Chapter 42 | A RUDE HYPNOTIST

The next day I don't see Vaughn or Henry. Vaughn, I'm assuming, left as soon as possible to go back to the cabin. Henry, Nina tells me, has gone to Palmer for a few days. I don't ask why.

I do, however, cautiously ask her some of the questions I wrote down in my notebook.

I told her I was trying to piece together what happened the day my uncle and her niece disappeared, and she said that though it was difficult to talk about, she would try her best to help me with my efforts.

Did Rachel go missing from Luna's store?

No, she tells me. Rachel was at Luna's house, which is on the far side of the village, near the river.

So both disappeared near the river.

What time did they both go missing?

She tells me that she was in Rachel's room when John had run up to speak with her about something. Henry comes running in, says that Rachel is missing. Nina forgets all about John and everything else, rushing out to look for her niece. After searching for her for hours and calling the police, she returns to her home, where Henry tells her John is missing.

So Rachel in the evening, John at night.

Who called the police, and when?

Nina says she did, after not being able to find Rachel.

How many wolves were spotted that day?

None, she tells me.

So why do you think people blame the wolves? I ask her.

Because we have to believe the danger is beyond the village. We can't think that there's a monster amongst us, Nina replies.

And that ends our conversation.

In my notebook, I write down everything of importance that Luna and Nina have told me.

And that's all I feel like doing, as the cramps are absolutely terrible.

The remaining days, however, I travel around the village, talking to people more in-depth about what happened.

Most of it isn't anything I haven't heard before. The people usually can only confirm what I already know, like when a couple tells me they've only ever seen Richard argue with Henry. Thus establishing that Henry is a liar and trying to pin whatever this is on Richard for whatever reason.

One woman, however, named Priscilla, tells me something that makes my blood run cold. "I was visiting my friend, Mary," she starts. "And Mary used to live right next to Luna's house before she moved. And that day I visited, which happened about a week before the disappearances, I heard shouting. Loud, to where even Mary could listen to it, and she's hard of hearing. Couldn't exactly make out what was being said, but we heard it. And when we looked out the window, we couldn't see all too well because it was nighttime, you see. But we watched someone leave her house and when they stepped under the light for a split second..."

I hold my breath, waiting for her to say who it was.

She whispers to me, "It was Henry Strand."

But as soon as I was done speaking with her in the street, Matthias waltzed up out of nowhere. "You really do like associating with sociopaths, don't you?"

"What?"

"First Vaughn, now the crazy bat lady." He made a tsk tsk noise. "C'mon, Mikaere, I'd of figured you'd be smarter than that."

When I asked him what he meant, he went on a long monologue about how Priscilla likes bats and sees them every night in her dreams.

So the two people in the village actually willing to say something different than anyone else are considered unlikeable or 'crazy.' Just my luck.

Either way, I decided that I was going to believe Luna and Priscilla. Even if no one else did. Henry, for the most part, avoided me when he returned. It felt wrong, staying under his roof when it was apparent we didn't trust or like each other, but Nina insisted I stay.

Roan never bothered me again. I saw Richard once more, and he told me that his son had left to go back to Montana, but that he would be back in February. Both still think I'm Jane Smith, which I'm considerably amused over.

My period ended on Saturday, which was yesterday. A day early. I had been sitting there at the bar, eating breakfast next to a man named Geo, who said he was traveling through. Vaughn walked in, then, surprising me, though I don't know why I was.

He came, sat next to me, patiently waited for me to finish, listened as I chatted with the funny younger man, and then we left.

The walk back went smoothly. No wild animals, nothing like that. But, I guess I did talk a lot, even for me when I'm usually around him.

I suppose I was just eager to tell him about everything that I had heard and learned the few days I was there.

I told him what Priscilla said, what Matthias added, and everything unimportant in between. I told him about how, when I had said goodbye to Henry as I left, he chose to not acknowledge my existence at all.

Vaughn stayed his usual quiet self, listening intently to whatever I told him.

Sometimes he would ask questions, but he never gave me his input unless I asked him for it.

But now, it's Sunday, and we're in the cabin after a long day of being outside. I'm reading the book I borrowed from Nina, while Vaughn lays on the futon, looking at his brown leather journal, which I remember contain his writings to his sister.

I turn the page to the story, enjoying the plot wholeheartedly.

'Why do people fall in love?' The young girl asks the detective.

'Don't ask me. I wouldn't know.'

Same, detective.

So she turns and asks the others on the bus, one by one.

The responses differ.

'There are different reasons why people fall in love,' a big, tired man with a mustache says.

I hate mustaches. Only sometimes do they not manage to look creepy.

'Some fall in love because the other person is someone they can laugh and cry with,' a middle-aged woman adds wistfully.

That's nice. I like that word... 'wistfully.'

'People might fall in love because they love each other's company,' an older woman with neon green glasses responds.

I pause.

"Mikaere?" I hear Vaughn ask, so I quickly glance up.

"Yeah?"

"...You okay? You seem a bit startled."

