THROUGH THE FOREST, THROUGH THE SNOW, TO THE HIGHWAY

It's the first day of December.

Last night, when I went to take a sauna, I made sure to bring a flashlight, knife, hatchet, and Moose along for the trip between the two buildings.

I was not going to risk another lone wolf situation.

Today, I spend the majority of the daylight doing chores around the cabin. I wash my clothes, I wash dishes, and I dust and clean up most of the things inside.

It's tedious and boring work, but playing music helps me to keep going.

Vaughn, meanwhile, cooked all of the meals, chopped a lot of wood, and checked the area for any fresh wildlife tracks.

We surprisingly talk more than I was expecting, asking each other questions every time we run into each other.

I find myself realizing and recognizing that I really enjoy his company.

By evening time, we've both had our saunas and are just chilling in the cabin, enjoying the calm atmosphere.

I miss having Moose inside, however.

Apparently, Vaughn was totally serious about only allowing him inside for harsh weather. But then again...when is he not serious?

We're both reading our own things, but when I'm finished with mine, I really don't feel like starting another.

So, I opt to bug Vaughn with a random suggestion that he will more than likely turn down.

"Vaughn?"

"Yes, Mikaere?"

I rise from where I was lying on the cot, leaning forward. "You wanna play chess?"

He turns a page of his book, not even sparing me a glance. "No."

Well, I totally saw it coming.

"Why not?"

Silence.

Dang, and just when I thought we were getting somewhere.

"Is it because you don't know how to play yet?"

Silence.

"Keyword being yet. It's not that difficult to learn."

He moves his book down slightly, "You're not going to stop pestering me about this, are you?"

I smile brightly in response, and so he sits up, reluctantly setting his book down. "Fine."

I continue to smile to myself as I grab the cheap chess set from my bag, moving to go sit by the woodstove.

"Okay," I start. "First, I'm going to explain the different pieces and what they do, and then I'll explain the goal of the game and how each piece plays a part in attaining it."

I take everything out of the box, and he sits down in front of me, not saying anything.

"K, so we both get sixteen pieces in the beginning. Eight pawns, two knights, two bishops, two rooks, one queen, and one king." I show him what each piece looks like as I name it.

I then go on to explain each piece's movements, and he nods his head every once in a while, showing me that he's paying attention.

"Knights move in an L shape and are the only ones that can jump over other pieces," He confirms, and I nod, happy he's getting it.

This was always a game my mother and I used to play years ago. I think I only won once.

After I went into foster care, I stopped playing for years, only resuming playing when I was fourteen. Even then, it was just me against a computer. No one I knew in real life was interested in playing.

"The goal is for each player to try and checkmate the other's king. Or, basically, you want the other person's king to be so disabled that it's trapped. You have to capture it."

Afterward, I go into more detail regarding the rules of capturing, check, and checkmate to him.

When I've explained to him the basic knowledge of chess, he asks a few questions to make sure he remembers, and then I set up the pieces in the correct way on the board.

And then we're able to get started.

"I'll be black," I tell him. "White goes first."

Since he's totally new at this, I think it's only fair that I give him the first-move advantage.

The game moves slowly, as he sometimes double-checks moves, re-reading the instructions to review what I told him.

But after I have won the first game, he seems to have gotten the hang of it.

So we play for a while, and he comes close to winning once, actually. Perhaps it was because I was a tad distracted by him, but I'll never actually admit that out loud.

When we've decided to quit for the night, I ask him what he thinks of the game.

He fails to surprise me as he, as always, goes into a long and detailed review of it: "It's fine."

It's fine. I shake my head, sitting back down on my cot while grabbing my phone to view the time. He thinks it's fun, I'm rather sure. Or at least that's what those random, minuscule smirks told me, anyway.

But then again, when it comes to him, who really knows?

The next day is spent doing basically whatever. A few chores, a chess game, cooking, me practicing bow while he goes to make the pointless 'rounds,' reading, some more chess.

I think we spend a reasonable amount of time both together and apart. I'm not near Vaughn all the time, which is good because I don't want to annoy him too much. And, seeing as how we both appreciate our time alone, it is enjoyable.

