Finding a Loss

My thoughts are quieted by the loud rain smacking off my car as I drive down the highway. The road is long with only two lanes. The forest on either side distorts the road, making it look very narrow. I don’t know how long I’ve been driving. I left at dawn in hopes of finding the cabin before it got dark. The sun looms just above the trees and I have a feeling I’m only halfway to my destination. 

The ache in my head thrums louder with worry. I have to- No. I need to find the cabin I visited last week. I can see the cabin in my head. A limestone driveway winding through the trees. Two trees tower in front of the cabin with a large hammock swaying between them. The cabin is made of cedar planking with a covered porch. Burgundy cushions fitted on dark brown wicker seats. Two glasses of wine sit on a glass table in the center of the furniture. I close my eyes as I try to imagine the numbers on the cabin. All I can see is the golden 2 seated above a light blue welcome sign on the red door.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as discomfort floods my body. I want to escape this feeling. The dread vibrates so violently that my very bones are trying to crawl out. How am I supposed to find a cabin hidden deep in the woods when all I can remember is a red door and the number two? My fogged brain cannot remember why I was at the cabin last week. I think I was with another person. A fuzzy feeling fills my chest when I try to think of the mystery person. Diamond blue eyes appear alongside the happiness in my chest. I must really love this person. How can I love a person I can’t remember?

Up ahead I see bits of limestone scattered on the road. The trees break apart and I turn right between them. Rocks hit the side of my car as I slowly drove down the uneven path. After driving a few minutes a house comes into view. Not a cabin. 6590 names the mailbox sitting outside the house. There is a porch but it’s not covered. There is no hammock, no wine glasses, no blankets on the furniture. Tears fill my chest, flooding through my cheeks and up to my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. This is no time for tears. I still have a few hours to look for this cabin. 

Rage boils through my veins. I take a deep breath; an attempt to calm myself and clear my head. My arm involuntarily punches the steering wheel and I scream. My throat feels like it will shred to bits if I scream any louder. Another deep breath and the constriction eases. I rub my chest to soothe myself but I barely feel myself. I am numb with worry. A woman steps out onto the porch, peering at me with suspicion. I quickly whip my car around, rocks spitting everywhere as I speed back down the rocky road.

The sun has lowered itself to lay on the tree tops. I park my car on the shoulder of the road. I settle into the seat, resting my elbow on the window and my head into my hand. Dread crawls up my legs like spiders. My neck tingles and my head throbs more. I have this horrible feeling. I have had this horrible feeling for days that if I don’t get to this cabin something bad will happen. I convinced myself that I had just forgotten something when I left and it wasn’t important. Maybe I forgot a scarf or journal. The feeling never left and today I finally decided to get in my car and go look at it. I stayed up all night looking at maps and cabins in the area. I couldn’t figure out what cabin to look at, so instead I got in my car and started driving. My gut told me to take this highway. Whether the road to this cabin is off the highway is a mystery to me.  

Wine. Blankets. Stars. I remember those three things about that night at the cabin. I think there were two glasses full of red wine. Maybe one glass was empty and I got a second glass. Why would I get a second glass instead of refilling the first? I must have been lazy. I must have gone to the bathroom and decided I wanted a second glass but refused to go outside and get the original. Why would there be multiple blankets? It’s late summer. The nights are chilly but not cold enough to need two blankets. Someone must have been there with me. Probably a bad hook-up that I wanted to desperately forget. I must have drank to forget the experience. I definitely accomplished forgetting everything that happened. 

I roll down the window to get some fresh air. My fingers tap on the steering wheel to an unspecified rhythm. Come on. You can remember another detail. A major detail. I sigh to myself. Wine, blankets, stars. Red wine, ivory blankets with fringe borders, and the big dipper. “More like a big scooper.” I laugh to myself. Deja vu hits as the joke settles in my memory. I made the same joke that night. That’s not helpful, idiot. A joke is not a hint. I massage my eyebrows to ease the frustration. I’m going to have so many wrinkles after this impulsive adventure. 

I shift the car into drive and ease into the lane. I will allow myself to drive until the sun starts to set. If I cannot find this cabin by sunset, I’m turning around. The cabin must not want to be found if it takes me nearly a day to find. I steady my breathing and focus on the road. After driving a few more miles I spotted a white mailbox. The white mailbox seems important. 4220. 

“4220,” I process the numbers. “4 - 2 - 2 - 0.”

The numbers are bittersweet as I take them in. Limestone litters the base of the mailbox. I slowly ease my car up the driveway. The trees part, welcoming me down the stone road. Sunbeams break through the trees in a familiar pattern. A warm feeling fills my chest as I feel nervous and accomplished. I stare at the light brown cabin coming into view. I found it. Light brown planks, a red door with a blue welcome sign, golden numbers that read 4220. A covered porch with burgundy seating. I park my car in front of the cabin, throw open my door, and rush to the cabin porch. 

There is one blanket on the wicker loveseat. Two wine glasses sit on the table with one empty and the other nearly dranken. I must have been alone with myself that night. No, that doesn’t feel right. I sigh and open the door to the cabin. The cabin is lit by sunlight billowing through the windows. Sheer curtains stop some of the light from entering the cabin but it’s only enough to create a moody effect. I can see everything in the cabin clearly. The dark brown floors, the red rug running down the long hallway. I step into the living room to the right of me.

The air leaves the room and I choke on my lungs. I freeze. I cannot look away from myself. I am laying on the floor with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I lay on my stomach, head cocked forward. My arms sprawled in front of me, one leg bent up to the side and the other lying straight behind me. I weep as I see a knife plunged into the center of my shoulder blades, blood seeped into the ivory blanket. I walk around to kneel in front of my corpse. Tears dry my cheeks, eyes looking through my eyebrows. My hairline is messy and dry, most likely from sweat. My face is contorted in so much pain. I wince, feeling a pinch between my own shoulder blades. The pain heats up until it’s unbearable. I grit my teeth, reaching back to massage the area.

I was stabbed in the back. I don’t know who did it, I don’t know why. 

This I am sure of: My soul will not rest until I find who murdered me.