Chapter 16 | THE NAME WILSON AND PARANOIA

I blink, kind of feeling trapped for some unknown reason. Even though Vaughn's a yard or so away from me, he has a way of just making me feel cornered when he directs targeted questions at me. It's totally unreasonable, seeing as how he's so serious over nothing, but I can't help how I feel.

"I honestly just wanted some beans," I state. "Because I'm hungry. But, if the whole frying pan issue is that problematic, then I suppose my beef jerky will have to do."

I reach into my bag and take out a water bottle and my beef jerky, walking to my spot by the fire. Before I start to eat, I build up the fire again, putting some more logs onto it.

Then, I slowly start to chew on the food, as that will fill me up faster.

Vaughn stays silent, so I decide to answer his earlier questions for no real reason whatsoever. Maybe I just feel bored, or perhaps I want him to talk to me; who really knows?

As the vivid sunset progresses, I say: "I do not expect to do nothing. I don't expect anything to be handed to me. I expect to work for what I want. I don't expect to be 'safeguarded and protected' against all dangers, but I do expect to be told how to protect myself from them."

He doesn't say anything. He just stares at me, almost curiously.

Or maybe that's just my hopeful side doing what it does best: hoping. Who truly knows?

Finally, as the sky grows darker, he nods faintly.

"Fine."

I raise my right eyebrow, "What?"

"If you can prove to me that you can survive on your own, I'll help you."

My eyes seem to automatically squint. "Then, why are you here?"

"I don't trust you."

"That's total crap. I mean, not the whole not trusting me thing. That's clearly true. I mean, that's not your reason."

"And you can read my mind now?"

"No, but I'm assuming. Even I would leave someone whom I don't trust to chill out overnight in a cave. I don't particularly trust you to not kill me in my sleep."

"Even if I did, would it be such a big deal? Painless, you wouldn't even know."

I frown, scooting a bit farther away from him. "Okay, see, that's not the typical, reassuring, trust-building reply that you should give to a freaked-out teenage girl."

He looks a bit apologetic, "I won't kill you in your sleep. Or at all, for that matter. I give you my word."

"Thanks, do you give me your word that you're not a pathological liar, too?"

"Even if I did, would it mean anything?"

"Not if you're a pathological liar."

He nods.

I thought he was only going to answer questions related to my uncle? Guess he lied...

But I should start asking more questions about John. The pressing issue regarding his whereabouts must not go unanswered. "Do you think my uncle's still alive?"

I watch as his thick brows furrow together as he stares into the flames, hands reaching to put another log on the fire. Finally, after some thought, he answers: "No."

"Oh," I say quietly. "When you met him, were you well acquainted with knowing how to survive out here?"

"Not really, which is why I didn't have much to teach John. He was a friend, we talked, I trusted him. He took pictures, he went to town. That was it."

I nod.

"Do you have any idea as to what happened to him?"

"The last time I saw him was the day before he wrote the letter you showed me. February 16th. He had come to visit me, and that day he left to go back to the village. Never saw him again."

"Did he seem different?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"He usually was excited to go back to the village, but this time he was almost...hesitant."

"But in the end, he decided to leave anyway?"

"Yes."

"He told me he saw things he shouldn't have. Any idea what those things could have been?"

"Can I see the letters?"

"I mean, sure," I answer, pulling out the letters from my bag while stuffing my final piece of jerky in my mouth.

I hand him the letters, and he opens the plastic bag they're in, beginning to read through them, one by one.

"His camera," I hear Vaughn mutter.

Then, the letters are swiftly handed back to me, and I put them back in my bag. "His camera?"

"His camera disappeared with him," he explains.

"Did he not have more than one camera?"

"He brought three with him here. Two are in my cabin. The one he brought with him to town is missing, though."

"So it's improbable that his camera will ever be found, but if it was..."

"Then whatever was on the SD card would probably explain why he went missing, yes."

"We have to find the camera."

He looks at me like I'm stupid.

"What?" I ask, feeling defensive. "Yes, it's totally unlikely that we'll find it, but the chances of coming across it are even lower if we don't try."

"It could be lying broken anywhere near the village," he argues.

"True. Or, it could be sitting safely somewhere, just waiting to be found."

"You do realize how unlikely that is, right?"

"Yes, but when has negativity ever encouraged hope?"

"I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic."

"Same thing."

"No."

"Well, it is, in my opinion."

No reply. So, I ask the next question.

"Why would uncle John trust you enough to tell his little niece that if she ever needed to, she could stay with you?"

He's silent for a minute. Then, "Why? Do I not seem like a trustworthy person?"

"Nooo, what? The Alaskan Ax Murderer vibes and comments totally make you seem safe and reliable!"

Silence.

I mean, I get that he's the quiet type, but it's honestly not helping his case.

But maybe, my comments are only fueling his silence? Like he feels he can't open up because people just ridicule him?

I don't know, I'm probably just being ridiculous. But, I can't help but just wonder.