However, we've also been spending more time with each other than before, and surprisingly, it is not dull. In fact, instead of trying to avoid me by going off to chop wood or something like in the first week, Vaughn's choosing to spend more time with me.

I don't know why.

I enjoy his company, though, so I don't mention it, and I certainly do not complain. I especially like trying to get him to smile, whether it's by dumb jokes or just trying to get a slight smirk by asking a question.

Most of the time, I'm not successful.

But sometimes I am.

Right now, he's reclined and reading on his futon, and I'm reading by the fireplace, wrapped up in a blanket.

And since it's snowing heavily outside, I managed to somehow convince Vaughn to allow the dog in with us for the time being. Meaning, Moose is resting right along beside me again, groaning tiredly every once in a while.

I'm playing some soft music in the background, and it's quite relaxing, actually.

I suddenly find myself setting down my book, telling myself to remember this moment. How it feels to be in this moment.

How it feels to be sitting here by the blazing wood stove, wrapped in a blanket on the wooden floor, safe inside the wooden walls. Fuzzy socks and a sweater.

Moose is lying on as much blanket as he can get because he doesn't like the hardwood floor, but he's content to be close.

The faint glimpses of flittering chunks of snow through the windows, fire burning bright and warm, creating the cozy feeling I love all too well but haven't felt for a long time.

Everything is silent apart from the turn of a book page, the acoustic guitar melodies, the crackling of the fire, and the occasional sighs of contentment from the dog.

How it feels to be in this moment...

It feels like a home.

I close my eyes, and the overwhelming feelings surround me. The warmth of comfort and nostalgia, the sense of genuinely feeling safe and at peace, and the undeniable truth that someday this will all be gone.

I breathe in deeply at the reminder that soon, I will have to face the music. I cannot hide away here forever, as much as I would like to.

Eventually, I'll have to venture back outside, which is much too cold in more ways than one.

I'll have to find out what happened to John and Fiona, and then what will happen to me.

But for now, I will appreciate and immerse myself in the allusion of safety. I will accept the cozy cabin, adorable dog, and attractive man form of escapism that life has handed to me.

I mean, who wouldn't?

However, as I pick my book back up to begin reading, I am sure of one thing.

I'll miss it all.

I'm standing there, on the snowy ground below my window, watching as bright flames engulf what I once called my bedroom.

All of a sudden, a dark shadow appears next to me, whispering my name in echoes.

I ignore it, though, trying my best to focus on the screams still coming from inside the house.

She's still inside.

I, however, am only standing there doing nothing, wholly torn. I'm conflicted...it's a mental moratorium.

"Mikaere..." the voice whispers. "You can't save her. You can only save yourself."

I turn, looking at the dark shape.

But it's morphed.

Instead of being a dark shadow, it is now a mirror reflecting my terrified appearance.

I watch as a memory of Fiona somehow passes by in front of me in the mirror. Then, my reflection opens its mouth, "You could try to save her."

But then the mirror is suddenly gone, engulfed by the dark shadow once again. It looms over me, emitting one word: "Run."

And I immediately obey, turning and running away from the burning house.

Listening to my fears rather than myself.

All of a sudden, I faintly feel hands shake my shoulders lightly, pulling me from the woods near my Washington home. "Mikaere?"

I open my eyes slowly, feeling a little wetness fall from the corners of my eyes down the sides of my head.

Vaughn's sitting on the side of the cot, and when he sees I'm fully awake, he immediately retracts his hands.

Crap. I woke Vaughn up.

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly.

I take a deep breath, nodding tiredly as I rub my eyes to rid them of any leftover tears. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

He rises, moving back to his futon before sitting down. Then, to my utter surprise and confusion, asks: "Do you want to talk about it?"

I pause.

Do I?

Better question: why is he asking?

Him, of all people, basically offering to talk? Or at least listen to me talk?

I doubt this will happen again, so I decide to take him up on it.

I swallow, rolling on to my left side and putting my back to him so he can't see my face. "It...wasn't a completely unrealistic nightmare. It was...basically a memory."

A memory, except that it exposed my selfish subconscious decision-making and added a bit of symbolism to the mix.

He's quiet for a moment, considering what to say.

"About the fire?" He eventually guesses, and all I can do is nod.