"No, nope, I'm fine," I reply. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?"

He sits up, "I was wondering if I could borrow one of your pencils."

I nod, "Yeah, sure, of course."

Grabbing one from my bag, I stand up from the cot and hand it to him.

As I sit back down, I watch as he then puts the pencil to his open journal.

I haven't seen him write in it until now, actually.

I wonder what he's writing to his sister about.

Or if he will send this one.

That would be nice if he did.

But then again, it's none of my business.

So, I go back to reading the book in my hands.

When a bit of secondhand embarrassment starts to seep in, however, I quickly drift back into the real world. Even though it's dark out, I'm aware that it's currently snowing.

Earlier, I somehow managed to convince Vaughn to let Moose inside for the time being. So, he currently lies in between the two of us on the floor, content to be indoors.

I love this dog; he's just so sweet and calm, yet playful.

The pang of knowing I should appreciate these little moments more hits me randomly, and I take note of how it feels to be here right now.

Cozy, warm, content, safe.

I know before that I freaked out over the illusion of safety, and maybe I was right to do so.

But maybe it's not necessarily an illusion.

I trust Vaughn, and I love his dog, and I certainly feel safe whenever I'm here, even if I've only known them for a little over a month.

In fact, in contrast to the first time that I stayed in the village, having the locked doors didn't do much to stop the fear within me from rising the last time.

Thoughts of Henry coming and unlocking the door to silence and stop me from looking into things entered my mind when I was trying to sleep at night, resulting in me not getting much slumber.

But now, when I'm here, I feel okay.

Now, I don't think that this feeling of safety is necessarily an illusion or a facade--I believe that it's just... the calm before the storm, a mere lull of the inevitable.

I feel myself start to zone out as I lay there, staring at the woodstove. It's kind of enjoyable, actually, just watching the flames blankly instead of being plagued by obnoxious, rambunctious thoughts.

"Mikaere?"

I snap my head to the side, instantly choosing to zone back in. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to go ice fishing tomorrow."

I consider what he's just said for a moment. Why is he telling me this?

I've never gone ice fishing before, or fishing at all, for that matter. But I imagine that it is pretty frigid and pretty dull.

But then again, I find nothing done with Vaughn to be dull, so...

"Can I come with?"

"Yes."

This will give a reason to use those hand and feet warmers I bought, too.

"I've never been fishing before," I tell him, laying back down on the cot. "At all. Is it difficult?"

"No," he says.

"Okay," I say in a chipper mood, about to continue reading my book, as I expect the conversation to be over. Apparently, it's not, though, because Vaughn then says: "He's coming with."

I probably look confused before I realize that he, of course, meant Moose when he told me that.

I glance down at the dog lying on the floor between us. "Wait, really?"

"Yes."

"But what about tree-travel?" I inquire.

"We'll be walking."

"Seriously? To the lake between here and the village?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You'll see, Mikaere."

And with that, he sets down his journal and turns off his lantern, set to sleep. But not before he tells me, "Let the dog out before you fall asleep."

I glare at the back of his head as he rolls over, no longer facing me. I don't want the poor dog to associate me with being thrown out into the cold night.

"Fine."

"I can practically feel you glaring."

I pause. "Why would I be glaring?"

"Because you don't want to let him out and feel like the bad guy."

I'm tempted to say, 'duh,' but then I remember he wouldn't get the reference and would only think I'm an annoying, bratty, teenage girl.

"...Maybe."

He doesn't say anything in reply, so I just go back to reading the book.

After about ten minutes, I faintly hear his breathing begin to slow.

But then all of a sudden, he jerks awake.

I feel my right eyebrow lift slightly as he rolls onto his back. "Nightmare?" I guess.

"No."

"Oh." I'm curious as to what startled him, then, but I don't want to bother him with questions when he's trying to sleep.

Apparently, there's no need to, though, because he speaks up. "Have you heard of a hypnic jerk?"

Oh, so that's what it was. That makes sense.

"I've never known a rude hypnotist, but I'm sure they exist."

He ignores me. "No, it's-"

"I know," I say softly. "The sudden, falling sensation you get when you're about to fall asleep."

He's quiet for a few moments. Then: "I've had them ever since I was little."

But your name is Vaughn, you'll always be little. Unless you change your name. Then you won't be. "You get them often, or...?"

"At least once every month or two."

"I haven't had one in a long time. Tend to scare me to death, though."

"Yes," he agrees quietly, and I feel bad for him, for some reason.

But nonetheless, soon he's actually fallen asleep this time, and I've let the dog outside reluctantly.

Putting the book away, I set my alarm for 8:30, ensuring I'll get at least eight hours of sleep.

But as soon as I lie down, I struggle to get into a comfortable position on this cot.

I really do miss the bed at the tavern.

But as long as I stay here, I'm unfortunately stuck sleeping on this thing.

Eventually, however, I feel my body start to relax, and I know that I should try to get enough sleep if I am ice fishing tomorrow.

So, I just shut out my thoughts for the moment, allowing my eyes to close.