Chapter 11 - Ghost Town


The zip code led us to Silverton, a small town in the mountains. It was the only big city that fell under that zip, and it was only big relative to those around it. Next toSan Judo, Silverton was a village.

My breath was taken away the minute we neared the San Juan Mountain Range. I had never seen anything but flat land, as far as I could tell, and Paolo had never been outside of San Judo. The two of us were awestruck by the beauty of the gently upward-sloping land, which began to grow steeper and peak into crags. Pine trees grew in patches alternately thin and thick up the mountain slopes, and the air cooled to the point where we began to wish we'd dressed more warmly. We stopped at a department store to get jackets and a change of clothes as well as a phone charger for Paolo before we reached Silverton. And Silverton itself--it was one of those places where there was an actual main street for any attractions that might exist. And the buildings were cool, painted in bright colors and old fashioned-looking, obviously for tourists. Some antiques shops, cafes, and gift shops flanked an old railroad station that looked straight out of the past, and all of it sat right at the base of green, sloping mountains. In my memory, I'd never seen anything like it. I'd known only suburbs, big cities, and flat open fields.

I could tell that Paolo was impressed, too. He said little but looked at everything twice, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

We pulled into a parking lot near a post office, and Paolo at last turned to me and asked, "What now?"

We'd discussed this already, and I still had no answer. "We wait, like I said. And I'm not sure exactly what we're waiting for, but I'll know it when I see it." I sat back and thought, then figured it couldn't hurt to get out and walk around. If Henry were in this place, he'd see me more easily if I were out and about. On the other hand, if this were a trap, being visible would be the worst thing for me. But then I thought about how bright and open everything was, and how there were people, and this place looked safe--nothing like a Circuit operative base or anything like that. This place looked like it hadn't even seen a gas station theft.

"Come on," I told Paolo. "Let's walk around a little. Maybe it will become clear what I have to do."

He followed me out of the car and began walking down the sidewalk next to me. "I didn't know places like this existed," he said.

"Me neither. I feel like we're in another country. It's so . . . beautiful and . . . and charming. It's weird."

"The mountains are amazing."

"Yes, that I agree about."

We meandered down the sidewalk for a little bit, looking at displays in windows. When we caught sight of a particularly lovely cafe across the street, I suggested we head to it and get something to eat. The weather was crisp, but we sat outside at a little table, sipping big mugs of coffee (in Paolo's case) and cocoa (in my case). Between us, we shared a giant cinnamon roll. Even though my thoughts were supposed to be about Henry, I found to my surprise that I was almost too comfortable with Paolo there instead; some part of me felt a sudden thrill. Everything with the road trip and the hotel had seemed crazy and rushed and strange--but this simple moment, us incognito at a cafe in a random lovely town, felt somehow so perfect. Was I growing to trust him?

I sensed after a lull in our conversation about the one family vacation he'd ever taken (to the beach) that he was giving me one of those looks--those looks that implied he wished he had more information about me. I was getting used to those.

I stirred my spoon in my cocoa. "I wish I could tell you more about me, but I don't know anything."

"You . . . could talk about what happened to you before you came to the Hineses."

Chewing my lip, I shook my head. "Truthfully, I don't want to rethink all of that." I didn't want to talk about the Circuit, mostly, because if he were somehow part of it, I didn't want to give away information or show my ignorance of it, show him my weaknesses. Oh, but I hoped he wasn't part of it! Please, Paolo, I thought, please be sincere. "I told you I'm here because I think my friend is here. He gave me the zip code. And he . . . there were some flowers. But that was a while before. I don't really know what I'm looking for. I wish I did, but I don't. In fact, this could all be for nothing."

"That wouldn't be the worst; we'd just go back. We'd at least have spent time together."

I smiled in spite of myself. Maybe I could open up a little--something about the fresh air and the sunshine and the lightness made me feel less concerned about it all. This place was like a drug. "I was at Oliphant."

Paolo put down his mug just as he'd been about to take a drink. "What? That place that's been on the news?"

Oliphant had been under investigation for weeks; they'd shut it down. "Yep."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I'm a horrible criminal."

He frowned, raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out whether I was serious.

