Sherry Ficklin - Losing Logan

“Wow, invasion of the body snatchers,” I murmur.

“You look great,” Logan assures me.

I have to admit, I do look pretty good. It’s not what I’m used to, but it isn’t bad either. As a matter of fact, I really like the new look. For the insane amounts of cash I dropped, I sure as hell better.

“So,” I begin hesitantly. “I was thinking maybe we should go to The Tower.”

He folds his arms across his chest, his face tightening into a scowl.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe I can jog my memory.”

I nod. The old Apple Mountain Radio Tower is a solid half hour drive into the woods. I’ve only been once but I remember it not being terribly hard to get to. It used to be a pretty popular party spot, but a few years back some drunk kid wandered off and got attacked by a mountain lion. Since then, few people go up there. The Tower is mostly overgrown with brush now, and the old foot bridge is in tatters with lots of missing boards and stuff. I’d gone up with a volunteer group last year to put up warning signs and rope off the entrance to the bridge. Part of my community service for my college application. The Tower would be the perfect place to kill someone.

“Any idea why you might go up there?” I ask, wondering if Logan made frequent visits to the place.

He rubs the side of his face. “Well, Kaylee and I used to drive up there sometimes. You know. To be alone.”

I should have guessed.

“But when we went up together, we always took her Jeep. I didn’t want to scratch up my car,” He adds thoughtfully.

“That’s weird. You sure you never went up there alone? Or with anyone else?”

“Not that I remember. Why?”

I walk out to the garage and dig through the recycle bin. There, buried under a week’s worth of newspaper, is what I’m looking for. I pull it out and bring it inside, holding up the front page. There, in grainy black and white, is a photo of police standing around the entrance to the bridge, wrapping it with crime scene tape. And in the upper left corner, is the unmistakable hood of Logan’s new Dodge Charger, complete with the medal from last year’s Lacrosse championship hanging from his rear view mirror.

“Because they found your car at the scene. When you went missing, they used the low jack on your car to find you. I remember reading about it.”

He leans forward, examining the image. Then he shakes his head.

“I just don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” I say, folding up the paper and stuffing it in my purse. “Let’s go have a look. Maybe something will jog your memory.”

I grab my keys off the counter and we head out to my car. As soon as the garage door opens he looks over his shoulder and almost screams.

“Wait.”

I slam on the brakes and follow his gaze. I don’t see anything but empty sidewalk behind us.

“What?”

For a second I’m afraid I’ve almost hit Brim or something terrible.

He blinks, rubs his eyes with his thumbs, then looks back again.

“I thought I saw something.”

My eyes widen. He shakes his head.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“You sure?”

He nods, not looking entirely convinced. I grab my sunglasses off the console and slip them over my eyes as I drop it back in reverse and pull out. Logan doesn’t say anything the whole way up the mountain except occasionally pointing me in the right direction when I come to a fork in the road. He just rests his head against the window and stares off. I’m busy looking at him and not paying attention to the increasingly bumpy dirt road and I hit a rut, making the car jump and Logan’s head bounces off the glass with a thud.

“Ouch,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. I slam on the breaks, reach out and try to touch him, but my hand passes right through feeling nothing but cold air where he should be.

“What are you doing?” he demands, looking at me like I’ve totally lost my mind.

“You felt that.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So? You felt that. Like, you felt it.”

His face falls into a surprised expression. “Oh, yeah I did.” He experimentally raises a clenched fist and tries to tap on the window, but just passes through it. “Weird. I wonder why.”

I pucker my mouth and resume the drive. A vague theory is forming in my head, but now is not the time to test it. A few more yards and I pull into a narrow gravel parking area and stop the car. Climbing out, I can see the bright sun directly overhead, but I can’t see The Tower. The trees are taller and fuller than I remember and I have no idea which way to go from here.

Curse my naturally poor sense of direction.

Logan steps out of the car and walks forward. “This way.”

He walks through the trees without hesitation. I however, have to push through the foliage like I’m on safari.

“Why do I never have a good machete when I need one?” I mutter, making Logan chuckle ahead of me.

Soon I can hear the rushing water of the river, though it’s still a few hundred yards before I can see it. Then, suddenly, the trees are behind us and the tall iron tower appears in the middle of the woods. There are bushes and tall grass growing along the bottom, with vines of ivy climbing up its monstrous legs. The once silver metal has corroded to a rusty patina and in places it’s covered with a living carpet of spongy looking green moss.

It’s beautiful, in a very ominous, terrifying way.

“Hold on.” I scan the area, walking toward the still taped off bridge. “In the picture, your car was…” I find the matted down grass and follow it to the recent tire tracks. “here. Why in the world would you have driven through the brush, tearing up the paint on your car, instead of just parking over in the gravel?”

I look up, but he’s staring over at the bridge. The metal cables look mostly intact and a bit rusty, but the wooden boards are old and splintered, just as I remembered.

“I have no idea,” Logan says, not looking at me.

I don’t see anything lying on the ground as I scan the area. Anything Logan might have left here was probably taken as evidence by the police.

