location of the mine’s entrance before winding my way toward it through the tree line. It was super dark inside, so I opened my phone. It shed just enough light to illuminate the uneven ground as I ducked inside, climbing through the partially boarded opening. For a mine, the opening was small. I thought they’d be bigger. Once inside, ancient support beams lined the walls and the skeletal remnants of a track led me deeper into the narrow tunnel. This was certainly a good place to dispose of a body. Is that what he’d done? Tried to kill her, then, believing she was dead, dumped her body here? Surely not. He was a doctor. He’d have known if she were dead.
I followed the railway tracks about five minutes before they stopped abruptly. The tunnel came to a dead end, a layer of rock and dirt blocking the way, and my heart sank. I turned in a circle, searching for another opening. Nothing. I was wrong. Teresa wasn’t in here. Then I realized the fall was fresh, the earth and rocks hadn’t settled as they would have over time.
“Teresa,” I said, and a layer of dirt fell from overhead. The place was about as stable as a circus performer on a high wire. But I felt her again, closer this time. I climbed up the incline, stumbling and scraping my hands and knees.
At the very top was the faintest opening. I tried to look in, to no avail.
“Teresa, I can feel you,” I said as loudly as I dared. “I’ll get help.”
Her fear resurfaced, and I realized she didn’t want me to leave her alone. “I won’t leave you, hon. Don’t worry.” I tried my phone, but we were too deep to get a signal. Looking back at the opening, I asked, “Where’s your brother, Luther, when we need him? He’s a big guy.”
I heard a weak, breathless chuckle. She was so freaking close, I could almost touch her. Right there. Right past the opening, as though she’d climbed up it as well and tried to dig her way out.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, but received only a moan in response. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Surely Cookie would bring the cavalry soon. I wanted to call her, have her get the flashlight out of Misery when she arrived, but I didn’t want to leave Teresa. Since I had nothing better to do, I decided to move some of the rocks and try to climb to her. With meticulous care, I started taking rocks off the top and chucking them softly to the side. I lost my footing more than once and slid down, scraping my palms and legs on the jagged rocks even through my jeans. And each time, I held my breath, hoping the whole thing wouldn’t come down on us.
After about fifteen minutes, I had cleared enough of an opening to reach my arm through. I felt around blindly and touched hair. Then a hand locked on to mine and I squeezed.
“My name is Charlotte,” I said, relief flooding my body. “Did I already say that?”
She moaned, and I lay against the jagged incline for what seemed like hours, holding her hand, waiting for help to arrive. I whispered words of encouragement, told Teresa about my encounter with her brother. She laughed weakly when I mentioned that I’d called him an asshole.
Finally, after getting the pleasantries out of the way, I asked the million-dollar question. “Teresa, do you know how this happened?”
The emotion that spiked within her was the polar opposite of what I’d expected. It had me questioning everything I’d learned, everything I knew about the doctor. Because the sensation that radiated out of her with such force that my breath caught in my chest was not fear or anxiety, but guilt. Sorrowful, regret-filled guilt. I waited a moment, analyzed what she was feeling, until I heard a meek, “No. I don’t know what happened.”
Shame consumed her and shock consumed me. I didn’t know what to say. If I were reading her right, she did this. It was somehow her fault. But that couldn’t be. There was simply no way she’d done this to herself. Why would she?
And I had felt guilt so clearly on her husband, too. So deeply, he reeked of it.
I didn’t ask her anything further, and let her rest as I mulled over the new chain of events in my mind. Was it a botched suicide attempt? What could she have had to gain by killing herself in such a way? Why not just take a bottle of pills? Her husband was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. And even if she’d set the whole thing up, how did one go about causing a cave-in? Maybe she was feeling guilty because she’d accidently caused the collapse. But her guilt was much more than that. Her shame much stronger.