“Jeez, Mack, if you think God is going to be up there, why all the supplies?”

Mack smiled rather sadly “I just thought I’d cover my bases. You know, be prepared for whatever happens… or doesn’t.”

They made their way out of the house to the driveway where the Jeep sat. Willie pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Mack.

“So,” Willie broke the silence, “where is everybody, and what did Nan think of you heading out for the shack? I can’t imagine she was real pleased.”

“Nan and the kids are visiting her sister up in the Islands, and… I didn’t tell her,” Mack confessed.

Willie was obviously surprised. “What! You never keep secrets from her. I can’t believe you lied to her!”

“I didn’t lie to her,” Mack objected.

“Well excuse me for splitting hairs,” Willie snapped back. “Okay, you didn’t lie to her because you didn’t tell her the whole truth. Oh yeah, she’s going to understand that all right.” He rolled his eyes.

Mack ignored the outburst and walked back to the house and into his office. There, he found the spare set of keys for his car and home and, hesitating for just a moment, picked up the small tin box. He then headed back out toward Willie.

“So, what do you think he looks like?” chuckled Willie as he approached.

“Who?” asked Mack.

“God, of course. What do you think he’ll look like, if he even bothers to show up, I mean? Boy, I can just see you scaring the living daylights out of some poor hiker-asking him if he’s God and then demanding answers ’n all.”

Mack grinned at the thought. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s a really bright light, or a burning bush. I’ve always sort of pictured him as a really big grandpa with a long white flowing beard, sort of like Gandalf in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.”

He shrugged and handed Willie his keys and they exchanged a brief hug. Willie climbed into Mack’s car and rolled down the driver’s window.

“Well, if he does show, say hi for me,” Willie said with a smile. “Tell him I have a few questions of my own. And Mack, try not to piss him off.” They both laughed. “Seriously,” Willie continued, “I am concerned for you, buddy. I wish I was going with you, or Nan, or someone. I hope you find everything you need up there. I will be saying a prayer or two for you.”

“Thanks Willie. I love you too.” He waved as Willie backed out of the driveway. Mack knew that his friend would keep his word. He probably could use all the prayers he could get.

He watched until Willie was around the corner and out of sight, then slipped the note from his shirt pocket, read it one more time, and then placed it into the little tin box, which he deposited on the passenger seat amongst some of the other gear stacked there. Locking the doors, he headed back into the house and a sleepless night.

Well before dawn on Friday, Mack was already out of town and traveling down I-84. Nan had called the night before from her sister’s to let him know that they had made it safe and sound, and he didn’t expect to get another call until at least Sunday. By that time he would probably be on his way back, if he wasn’t home already. He forwarded the house phone to his cell, just in case, not that he would have any reception once he was into the Reserve.

He retraced the same path they had taken three and a half years before, with a few minor changes: not as many potty breaks and he sailed by Multnomah Falls without looking. He had pushed away any thoughts of the place since Missy’s disappearance, sequestering his emotions securely in the padlocked basement of his own heart.

On the long stretch up the Gorge, Mack felt a creeping panic begin to penetrate his consciousness. He had tried to avoid thinking about what he was doing and just keep putting one foot in front of the other, but like grass pushing through concrete, the repressed feelings and fears somehow began to poke through. His eyes darkened and his hands tightened on the steering wheel as he fought the temptation at every off-ramp to turn around and go home. He knew he was driving straight into the center of his pain, the vortex of The Great Sadness that had so diminished his sense of being alive. Flashes of visual memory and stabbing instants of blistering fury now came in waves, attended by the taste of bile and blood in his mouth.

He finally reached La Grande, where he gassed up, and then took Highway 82 out to Joseph. He was half tempted to stop and look in on Tommy but decided against it. The fewer people who thought he was a raving lunatic the better. Instead, he topped off his tank and headed out.

Traffic was light, and the Imnaha and smaller roads were remarkably clear and dry for this time of year, much warmer than he had expected. But it seemed that the farther he drove, the slower he traveled, as if the shack were somehow repelling his approach. The Jeep crossed the snowline as he climbed the last couple of miles to the trail that would take him down to the shack. Above the whine of the engine he could hear the tires crunch doggedly through the deepening snow and ice. Even after a couple of wrong turns and some backtracking, it was only early afternoon when Mack finally pulled over and parked at the barely visible trailhead.

He sat there for almost five minutes reprimanding himself for being such a fool. With every mile that he had traveled from Joseph, the memories had come back with adrenaline clarity, and now he was mentally certain that he wanted to go no farther. But the inner compulsion to press on was irresistible. Even as he argued with himself, he buttoned up his coat and reached for his leather gloves.

He stood and stared down the path, deciding to leave everything in the car and hike the mile or so down to the lake; at least that way he wouldn’t have to lug anything back up the hill when he returned to leave, which he now expected would be in very short order.

It was cold enough that his breath hung in the air around him and it even felt like it might snow. The pain that had been building in his stomach finally pushed him into panic. After only five steps, he stopped and retched so strongly that it brought him to his knees.

“Please help me!” he groaned. He stood up on shaky legs and took another step away from the car. Then he stopped and turned back. He opened the passenger door and reached in, rummaging around until he felt the small tin box. He pried the lid off and found what he was looking for, his favorite picture of Missy, which he removed along with the note. Replacing the lid, he left the box on the seat. He paused for a moment looking at the glove box. Finally he opened it and grabbed Willie’s gun, checking to make sure it was loaded and the safety was on. Standing up, he closed the door, reached under his coat, and stuck the gun in his belt in the small of his back. He turned and faced the path once more, taking one last look at Missy’s picture before sliding it into his shirt pocket alongside the note. If they found him dead, at least they would know who had been on his mind.

The trail was treacherous, the rocks icy and slippery. Every step took concentration as he descended into the thickening forest. It was eerily quiet. The only sounds he could hear were the crunch of his steps on the snow and the heaviness of his breathing. Mack started feeling like he was being watched, and once he even spun around quickly to see if anyone was there. As much as he wanted to turn and run back to the Jeep, his feet seemed to have a will of their own, determined to continue down the path and deeper into the dimly lit and increasingly dense woods.

Suddenly, something moved close by. Startled, he froze, silent and alert. With his heart pounding in his ears and his mouth suddenly dry, he slowly reached behind his back, sliding the pistol from his belt. Snapping off the safety, he peered intensely into the dark underbrush, trying to see or hear anything that might explain the noise and slow the rush of adrenaline. But whatever had moved had now stopped. Was it waiting for him? Just in case, he stood motionless for a few minutes before he again began inching his way farther down the trail, trying to be as quiet as possible.