Chapter 17
U pon closer inspection, the shed was in worse condition than Nick had initially thought.
Once white, the paint had faded to a washed-out gray, much of it peeled away in the elements.
Thick verdant vines snaked through gaps in the roof and the hinges of the closed door.
A thatch of broken branches covered the top, like a bird’s nest.
An old-fashioned padlock was still attached to the door hasp. The metal bristled with rust.
“There might be something useful in there,” Amiya said.
Nick tugged at the lock and found it still functional. He hammered the butt of the rifle against the metal loop. It took three strong whacks to break it apart, each slam echoing through the woods like gunfire.
Amiya stepped forward and detached the busted lock from the hasp. She grasped the rusted door handle and pulled, but the tangle of vines and plants prevented her from getting it open more than a couple of inches.
“Let me help,” Nick said.
Together, straining and grunting, they pried open the shed door, undergrowth tearing away like connective tissue. Something small, dark, and furry bolted from inside and rushed away through the tall grass. Amiya let out a short yelp of surprise.
Nick moved to get a better view of what lay inside. He gasped.
Two frayed ropes dangled from the ceiling of the structure, secured by iron bolts. The end of each was knotted around the wrists of a badly decomposed human corpse.
Each foot of the body was bound by rope, too, the ropes held by bolts on the floor.
Nausea whirled through Nick. He had to take a couple of steps back to regain his balance. Next to him, Amiya put her hand to her mouth.
“Torture,” she said in a whisper. “Tied up in here and left to die.”
Nick drew several deep breaths; it felt as if his stomach was going to empty its contents. Once he regained his bearings, he forced himself to move forward and take a closer look, but it felt as if lead weights had been strapped to his feet.
The corpse was too far gone for him to determine facial features, but it wore clothing. A badly soiled T-shirt that once had been white, and denim jeans. A pair of Nike sneakers, too, a style that had been popular perhaps five years ago.
Nick swallowed. “This person, they haven’t been here that long. A few years at the most. The shoes aren’t that old.”
“Who imprisoned them in here?” Amiya asked. “The Overseer?”
Steeling himself, Nick edged closer. Black beetles and other burrowing insects had made a home in the orifices and crevices of the body.
“I could really use a pair of gloves right now,” he said.
“Hey, don’t,” Amiya said.
Grimacing, he slipped his fingers into a front pocket. Something small and shiny scampered out of the folds of fabric, and Nick nearly gave up the effort. But a growing sense of duty compelled him forward.
This is my family’s land . . . my responsibility.
The first pocket he checked was empty, but in the other front pocket, he grasped what felt like a wallet. He fished it out and backed away from the shed.
“Props to you. I couldn’t have done that,” Amiya said. “I know my limits.”
The wallet was filmed with dried blood and the remnants of other fluids. It crackled as Nick spread it open in his hands.
Inside, Nick found several faded credit cards, the raised type so worn that he couldn’t read the names on the front.
He also discovered an expired South Carolina state ID card issued in the name of Joshua Turner.
The photograph was hazy, but it looked like a dark-haired Caucasian male, and based on the birthdate he would have been twenty-five years old.
“How did this guy wind up here?” Nick asked. “I don’t get it.”
He handed the wallet to Amiya, who accepted it carefully, mindful of getting filth on her hands.
“He didn’t go in the shed willingly, I promise you that,” she said. “He was purposely confined in there. That’s an act of pure evil.”
“Unimaginable.” Nick wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at the corpse. “Bound in a hot, enclosed space, no water, no food—that would have been a prolonged, agonizing death.”
“His family and friends probably still hope he’ll come home someday,” Amiya said. Sighing, she gave the wallet back to Nick. “How many others are here? I’m almost too afraid to find out.”
Nick tucked the billfold in the young man’s pocket. Together, he and Amiya pushed the door back into place. When this was all over—whatever this turned out to be—Nick planned to notify authorities of what they had found so the remains could be properly disposed and relatives notified.
“I just realized something,” Nick said. “You’ll think it’s cold-blooded, but bear with me.”
“What now?” she asked.
“We’re not going to be able to sell this property for a fraction of the original asking price,” he said.
“People have been tortured and killed, runaway children are being branded and God knows what else. No one’s going to pay top dollar for land where these things happened.
It’s like trying to sell a house after a homicide occurred there. ”
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about the money, Nick.” She looked at him as if he’d crawled from under a rock.
“I’m only stating a practical fact. I have to consider it.”
“I don’t want to hear about money anymore, okay?” She waved him off. “Let’s keep moving.”