7.

The day after – Saturday, overcast and humid – I stood at the edge of the incline I tackled regularly before the accident, staring into the mouth of the forest when the words returned to me. With the likeness of an unreachable itch. Words that I was certain the detective knew I would not so easily forget.

'Kim Dongyoung.'

'Excuse me?'

'The name of the man who found your body roughly seven hours following the crime. According to the information he provided the police, he found you outside his ranch, which can only be accessed via a discontinued logging road branching off main.'

What did Detective Nakamoto intend divulging this sort of information with me? I couldn't begin to fathom his reasons. But the thought plagued me since last night; the fact part of the nightmarish incident I hadn't even bothered to question since coming to. In fact, there was never an instant it crossed my mind, probably because none of those around me even remotely suggested the idea.

Nonetheless, I was sure what he didn't expect was to have me revisit the site. Puzzlement and a grating curiosity hand in hand as I stood at the edge of the road, staring into the darkness with four hours to go for sunset. With my new phone – the previous one having been taken possession of by the authorities since the accident – a physical map in my back pocket, and a manual compass for good measure I hadn't used since Dad gifted it to me years ago and a bottle of water, I steeled myself and set forth.

I wore the oldest pair of sweatpants I could find, a comfortable black pullover, and my regular trainers as I tackled the woods. They were as practical clothes I could find for the affair; my hair even tied back into a tight pony where I was certain it wouldn't get in my way.

I didn't know what to expect of my expedition. But what I was certain of was the fact that I was determined enough to make sense of the things I couldn't up until this point.

The forest was – undeniably – a soothing marvel during the day. Passing tall pines and shorter, bushier shrubs alike, I was taken back to the memory of the first time my family went hiking. The woods were – at the time – a popular local destination. I remembered my father demonstrating the compass. Of leading us into the deep dark woods with promises of magic and awe, when in fact we shared more laughter when minutes later, his feet battled with the slippery moss of the thin river rocks. I recalled the mystifying twilight, surrounded by the flickering light of fireflies as we re the path home; the sound of the stream and lively birdsong an unforgettable farewell to an unforgettable day.

But how quickly that childish fascination turned against me. The components I once found admiration in now held a dreariness to them otherwise unimaginable. The towering pines, the scattering of needles under my feet, and the overgrowth that swallowed whatever noise from the town were still beautiful. But now, I was well aware there was more to the woods than what meets the eye.
 

Whipping out the map from my back pocket after taking a moment to catch my breath from the strenuous undergrowth I passed, I studied the contours beside the compass. The only information I had to go off was, after all, that:

One; the incident took place near a significant incline. And two; that it occurred near the ranch Detective Nakamoto mentioned. This information, however, was plentiful.

Plotting the property and the expanding contours towards the centre of the forest, I only regretted not carrying a pen. I continued in the most accurate direction possible, ascertained there were still three hours to sunset at this point, and felt a creeping sense of dread the moment I noticed I was already gradually crossing the incline threshold.

The memory of that night returned to me with the unexpected vividness of the many nightmares I endured of it. I recalled the effort required; how I'd have lagged terribly if not for Hansol encouraging me up by the hand; and fought hard not to give into the desire to stop or, even worse, turn back. This was much harder than I thought. Every time I imagined I was getting better at coping with it, the cutting gravity of his loss would return to me no sooner.

But I pressed on, pushing the grief to the back of my mind with the anticipation of redemption. Redemption in the form of discovering clues to the thing responsible for this tragedy.

The sound of crushed leaves beneath my shoes grew deafening as I ascended. My heart pounded so loudly I felt its thumping rhythms in my ears. My expectations of the apex torn between the fantasy of seeing the predator and the reality of it being a mere delusion.

By the time I reached the top, my heavy breaths were beside the loud pounding of my heart. I was winded, felt the left side of my ribs prick slightly with the carelessly long distance I covered, but it was the moment of truth. The moment to satiate my stubborn curiosity and childish sense of justice. Yet when I arrived, stifling my puffs, clutching the left side of my torso and peering below me, I was met with rich foliage, shrubs, the thick bases of pine trees, and a clearing of large moss-draped rocks.

Nothing... there was nothing else.

No clearing, no candles, no sand, no animal, nothing.

This couldn't be right. My mind could not have been deceiving me. The line between dreams and reality blurring as I struggled to make sense of the evidence before my eyes.

Fighting against the panic that rose with this discovery, I fumbled for the map in my back pocket, almost dropping it multiple times upon unfolding. I smoothed it in my hands, crumpling the corners as I desperately searched the area I was in, but suddenly felt whatever knowledge I'd come with leave me. The dots and lines looked like gibberish. The greens, blues and yellows became nothing more than indistinguishable colours.

No, I struggled to make interpretations of anything.

The place felt familiar. I was certain this was the very spot where it happened, and yet I could not understand why it looked nothing like what it should have. Surely