"How did you get here?" Vaughn asks me.

"I hitchhiked," I answer, putting a couple more logs on the fire.

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Yes and no. It's illegal to be on the side of a major highway and petition drivers, but being at the on-ramp entrance before a highway is, for the most part, legal."

"And where did you stand?"

"At the side of the highway, petitioning drivers."

His next topic: "You said you were framed for murder."

Silence.

"I don't want to talk about it," I tell him, refusing to look up from the flames. I can't even think about it. The guilt will just come rushing back, and I'll end up hating myself even more, and then I won't be motivated to find out what happened to John. And that is incredibly selfish on my part.

He doesn't say anything, though, so I assume he's respecting my choice to not say anything. Which is nice, because if he didn't, then he would be a hypocrite.

Then, I randomly remember what Nina told me just yesterday.

'Don't trust him, Mikaere. No one knows really anything about his character. If you don't make it back to the village in one week from tomorrow, I'm going to assume something has happened to you.'

The words send a chill down my spine. "I need to go back to the village within the week," I tell Vaughn.

"Why?"

"Because someone I met is expecting me to visit the village within the week," I avoid explaining in detail.

"They want to make sure you're okay and aren't dead."

"Yeah."

He nods.

And, that's the end of that topic.

"Were there any specific places that my uncle liked to photograph?"

Vaughn shakes his head, "I wouldn't know."

"Why, though?"

"He came to visit once in a while, he'd photograph the scenery, he'd go back to the village. That was it."

"He never mentioned any places he'd been to? Showed you any pictures?"

"He showed me pictures, and I'm sure he told me about some places, but I don't remember," Vaughn answers, continuing on: "Do you expect to discover what happened to him all in one night?"

"No," I reply. "I just feel bad not devoting all my time to finding out what happened to him."

He stays quiet.

I rack my brain for questions about my uncle, wondering about the village. "I know that you...aren't exactly a part of society, but do you have any idea regarding what the people thought of John?"

"From what I know, he liked almost everyone and almost everyone liked him."

I nod. "Do you know anyone from Chickaloon?"

"Very well? No. I know of people, but I don't know them."

"Who do you know of?"

He thinks for a minute, then starts to rattle off a few names. "Thornson, Nina, Henry, Wilson, Wayne, Priscilla, ...Matthias."

"So you know Thor, then?"

"The guy I watched impale himself on a twig? Yes."

I cringe, "Did you seriously shoot arrows at him?"

"Yes."

"Were you actually trying to hit him?"

"No. I missed on purpose."

"Don't you feel bad about what happened?"

"I didn't know he would react like that."

I nod, deciding to move on. But who wouldn't react like that? "Nina and Henry were the ones who got me here."

Silence.

That's right, I forgot that he'll only reply if I ask a direct question.

The name Wilson tugs at my brain, however.

I can't vividly remember where I heard the name before, or where I've seen it. All I know is that I know that name. And, not just from Russell Wilson.

"Wilson. Who is he?"

"Wilson is his surname. I can't remember his first. Everyone always referred to him by his last."

"Did you meet him?"

"No. John did when he went to the village one day. Said he was the one man he wasn't too 'keen' on so far."

"He said that?"

"Yes."

"I have to talk to him when I go to the village next. Maybe he didn't like my uncle very much."

"So he did what? Murdered him?" Vaughn asks, "How likely is that?"

"I don't know? Who said anything about murder, anyway?"

"I did. When someone disappears, and another person is accused of 'not liking' that person, then it implies they might have murdered them."

I blink. "If you say so."

I make a mental note to remember the name 'Wilson.'

My stomach then growls, hungry for more food.

Vaughn hears and asks: "When was the last time you ate a full meal?"

"This morning."

"You're fine."

"Yes, but am I really?"

He ignores me, putting more wood on the fire before standing up and walking out of the cave, disappearing into the darkness.

I just now realize how dark everything really is at the moment. The inside of the cave to my left is dark, and the woods to my right are, also. I scoot away from the fire, pressing my back against the side of the cave. Maybe I'm really paranoid, but I just don't want anything sneaking up behind me.

I'm not afraid of the dark, but I am scared of the unknowns in it.

I hear a few snaps and cracks in the forest here and there, and I assume it's just Vaughn getting more firewood.

I get cold, sitting away from the fire while I wait for him to return. I don't know why I feel safer with him around, seeing as how I just met him today. He could totally be a serial killer. But, he could also fight off any wild animals that come around.

I don't even know why I'm debating which is worse.

It feels like forever until he finally comes back, a very big load of broken dead trees in his arms.

He sets them down by the fire, and I think: Why didn't he make me go get the wood? I'm the one supposed to be surviving, right?

But, I definitely don't voice my concerns, as I definitely wouldn't want to go get the wood.

He glances at me kind of oddly, and I don't have to wait long to find out why.

"Why aren't you sitting by the fire?" He asks me.