"It's a long story, but I didn't do anything. I didn't belong there. So I escaped with someone . . ." I took a deep breath. "Henry." Saying his name aloud felt heavy, was difficult to hear. "Neither of us remembered anything about ourselves. We just kind of ran away, I guess, but we wanted to know who we were. So much happened . . ." I couldn't go into all of it, not just because I was afraid but also because it hurt to think about it all. I was tired of remembering it over and over. Paolo was waiting patiently for me to continue. "At the end of it all, Henry was taken away--practically abducted. Wherever he is, it's a bad place, and I've been wanting to find him, but I've had no leads, until this zip code. It was at the Hineses' house, the night you picked me up. Someone gave it to me, saying it was from a guy named Henry."

Paolo lowered his brow in thought. I warmed at his interest. "But how do you know it was the same Henry? Wouldn't he have just given it to you himself?"

"I don't know." I sighed. "Wherever he is, I'm convinced he's in danger. And if that's the case, and if he's trying to contact me for help, then he'd have to do it in secret. I don't really know whether he was at the party or not, but this zip was the only thing close to a clue I've ever gotten, and I just have to follow it."

Nodding, Paolo asked, "What's he like--this guy? Henry?"

Oh, what was Henry like? Henry was . . . Henry. My gaze shifted away from Paolo; I couldn't think of Henry when I looked at Paolo. "Henry is tall--a little taller than you, probably--fair hair . . . such clear eyes. They can be scary and distant, but sometimes they kind of light up. He's the only person that seemed to care about me. We looked out for each other. He--he's somehow . . . I don't know how to say it. I just have to find him. Help him. I can't leave him. There's something between us, in the past . . ."

I looked up to see Paolo smiling wryly. "I'm not really sure I want you to find him."

It was a good thing we were interrupted, then, because I was sure I was beginning to redden again. The cafe waiter asked if we wanted anything else, and we shook our heads. He gave us the bill and then, turning back to us, said abruptly, "Oh! I was asked to give this to the young lady--Nadia? That's you?"

I nearly choked on the last gulp of cocoa I was downing. "Yes!" I spluttered. "That's me."

The waiter handed me a small sealed envelope and went on his way. My name was on the front, penned by hand. I felt suddenly lightheaded. Hands shaking, I managed to open it, and even Paolo leaned in with interest to see what I'd received.

In the envelope was a small square of paper, and it held these words: "Animas Forks. 3 AM. ALONE."

I knew Paolo had read it too, and the all-caps, underlined word "alone" formed an air of awkwardness. Henry knew Paolo was with me and obviously didn't want him there. My immediate thoughts were conflicted. I'd been so determined, back at that hotel, to do this on my own, to leave Paolo and forget whatever mixed up feelings I had about him. But now . . . those feelings were settling a little. I liked Paolo. I admitted it. I did feel a sense of comfort with him. A sense of safety that I didn't have on my own. But there was also no way I wanted to miss out on Henry, if there was a risk he'd stay away with Paolo there.

"This sounds like a trap of some kind," Paolo spoke first. "Why does he need you to be alone? And three in the morning? That's crazy."

There were a million possibilities. Maybe he wanted me to save him, to run away with him again. Maybe he had something so risky to tell me, no other ears could hear it. Maybe he was working the the Circuit, and it was a trap. But maybe, too, Paolo would question it; he'd made it clear he wanted to keep me safe . . . or if Henry was escaped from the Circuit and Paolo worked for them, they could be trying to recapture him.

"I don't know. But I have to see him."

"Even if there's a chance it's all fake? It's not even him that will be there?"

"I have to go. If I don't, there's nothing else for me. I have no place to go back to, no place to go forward to. There's nothing, Paolo! And if Henry isn't there tonight--if it is the Circuit--then so be it. They can kill me for all I care, because it won't matter anymore! I'm tired of waiting for something to happen! Just let it happen, whatever it is." Fire had risen in me. I hit my fist on the table, then put my knuckles against my forehead. What should I do?

"What's the Circuit?" Paolo asked quietly, almost hesitantly.

I'd let it slip. Too late to take it back. I sighed and sat back in my chair. "The people that took Henry. They want to kill me, probably."

"Why?"

"I don't really know. Because I outed them, maybe, back in San Judo."

