Page 47 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“At least they’re not Mt. Randall girls or anything,” Bianca remarked dismissively. As if they mattered less because of it.

Mr. Warner grunted in agreement.

“No, not Mt. Randall girls,” I parroted. I didn’t know what else to say. Bianca had already lost interest in the fate of Tammy and Phoebe and moved on to taking my order—a slice of sweet potato pie and a coffee.

Bianca and Mr. Warner didn’t particularly care about Phoebe or Tammy. Neither did any of the others born and bred here.

Two missing college girls—girls from other places—didn’t really impact them at all. Though if students stopped enrolling because their parents thought this place was too dangerous, the town would slowly wither and die. Without the financial help from “those kids ruining the town,” Mt. Randall would lose what little life it had. And it was already struggling.

I stared out the window as I waited for my food. I never ventured far from these safe and familiar roads. I wondered, deep down, if I’d ever escape. If I’d ever build a life outside of Mt. Randall. I felt destined to remain. Forever a part of the dirt and trees. Maybe that’s all I deserved.

I watched the entrance of the old movie theater across the street. The marquee was lit up, showcasing that week’s feature—the originalPlanet of the Apes. It was one of my dad’s favorites. I remembered watching it with him when I was a kid. I thought about asking him to go see it again. It would be like old times, before everything got so messed up. Before things got so warped and twisted between us. Missing my father was like a physical ache that never went away. But I held on to the pain as a reminder of him and what we used to have.

“Milk Duds, too, Dad,” I insisted, standing beside my father as he put in our order for a large bucket of buttered popcorn.

“Can I get two boxes of Milk Duds? Oh, and a large Dr. Pepper,” he added, giving me a smile.

Once we had our food we made our way to the theater. There were only three screens, the largest was currently showing a matinee of the originalPlanet of the Apes.

“We should go see it,” Dad suggested when he saw it listed in the paper earlier in the week. “It was my favorite when I was your age.”

“I don’t know. It looks kind of scary.” I sounded hesitant and unsure. At eleven, my favorite movie wasHook,followed byThe Little Mermaid.I hadn’t yet graduated to more mature media.

“It’s not scary, I promise.” He had tussled my hair and gave me a hug. And I believed him. He never lied to me.

We sat down in our seats. I wanted the middle row, right in front of the screen, so that’s where we sat. Dad handed me the Milk Duds, making a face when I poured them into the bucket of popcorn.

“Gross, Jess.” Dad stuck out his tongue and I giggled.

“Trust me, it’s so good.” I handed him the bucket and he took a mouthful.

“Hmm, not bad.” He grabbed some more.

I pulled the bucket back. “Hey, save some for the movie.”

We both laughed. Dad leaned over and kissed my temple. “This is great. My favorite movie with my favorite girl.”

Then the lights went down and I was entranced.Planet of the Apesbecame my favorite movie, too.

As I stared, the doors opened and two people came out.

My mouth went dry. My heart began to race. Bitter tears stung my eyes.

I stood up and walked toward the door feeling numb.

“What about your coffee and pie?’ Bianca called out. I didn’t answer. I stepped outside. Nighttime was quickly approaching. The old streetlights flickered on.

I watched the older man and young woman hurry from the movie theater and quickly dart around the side of the building toward the cut-through that led to Beacon Road. The woman’s coquettish giggles called out to me.

Without a moment’s pause, I jogged after them.

No. He promised …

I wanted to stop and turn around. Go back to the cafe and eat my pie. Pretend I never saw anything.

Indignation, however, insisted I keep going.

I slipped down the narrow, dimly lit passageway that reeked of trash. I could hear the girl’s breathless laughter. She sounded like a child. Probably because she practically was.

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