Page 68 of The Nook for Brooks
All I heard was the echo of my own voice and the snap of twigs somewhere far off that made my stomach twist.
It was getting dark. Too dark. I couldn’t see ten feet ahead anymore. My chest heaved as panic started to outpace reason. But I knew charging blindly into the forest at night wasn’t going to help either of us.
“Fuck,” I muttered, turning on my heel.
I sprinted back toward town, toward the warm lights of the BnB, praying I hadn’t just left Brooks to vanish into the dark.
I bounded up the steps of the BnB three at a time, lungs burning, heart jackhammering. I shoved open the front door and was vaguely aware of the aroma of blueberry muffins ready for tomorrow’s breakfast, but I was too panicked to stop and smell the baking.
Benji was bent over a vase at the reception counter while Bastian held swatches of wallpaper against the wall.
They both froze when they saw my face.
“Cody?” Benji blinked. “What on earth—what’s happened?”
I leaned against the counter, catching my breath. “It’s Brooks. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Bastian’s voice was steady, but his brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘gone?’”
“Into the woods.” I forced the words out, heaving for air. “He went alone. It’s already dark out. He’s not back. I think he might be lost out there.”
The vase slipped in Benji’s grip and smashed on the floor. “Into the woods?” His voice pitched up. “But he never—he hates—”
“I know,” I cut in, my throat tight. “It’s all my fault. I dragged him on that stupid camping trip and now… now I don’t know what he’s doing! All I know is, we need to find him.”
Bastian dropped the wallpaper swatch and made a beeline for the counter, grabbing the phone. “We need Sheriff Gates. We need people. Lanterns. Flashlights. Whistles… We need an entire search party!”
The advice from Sheriff Gates was simple—assemble at the old mill and wait for further instructions.
By the time we barreled out of the BnB and headed for the edge of town, it felt like all of Mulligan’s Mill had picked up the cry and run with it.
Porch lights flickered on here and there.
Muffled conversations could be heard behind closed doors, but the panic in those voices was clear.
Benji, Bastian, and I reached the old mill first. A few minutes later, Harry and Dean pulled up on the road closest to the track to the mill and hurried over. Harry was carrying equipment of some kind. I didn’t know what it was until he set up floodlights and connected them to a generator. He flicked a switch and the old mill and waterwheel threw their shadows onto the river like a giant clock hand, ticking down.
Dean unfolded a table and two camping chairs.
Everything felt suddenly real—and terrible—as I realized this had just become search party base camp.
Minutes later, Sheriff Gates pulled up in his cruiser and made his way toward us with the kind of quiet authority that made the world fall into line. He was in his mid-fifties, silver-gray hair, shoulders strong as the mill’s beams. In his hand he carried a duffle bag that thudded with weight when he set in on the table.
The first thing he pulled out of it was a roll of maps which he unfurled on the table.
He took one look at us, then the situation, and in two breaths gathered the mayhem into something like a plan.
He started pulling other items out of the duffle—flashlights, whistles attached to neck lanyards, bottles of water—while at the same time looking over at me. “You must be the new guy in town.”
I reached forward to shake his hand. “Cody Cameron.”
“Sheriff Garrett Gates, but everyone calls me Sheriff Garrett. You’re the one who’s reported Brooks missing?”
“Yeah, I guess. I saw Milton outside the Book Nook. He said Brooks went off by himself into the woods. That was maybe five o’clock, perhaps later.”
Sheriff Garrett checked his watch. “It’s after eight now. There’s no moon tonight. If he’s out there, he’ll be stumbling around in the dark.”
“I’m worried,” I admitted. “I went camping with him a couple of nights ago. He’s…”
