Page 15 of Ravaging Red
I lifted my chin. “Yeah.”
They both went quiet, sharing wary glances between them.
Then DeWitt spoke again. “You’re not the first one to say that, Miss Grimm. Time’s wrong in there, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I quietly replied.
“You know, there was a woman years back, came out with the same story. Said she’d been gone a few hours. We had been looking for her for five days.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“She vanished again a week later,” Jackson shrugged. “No sign of a body. No return.”
I didn’t react. I didn’t let anything show. Because deep down, I knew I was different. I wasn’t like her. I hadn’t been taken.
I’d been wanted.
And I had wanted it, too.
DeWitt leaned forward slightly. “Miss Grimm, are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us? No one you saw. Nothing you heard.”
I met his eyes. I felt the answer rise in my throat like bile, and I buried it before it could crawl free.
“I’m just tired,” I said. “I don’t remember much.”
They didn’t push again. Jackson closed his notebook, not bothering to hide the frustration on his face.
“We’ll need you and your grandmother at the station tomorrow morning. Routine follow-up. Don’t go anywhere.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again. They started walking away, speaking in hushed tones. I stayed behind for a moment longer, staring into the distance. The trees had grown very still. Not one rustle of leaves could be heard. The Hollow Woods just stood silently, always watching for their next prey.
And somewhere in that darkness… he was still there.
Waiting.
I wrapped my arms around myself and turned toward the house. And for the first time since I returned, I realized I didn’t feel free. Not how I had when I was with him.
Chapter 6
A Refusal To Break
RED
Iarrived home the next day. I was too exhausted to drive and so I stayed at the house for the rest of the evening. We headed to the precinct early the next morning. The more the officers had asked questions, the more my grandmother and I had grown quiet. Playing stupid worked, and we were soon free to go. But not before both officers assured us that they’d keep an eye on us. They reiterated that if we remembered anything to please contact them and we reassured them. Both silently vowing to protect the Wolf.
She was senile, not stupid.
After dropping off my grandmother, my mother took me home. I lived in an old townhome at the edge of Hollow’s Creek. The town was a place most people passed through without stopping, unless they were lost or looking for something they didn’t know they needed. It was small, nestled against the mouth of the Hollow Woods, like a secret waiting to be revealed. Its streets were lined with crooked lamp posts, faded brick buildings, and shops that closed early even on weekends. Everyone knew everyone or at least pretended to.
As the car drove past, I noticed how deserted the streets were. They were empty of laughter or light, the way they always were once the sun vanished. Most people didn’t stay out past dark here; their blinds were always drawn after sundown, as if they didn’t want to see what might drift by their windows in the dead of night. They blamed it onsmall-townhabits, but I knew better than to believe everything they said. They just didn’t want to witness another soul disappearing or hear another distant scream that emanated from the depths of the dark woods. Hollow’s Creek was the kind of place that looked ordinary until you lingered too long, then the truth started to bleed into reality.
My townhome sat at the end of the block, tucked behind an iron gate that creaked when you opened it. Ivy choked the fence line. The front walk was cracked, and the porch light had long since burned out. No one ever came here anymore, not even by mistake.
When Nana got sick and moved in with my mother, the property had been abandoned. It needed someone to take care of it, so I moved in. I’d planned to leave after a few months. I planned to go to college and do something normal with my life, but I failed at that miserably.
Instead, I had my first taste of independence, and although I told myself it was temporary, just a favor, the days stretched into months, and the place began to feel like my own.
At first, I didn’t change anything. I left the old furniture where it was, didn’t touch the faded photos lining the hallway. I lived like a guest in a place filled with Nana’s memories, the only ones she had left. But over time, the house began to mold itself around me. The creak of the stairs under my weight became familiar, almost reassuring. The chipped tiles in the kitchen didn’t bother me anymore. The scent of lavender and old books lingered in the corners, and I didn’t try to air it out. It was the only thing that made me feel grounded.
