Page 1 of When the Night Comes Knocking

One

Once upon a time,

Jane looks at her brother and knows that he hates her. It is not something she has to guess at; rather, she feels it imprinted deeply against her bones and knows it is mingled in with the blood they share, as though it has claimed its very own sequence of DNA.

She understands his hatred for her. She feels it too, if not more strongly.

Between them, the music that plays from the car’s speakers keeps pausing as her phone struggles to stay connected to Bluetooth. They are deep into the North Georgia mountains now, surrounded by white oaks and tall, looming pines that hold the ribbon-thin road in place. All around them the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest stretches outward, beautiful and threatening in its enormity.

Countless hikers will have taken off on the Appalachian Trail today, hoping to either find or lose themselves amidst the isolation. It turns Jane’s gut cold, the thought of disappearing into the mountains for weeks or months on end, watching the trees all blur together into one sentient cage—of sleeping in the woods all alone at night, telling yourself that the footsteps crunching through the leaves outside your tent only belong to a harmless animal.

Though at this point, she might actually prefer that to this car ride.

When the music gives up completely, discomfort spills into the empty silence. The car’s navigation system shows their arrival time at their family’s cabin rental on Blood Mountain as thirty-six minutes away.

We’ll never make it, she thinks, then throws another glance toward the passenger seat. Thomas looks even more inclined to fling himself out of the moving car, if that’s possible.

The wind picks up through the trees, lending a momentary white noise as leaves scatter down across the windshield in melodic succession. It’s been miles since they’ve seen another car on the road—perhaps for the better, as any passing driver might catch a glimpse of Thomas and assume he’s being held in a hostage situation.

Jane reaches toward the radio, ready to settle on a station playing good old-fashioned static, when she recalls her mother’s parting words on the phone that morning: He’s your only brother, Jane. Just try talking to him.

She clears her throat a few times, taps her thumbs on the steering wheel as though that might tick down the seconds faster. “There’s probably not going to be any service at this place,” she says.

For a moment, she thinks he didn’t hear her or is perhaps fully ignoring her—this would be normal behavior, after all. But then there is the smallest nod in her periphery. She tightens her grip on the wheel as the silence drags out again and forces her attention out toward the passing forest.

The rolling hills of treetops below are a sea of burnt oranges and jeweled reds from this height, waiting to catch the sun as it falls. This used to be her favorite time of year, and yet now she can’t recall having even noticed the leaves change.

“You know why they decided to not have Thanksgiving at home, right?” says Thomas, thoroughly startling her; he’s barely said anything in the past hour except for What’s with the hack job? in regards to the new haircut she gave herself a few days before.

Jane tucks a strand of short, choppy hair behind her ear, not yet used to it barely skimming her shoulders. “I didn’t think there was any big reason,” she says, shrugging. “Mom just said she and Dad wanted to do something different this year.”

“Ha. I’m sure they do.”

The slight sneer that reaches his mouth looks unnatural to her, as if at any moment her brother will take off the icy mask and reveal a total stranger has been beneath this whole time.

She eases the car around another steep turn, noting the way Thomas braces himself in the passenger seat. “Well, why are they doing this trip, then?” she asks, hoping she sounds calmer than she feels as the wind surges through the trees.

Thomas pushes a hand through his dark hair, messing it up with his fingers. It’s a nervous tic of his, one he has had since high school, though Jane doesn’t think he notices.

“The nice mountain getaway, the pre-planned family activities—it’s all to soften the blow for when they tell us they’re getting a divorce,” he informs, far too casually. “It’s about time, honestly.”

Jane’s foot briefly slips from the gas pedal. The red leaves spiraling down around the car suddenly turn her head dizzy as she waits for her brother to admit that he’s only bored and joking.

“Oh come on, Janey,” Thomas says, and she tenses at the use of his old nickname for her. He does as well, seeming to have momentarily forgotten where they stand with each other.

He clears his throat. “We’re both in college now,” he says. “There’s no reason for them to keep up the charade anymore.”

To think of their parents’ marriage as nothing more than a charade makes her feel as empty as she does naive. Of course she has known her mother and father’s love for each other isn’t perfect, but whose is? Every couple has disagreements. No one smiles all the time.

Especially in the Wilson family.

“But I don’t understand. Why now?” she asks, racking her brain for any obvious signs of discontent between her parents recently; of course she knows they’re unhappy with her, but that doesn’t mean they have to feel the same way about each other.

“It’s not such a bad thing,” her brother continues, leaning his face against the window to stare out at the passing blur of trees. “Worse things can happen,” he adds quietly.

These words, Jane knows, are aimed only at her. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the wheel harder, taking another tight turn in the road.

“Does Cassie know?”