Slowly, the needles faded away, and the still, quiet blackness returned. But before long, colors and sounds began to flicker in my mind, and I started dreaming. At least, I thought that I was dreaming . . .
I'd been in the woods for an hour - what seemed like the longest hour of my life. After I'd read Fletcher's note, I'd curled up at the base of a maple tree, hugged my knees to my chest, and tried to hold back the hot, scalding tears and deep, aching hurt I felt at the fact that the old man had abandoned me. That he'd brought me out here on a ruse and dumped me in the middle of the forest instead of at least having the decency to face me at the Pork Pit and tell me to get the hell out of his restaurant and life - forever.
I would have gone quietly, if only he'd asked me to. I would have done anything Fletcher had wanted me to - that's how important he'd become to me over these last few months. I'd thought Fletcher had cared about me, that maybe he'd even started to love me, just a little bit, like I had him. But instead, he'd left me here miles from anyone or anything. And why? I just didn't understand why.
More tears slid down my cheeks, and Fletcher's voice whispered in my mind, despite my efforts to block him out. Tears are a waste of time, energy, and resources. That was one of the very first things that Fletcher had ever said to me.
I let out a cold, bitter laugh, startling the mockingbirds that had gathered in the limbs above my head and making them fly away. I'd thought that saying was so clever, that Fletcher was so smart and wise, but now I knew the truth - and just how mistaken about him I'd been.
The more I sat there and thought about Fletcher, the more my hurt and bewilderment turned to bitterness - and determination too. So the old man had left me out here in the middle of nowhere. So what? I'd find my way off this mountain. We'd driven up here in a car, which meant that there was a road somewhere within walking distance. It might take me a while, but I'd find it, and I'd hitchhike back to Ashland and live on the streets again. No matter what, I'd survive, just like I had when my family was murdered. I'd done it once, I could do it again.
Furious now, I swiped away the last of my tears and unzipped the backpack that Fletcher had so casually given me this morning. A compass, a bottle of water, a pack of matches. There wasn't much in the backpack, but then again, Fletcher never brought much with him when we came out into the woods. He actually enjoyed living off the land, as he called it, and he'd taught me how to do the same. So I wasn't too worried about the lack of supplies.
I might have just been tossed aside like trash, but I wasn't going to give up. I didn't need Fletcher, and I didn't need him to care about me - not anymore. That's what I told myself over and over, even if the little voice in the back of my head whispered that it wasn't true.
I took a long swig from the bottle of water, then stuffed it and the matches back inside the pack and zipped up the whole thing. I got to my feet and slung the straps over my shoulders, adjusting the pack so that it rested comfortably on my back. Then, with the compass in one hand, I started walking.
Since I was so close to the top of the mountain, I decided to walk the rest of the way up to get my bearings. Maybe I'd even be able to spot the road from the summit. It was worth a shot.
It took me an hour to break free of the last of the trees and reach the peak of Bone Mountain. I stepped out onto the rocky ridge and stared at the sweeping vista before me. Trees in various shades of brown and green stretched out as far as I could see, the new buds on their blossoming branches soaring up like they were growing into the clouds overhead. The wind whipped my brown hair into a tangled mess, and I could smell the cool scent of rain in it.
Just below me, the earth fell away in a series of jagged gray ridges that arched and curved like a person's spine. I wondered if that was how the mountain had gotten its name. Fletcher would have known but of course he wasn't around for me to ask. Still, it was a beautiful scene, despite the hurt I'd experienced to get here.
I stood there for a long time, my eyes scanning the horizon. I couldn't see any sort of road from up here, but I thought I recognized some of the ridges and rock formations across the way - places that Fletcher had taken me to on other hikes - and I knew I could get back to Ashland. It might take a while, but I'd make it back there eventually.
I felt better now, calmer, and more in control. Fletcher might have abandoned me, but I still had myself to rely on. Genevieve Snow and Gin Blanco rolled into one. Maybe I'd even invent a new name for myself, instead of using the one Fletcher had given me. The thought made me laugh again but without as much bitterness as before.
We'd left Ashland and driven north this morning, so I made sure to use my compass and orient myself south before walking back into the forest and starting the long trek down the mountain. An hour into my journey, the sky darkened, lightning flashed, and rain started to fall down in sheets. I found a small cave to hole up in. It reminded me of the crack in the wall behind the Pork Pit that I slipped into whenever I wanted some time to myself. The cave was dark and damp, but not unpleasantly so, especially given the soft murmur of the rocks around me. The stones whispered of the rain and wind and all the other spring storms that had swept down the mountain this year. The sound soothed me.
I wasn't afraid. There was nothing out here but me and the weather and the animals. It was people that you had to watch out for, anyway - people like Fletcher who could really hurt you, deep down in your heart where it mattered most. But even he was gone now, which meant that there was nothing to fear. Not anymore.
I went to sleep, and by the time I woke up, the rain had stopped. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe an hour or two, but I got to my feet, left the cave, and started walking down the mountain again, using my compass as a guide.
The sun had just started to set when I reached the bottom. I'd been able to see the gray sliver of the road for some time now, and I quickened my pace, hoping that I could catch a ride back to the city before night fell. I stepped out of the last tangle of trees - and realized that he was there, waiting for me by the side of the road right where we'd parked this morning. I stopped cold.
"Fletcher?" I asked in an uncertain voice. "What are you doing here?"
He was sitting on the hood of the car, his back flat against the windshield, whittling a block of wood with the small knife that he always favored. Judging from the pile of shavings on the metal next to him, he'd been here the whole time that I'd been up on the mountain.
The old man raised his head at the sound of my voice and smiled. "Why, I've been waiting for you, Gin."
I approached him warily. "Waiting for me? Why? You left me up on the mountain, remember?"