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After the choppers arrived, everything was a blur.
It was well into morning by the time they were sitting in the police station, waiting to be admitted. They were handed out blankets and hot chocolate. No words were shared between them and they tried to ignore the whispers and looks they were causing.
Jessica had curled herself into Mike, who was given painkillers and a fresh bandage for his hand. He pressed his lips repeatedly to her forehead, convincing himself she was still here, a hand protective around her waist.
Ashley and Chris sat with their fingers entwined, Ash’s head tiredly drooping on Chris’ shoulder. The blood on her cheek still stained her skin.
Emily was sitting with a hunched back and crossed arms, eyes occasionally going bitterly towards Mike. Next to her, Matt leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His hands were still trembling.
Sam looked down to the floor. It was clean, bland. She could almost see her reflection in it, a blur of her red jacket like a spill of blood.
She felt numb and ached. There was blood under her nails where she had tried to pick at the scrapes on her knees. All she could see was the darkness of the mines, the flittering pale figure dancing from shadow to shadow, a stark tattoo of a butterfly on its right shoulder.
Sam didn’t cry. When she lost Hannah and Beth she did, bawled her eyes out into her pillow, grasping photographs to her chest, whimpering, praying. She cried once with Josh, when he had tearfully asked her to come over and trembled and mumbled in fear. That day she held him and he her, shedding tears of mourning.
And yet, with his shaking body in her arms, she had hoped that perhaps they were wrong. That Beth and Hannah didn’t die. That something different happened.
“Sam.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
“Samantha?”
She looked up where a police woman was standing at the door of the interrogation room. The woman gave a smile reserved for pity cases and motioned for her to come inside. The others turned their heads as Sam stood up and Chris gave her the littlest of nods.
“This way, please.”
As the door shut behind her, Sam noticed that the room was dark and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Grinding her teeth, she stiffly sat down in the chair laid out for her. It was uncomfortable and cold.
There was a man in front of her, perhaps in his early 40s, black hair, kind eyes. He waited for the policewoman to take her seat near him before beginning.
“Would you like anything?” the man offered. “A drink, something warmer.”
“I’m fine.”
“I want you to relax during our discussion. It is obvious you’ve had a hard time and I don’t wish to make it worse.”
She didn't want to be there. She looked up at the man. “I’m tired,” she whispered. “Please, let’s just get this over and done with.”
The woman leaned forward and put her hand on the table between them. “If you ever need to stop or take a break, just tell us, alright? That will not be a problem,” she assured.
“Yeah. Ok.”
The man gave her a long look and steepled his fingers. “Exactly one year ago, the two Washington daughters disappeared. It isn't coincidence that all the horrors happened to you last night, is it?” he asked levelly. “The same people, same time, same place.”
Sam slowly shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “It was planned.”
“By who?”
She licked her lips, wondering when it was that she became so blind not to notice the obvious. “By Josh.”
“Josh Washington?” the woman repeated. “He planned all that happened at the cabin?”
Sam felt broken. Josh. “I thought we were close,” she began, more to herself than the two officers. “After his sisters disappeared, he’d come and talk to me.” She could remember all those times. The late night calls, the texts, the visits. The honesty. “He said I was the only one who understood him. I thought,” her voice faltered, “I thought we had a connection.”
The man gave her a soft look. “If you need someone to talk to-“
“I’m fine.” She didn’t.
“Sometimes,” the man began again, “after a traumatic experience-“
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped.
This time, it was the woman who stepped in. “Do you know why he would subject you and your friends to this?”
“He needed help and we were too blind to see it,” Sam said bitterly. “He was complex, it was hard to get to his centre. Not all of us even tried to help him.”
“But you did, Samantha,” the man interjected.
“Yeah.” She looked down at her hands. “Or at least I thought I did. We all knew he was on medication to deal with the after effects of Hannah and Beth’s disappearance. He would evade almost every single time we asked a question about his health.”
And suddenly she felt guilt. “Hannah was my best friend,” she said, voice dejected. “When she and Beth vanished I felt like it was practically my duty to look out for Josh and I- I tried, I tried my best.” She gave the officers a grim smile. “I talked to him, visited him, even made him go to a professional.”
“This professional you sent Josh to,” the woman interrupted. “How did Josh react to them?”
