“You need to find the truth for yourself,” he liked to say, but he never found any truth. Instead he paced the cliffs of Montauk searching for answers to questions that had long been buried, or had never existed at all.
It takes me longer than I thought to find Hannah’s beat-up Toyota. She’s parked off of the road, half hidden in the trees. Other cars are nearby, nestled in the woods, the thin moonlight reflecting off their metal bodies.
I open her passenger-side door and yank on my black cardigan, shivering in the cool air. Though it’s early summer, the wind coming off the water is chilly and brisk. I look out toward where the ocean meets the cliffs. It’s too dark to see anything but the shadow of the forest and the outline of the old radar tower jutting into the sky.
I close the car door, flinching at the sharp noise it makes, so loud out here in the empty darkness. Hopefully Grant and Hannah have finally stopped arguing and it’s safe to head back to the party.
I step into the woods, but then I stop abruptly.
Someone is watching me.
CHAPTER 2
It starts as a prickly feeling, like something is hovering behind me. A shiver slides down my back. I stare into the black forest, but I can’t see anything. “Hello?” I call out softly. No response. Maybe it’s Grant following me out to the car. Maybe it’s one of my classmates passed out in the woods. But why wouldn’t they answer me? And why do I feel like something is crawling over my bare skin?
I take a deep breath. It’s nothing. I’m overreacting. But I can’t quite shake the feeling that someone is out there.
I step forward. Stop. It’s silent, except for the distant noise of the party. I take two more steps. This time when I stop I hear something crack behind me. The sound of a branch underfoot. I whip my head around, expecting to see a man standing there, maybe with a knife, or a gun, or a chain saw. But there’s nothing. I hold still, my heart lodged in my throat. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see something move. Maybe it’s a small tree blowing in the wind or some animal rustling the grass, but I start to run, panic clawing at me. I feel branches pull at my clothing, scratch at my face, but I don’t stop. Something is right behind me, matching my steps. I can hear it getting closer.
The party is just up ahead, the bonfire flickering through the trees. I trip over an exposed root, falling to the ground. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the stinging in my palms, and I keep moving forward, aware that something is closing in on me. Then I run smack into a large object and fall onto my back. Hard.
“Whoa,” Grant says, stumbling. He rights himself and leans down toward me, holding out his hand.
I stare up at him, one of my hands clutching a pile of wet leaves, one pressed against the top of my chest. My breathing slows and I blow my bangs out of my eyes. There’s a sharp pain shooting up from my tailbone.
After a minute, I take Grant’s hand and he pulls me to my feet.
“Lydia, are you okay? Why were you running?”
“I don’t know. I thought … never mind. I’m an idiot.” I rub my lower back. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you.”
Behind Grant I see light from the party streaming through the leaves and branches. People are dancing, vague figures that flow in and out of the trees.
I can barely make out Grant’s face, just the shape of his long nose and thin, almost gaunt cheeks. He takes a step toward me.
“Don’t be mad about the Hero stuff,” he says. I stare at him in confusion before remembering the argument.
“I’m not mad. I just don’t love talking about it.”
“I get it. I wasn’t spoon-fed conspiracy theories like you were.” He takes another step toward me, until we’re only inches apart. “It must be frustrating sometimes.”
“It’s not frustrating, exactly. Just sad.” I think of my grandfather at the bunker, running his fingers over the concrete again and again. “I need proof before I can buy into something like the Montauk Project.”
“Do you always need proof to believe in something?” His eyes are hidden, dark, and I wonder how my face appears to him. Am I like a ghostly version of myself? All deep hollows and shadows?
“Yes. I’m a journalist, remember? My job is to find the truth and then report it to the unsuspecting masses.” I laugh nervously.
“You like being on the paper, huh?”
I love it. Interviewing people. Getting a tiny lead or suspicion and then chasing it down to figure out the truth. It’s exciting. “Yeah, I do.”
Grant smiles, the white of his teeth catching the moonlight. “Lydia. Do you want to … I mean, tomorrow I’m—”
“There you guys are!” Hannah’s voice emerges from the black border of trees. The firelight is to her back, and she’s nothing more than a shadow as she approaches. “You can’t just leave me alone like that. I saw Brent Miller getting to second base with some freshman and now I need to scrub my eyes out with bleach.” She stops and her long skirt makes a swishing noise as it settles around her. “So what are we talking about?”
I smile, a little too widely. “Nothing much.”
Grant is staring down at the ground. “I was asking Lydia what she’s doing tomorrow,” he says quietly.
There’s a strained silence.
“Why?” Hannah asks. “You want to hang out? I’m free in the afternoon.”
“Actually,” Grant starts, “I was thinking—”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday, right? I’m busy
