Somehow, the threat from Eric Newman had lessened in her mind. It was partly due to the Jill incident from the night before, and partly due to the way he had acted down at the cove with her and Bruce. She was now convinced he was just a sad, obsessive creep, more bark than bite. But what if he had seen her walk past his bunk? What if he followed her into the woods? Well, let him. It was far less terrifying than what she’d seen the night before.
Besides, if he followed her it would give her someone to yell at, maybe even punch. Somehow, she’d stopped being particularly frightened of her stalker.
After finding the place where she was pretty sure Jill, or whoever she was, had entered the woods, Abigail saw that there was actually a path, poorly marked, that led into the scrubby woodland. She took a few steps in, then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She’d brought it with her because the compass still worked, even without service. And the flashlight would work, too, if she needed it. She was pointed east, and figured she’d walk straight ahead for a while, then turn back, going directly west. That way she wouldn’t get too lost and wouldn’t spend time searching the same area again and again. She began to walk, keeping an eye out for any signs of footprints or drops of blood. In the woods, the ground was almost a luminescent green at times, its mossy surface broken by complex patterns of emerging tree roots. Once she’d gone about a hundred yards she began to occasionally call out, “Hello,” but her voice sounded strange and lonely, so she stopped.
Something moved high up in the trees and Abigail looked up to see a large bird, maybe the eagle she’d seen earlier with Bruce, wheeling away against the blue of the sky. She was suddenly exhausted, and overtly aware that what she was doing was not only futile but maybe dangerous. Even if she’d been imagining things, she was still alone in the woods. And it had grown congested the farther she’d walked, the ground thick with bushes she couldn’t identify, some with clusters of dark, poisonous-looking berries, some with sharp leaves.
She went a little bit farther, spotting a break in the trees marked by a pool of light, and went to it, stood in the sun, letting it warm her skin. The ground was blanketed in the strange green moss, and she sat for a moment, leaned her back against the crook of a tree. It was time to turn back, she told herself, find Bruce, make sure he had booked the flight, and get off this godforsaken island.
Once she was back on the mainland, with service on her phone, she could call Jill Greenly herself and make sure she was all right.
And she would be, wouldn’t she? Back in California like Chip Ramsay said she was. And if Eric Newman ever got in touch with her again, she would immediately notify the police. She’d even tell Bruce about it, not about the affair, but about the way he claimed they’d had one. She was now willing to lie, she realized. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Bruce clearly didn’t really believe what she’d told him about seeing Jill. If Bruce didn’t believe her when she was telling the truth, then maybe it would be okay to tell him one major lie, just the once. It was a rationalization, she realized, but she was okay with it.
She shut her eyes and listened. There was the faint sound of trees moving in what little wind there was, the clicking of limbs and the creaking of trunks. She could hear gulls in the distance. And that was it. She felt like a child again. The height of the trees, and their constant slow-motion movement—as though the woods were underwater—made her feel small and insignificant. Something was happening, and it was beyond her comprehension. And no matter how quietly she sat on the cool ground, the woods would never let her in on their secret.
It was time to go back.
She stood, wiping the dry pine needles from the back of her jeans, and saw a figure moving quietly through the woods toward her, about fifty feet away. Eric Newman, his head swiveling from side to side, clearly looking for her.
She froze, her body going still like a deer sensing danger, and just when she was wondering if she could outrun him back to the lodge, he spotted her, and stopped walking.
“Don’t run,” he yelled, putting his hands above his head, as though she were pointing a gun at him.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice loud but shaky.
“Just to talk. Sorry. I saw you pass my window and watched you enter the woods. I followed you in, but I won’t come any closer. I’m not trying to frighten you.”
“Too late for that,” Abigail said.
“I’m sorry. Really, I just want to talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Abigail said.