“I’m going to climb up and see if I can spot anything from the top,” I say not waiting for a response. Pushing my way through the wild tangle of leaves and branches I find the rungs of the ladder attached to the side of the tower. I grab ahold of the ladder and cry out. A sliver of metal is poking out and it has sliced into the tender skin of my palm, causing me to jerk my hand away. I hiss, stopping to check it out.

“You alright?” Logan asks, making his way over to me.

I cuss colorfully. “I’m fine. It’s not deep.”

It just stings like a son of a bitch.

Careful to avoid the sharp protrusion I climb up the first few rungs. The ladder echoes with metallic clangs as my shoes touch the bars. I look down and see Logan staring up at me.

Right up my skirt.

“Hey,” I call, grabbing my skirt and tucking it between my legs in the back.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not looking up your skirt Zoe.”

“Whatever perv. Go check out the bridge.”

“I’m not going on the bridge,” he says folding his arms across his chest.

I glare down. “Are you kidding me? You’re already dead. What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

He doesn’t move. I growl.

“Fine, you insecure butt clown. Just stand there and let me do all the work.”

I hear him mutter something rude and head for the bridge. As soon as I’m confident he’s not staring at my underwear I continue to climb. About halfway up, the ladder opens into an internal staircase inside the skeletal tower. I step carefully onto the diamond steel platform and grab the rail with my uncut hand. Ascending the stairs with greater confidence I make my way to the top of the tower. The metal roof is low and I wonder briefly how they used to get equipment up here at all. The last platform is bare except for the steel railing all the way around and the long rails holding the roof up. Leaning over the railing I can see for miles. Mountains hover in the distance. I can see not just the river closest to me, but far down stream where the two rivers merge.

“See anything?” Logan calls, shielding his hand with his eyes as he looks up at me.

“Nope. You?”

“Nothing.”

I turn around to head down when I feel something under my foot. I think it might be a pebble, but when I look down I see a delicate silver chain sticking out under my shoe. Reaching down I pick up the broken chain and the small silver pendant that has broken off. It’s a mangled silver leaf.

I hurry down the ladder and show the necklace to Logan.

“This was up there. Do you recognize it?”

He stares at it for a second and his face brightens, then falls.

“It’s Kaylee’s. Or it was.”

“Was?”

He snaps his fingers. “I remember now. She gave it back to me when she dumped me last week.”

I straighten, tucking it in my pocket. “Wow. Didn’t see that coming.”

He looks around. “But that happened at her house. So how did that get here?”

I shrug. “Maybe you brought it when you came?”

“And put it all the way up there?” he asks, giving me a duh stare.

“Good point.” He pulls his fingers through his hair.

“I’d forgotten about that. About her breaking up with me.”

I jerk my head towards the car and start walking.

“So, what happened?” I ask, morbidly curious. They always seemed like the perfect couple.

He stops at the car door before answering. “I accused her of cheating on me. I found something…a text on her phone. Yeah we were at her house and she went to get a snack and left her phone. Someone texted her, something about getting rid of me so they could meet up later. I confronted her and she told me…”

I’m completely curious now. “Told you what?”

He clears his throat, “She told me that she met someone who had his life together. Said she needed someone who could understand her on a more mature level. We argued and she took it off and handed it to me.”

His expression is distant as he continues.

“And I left.” He snaps his fingers, “But before I did, I hung it inside her car, from the mirror.”

“So she had it when you died?”

He sighs. “Maybe. I don’t remember anything after that.”

I nod, leaning against the car door and patting the roof. “Yeah, but you’re remembering, which is good. It means you can remember. I’m sure it’ll all start coming back now.”

He leans forward, moving through the car into the seat. “I hope you’re right.”

I open the door and climb in, sticking the key in the ignition. “It means something else too.”

He looks at me curiously.

I sigh. “It means I need to figure out a way to talk to Kaylee.”

We hit a drive through on the way home, then spend the rest of the day in my room brainstorming ways I can approach Kaylee about Logan’s death. And their break up. And the necklace. After two hours, the best thing we come up with is a story about aliens and secret government agencies experimenting on High School students.

Deciding not to waste a trip to the school, I text a few other student council members and put together an impromptu meeting right before tryouts. With a careful application of lip gloss and a quick re-braid to get out the random twigs and leaves stuck in my hair from my earlier adventure, I pull the necklace out of my skirt pocket and put it on top of my dresser. I wash the dry blood off of my hand, which is throbbing, and put a band-aid over it.

Logan looks me over. “Okay, are you ready for this?”

I nod. Grabbing my notebook and a pencil I head for the car.

“I’ll be right here in case you need any help,” Logan assures me on the way.

I snort. “What are you going to do? Give him hypothermia?”

He puts a hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt. “I am not without skills.”

I glance over at him, then back to the road. “Oh really? Name three.”

He’s quiet for a second, and then pouts.

“That’s cold, Zoe.”

I humph. That’s what I thought.

We pull into the parking lot and I see Bruno’s old black truck. He’s probably the only one of Logan’s friends who isn’t sporting a shiny new ride. I pull up beside it and park just as Bruno crawls out of the back, his stick and pads in hand.

Taking a deep breath I glance across at Logan who gives me an enthusiastic smile and two thumbs up.