Free Cruel Minds by Malcolm Richards Page B

so sorry, Emily. You didn’t come to Meadow Pines to hear someone you barely know prattle on about their problems. This is supposed to be a place of peace for goodness sake, and here I am muddying the waters with self-pity.”
    “Don’t be sorry,” Emily offered her a smile. “I may be a stranger at Meadow Pines but isn’t that what this weekend is supposed to be about—reconnecting with each other regardless of whether we’re strangers or friends?”
    “I suppose you’re right.”
    The sound of snapping twigs crackled in Emily’s ears. She turned, peering over her shoulder at the treeline. Melody had heard it too. She stood up. Quiet fell over the lake.
    “Probably a deer,” Melody said.
    “Isn’t this place enclosed?”
    The sound came again—the unmistakable crunch of a branch underfoot. Only this time, it was closer. Emily got to her feet, scanning the forest. The light was fading like a sputtering candle flame, the shadows drawing longer. Snaps and cracks echoed over the water. Someone or something began moving at a deliberate pace, heading away from the lake.
    “Come on,” Emily said, unease coiling in the pit of her stomach. “Let’s get back to the house.”
    They waited a few minutes until they were certain that whatever or whoever had been watching them was long gone. By the time they’d made it out of the forest and back to the house, dusk had settled over Meadow Pines like a blanket.
    “I feel silly,” Melody whispered as Emily said goodnight. The other guests had already returned to their rooms and the upstairs hall was silent.
    “You shouldn’t,” Emily replied. “Everybody has moments of feeling lost. I’m sure you’ll wake up tomorrow and feel as right as rain. In a place as lovely as Meadow Pines you don’t have any other choice.”
    Melody surprised her with a rib-crunching hug. “You’re funny. Goodnight, Emily.”
    “Goodnight.”
    Melody closed her door. Emily stood still for a second before she turned and tiptoed down the corridor.
    ***
    J erome was sitting on his bed in his boxers and a vest, staring sullenly at the wall.
    “What are you doing?” she asked him, her head poking around the door. She had been hoping for some of Jerome’s cheer to lift her mood. Her conversation with Melody at the lake had left her feeling miserable, her head filled with memories of her mother. It had been just over a year since her death, and although Emily had started to get a handle on the pain, burying it deeper beneath flesh and sinew, it was still very much present. But it wasn’t just stirred up memories that bothered her. The sounds she and Melody had heard—had someone been watching them? Or were her recent experiences clouding her judgement?
    Jerome looked up. “I feel bad, Em. Maybe coming to a retreat wasn’t the best suggestion.”
    “What do you mean?” She moved into the room and sat down beside him.
    “Maybe Ben and Sylvia have a point—there’s nothing to do in this place. There’s nothing to fill the silence. Which means there’s nothing to stop all those bad thoughts from swimming to the surface.”
    Emily frowned. “Are you talking about me or are you talking about yourself.”
    “A little of both,” Jerome said. He reached up and plucked a leaf from Emily’s hair. “After you left, I helped Daniel and Helen to clear up. We talked for a while—Helen’s not all that bad by the way—and then they both went off to their rooms. I sat out on the porch for a while. One minute, I was trying to assimilate myself into nature, trying to get down with this whole retreat thing, the next I was thinking about when I was fourteen years old and getting my head kicked in every day at school for being queer. I don’t want to think about that stuff. It’s in the past and it’s too depressing to bring up again.”
    “It’s good to reflect sometimes. To see how far you’ve come,” Emily offered.
    “I can reflect very well by looking in the bathroom mirror, thank