Once the protective protocols were in place, Wilde powered up the device and checked his texts and emails. For a second, Wilde wondered whether his father, better known as Daniel Carter, had reached out, but that would be impossible. Wilde hadn’t given him any contact information. When his alarms had first sounded — when Hester had crossed into the woods from his overgrown path — he’d let the thought that it was indeed Daniel Carter enter his mind, that after Wilde had taken off without a warning or goodbye, his father had taken it upon himself to do some research and had either figured out where Wilde could be or had gone to Hester to help find him or...
Didn’t matter.
Wilde checked his messages for the first time in months. He spotted a few from Matthew, always brief, basically asking him where he was. There were two from Rola, his foster sister, the first asking where he was, the second reading:
Sigh. Don’t be like this, Wilde.
He should call her too.
Nothing from Ava. Nothing from Naomi. Nothing from Laila.
Then he saw a message that surprised him.
It was from PB, sent via the DNAYourStory messaging service. The email was dated September 10, eight months ago. Wilde hit the message link. It brought him to the full thread of messages between him and PB in ascending timeline order.
The first communication had come from PB to Wilde a year ago, before he left for Costa Rica:
To: WW
From: PB
Hi. Sorry about not giving my name, but there are reasons I don’t feel comfortable letting people know my real identity. My background has too many holes in it and a lot of turmoil. You are the closest relative I’ve found on this site, and I wonder whether you have holes and turmoil too. If you do, I may have some answers.
Wilde hadn’t replied until months later, not until he sat in Liberia Airport and waited to fly to Las Vegas to confront his father:
To: PB
From: WW
Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. I found my father on here. I’m going to attach a link to his profile. Could you let me know if he also came up as a relative of yours? If so, we will know whether we are related on my mother’s or father’s side. Thank you.
But after Wilde’s visit to Las Vegas, he’d chosen not to pursue the matter anymore or check his emails. What was the point? He realized now that it sounded as though he was wallowing in his own pity party, but that wasn’t it. He craved isolation. It was just how he was built. The shrinks had a field day with how his upbringing made him this way, how important the first five years of life are, and to make no attachments during that era, no physical or emotional contact, to be alone with no other human beings, all of that made him become irreparably damaged.
Could be, Wilde thought.
He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He’d never really hunted for his true identity because he could never see the point. It wouldn’t change those first five years, and while he understood that he was “not normal,” he wasn’t unhappy this way either. Or maybe he was and was fooling himself. Living in the woods didn’t make you any less prone to the same self-delusions the rest of mankind conjures up.
Too much self-reflection today. That had to do with Matthew, of course. And Laila.
Especially Laila.
The bright red lettering said CLICK HERE FOR NEW MESSAGE! Wilde did so and the message popped up:
To: WW
From: PB
Your father’s profile isn’t related to me, so I guess that we are related on your mother’s side. I hope it all works out with seeing your father. Let me know how that goes.
Since my last message to you, my life has taken a dark turn. When you find out who I am, you will probably hate me like everybody else does. I was warned this would happen. What goes up has to come down. That’s what they always say. The higher up you go, the harder it is when you crash. Well, I was up high without a care in the world, so you can imagine the crash.
Sorry if this seems all over the place. I don’t know where to begin. There are so many lies out there about me. Please don’t believe them.
I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t see any way to survive. Then your message came in like someone had thrown a life preserver to a drowning man. Do you believe in fate? I never did. I don’t have family I can trust. Everything I knew about myself and my upbringing turned out to be a lie. You’re my cousin. I know that doesn’t mean anything and yet maybe it does. Maybe it means everything. Maybe you messaging me back right now is meant to be.
I’ve never felt so lost and alone. The walls are closing in. I really can’t escape it. I just want to sleep. I just want peace. I want it all to go away. You probably think I’m crazy, writing to you, a stranger, like this. Maybe I am. First, they lied to me. Now they’re lying about me. They’re relentless. I can’t fight back anymore. I try but it only makes it worse.
Could you call me? Please? My private mobile is listed below. Don’t give this out to anyone. Please. You’ll understand when we talk.
Wilde looked up past the branches to the sky. The message had been sent almost four months ago. Whatever crisis PB had been dealing with had probably passed. Even if it hadn’t, Wilde saw no way that he could help. It sounded like PB mostly needed a shoulder to cry upon. That was not Wilde’s forte.
Hester would be with Matthew by now. It would be wrong to keep them waiting.
Then again, what was there to lose by making a phone call?
Wilde dreaded it, of course. Having to explain himself. Tell PB that he was the anonymous WW. Apologize for not replying sooner. And then what? Where would the conversation go?
Wilde started heading back down the other side of the mountain, toward David’s house. He still thought of it that way, even though David had been dead for eleven years. When he’d walked two hundred yards, Wilde stopped, took out his phone, and dialed PB’s phone number. He put the phone to his ear and felt a thud-thud in his chest as he listened to the ring. Somehow, he knew that this decision — the decision to reach out to the seemingly tormented PB — would change everything. He didn’t believe in the supernatural or any of that, but when you live with the animals, you start to trust a certain buzzing in your body. The danger instinct is real. You have it too. If your bloodline has survived this long, it’s because, unbeknownst to you, that primitive instinct has been a part of your DNA makeup.
And speaking of DNA...
PB’s phone rang six times before a robotic voice pronounced that the owner of this mobile phone had not set up their mailbox. Interesting.
Wilde hung up. Now what?
He considered sending an anonymous text, but he was not sure what exactly he would say. Did he want to reveal that the message was from WW?
Or should he just let this be?
Not really an option. Not this time. Leaving out the possibility that following up could lead to his mother, PB had written to Wilde for help. PB had been desperate and had no one to turn to, and Wilde had ignored his cry for four months.
He sent a short text:
This is WW. Sorry for the delay, PB. Text or call me back when you can.
He jammed the phone into his front pocket and started down the mountain.
Chapter Seven
Fifteen minutes later, Wilde stood at the tree line separating the Ramapo Mountains from the Crimsteins’ backyard. He saw movement in the second-floor window on the right. Laila’s bedroom. Weird to think it, but the truth was the truth: Wilde had spent the best nights of his life there.