The last time I saw him we were seventeen and he drove us out to this old mining town that was only empty shells and graffiti and broken tarmac. We must have spent hours there but it felt like no time at all until it was suddenly sunset and we both lay down in the middle of the road to watch the stars.
I must have dozed off and dozed deeply cause when I woke up it was sunrise, he was gone and I was lying in his blood. The stark red trail led back to his car so of course I decided to run to the closest house and climb up the broken rafters to hide up in the roof.
I'd only been there for maybe a handful of minutes before the first one came staggering onto the road looking like bearskin draped over raw bones, still trailing blood and holding a paid of familiar hands in its own mutilated ones. Over the course of the day five more came and went, all holding pieces of him that sent daggers of grief into me every single time.
I crept back to the car as sundown and drove it til tears blurred my eyes and I nearly crashed into an oncoming truck. I leapt out and begged for help, lucky that he was a nice man and drove me to the closest police station to report what I ended up calling a bear attack to keep it believable.
He wasn't found past the bloodstain.
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