Page 37 of Into the Dark, We Go

"What the fuck!" Duane jolted upright, water dripping from his hair and clothes. Then his hand darted under the couch and retrieved a pistol.

Mitch immediately tucked June behind his back. Nick pulled me by the arm toward the door.

Duane held the weapon shakily, sweeping it from one person to another, his gaze wild. "Who the fuck are you?"

Worried, Mitchell looked around. The neighboring houses were quite close, and we didn’t want anyone to call the police.

"Here we go again," June rolled her eyes, unimpressed and seemingly not even spooked by the firearm.

"Duane, we met at the bar, remember? I’m Nellie, Lucas’s girlfriend." I was gripping the doorframe now, ready to dive into the kitchen.

"Lucas?" he repeated, his voice groggy.

"Lucas Whitman, your friend?"

"So?"

Mitchell stepped forward, palms splayed in a calming gesture. "Hey, hey, we’re friends. Lucas is missing, and so is my sister. We’re looking for them. We want to help."

Duane finally lowered the piece and leaned over to grab another bottle of Jim Beam from somewhere behind the couch.It still had some liquor at the bottom. He finished it and threw the bottle on the floor.

"Help," he repeated with a laugh. Then bitterly to himself, "They think they can help."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you’re so dumb," his voice slurred. "Lucas’s gone."

"Gone where?" Mitchell leaned in and took Duane’s shoulder.

Duane twitched, flickering fear or an unpleasant memory crossing his face. "A scary place."

"What scary place? Do you know what could have happened to him?"

Duane suddenly covered his eyes with his palms and started sobbing like a child. "I don’t know, I don’t know anything! Get away from me! Don’t touch me!"

Mitchell seized the opportunity, using Duane’s confusion to carefully remove the firearm from his lap. He passed it to Nick, who immediately stepped away, taking the weapon out of harm’s reach.

"Duane, you’re not in danger. Everything is fine. You’re safe."

The alcohol he’d consumed that morning finally caught up with him, and his body began to revolt. He lurched forward, vomiting onto the carpet with a miserable groan. June kicked the empty bucket she’d brought the water in towards him, but Duane ignored it, too far gone.

I looked helplessly at Mitchell. He waved us off. As we turned to leave, Duane suddenly croaked from the couch, "I told him it was a bad idea, I told him not to go..."

"Go where?"

Duane’s head lolled to the side, his eyes closing as he muttered, "Trees with eyes..."

"What trees with eyes?" I asked, but he was already out cold.

"Duane! Duane?" I shook his shoulder, trying to rouse him, but there was no response, just the stench of his vomit on the carpet.

"Leave him be." Nick touched my elbow and motioned for us to follow him out. "We’ll talk to him when he’s sober."

12

Chapter Twelve

September, 2020