THE WIND ROARED through the woods. The trees groaned and swayed, obscuring and revealing the moon in a slow rhythm with each gust. I shivered and pulled my knees up to my chest, playing with the torn fabric of my jeans for a minute before tucking my legs under my sweatshirt in a vain attempt to keep warm.

Jeremey sat next to me quietly, rolling the wooden bat back and forth in front of himself. It made a noise like crinkling wrapping paper as it crunched over the pine needles. We'd both played baseball when we were kids. Jeremey'd hit a home run in our second game. The best I'd ever done was earn a walk after getting hit with the ball. Made sense that Jeremey would hold the bat, leaving me with the flashlight, even though I'd messed that job up pretty royally the previous night.

I picked up the energy drink in front of me, even though I wasn't tired. The can was ice in my numb hands. I'd already lost color to most of my fingers. The tips had faded to a sick yellow-white. I'd heard it was the first stage of frost bite, but sometimes it happened to me if I sat in an air conditioned room for too long, so I wasn't too concerned—just uncomfortable.

I took a sip of my drink. It tasted like chemicals and road trips. I'd only ever been on one, and it was during the summer after we graduated high school. Lydia'd decided that she wanted to see the coast. Not just go to the beach—see the whole coast. So I said "All right, let's do it."

The next day we woke up as the sun rose. We got in my car, and we drove.

We started at Cape May, the southern tip of New Jersey. We drove through Wildwood, parking the car along the beach and walking out towards the Atlantic. The beach was broad and the sand was fine and white. We swam in the ice-cold water, and then Lydia laughed and said it was time to go. I chased her up the sand as the sweltering summer sun slowly seared our skin. We got back in the car, shivering and shaking, the AC blasting us with cool air. Salt and sea dripped off our bodies. We sat on towels to avoid destroying the fabric of the seats.

As we drove north, the beaches grew more narrow. The sand turned from pure white to yellow, and it went from as fine as powder to coarse with bits of shell and stone.

We stopped in Ocean City and Atlantic City. We drove up the Garden State Parkway until we reached Stafford Township, where we turned east, cruising along the strange barrier island that guards most of New Jersey. We stopped for lunch in Long Beach, and then we got back on the parkway, driving past Barnegat Inlet, where the long-shore current diverges, shifting from south to north. We continued on to Seaside Heights, Point Pleasant, and Asbury Park. The sun began to set as we walked along the old boardwalk there, and Lydia had her fortune told.

By the time we reached Sandy Hook, the sun was dipping below the horizon, twilight settling in. We were both getting tired. Lydia yawned as I parked the car at the furthest north beach on the sand spit. Even though we were only halfway up the peanut of a state, I knew this would be our last stop on the trip. After Sandy Hook, the beaches ended, and New Jersey faded into the shadow of New York.

We got out of the car and walked barefoot through the sand, even though it was sharp and the rocks poked at our soles. As the last traces of sunlight disappeared, and the dim light of the moon and the stars took over, Lydia and I swam out into the ocean until our toes couldn't touch bottom anymore. I made a joke about sharks, and then Lydia splashed me.

She said, "I love you," her blue eyes glistening in the moonlight reflecting off the ocean's rippling surface. She kissed me.

I said, "I love you too," and in that moment, it was true.

We got out of the water and walked back to the car, holding hands as we shivered in the cool night breeze roaring in off the sea.

That's the thing about the sea—it's always windy there.

Once we got back on the road, I looked over at the passenger seat. Lydia had fallen asleep. I stopped at a gas station to fill up the car, and I bought two cans of energy drink. Then I drove us all the way home so the next morning, Lydia could wake up safe and sound, alone in her own bed.

I missed her.

A hollow ache gnawed inside of me, and it wasn't just because I'd been too nervous to eat more than a few bites at dinner. It was true, I hadn't loved Lydia the day she'd left me, but I had loved her once.

We'd spread apart.

