Page 5 of Into the Woods

Thank God, because now comes the true test. I sigh but keep our connection and give her a pass on the funeral.

“You don’t have to go, Tru. You don’t have to be there with me.” I always give her an out—a choice so she knows she’s got a say in what happens to her. Always. And honestly, the only reason I’m going to show up is because I have to. I have a part to play, a role to see through to the end in the charade that is my family.

“Y-yes, I d-d-do. You n-n-need me there. I’ll…I’ll b-be okay,” she says carefully. “Y-you’re all I h-h-have.”

I tilt my head back to see grim determination on her face. The look is foreign on Tru. But I like it; strength looks good on her.

Twin caskets lower into the ground as the wind whips out of the woods, lifting my hair and swirling it around my face. The priest says his final prayer and I step forward, conjuring the tears that have become my shield over the past week. Each time I’ve reached for them for cover, they’ve come just a little bit easier. Practice makes perfect.

And now it’s done. One more performance nearly completed and checked off my to-do list. One step closer to getting away from here.

No matter how hard I try, I feel nothing more than relief at saying a final goodbye to my parents. Conventional wisdom says I should, but this whole situation—my whole life—has never even hinted at conventionality. Relief feels so much more genuine even as my façade of mourning stays firmly in place.

I drop a handful of dirt on top of each pristine casket and turn my thoughts to who their benefactor might be, because a double funeral does not just happen. These are the thoughts distracting me as people file past the pit offering their condolences. Who they are and how they’re associated with my parents is beyond me, but I dab at manufactured tears that represent false emotions.

“Miss L’Ourson? I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Please accept my heartfelt sympathy.”

“Honey, they are with the good Lord above, watching over you now and keeping you safe.”

Again, that shit might be appropriate at a normal funeral, but not here. And the more people approach with their bullshit sentiments, the more I want to run. Escape and get the hell out of here.

I glance over my shoulder, scanning the cemetery as I shake yet another hand. The icy feeling of being watched prickles up my spine.

“W-we should g-g-go, Winn,” Tru mumbles to me as she, too, scans the area. Her gaze pauses on a copse of trees at the edge of the clearing, stalling on a tall figure tucked among the shadows.

“Shit.” Somehow, I think this has something to do with the financier of the pomp and fanfare and the pricey twin boxes hovering above a gaping hole in the wet earth.

Dark glasses flash with the tilt of the stranger’s head, reflecting the meager rays of the sun, pulling my focus to a lone figure dressed all in black. The man is completely alone, hands casually tucked in the pockets of his crisp suit. Burnished hair styled perfectly back revealing a chiseled jaw and high, patrician cheekbones, full lips, and an aloofness that radiates out with authority.

Familiarity floats around him, hinting at recognition but dancing just out of reach in the blink of an eye. It’s his sneer,though, that makes my blood chill. The cold dismissive twist of his mouth as the stranger stares directly at me.

“Who is that?” I ask, my gaze intent on him as he approaches.

Tru’s voice trembles as she struggles to form her words. “C-c-can we j-j-just g-g-g…” Her nerves dig in and take hold, her renewed display of anxiety spearing me straight through the heart. It’s telling that though she’s evened out since the initial shock of stumbling down the stairs and finding my parents’ dead bodies in the living room, all of her trauma is crashing down on her.

Years of therapy helped but at a time like this, anxiety just rolls over her, throwing her back to when things were bad. She slides her hand into mine, fear trembling through the connection.

“I don’t know.” Intentionally or not, I shift to the side, placing myself between my timid friend and the monster who is slowly approaching.

My heart stills and my breath freezes in my lungs. My hands curl around Tru’s. What are the chances that my muse for the engineered tears this week would be standing in front of me? In a cemetery.

All I need now is a sappy soundtrack and for the spotty clouds overhead to get their act together and open up the taps.

“Winifred.”

That’s it. All he says is my name, but that’s all it takes. The way his lips purse as he forms the syllables, curling at the start and pouting at the finish, has me frozen in place. My bravado is gone, leaving me nothing more than a scared baby animal caught in the sights of an apex predator in the dark and scary woods.

He stops in front of me, completely disregarding my personal bubble. Instead, he effectively dismisses the remaining mourners, tilts his head and glances around. “You did well withyour allotted budget. Bravo.” Any question about who bought and paid for this circus dissipates.

I stare straight ahead, too rattled to meet his gaze. Instead, I note the strain of his crisp, white dress shirt as each of his measured breaths expands his chest beyond the shirt’s ability to contain him.

“Look at me,” he rumbles, his voice low and full of promises. The promise of something dark. Debts and dues. The promise of regret, though not his…certainly not his.

When I don’t move, don’t do as instructed, he reaches out, grasping my chin, and lifts my face to his. I resist, every muscle rigid, almost trembling, because I’m so damn tense.

“Winfred, I asked you to look at me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s up to you. But I assure you, we will do it. We have a lot to discuss. Years to make up for.” His dark, classic wayfarers shield his eyes, making him appear even more intimidating than he already is.

---