Page 3 of The Darkest Parts of Me

Once I was comfortable, I sought means to earn money. Then, day by day, month by month, my appearance, the way I spoke and acted, transformed. It wasn’t long before I had no need for the translator, as I learned to play the part of a “local” easily.

I established a permanent residence not far from my crash site in a town called Solitude Ridge, nestled in a breathtaking mountain range. In about a year, I went from “the new guy” to an accepted member of the community.

I suppose my training taught me how to do this, too. How to blend in. Study people. I just hadn’t realized it until it actually worked.

While I have fully assimilated on this planet, I wish I could say I feel a sense of accomplishment in doing so. I’m a new form of human, but at the end of the day, the fact is, I’m an intruder—a trespasser—and they have no idea, no suspicion, that an otherworldly being, who looks and speaks like they do, is living among them. I’m merely pretending to be a man living his life like any other person on this planet.

I find it strangely coincidental that the name of this town means “to be alone.” I’ve learned everyone has their own reason to yearn for solitude. Some people live busy, stressful lives and want to take time to escape the everyday routine, while others crave the feeling of the wilderness and want to get lost in the beauty of nature.

For me, it’s a bit of both. It’s why my home is secluded near the woods—a place both in solitude and close to nature.

The jingle of Shy’s collar breaks me from my thoughts as she makes her way out onto the deck and sits beside me, waiting for the signal that we can go on our regular morning walk. She’s the only living creature on this planet who truly knows me, and unfortunately for her, because she can’t talk back, I tend to tell her everything. But she doesn’t seem to mind being my personal sounding board.

“We’ve got a busy day today, girl. I need to go to the auto shop, then head over to Grant’s to help him clear some things in his yard,” I say, bending to rub her head. “Sound good to you?” Her golden brown eyes blink at me, and I take that as my answer. I rub my hands over her dark fur for a few more seconds. “Let’s go.” She immediately reacts to my words and happily jumps down the steps of the porch as I follow.

There’s a trail that starts from the back of the property and leads to the surrounding woods. It’s a few miles long, but we venture down the familiar path as the sky becomes brighter. Warm rays streak through the branches over the trail, and as I peer into the distance, the sun emerges, appearing over the peaks.

The beauty of this place never gets old to me. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been here long in retrospect, but it’s my own personal solitude, allowing me to remember the people who should be where I’m standing now—alive and well.

But they won’t ever be, because of me.

I’m here in this wondrous, peaceful corner of the universe, but I don’t deserve it. Not one bit.

It isn’t fair.

Shy and I walk on for another mile before turning around to go back home.

Home.

The word that guided me here is always in the forefront of my mind. And as much as this place has become a home in every sense of the word, it doesn’t change the fact that there will come a day when this life comes to an end.

A day when I will answer for the crimes I’ve committed.

CHAPTER TWO

Maven

Welcome to Solitude Ridge:

“Where solitude inspires the soul.”

The large, wooden sign, which boasts carved mountains followed by the town’s motto, welcomes me like an old friend.

I can’t believe I’m back.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure if I would ever return, not to mention if I could.

At first glance, everything looks exactly the same. The same small shops and businesses line Main Street, and the wooden boardwalk that trims the road is still as worn as I remembered. The structures hold the same moody color scheme of navy blues and dark greens from when I last saw them. It’s clear that they are well-loved and maintained.

That’s something I always loved about the Solitude Ridge locals: their dedication to the town, its appearance, and its people. I’ve missed them over the years of my absence.

In Solitude Ridge, the people are not just part of the town, they are the town.

I slow to a stop at a red light, watching a parade of people cross the road, bags in their hands as they rush from shop to shop—most likely hoping to get a souvenir to commemorate their trip, or gear for camping, hiking, or whatever outdoor activity they came here to do.

Solitude Ridge hosts tourists year round, but the warmer months are the most popular, as it’s known for its picturesque hikes leading to insane views. My eyes scan the trees—still full and green, but I spot hints of gold and yellow doting the leaves at this higher elevation. The forest is doing its best to conceal the change of season that will be here before we know it.

My family and I have been coming to Solitude Ridge for as long as I can remember. My parents purchased the land where they built our family’s cabin before I was born, and over the years, during breaks from school or on weekends, you could always find us here in our second home.

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