“He didn’t like the guy. Said he didn’t like being told what to do by him.” She could remember him coming back from his sessions, either angry or utterly sombre.
“So, do you believe his actions were justifiable?”
“He was suffering. I can’t blame him. Besides,” she curled her fingers into fists, “he wasn’t the cause of what happened.”
The man and woman shared a glance.
“Yes,” the man said slowly. “While you were all being brought here, you and your friends made some, how shall I say it, bizarre accusations.”
An anger began to pool at the bottom of Sam’s stomach. She was tired and upset and hurt but if she wasn’t believed-
“Everything we said is the truth.”
“Samantha.” The woman’s voice is patient, like addressing a child. “The things you described were nothing less than monstrous! Under the stress you all have faced, what you claim you all saw must have been nothing more than a hallucination.”
Josh stumbling around, calling out to the thin air. ‘You can’t tell me what to do’.
“We weren’t lying,” Sam forced out through gritted teeth. “What was down those mines-“
“Was something your minds just made up to put a face to the terrors you were facing,” the man finished. “We have heard all about the buzz saw and the fake body Josh used. The things you saw down the mines were just more of the boy’s props and mannequins.”
‘Don’t h-hit me, p-please.’
Sam shook her head. “Josh was not the one who hurt us.” She pointed at the blood on her body. “Josh didn’t cause any of this. Josh is not the reason Mike is missing two of his god damn fingers.” She was shaking now, livid.
“Sam-“
“You need to listen to me,” she interrupted. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Doesn’t matter. Because you will.” She leaned forward. “You need to go down into the mines.”
“What’s in the mines, Sam?” the man said. He words felt like they were said more as a chore than a question.
A bitter smile crossed Sam’s face and she bowed her head forward. “I’ve seen what’s down there,” she said, “and I’d give anything to unsee it.”
She leant back and pressed a hand to her temple. “He is still there.”
“Who is still there, Samantha?”
‘It got him’.
“I don’t think I have anything left to say,” Sam said standing up. “Unless you check the mines, anything any of us say makes no difference.”
“Samantha,” the woman began, holding up a hand, “I really do think that-“
“I’m sorry but there really is nothing left that I can do for you.” She gave the man a small nod and made her way to the door. “Go to the mines, that’s where you’ll find your answers.”
She heard the beginning of a remark but quickly walked out, back into the waiting area. Pulling the door shut behind her, she went back to her chair, sitting down on it heavily.
“Well?” It was Emily. “What did they say? Will they go check out the mines now?”
I am so, so tired. Sam looked up. “They didn’t believe me,” she said sullenly. “But they will go down to the mines. They have to.”
“What?! Is all this not enough?” Emily said, gesturing at all of them. “The fact that we are all half dead and-“
“Calm down, Em,” said Chris. “It was hard enough for us to believe.”
With a groan, Sam placed her head in her hands, hunching over her knees.
She heard as the police lady called up Ash and as a body sat down in the chair next to her.
“Hey,” Chris said tentatively. She felt him place a hand gently on her back. “You okay?”
Shaking her head, she sat up. “No.” She looked at Chris and gave a little smile. “I am not okay.”
Chris slid his hand to her shoulder. “I- I’m sorry about Josh,” he began. “I know you and him had, kinda, a-“
‘It really means a lot that you came, Sam.’
“Don’t, Chris.”
‘Can’t go back. New reality, right, Sam?’
“Sorry.”
‘It got him.’
“I could have done something, you know,” she muttered. “If I didn’t take the quick way out of the mines, I would have been there when the wendigo-“
“Stop it, Sam. We can’t change what happened so don’t- don’t blame yourself.” He gave a shake of his head. “We’re going to have to live with this, all of this, for the rest of our lives. We can’t blame what happened on us.”
Sam gave a nod, trembling. She knew that in a week all the stained clothes would be replaced, nail polish changed, blood finally washed off. Life would go on and spring will come in due.
For her, it felt like it did when she lost Hannah and Beth. Except this time, she had lost them all.
And she knew how she would mourn. Gaze at photos, read old emails, watch on repeat the invitation Josh had sent to them. Occasionally cry herself to bed at night, drowning in guilt, guilt, guilt.
The sounds around her seemed to mute as she stared down at her hands where blood still stood out on her skin. She absentmindedly picked at it.
Outside, the sun continued rising. And, deep in a mine, a body stirred.