Paolo's face contorted in thought again. "Never heard of them. Are you sure?"

"What do you mean, am I sure? Do you think I'm making it up?"

"I don't know, I just--it seems like something people would've been talking about."

"The investigation was probably kept secret. I don't know. But I'm telling the truth. Paolo, they had this whole underground--like, literally underground--complex. We found them after they wiped our memories."

"Wait--wiped? You don't just have amnesia?"

I was talking too much. I stood and waved Paolo out of his seat, indicating we needed to take it somewhere else. So he left some money and followed me across the street to an empty playground, where I sat on a swing, and he stood with his back to one of the swingset poles.

"I hope you are who you say you are," I told him. "Because whenever I've believed people, it's gone wrong." His arms were crossed. I thought he looked almost angry, but I didn't know how to read him. "I just . . . I want to be able to trust you."

"I don't know how I can convince you that you can. Nothing I've said to you has been a lie. If you can't take that for truth, then I don't know what to tell you."

His words stung a little. They had an edge to them that I hadn't heard since he'd grabbed me at the hotel. But I overlooked it. "I just want my memories back. I'm positive Henry is the key to unlocking my mind. There's something in our past--I know it. I have to find him, and if this is the only way I can do it, risking that it's all just a trick, then I'm going to do it anyway."

Paolo stood quietly, his eyes staring at something imperceptible on the ground, his mouth a straight line. A breeze rustled his dark hair, and he tilted his head toward the sun so it would fall back. I wished I hadn't grown attached to him. The first person to express interest in me comes along and I just spill my soul to him. I was ashamed of myself, even more so because I knew I cared what he thought of me. I'd told him everything, and he was just standing there. Why did I care what he was thinking? I hated caring.

"What if I go, too, but I stay kind of far off? Or better, what if we stay together from afar and wait for him? See if it's really him or someone else."

"It won't work. I'm sure he'll be there long before us, waiting and watching. He might be there right now, for all I know."

"Well hold on." He got his phone out. "We don't even know what the place is. We're talking about it like we know where we're going." He spent a moment tapping away at his device, asking me for the name of the place. Relatively quickly, he found it. "Animas Forks is a ghost town. Old mining town. About ten to twelve miles north of here."

"Ok . . . so we can drive there tonight?"

"No." He scrolled through his phone. "It's a mountain road. Looks like you need a better car than what I've got. But we can hike it."

"How long will it take?"

"Looks about four or five hours."

"I can do that."

He finished swiping through his phone, returned it to his pocket, and looked up at me. There was a new shine in his eyes, a smile on his face again.

"What?"

"You said 'we.'"

I stared at him questioningly.

"You said we can drive there tonight."

"So?"

He shrugged playfully. "Guess it means you do want me to go."

The hike to Animas Forks was surprisingly pleasant. The trail itself was a little rough, and I could see why it would've been difficult in Paolo's car, but on foot, we had no problems. The weather was on our side--it was absolutely beautiful out. A little chilly but sunny and windless. We started the hike in the afternoon after wandering around Silverton for a while, parking the car as close as we could to the start of the trail. Along the way, we paused often to look at the Animas River and its strange aqua coloring, random piles of rock, an abandoned building here or there--really, whatever caught our attention for the moment. It all felt surreal--almost like what I assumed a date would've felt like--with Paolo trying to impress me from time to time and our conversation wavering between laughter and concern for one another. There was none of the intensity that I remembered feeling with Henry on our travels; Henry had always been so serious, so single-minded. He'd cared about me, but probably only inasmuch as I could be of help to him. Paolo was different; he seemed to genuinely enjoy being around me just because. He seemed to actually like me. Henry I'd needed, somehow. He'd been protective of me, and I'd felt tied to him. I still did, even more so now that I guessed he needed protection from me. But Paolo was more of an equal--it wasn't like one of us had to shelter the other. I'd been afraid of him at first, afraid because I didn't want to let down my guard. But now that I had, I found myself feeling freer than I had ever felt. We teased each other, and we talked about small and stupid things as well as bigger things--life things. I didn't have a lot to say of myself (and I did still guard the details of what had happened between me and Henry), but Paolo told me of his parents' rocky relationship, his difficulties with his father, what he wanted to do with his life . . . those very normal sorts of things. It seemed right. It was good. I was . . . happy.

