Page 61 of Forget Me Not

“Because she’s a new arrival. And it seems there is some tension between you two. I just assumed—”

“Word of advice, Heather,” I lean into the table as it presses hard against my rib cage, “don’t ever assume anything when it comes to Rhea. Better yet, don’t even acknowledge her existence.”

“Why?” She snorts, bringing her glass of water to her lips. “Is she crazy or something?” She takes a small sip then sets her glass back down. “I sort of get the sense she is.”

I bite the corner of my lip, observing her nervous behavior. Yet, her words are so bold and the confidence behind them is baffling. “For such a quiet girl, you sure do have a lot to say.”

“I’m a private person, Alaric. But I notice things. I watch people. I observe them. Then I draw my own conclusions.”

“And once you’ve drawn those conclusions, then what? Do you relay this information to anyone?”

Surprised by my question, she cranes her neck. “Like who?” She laughs, though I know it’s a tactic to hide what’s really going on here. I know how the criminal mind works. I’ve kept my guard up my entire life for reasons such as this. Heather came to Lockhaven with a purpose, and I intend to find out what that purpose is. If it has anything to do with Rhea, or myself, she won’t live to relay the information to whoever she was sent by.

“Be careful, Heather.” I scoot by chair back, ending this breakfast before it’s even begun. “You wouldn’t want to draw the wrong conclusions about the wrong people.”

* * *

It’s halfpast midnight when I hear Rhea’s bedroom door screech across the hardwood floor. I spring out of my bed, tossing my book down on the mattress. I go to the door, ear pressed to it, as I listen for the soft sound of her footsteps in the hall.

Sure enough, I hear them. Once she’s passed, I slowly turn the handle and crack my door open, watching with one eye as she fades into the darkness, wearing her work sneakers and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up. In her hand is a plastic grocery bag, holding something that seems to be weighted down.

I bolt to my window, snatching up my tennis shoes in case I need to leave quickly. I slide one on, then the other, my eyes never leaving the side of the house where the front door is.

I watch, and I wait. As suspected, she comes out the door, looking around before bolting. In one breath, I cross the room and pull open my door, then I inch open the entryway and slide out.

Once the door latches with little sound, I give it a good thirty seconds, then I start to track my wildcat.

Keeping a safe distance, I stay close behind her as she walks down Main Street. I take notice of her glancing at her phone that’s held out in her hand. If I had to guess, I’d imagine she’s looking at a map.

Rhea hasn’t lived in Lockhaven very long so she doesn't know the area well. Although, she did go for a nice long walk yesterday. At one point while I was following her—in the same manner I am now—I’m certain she got lost. I watched her spin around in circles a few times then backtrack to read the street names. A couple minutes later, she just turned around. I hid behind a tree until she passed, then I followed her back home.

Right now, she doesn’t seem lost. It’s as if she knows exactly where she wants to go. She's just using the phone to double check her movements in the dark.

Once she’s reached a point where there are no more streetlights, she turns on the flashlight on her phone.

We walk for another five minutes or so, then she takes a left into the cemetery. I’ve always known Rhea was tough as nails, but I never pegged her to be a nighttime cemetery walker. No. She’s here for a reason and I think I know what that reason is.

I follow her past some headstones, then she stops, leans over, and says, “Rest in peace, Lucy.” As if she knows who this Lucy person is, or was.

One of the things I love about Rhea is her uniqueness. She’s her own person and does what she wants to do without fear of what people will think of her. At least, that’s the way she used to live. The longer I watch her in Lockhaven, the more I’m starting to realize she’s putting on a facade, and the less I like it. One day, she won’t have to pretend for the people in this town. She’s too good for them anyway.

We trek a few more steps, then suddenly she stops and drops the plastic bag on the ground.

Hiding myself, I duck behind a tree and peer around it with my phone held up. I snap a few pictures then lower it to my side.

Rhea squats down and shuffles nervously through the bag. It's hard to see with the only light coming from the half-moon and her shaking phone light, but it looks like she’s pulled out a pair of gardening gloves.

I watch intently as she pulls out what appears to be a small garden spade. I’m not sure where she got it, but it has to be Gladys's. She must have snuck into her garden shed out back and stolen it.

I watch as she wrestles with the hard-packed dirt, her arms quivering with the effort. Every once in a while, she growls in annoyance. At one point, she tosses down the spade and throws her hands in the air in defeat. Then she picks it up and goes right back to work.

Part of me wants to laugh at the sight of her determination to dig such a large hole with such a small tool, but the other part is really fucking proud of her. She’s working with what she’s got, just like she always does. Rhea is resilient, and it’s one of the many things I admire about her.

I snap a few more pictures. When she finally retrieves Nick’s jacket, I hold my finger on the center button, making sure to capture every moment.

Oh, Rhea. Don’t you know hiding evidence is a felony?

My girl is smart, but oftentimes, her pride gets in the way and she makes decisions that could really get her in a lot of trouble. Much like now. She could have easily tossed that jacket in my room and asked me about it. I would have told her the truth—that I killed that asshole Nick. Instead, she wanted to avoid confrontation and took matters into her own hands.

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