Page 126 of Our Daughter's Bones

The records for the cabins weren’t well maintained. It took a phone call to Clint and for him to do some digging. Several hours later, Clint’s voice filtered through the speakerphone.

“Only one cabin is still occupied in that area, based on the bills. It’s registered to David Falkner.”

Seventy

The woods ran along either side of Fresco River. Both sides were thick with trees, their roots emerging from the ground, creating rifts and bumps. But things were about to change—the access roads on one bank were set to be closed, due to the upcoming construction of a dam.

The announcement had been made five months ago. The signs were already in place, warning hikers and tourists that the woods would be closed soon. However, work hadn’t started yet. All the cabins in the area had been sold off. There was a holdout refusing to sell their property, and the construction company was in the middle of negotiations.

The holdout was David Falkner. Mackenzie now knew why.

“Does anyone even come here anymore?” Nick asked as they ventured into the forest.

“They haven’t started working yet, but no. Which is why the Sheriff’s Office never checked this side of the woods.”

She looked at her feet, sinking into the moss growing over the trail.

She heard a giggle. A child’s. Carefree and musical. She looked ahead and saw a young girl playing, hiding behind thick roots. She had Mackenzie’s deep red hair, but lacked her control and rigidity. This girl ran like she was floating—her arms spread out like wings, wondrous eyes wide, and chest sinking and rising as she took deep breaths. She felt the fresh air and the earthy musk.

“Come on, Mack!” a man said. Her eyes settled on his muscular back. He wore a navy-blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. “We got to keep going! We’ll play when we get back.”

“Yes, Daddy!” She dashed toward him and clasped her hand into his.

“Mack?” Nick clicked his fingers in front of her eyes. She jolted and looked at him, dazed. The scene before her had vanished. “Where were you?”

“I used to come here as a child. Or I did at least once.”

“Oh. With your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?” he asked, warily.

“I don’t know.”

The woodlands grew thicker. This side of the woods was never popular among the hikers. The space was not as vast as the other side, and the terrain was much rougher. There was no sign of the construction starting anytime soon, despite the company’s claims.

Nick pulled out his gun from his holster. “Alright, where’s David Falkner’s cabin?”

“A hundred feet north-west.”

The cabin soon came into view. It was nestled deep in the forest, much like Bill Grayson’s cabin on the other bank, but smaller and cheaper. There was no large deck, no barbecue grill, and no glass walls. The vegetation around the cabin had not been trimmed either. Vines and creepers climbed freely up the sides.

It seemed like nature was swallowing it.

Mackenzie pulled out her gun too but didn’t turn off the safety yet. As she inched closer to the structure, she felt doom crawling up her skin. She jumped at the faintest sounds, from the twigs snapping under her heels to the insects buzzing.

They circled the cabin once—searching for any back doors or open windows. They reconvened at the front door. An old Christmas wreath dangled.

Nick nodded at Mackenzie. She tried jiggling the knob. It was locked. She stood behind as Nick kicked the door down. It ripped apart from the hinges and hung loosely.

They pushed their way in with their weapons ready.

Mackenzie’s tactical training kicked in. She detached herself from her body—ignored her spiky skin and prancing heart. They moved soundlessly like panthers around the living room.

The space was standard, the decor less so. A wall next to the kitchen was covered in pictures of the Sharks. She paused to look at the teams over the years. Some pictures were official, some taken in the locker room and during practice. But they went all the way back to Bill Grayson’s time. She recognized Bill in the pictures—a much heftier version of his current self.

Another wall was ranged with shelves. They held the championship trophies, medals, and news articles. Everything the Sharks were prided on—the evidence of their triumph and talent—was displayed.