Page 46 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

I put the wristband on, and the two of us made our way toward the entrance.

· · ·

The fairground teemed with boisterous festivalgoers, many of them holding Solo cups full of beer and wearing masks.

“Where to?” Oscar asked.

“The office,” I said. “Someone has to know where Griffin is.”

We wove our way through the raucous crowds, eventually reaching the office.

Immediately upon entering, I saw a young woman in a red T-shirt and jeans, shouting on speakerphone at what sounded like Griffin’s voice while frantically digging through a file cabinet.

She cried, “Got them!” before disconnecting the call with a stab of her finger.

She pulled out a set of blueprints and turned, finally spotting us.

“Get out,” she barked, pocketing her phone. “You can’t be in here. The office is closed.”

“We’re trying to find Griffin—” I began.

She tucked the blueprints under her arm as she strode toward the door. “Did you hear me? I said, ‘Get out!’ I have to lock up!”

“We’re happy to leave,” I said. “Just tell us where Griffin is.”

“Stage Five,” she said, reaching around me to the door handle. “Where the hell else would he be?”

“Why Stage Five?”

“Because the generator went out!” she shouted, opening the door to reveal the milling crowds outside. “He needs these specs, and he’s not going to have time to talk to you. He’s got to figure out a way to get the power on again.”

We followed her out as she jammed a key into the handle to lock the door.

“How long has he been there?”

“Since it blew out in the middle of the five o’clock show!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure! I just came from there! Now get the hell out of my way. I don’t have time for you right now.”

She rushed off, leaving us behind. Oscar turned toward me.

“I think we can safely assume it wasn’t Griffin at the house tonight.”

I nodded, disappointed, realizing that I’d suspected him more than anyone.

· · ·

As we approached the food and drink concessions, I knew there was no way we’d be able to track down Nash or Dax in these crowds. The fairground was too large, and given that so many attendees were wearing masks, I might not recognize them even if they were standing next to me.

Staring out at the hordes of people, I said, “I think we should have Nash find us.”

“What do you mean?” Oscar asked.

“Let me borrow your phone.”

I dug through my wallet for Nash’s business card and flipped it over to find the cellphone number he had scrawled on the back. Oscar handed me his phone and I dialed. After several rings he answered, sounding uncertain.

“Hey, Nash…this is Steve!” I shouted over the din.

“Who?”

“I just saw some dude scrape the hell out of your Prius! Tore your side mirror completely off!”

“Wait…what?”

“Your car!” I shouted. “Some dude just sideswiped your Prius! You gotta get out here fast! I’m trying to keep him here until you can deal with it…”

“Someone hit my car?”

“Just get out here!” I shouted before disconnecting. When the phone rang a moment later, I didn’t bother to answer. Oscar and I hurried back to the entrance.

Within minutes, Nash and a burly friend were striding in our direction. A clown mask was pushed back on Nash’s head, revealing his worried expression. They passed us without a glance and hustled to the gravel lot.

We followed, waiting until we were deep into the grid of closely parked cars before I called out his name.

He stopped and turned, but in the darkness, he didn’t seem to recognize me until we closed the distance between us. When he did recognize us, he waved us off and kept going.

“Go away! I don’t have time to talk right now! I have to deal with my car.”

“Your car is fine,” I called out. “We were the ones who called you.”

He slowed to a full stop before turning around, bewildered. “You called me?”

“We just need to know where you were earlier tonight,” I said.

“What? Why?” Nash frowned before confusion began to give way to anger.

“Tell us or tell the police,” I bluffed. “They’re already on their way.”

Nash paled. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

His friend cut in, stepping in front of Nash. “Who? Us?”

“Nash was seen fleeing the scene of an assault earlier tonight…” I bluffed again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” the friend interjected. “It wasn’t Nash. We’ve both been here the whole time. We’re with friends. We have witnesses.”

“What time did you get here?”

“Before five.” The guy bristled, crossing his thick arms. “He picked me up from work at the warehouse at four-thirty. I don’t know what’s going on here…”

“And neither of you left the festival since then?”

“We’ve been here the whole time,” he reiterated, before narrowing his eyes at me. “What the hell is going on?”

I knew instinctively he was telling the truth, and I tuned the rest of it out, even as his inquiries grew more belligerent. Exchanging glances, Oscar and I turned and walked off, leaving Nash and his companion behind.

· · ·

“Dax,” Oscar said. “If the others were here, it has to be him.”

I hesitated, recalling the calculated quality of his responses during our meeting with him.

“Has to be,” I agreed, although it was hard to reconcile his weaselly affect with the rage-filled attack against me.

“How do we prove it, though?” Oscar asked. “I doubt that he’s going to confess, and you said yourself you didn’t see who it was.”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe when I hit him with the iron, it left some kind of mark.”

As Oscar seemed to think about my answer, I suddenly sensed more than saw a familiar movement at the edge of my vision, almost like the flash of a mirror’s reflection.

As I stared straight ahead, the flickering solidified into something I recognized, and I tracked it as it slowly moved toward the road leading out of the fairground. I could feel it beginning to tug at me.

All at once, the flickering vanished, then reappeared where I’d first seen it and tracked toward the road again, like a scene on repeat.

Again, I felt its pull, but as I watched, I noticed a second flickering in the opposite direction, hovering in the sky above the festival.

I’d never seen simultaneous flickering in opposite directions, and as I tried to understand what it meant, I realized the pulsing over the festival seemed less intense, less urgent, somehow.

The one leading up the road seemed to demand that I follow, but the other one…

“Are you seeing something again?” Oscar asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“And feeling something.”

As though in a time loop, the flickering on the road vanished and reappeared again, its beckoning even stronger now, the pull impossible to resist. The one over the festival, however, remained soft and steady, and while I continued to watch it, Wren’s final words came rushing back to me, almost as though she was whispering in my ear.

My eyes widened, and suddenly knowing what I was supposed to do, I began staggering toward the road, moving as fast as I could.

“Where are you going?” Oscar asked, hurrying after me.

“I have to go back to the house.”

“Now? Why?”

“Because Wren told me to,” I said, glancing over at him. “The last thing she said to me was that if I wanted to help her, all I needed to do was come back.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Oscar said. “What if Dax is waiting for you?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Then I’ll come, too.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “I need to go alone, or Wren won’t appear. But I think another part of the answer is still here at the festival. I need you to stay here and look for them.”

“Them?” he asked. “Don’t you mean Dax?”

I continued to stare at him. “And Tessa,” I said. “You need to find both of them.”