I'm trying my absolute best to cry silently. But the more I think about what happened that Wednesday, the more terrified and guilty I feel.

And just like when I was reading by the fireplace, I recognize that this isn't going to last.

But this time...it just hits harder. This facade of safety, this hiding away in a cozy cabin, it is all...it will all fade.

Because I'm really only just slowing down and running away from the inevitable, right?

I was stupid to ever think I could immerse myself in this escape and still remain okay.

"You're shaking."

I freeze when I hear his voice.

I thought he had given up on talking to me and had fallen asleep again, or something. But apparently not.

I really need to sniffle, but Vaughn will know that I'm crying, then. So, I don't move. I just lay there, keeping my back to him.

And, with the steadiest voice that I can muster, say, "Yeah, I'm just a bit cold. I'm fine."

"Mikaere, you're crying."

I let out a staggered breath, staying silent as I squeeze my eyes shut, letting a few more tears fall down my face.

"You don't have to lie to me about it," he says quietly. "It's okay."

I cry a bit harder, still trying my best to stay quiet about it. But, I no longer have to hide it.

Once I calm down, however, I wipe the tears from my eyes and resume lying down on my back. Glancing at Vaughn, and seeing that he's still awake, I decide that I'll explain what happened in detail.

Even if I haven't known him that long, I trust him more than I trust anyone else right now. Plus, it's not like he's a total stranger. In the short amount of time I've known him, I've gotten to learn more about the man than I thought I would have.

So I take a deep breath, finding a bit of comfort in the knowledge that he'll listen.

"I'd heard the screams of my foster mother, Fiona," I start off quietly, noticing in my peripheral vision how Vaughn's head turns toward me. "She'd been screaming for someone to help her."

He stays silent, waiting patiently as I prepare to continue on.

"It was in the afternoon. When I first smelled the smoke, I'd been preparing my things, getting ready to leave for here, actually. But when I heard Fiona, I...I went to the door, only to get burned on the doorknob.

"So, I knew I had to go out of the window. I grabbed my to-go bag and struggled to climb out. But...once I did drop to the ground, I...was met with my foster father, Jack, standing in front of me."

I close my eyes, hearing his voice again.

'Mikaere,' he had laughed somewhat. 'Where do you think you'll be going?'

'What?' I had asked him breathlessly, exhausted from struggling down the rope. "What do you mean?"

I took a look at his appearance. He had been in his coat and boots, not looking disheveled at all. His cold eyes harshly contrasted the scorching flames from within the house.

The house from which the screams of his wife had still echoed.

"I asked him if he was going to try and help her, and if he had called 911. He said it wouldn't matter either way."

He had started the fire.

And he had seen the recognition in my eyes, the disbelief that he had done such a horrible thing.

"He said it was all an accident, that he didn't mean to start the fire. And for that, I believed him, actually. Sure, he was never actually a considerate or kind person; in fact, he was kind of abusive, but murder? Either way, though, he wouldn't risk his life to try and save her. Because he didn't want to."

He didn't care. Because, as he put it, 'And, the people, Mikaere. The people will believe you to be responsible for this terrible tragedy.'

I had just stood there, jarred.

"He didn't want to stay married to Fiona, but he didn't want her divorcing him, either. So, as I took it, he didn't mean to start the fire. But once he realized he could gain public sympathy over her death and secure his mayoral office..." I trail off.

Yes, I knew that he wanted to be the mayor. But I didn't think he wanted it that bad. Willing to sacrifice your own wife and blame it on your foster child for public sympathy and compensation?

"And as for why he would blame it on me? ...I don't really know why, I mean, it's not like he was sane. Maybe it was just the icing on the cake," I mutter bitterly. "Two birds with one stone."

I didn't say anything else to him. Not even when he said, 'You can try to run, Mikaere. You can attempt to hide. But everyone will be against you, as will the evidence.'

"Like I said before, he claimed that the evidence and the people would be against me."

He turned around and walked away to the front of the house, where I couldn't see where he was going.

"And, like I told you before, if I could've still heard Fiona's screams, I would've stayed and waited for the police and the fire department."

But her screams had ceased, and I made a call.

A selfish, terrible one.

"I ran because I thought she was already dead, and I was afraid that what he said would come true."

Through the forest, through the snow, to the highway.