The Third Girl

She was the third girl.

The one that got away.

Not like the first girl and the second girl whose bodies were found twisted and naked in a trench beside the windmill, its vanes strobing shadows over their lifeless forms like some neoteric performance piece.

***

That morning, Ella and Trace picked Jamie up at the hostel. She’d had enough money for a real hotel room where she would have had her own bathroom and queen-sized bed, but this was where Nick had stayed, so she stayed there too. She’d been in Amsterdam for an entire day before she found the courage to walk around alone. Maybe courage wasn’t the right word.

Shame.

Shame worked. All she’d seen those first twenty-four hours were the grimy walls and smelly toilet of the House of Brinker hostel.

What would Nick have said if she’d been able to tell him all her fears and missteps since walking off the plane— knocking down an old man with her giant backpack, not being able to figure out how to buy a train ticket into town, then freaking and taking an Uber, hiding in her ugly room like a scared little kid? But she’d never know and her heart seized in her chest.

The three girls boarded a train to the event grounds, a park in Landsmeer. Ella and Trace had been in Amsterdam for ten days with the music festival being the culmination of their trip. Jamie had met them the previous morning while buying a stroopwafel from a street vender. They were so happy and easy to be around that Jamie relaxed. She had proven to herself that she could travel alone, like Nick. But having others around, even if you’d only just met them, was so much better.

Jamie rested her head against the window and watched the flat land stream by. Her thoughts returned to Nick as they so often had since leaving Houston. Four years ago, he’d traveled to Europe for six weeks with nothing but a backpack. Every time they got together, Jamie begged him to tell her more about “The Trip.” She hung on his every word, every story. The cute guy on the Vespa in Rome who’d almost run him down and then bought him pistachio gelato from an old crone in an equally ancient grotto. The way the sun rose over the lagoon in Venice. Blowing kisses at the guards at Buckingham Palace. She always asked if he was lonely, and he always said no. She’d really wanted to ask, “Weren’t you afraid?” But Jamie worried what he’d think if she had.

Jamie spied a barnacle covered anchor resting beside a windmill. It didn’t make sense until Trace explained that this part of Holland was filled with polders, areas the Dutch had reclaimed from the sea. She snorted at the apparent incongruity then smiled at her new friends. She knew thinking of them as friends was overstating things a bit. The girls were visiting from Toronto. Jamie was certain that after today, she’d never see them again. They’d just be a memory. A story she could tell about her trip. Just not to Nick.

As the train drew closer to the festival grounds, Ella and Trace popped tabs with melty smiley faces.

“Want one? Trace asked.

Jamie shook her head. LSD wasn’t her thing. Instead she pulled a chocolate bar from her backpack. She’d bought it yesterday in a coffeeshop not far from the flower market.

Jamie broke off a square and sucked on the chocolate. The taste was earthy and sweet. It was so much better than the tea Nick had made.

“This is pretty good. Wanna try?” She offered some to the girls and they each took a piece.

When the train stopped, they rose and joined the queue of travelers exiting. Around her the world was getting brighter. The oak trees were so green they vibrated. Jamie loved this feeling. Mushrooms always made her feel connected to the natural world, like she was one link in a very long chain of cells that reached back to the dawn of time.

There were three stages on the grounds and together the girls moved like a six-legged creature from one to the next and back again. Dancing and dancing. Occasionally stopping to eat.

The sun began to set; it had been a long day. A great day. More than anything she wished she could tell Nick about it. He loved music festivals. He’d taken her to her first, South by Southwest, when she was still in high school. He’d been the first to introduce her to mushrooms too. “Big brothers are for more than scaring loser boyfriends,” he’d joked.

God she missed him.

He’d been gone for just over a year, lost to a drunk driver, his leg severed from his body. So much blood that the insurance company totaled the car. She awoke screaming for several weeks after the accident, still feeling his hand in hers as his life slipped away. Eventually, the gruesome memories faded and Jamie was left with memories of the good times, the stupid times. Now she simply ached for the person she’d always confided in.

Returning from the bathroom, she’d lost Trace and Ella. They’d been at the main stage, but they weren’t there. She didn’t let herself worry, instead she wandered through the crowd, swaying in time to the music. She was sure she’d run across them soon. But the sun kept sinking lower.

Before she could find her friends, a hand grabbed her upper arm. Jamie looked into the guy’s face. He was probably in his forties, much older than anyone she’d seen so far. He was druggie thin with graying hair pulled into a ratty ponytail. A scar ran down his left cheek in a jagged line.

“Hey gorgeous.” He sucked his crooked, yellow teeth. “You alone? I know the guys on stage. I can introduce you.” He tugged her toward the dark edge of trees.

Jamie pulled away. And ran. She zigged and zagged through the crowd of festival goers. The stink of weed filling the air as Techno music thumped in time with her heart, urging her to go faster. She did. She was so glad she did.

BIO: Laurie Brown is an active member of Inked Voices, Sisters in Crime, and the Authors Guild. Her debut novel DON'T FRET FRIDA comes out in September 2026. Her short fiction has appeared in Punk Noir.