Moonlight by Rachel Hawthorne

second. He was barefoot.
    “Isn’t that a little dangerous?” I asked as I redirected my light forward.
    “My feet are tough. I’ve gone barefoot since I was a kid.”
    “You move so quietly.”
    “Had to learn to do that. Connor, Rafe, and I used to play war games with the other kids. The only way to win was to be able to sneak up on people undetected.”
    “And you like to win.”
    “Absolutely. No point in playing if your goal is to lose.”
    I came to a stop and leaned my back against a tree. I pointed the flashlight down so we had light but our faces were lost in the shadows. But still I felt him watching me. “Do you have any bad memories?” I asked. He had an idea about mine. I wanted us on even ground.
    “Everyone has some bad memories,” he said.
    “That’s not an answer.”
    “Yeah, I’ve got some.”
    His voice held no emotion, and I knew he wasn’t about to talk about them, but knowing that he had them was enough. I sighed heavily. “I was with them when they were killed. My parents. But I don’t really remember what happened. I remember the echo of the gunshots. They were so loud. And then my parents were dead. It’s been driving me crazy lately, ever since I came back to the forest this year. Last year it was like I was inside a bubble, trying to insulate myself from the past. I didn’t want to face it. But this year it’s different. It’s as though something inside me wants to break free. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m on the verge of remembering something really important.”
    He moved closer to me and skimmed his knuckles along my cheek. Until that moment, I didn’t realize I was crying. I released a short burst of embarrassed laughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lay all that heavy stuff on you.”
    “That’s okay. It has to be difficult, being back here again. I love these woods. You must hate them.”
    “You’d think I would, but I don’t. In a way, when I’m here, I feel a connection to my parents.”
    He kept silent. In an odd way, it made me think better of him for not trying to say something, because anything would have been trite. I felt like maybe I should pull away, but I didn’t. Even if he felt my pain, he couldn’t experience it.
    “According to my therapist, I’m supposed to face what happened, but I just want to forget it. I get these nightmares . . . they make no sense.”
    His knuckles were touching my face again, but his thumb was stroking the curve of my cheek. It was incredibly soothing. Even in the darkness, his eyes held mine.
    “Was it night or day?” he asked quietly.
    “Night. But just barely. The tail end of dusk. Light enough to see, but not to see everything. Not yet dark enough for a flashlight.”
    “You were all together?”
    “Yeah, they wanted to show me something. We’d left the others.” I blinked and tried to draw up the memory. “I’d forgotten there were others.” Who were they? Family? No, they would have taken me in. Friends? I shook my head. “I don’t know who they were. Do you think it’s important?”
    “I’m not a shrink. What did your parents want to show you?”
    “I can’t remember. I was scared about something. I’d seen something. I don’t know.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about it. If it’s important, it’ll come to you.”
    “I thought you weren’t a shrink.”
    “I’m not, but I know that sometimes trying too hard is worse than not trying at all.”
    “That makes no sense.”
    His teeth flashed white in the darkness. I almost pointed my flashlight up, just to see that smile for real. Out here, away from everyone else, when he wasn’t the leader, when he was just a guy, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating.
    “So why couldn’t you sleep?” I asked. Assuming his earlier answer hadn’t simply been a mocking repeat of mine.
    “All that talk about werewolves. Had me shaking in my hiking boots.”
    He made me smile. “Yeah, right. You’re afraid of the big, bad werewolf.”
    He