39

THE SOUND OF WOLVES howling nearby wakes me up. The night sky above is suspended in an eventide phase—somewhat dark, somewhat light. Stars twinkle, and the moon is a waxing crescent.

"Where the hell are we?"

Carter's voice startles me. He's already on his feet. I sit up. "Another dream world."

He groans. "I faced my fear. Why do I have to come back? I literally died. I'm exhausted."

I look around. The wolves are still howling in the distance.

We're in a clearing. The woods ahead of us are thick, with vines and ivy growing on the trees. It's growing chilly as the darker parts of the sky bleed into the lighter ones.

"It's Ophelia's dream," I breathe, my words forming wisps in the air.

Carter straightens up. "We have to find her. This may be the key to pulling her out of her coma."

"Not only that, but it won't look good if the nurses come into the room and can't wake me up, either."

Carter marches towards the woods. "She's obviously going to be somewhere in there. Let's go."

The wolves' howling grows more powerful the moment our feet enter the dark forest. The air is colder here, and any light left in the sky is snuffed out.

We keep walking, despite this. I have to find Ophelia. There's no light, nothing to guide us. Only the sounds of our feet crunching leaves on the path and wolves howling every so often.

Finally, Carter says, "This is getting darker and darker. I think we should stick close together."

"What, you want to hold hands?"

"No, dumbass. Hold onto my shoulder or something."

I reach out, and my hand collides with Carter, but not his shoulder. I smack his face, and he grunts. His hand grabs my wrist and guides my hand to his shoulder. "It's not rocket science."

"It is when I can't see anything."

We continue walking through the darkness, until it slowly becomes less dark. It's not light by any means, but now I can see the outline of Carter and not have to hold his shoulder.

We stop for a breather, backs to a tree in case a wolf decides to pop out of the bushes looking for a snack.

I finally say the words on my mind. "Why would she be this deep in the woods?"

"I'm not sure. But I think we need to get inside her head. What are her fears? How does this resemble something inside her?"

Of all the years I've known Ophelia, the one thing I know for certain is how hard it is to get her out of her shell. The woods must be her outer shell. The deeper into the trees we go, the closer we get to her.