Darren Effect by Libby Creelman Read Free Book Online

against a skinny fir, which bent slightly, its roots lifting a mound of moss. “You know what I think? I think Darren Foley is boring.”
    â€œMaybe he’s meant to be boring. Maybe that’s the point.”
    â€œYeah, and maybe he’s a sicko. He walks miles into the woods. Finds a beach, then mutilates what we think are dead birds.”
    â€œHow is that boring? Besides, I thought you two cohabited? I thought you knew him by the way he looked around at road construction?”
    â€œHow well does anyone know anyone?” “How’s it going with Bill?”
    Mandy grinned. “Bill? Bill wants to know what you and I are up to all the time.”
    â€œHave you told him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œI don’t know. Bill’s instincts are usually pretty good on this stuff. He thinks I should write more sex scenes, for example. Did you hear that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBranches breaking?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh, now fuck.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’ve got crap on me, from that tree.”
    â€œIt’s probably sap. Smell it.”
    â€œI am not going to
smell
it.”
    They looked at each other.
    Heather was following a man she’d never met through the woods and enjoying it. What was it she felt? A yearning. Like an addiction. The promise of intoxication.
    She remembered getting in her car and circling Benny’shouse, something she could no longer do. She dismissed the memory.
    â€œThere’s been a lot of intersections, Heather. Are you convinced we’re still following the man of the hour?”
    â€œDefinitely. The beach can’t be far.”
    â€œWe’re nowhere near a beach.”
    â€œListen, another half hour and we’ll call it quits?”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œMandy?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œJust wondering if you brought your binoculars?”
    Mandy flung her backpack onto the ground, splattering it with mud, but Heather knew not to comment on this. She just wanted to keep going.
    â€œIn case I see some birds,” she explained.
    â€œIs it this way? You can’t be serious, this isn’t a proper path.”
    â€œThose are his boot tracks. Who else could they belong to?”
    Mandy passed her the binoculars before going on ahead. “Don’t drop them.”
    Heather put the binoculars around her neck. Darren Foley never went anywhere without his heavy black binoculars hanging from his neck, and he generally walked with one hand placed on them, as though they were an extension of his body. Mandy’s binoculars were much smaller and more ladylike, but Heather was anxious to get a good clear look at a bird and identify it. She was aware of flocks darting through the canopy, the only proof they were there a surge of high-pitched calls and whistles.
    She longed to stop them somehow and give them names: chickadee, kinglet, warbler, siskin, flycatcher, vireo. Identifying them would be like hunting: having one in her sights, understanding what it was, pulling the trigger. Though she didn’t want to kill the birds. She simply wanted to place a name on them.
    She headed after Mandy, but slowly, establishing some distance between them. After a while the path grew even muddierand less defined. As she pushed aside the branches of trees and bushes, the smell of fir and dank earth rose up. The tracks were so abundant it was impossible to make out an individual print — man or woman or moose. Heather was aware they were heading south, when they should be heading north, or even east. South would only carry them deeper into the interior of the headland. On second thought it might be best to keep up with Mandy. The path made a bend around a massive rock outcrop and dropped into a basin of small pools and stunted trees. Heather stepped onto a hummock of moss — its surface looked so solid and dry — and sunk to her knees. A clump of dead grass topped with white