She'd grown up and changed, moving on to new things. I'd stayed the same—left behind. It'd happened so gradually, I hadn't even realized it was happening at all. The girl I'd loved no longer existed, and she hadn't for a long time. I knew it was true, but I wasn't willing to accept it.

I stared into the dark fabric of my sweatshirt, pressing my face to my knees to block the wind.

"Hey, you all right man?"

"What?" I asked, picking up my head. I placed my hands on the ground, clenching pine needles between my fingers.

"You've just been really quiet," Jeremey said.

"I'm just tired." The wind beat against my face as I took another sip of energy drink. I felt my eyes watering, but I wasn't sure if it was the memories or the wind that was doing it. Maybe a combination of both. "What time is it?"

Jeremey took out his phone. "It's 11:42." He put his phone away. "Seriously, you all right? You're shaking."

"Just cold." I coughed. My nose had started to run, so I wiped it with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "Maybe I'm getting sick."

We were quiet for a moment.

"Any action at the farm house?" I asked, trying to focus my vision on the building in the distance.

"Nothing yet," Jeremey said. "Truck's there. Haven't seen the dogs. Joshua neither."

"You think he's gone to sleep?" I asked, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

"Maybe," Jeremey said. "Let's give it another hour or so, just to be safe."

I whimpered more loudly than I'd intended at the thought of sitting in the cold any longer.

"You should have dressed more warmly."

"Hindsight," I said.

Suddenly, two bright lights shot on in Joshua's driveway.

"Shit, shit, that's the truck!" I pulled my legs out of my sweatshirt and scrambled to my feet, my blood finally defrosting and pumping through my brain again. "He's backing out!"

"Are the dogs with him?" Jeremey asked, getting to his feet as well, the bat clenched in his right hand.

I stared into the yard, squinting to try and cut out some of the star-burst effect of the headlights. Finally, the truck turned onto the road, and my eyes dilated, adjusting to the darkness once again. "I don't see them," I said. "I think it's just Joshua."

I turned and looked at Jeremey. His gaze was fixed on the house.

"I guess we should do this," I said.

Jeremey said nothing for a minute, not even acknowledging my words. Finally, he turned to face me. "All right. Let's go."

I clicked the flashlight on, the beam illuminating the ground in front of me. Jeremey followed as I headed out of the woods. We crept through the tall grass, keeping our footsteps soft and not exchanging a word. Joshua may have left, but we still had no idea where the dogs were, and I didn't even want to consider the risk that he might return at any minute.

We reached the house, the wind tearing in a torrent around us. I shoved my left hand into my pocket, keeping the flashlight in my right. The side of the house offered us no relief from the raging whirlwind swirling around us.

"Come on," Jeremey mouthed, the wind stealing his words.

We stalked around the house, to the back side with the cellar hatch. I tried to resist the urge to look through the tiny window into the basement, but my eyes wandered over anyway. However, to my surprise, the glass had been boarded up. Plywood covered it from the inside, blocking any chance of seeing in.

"Here," Jeremey handed me the pair of bolt cutters he'd been carrying in his backpack.

I traded him the flashlight for them. He held it for me while I got down on my knees in the dry dirt in front of the chain that held the cellar door shut. "Where should I cut?" I asked.

"The lock," Jeremey said. "Go for the lock. It's the thinnest."

I nodded and picked the chain up, running the icy metal through my hands until I finally reached the lock. The sound of metal clanging on metal echoed through the air, the wind dispersing it like rolling thunder in a storm. I placed the bolt cutters around the lock and clenched them shut. It took me three tries, but finally, the padlock sheared through, and the chain slinked and slithered to the ground like a metallic snake.

I stepped back, staring at what I'd just done. Jeremey tapped the flashlight against the side of my arm. I took it in my hand, trading him the bolt cutters for it. He returned them to his backpack. I breathed in deeply, and finally I reached for the cold metal handle to the cellar, gripping it in my fist, my knuckles turning white in the windchill.

And then, with a slow, creaking groan, I opened the door.