Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,14

enough, there’s a steady low rumble from behind his bedroom door. He’s a heavy sleeper, and once he’s out his internal alarm clock is the only thing that’ll wake him. That’s not what I’m worried about, though. My mother’s strict curfew is at the front of my mind, her way of controlling things from a hundred and fifty kilometres away. If I break curfew, she’ll blame Dad for irresponsible parenting and threaten to use it as leverage in her case for sole custody. It’s a trap, one that hinges on my good behaviour. Slipping up means I blow it not only for myself but for Dad too.

But if there’s a chance of finding Henry, it’s worth the risk.

As I unlock the back door I feel the weight of my phone in the pocket of my hoodie. I’m not convinced Mum isn’t monitoring me via some kind of location-tracking app. She’d love nothing better than itemised proof of Dad failing in his duty of care. I place it carefully on the hall table before slipping out the back door and locking it behind me. Mum’s voice is in the back of my mind: ‘You’re too curious for your own good, you know. One day it’s going to get you in trouble.’ So far the only person who’s got into trouble because of my curiosity is her.

It’s easy enough to scramble over the motel’s metre-high fence, more of a boundary marker than any kind of security measure. The moonless night makes it challenging to see without the torchlight on my phone. As I move quickly through the field, thistles snag on my flannelette pyjamas and I pause to tuck my pants inside my socks. I try really hard not to think about the kinds of things that enjoy slithering through long, dry grass.

At the end of the field’s narrow dirt track, an established walking trail begins at the tree line. The vegetation becomes denser and more enclosed the further you go in. I hesitate, listening for whispers of movement, widening my eyes to scour the penetrating darkness. I’m not sure if it’s a relief or disappointment when I only find shadows.

The warm glow of the motel lights suddenly feels very far away. Ahead, an endless cavern of trees stretches into nothingness. Despite my climbing heart rate, the night seems to be drawing me in.

Go deeper.

The steel in my spine is corroding with doubt.

‘Henry?’ I whisper.

Did I really see anything out here? Or am I so desperate to find Henry that my mind is now inventing him?

Something flutters in the darkness above my head. It’s enough to unsettle me. Just because I can’t see them, doesn’t mean there aren’t nocturnal creatures out here watching my every move.

I feel the push and pull of my own stubbornness.

Keep going.

Is that a good idea?

You need to find out who it is.

What if I’m following a complete stranger to a remote location without my phone?

Turning on my heel, I scurry back out of the trees and into the field, hyper-aware of the sound of my feet pounding on the dirt track. My pace is faster than my breath can comfortably keep up with, every jolt through my legs like somebody shaking sense into me. By the time I reach the motel fence I’m wheezing.

Headlights sweep across the field as a car crests the hill near the Nolans’ place. I drop down and crouch like a prison escapee trying to evade spotlights. The car cruises slowly towards the motel as I scramble over the fence, and I swear under my breath as I recognise Doherty’s police vehicle.

A paved path runs along the fence line beside our residence, meeting up with the motel’s front lawn. Doherty only needs to glance in this direction and I’ll be easy enough to spot; there’s nothing between me and the road to draw his eye. With no time to fumble for my key, I scramble onto the doorstep and flatten myself against the door. If Doherty catches sight of me, he might mistake me for a burglar. Or Mason Weaver. Either way, he’ll wake my dad to get him involved.

Several minutes pass before I peek my head around the doorway and risk a glimpse of the road. Swarms of moths loop frantically around the streetlights, but otherwise all is still.

As I unlock the door, a breeze at my back seems to shunt me inside, a chorus of crickets mocking my impulsive behaviour. Somewhere behind the motel, deep inside that woody tangle of trees,