But ever in the back of my mind during our hike was the worry of whether or not I'd see Henry at all if Paolo were with me. If we were being watched, it was obvious I wasn't alone. On the other hand, the note hadn't said how alone I had to be. I mean, when Paolo and I reached Animas Forks, could he just linger by one old building while I went into another? We'd talked about it, but we hadn't come to an agreement. Paolo wanted to stay with me the whole time. He didn't like the idea of me being anything close to alone. But I was adamant that he'd have to stay away or Henry wouldn't come out at all. Besides, as I told Paolo, it was dangerous, and it wasn't as if either of us had any way to defend ourselves. If this were a trap, we had no guns, no knives, nothing other than my screwdriver--better for him to stay back and let just me get caught, if that was what was going to happen.

Of course, he didn't like that idea at all.

We both tacitly shared to let it go, figuring we weren't going to get to any sort of agreement at that point. We'd just have to wait and see how things played out.

Animas Forks was definitely strange. There were crumbly wooden buildings scattered here and there, some of which were in good shape but most of which were not. By the time we actually got there, the sky had begun to darken; that had been our plan--we hadn't wanted to hang out there in the sunlight for hours, when potential tourists were wandering around. But now that we were actually there, I felt discomfort start to swell in me. Not only was the place really living up to its "ghost town" designation, resembling a misty, haunted dream in the twilight, but also I could hardly focus on what to do, because at that point, I was consumed with concern for Paolo. He was in bad shape. He'd begun to get a headache along the walk, which he mentioned casually once or twice, but I had a feeling he was keeping the extent of his pain quiet when he had to stop and rest several times before we made it to our destination. Paolo didn't strike me as the sort of person who complained at any old pain--he was physically strong and rather proud, so I didn't quite know what to make of his symptoms except that he was being honest about them.

Night was falling quickly. There were no people anywhere in sight--only the bluing mountains around us, dotted with patches of pine trees, and the haphazardly placed buildings. I spotted one that looked more put together than the others, one with beams that looked like they actually supported the framework, and I headed for it, helping Paolo to walk. He wasn't frail, either; I knew that he was embarrassed that he had to sling an arm around my shoulders, but there was no other option. We made it up the porch of the building, and when we entered the front door, I made Paolo sit down with his back against the log wall. The windows of the building were free of glass, and the night air was cool. A soft rain had begun to mist down, and I was glad we'd made it into the shelter before we had to get damp.

I didn't know what to do. In a matter of a few hours, Paolo had changed into some other person. He was rapidly beginning to grow weak. What had started as a headache now seemed to encompass his whole body. He was nauseated, he said, and tired. He was dizzy.

"You need medical help," I admitted. It would've been rude of me to say that I was frustrated by that--why had he become so sick now, when I was so close? But of course I also cared about him.

He shook his head. He was sitting upright, but his eyes were closed in the dim light, and he was breathing a little heavily. "No, no. I feel a little better. I just need to sit here for a few minutes."

"You can't sit here until three AM, Paolo. I don't think you'll make it. I'm seriously worried about you."

Opening his eyes, he looked at me, then took one of my hands. "It's maybe the flu, or something. I feel like I had too much to drink. Like a hangover."

"Well, obviously that isn't what it is," I said. "Give me your phone."

At first, he refused, but when I went to get it from his pocket, he didn't (maybe he couldn't) fight me over it. "Nadia, please, I'll be fine. I'll sit here, maybe take a nap, and I'll set an alarm for two-thirty. I'll be fine when the time comes."

"I'm not risking it." As disappointed as I was--disappointed to the point of screaming--I wasn't going to let him sit there and get worse. I . . . I liked him. A lot. Maybe that was his plan--but I had to stop thinking about what other people's plans might be. I played too many mind games with myself. He was more sick than he was letting on.

His phone lit up the room. It was a weird electronic light in the middle of what had become almost total darkness in the shack, and it limned our faces in blue. But my heart sank when I saw what I should've known I'd see--Paolo's phone had no reception, here.

"Damnit! Paolo, why didn't we think of this?"

He didn't respond.

When I turned the light of the phone toward him, I saw that he had passed out entirely.

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