Something about this place was making people forget. How many of these people living here, the citizens of Elk Valley - how many of them were like me, from a different time, but somehow made to forget about their lives before? Between the tattoo and the mention of sushi, it was clear Anne wasn’t from this time, so why didn’t she remember? George also seemed to be forgetting, before he disappeared. Worst of all, I was starting to forget. Just little things here and there.

  I decided not to bring up Anne’s tattoo that night. She acted as if it wasn’t there, and I realized it’s in a pretty tough spot for her to see, plus it would always be covered up by either her hair or an article of clothing. This would have to be another conversation with Fritz, but in the meantime, I started making a list of everyone in the town I thought might be like me. So far I have me and Anne obviously, and the grey guy from Al’s. I didn’t know anyone else well enough to guess, besides maybe Elsie, but she felt… different to me. As if she belonged here. Same with Johnny. Fritz also didn’t make the list, not because it felt like he belonged here, but because if he was, he’d definitely know by now.

  Besides that, I needed a way to bring all this up with Anne. I needed a way to make her remember, but every time I tried to bring up her past, she’d shut down, and when I asked about the sushi comment, she didn’t even remember saying it. Getting her to remember would be a challenge without knowing anything about her past, so I decided I’d venture out into the woods again, hoping I might be able to find her car. Fritz told me there were more out there, so this time I had him draw me a little map, which he told me to memorize and burn as soon as possible.

  I didn’t want to get lost again, so I waited for my day off to venture into the woods. Until then, I continued going to work and stay at Grady Manor as usual. I’d hate to say I was getting used to this life, but it really wasn’t so bad. It was simple and easy, and without an iPhone, I felt sort of free. I wasn’t texting or looking things up all the time, which helped me feel more like I was living in the moment, as cliche as it sounds. Plus, I was getting some incredible sleep.

  When the day finally came, I packed a knapsack with some water and snacks, put on my clunky new hiking boots, and set off to the park. Fritz told me to make sure I wasn’t followed, and no one found the cabin, so I waited on a bench until I was sure no one else was around before I snuck through the corroded iron fence. The woods looked a lot different in daylight. What once felt eerie and threatening now looked beautiful and pleasant. Small rays of sunshine shone through gaps in the dense canopy, bathing the mossy green growth in a warm glow.

  Before finding the car, I thought it’d be a good idea to see if The Huntsman was still at the clearing. Fritz’s map was crudely drawn, but pretty easy to follow during the day. He had mapped out a pretty decent amount of the woods, marked by easily found landmarks, like a big mossy boulder that resembled a rhino, or a big dead log that looked like a breaching whale. When I got to the clearing, it was empty, just like Fritz said it would be. I inspected the area anyway, and found the remains of the campfire and some flattened grass where the tent used to be. I noted a couple of bootprints, but found it odd that despite seeing the giant golden elk the other night, I didn’t find a single hoof print. After poking around the ashes to no avail, I got back on track to find the cars.

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  At some point I came across another elk carved into an old spruce, different from the one that led me to George’s Prius. This one pointed to an overgrown trail with some log steps further up the path. I followed, kicking away the brush as I went. Finally, I found what I was looking for. It was a car graveyard, with six cars of varying years and states of decay. In the back, hidden by moss and brush, was my little red Mercedes. Before checking anything else, I ran to it and started brushing away all the plant life that had grown around it. The body was crushed in multiple areas where it wasn’t before, likely from the crash that led me to the hospital. None of the other cars had quite so much damage, and I wondered if I was the only one who crashed on their way in. It was also pretty rusted and dilapidated, the soft-top moldy and ripped, like it had been sitting there for years, even though I’d been in Elk Valley for less than two months.

  I was surveying the extensive damage to my beloved car when I realized something. Maybe my phone was still inside! I guess I didn’t consider what use it could possibly be for me, but in the moment it felt like a sort of lifeline, a connection to my past. I pried open the broken and rusty door and tore the car apart trying to find it. It wasn’t in the usual spot, my cupholder, but it also wasn’t in the second usual spot, way under the driver’s seat just out of reach. After a while of looking I gave up and had another thought. Did it still run?

  I went to turn the ignition but the key was missing. If the car was transported directly to here from my crash, where did the key go? It wasn’t the first time it had happened to me though, so I knew a way around it. I took the flathead screwdriver out of my glovebox and shoved it in the ignition. For some reason, if I messed with the screwdriver just right, the car would start. I jimmied the screwdriver around looking for the right angle and finally felt it turn. I cranked it and heard the familiar sound of my Mercedes’ engine turning, but it wouldn’t start. Not that I would know what to do if it did, but I’d take any small win at this point.

  I noticed the light on the radio turned on, though. I clicked the power on and turned up the volume. Static. But it worked, that was something. I started flipping through channels, hoping to find something. There was a faint sound coming through on the town’s radio station, KLKV, and I recognized the song playing as Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows, by Leslie Gore. I kept flipping through stations, hoping for something more. It was static, static, and more static, until one station, in the low numbers on AM. I could faintly make out a woman’s voice through static and interference. The message was short, and repeated until the Mercedes’ battery abruptly died.

  “Mayday, mayday, this is Captain Layla Cross of the British Royal Navy. If you can hear this broadcast, please find me. This is not my time.”

  - Emmett Brewer, carjacker