Chapter Nineteen
Mitchell was tense and volatile, and his frustration, although justified, was spilling over onto everyone, especially June, who bore the brunt of it as they spent the entire morning arguing.
She refused to leave without seeing things through, no matter how much he pushed.
Nick and I tried stepping in when their voices got too loud, but the backlash was swift, and we backed off, wandering the motel grounds for nearly an hour, making empty conversation, waiting for the siblings to figure things out between themselves.
When we returned, Mitchell was still on edge, but at least calm enough to talk.
"So, what’s the plan? Do you want to look for the kid? I’m worried something might happen to him," I said, trying to pull everyone back on track.
"I already have one kid to worry about," Mitchell growled, and June scoffed in response.
"Nellie’s right. The boy knows something. Whether or not you care for his well-being, we should find him," said Nick.
Mitchell’s head whipped in his direction. "Then why don’t you two go look for him if she always knows best what to do?"
I huffed, bristling at his words. Mitchell was taking out his anger on everyone today, but Nick wasn’t going to let it slide.
"Let’s dial it down a notch, Sergeant," he said, his calm tone making Mitchell’s nostrils flare more. I couldn’t tell if Nick was trying to diffuse the situation or poke the bear. "We can focus on the boy for today and see if we can get anything useful out of him."
"So, your big plan is to keep running after some kid?"
Nick’s demeanor didn’t waver for a second. "How about this? Take your sister and head downtown. Nellie and I will recheck the cemetery. If that doesn’t work, we’ll think about what to do next."
June’s wide eyes met mine, and it was clear we were thinking the same thing: Mitchell was dangerously close to losing control again. Without warning, he slammed his open palm onto the table. The impact made the utensils jump and clatter.
"Fine," he barked, standing abruptly. "Let’s just hurry the hell up."
We dropped the siblings downtown. June wasn’t happy about being left alone with her brother, but there was no way in hell he was letting her out of his sight. Surprisingly, she stayed quiet—probably because Mitchell’s last outburst was still fresh in her mind.
I’d hoped that after our conversation, he might reflect on his attitude. But one talk was never enough to change someone. If it were, therapists would be out of work.
At least June was safe with him. Of that, I had no doubt.
"You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I can go alone."
Nick and I were headed to the cemetery, but my mind kept drifting back to Mitch, wondering if it was even worth staying, knowing he could snap at any moment. It took me a second to realize Nick was referring to seeing Lucas’s grave again.
"I’m okay," I reassured him. "Thanks, though."
My brain was foggy and heavy, soaked with random ideas like a wet sponge. I longed for the moment when these disparate pieces would conflate into something meaningful.
"Penny for your thoughts." Nick glanced at me, one elbow resting on the doorframe. I tried not to get distracted by the trail of ink that looped around his wrist and under his sleeve. I hadn’t had a chance to admire any of them.
I offered a weary smile, slightly ashamed by my aloofness. "It’s nothing. Just trying to make sense of it all."
"Any ideas?"
"Apart from your cult theory? Not really. I mean, I can come up with a dozen conspiracy theories, but they’re based on nothing."
"Humor me."
"Okay," I closed my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts. "Human trafficking ring, organ harvesting, geographic anomaly, the military conducting experiments on humans, UFOs. Or, like you said," I waved a hand through the air, "a weird cult recruiting members."
A hint of a grin played on Nick’s lips. "You’ve really given it some thought, huh?"
"This trip has been very stimulating. But why do you think it’s a cult?"
"Well, the symbols, first. Then, I think Sammy was onto something. I know Sergeant Mitch wants to dismiss it," he sneered the word "Sergeant" with mock emphasis, "but the boy must’ve stumbled onto some kind of ritual and tried to copy it."
"Doesn’t it seem odd that the Reverend is mixed up in this? I mean, he’s supposed to be a spiritual leader and all."
"Why not? Christianity is a blood cult if you really think about it."
"How so?"
"Their faith revolves around death. Fearing it. Longing for a good afterlife. Add consuming the flesh and blood of Christ. The rituals, the sacrifice. It all adds up."
"Did you share this with Mitch?" I asked.
"No."
"Why not?" I continued, pulling into the parking lot. The cemetery had been empty the last time we visited, but now, there was a single car parked in a far corner.
"He won’t listen to me."
I parked farther away from the only other car, a habitual caution, and reached for the door handle, but Nick grabbed my arm. "Stay inside." He motioned to the other vehicle. "The Reverend’s here."
I closed the door and stayed still. For a while, we sat in silence. Nothing had been happening.
"You have an umbrella?"
"In the glove compartment." I leaned over him to get it, that scent of spice warming me anew.
We walked side by side, huddled beneath the umbrella Nick held over our heads.
The sky above was a deep, foreboding gray that bled into the ground in a mist that consumed the cemetery.
Humidity clung to my skin like a damp kiss, and I shivered under my coat although it wasn’t cold.
A restless energy stirred low in my stomach, a sense that something was about to happen, heightened by the gothic ambiance.
We halted beside a weathered grave, feigning our respects while carefully observing our surroundings. The caretaker was nowhere to be seen, nor was the Reverend.
The downpour eased its relentless beat, slowing to a sporadic pitter and, finally, to scattered drops.
"I see him. Coming out of the woods."
My breath hitched. That was where Sammy’s hiding place was.
Nick slung an arm around my shoulders, probably in case anyone was watching us, a staged show of comfort that doubled as a subtle restraint, even though I hadn’t moved, just stood there trembling like a plucked guitar string, tight and on edge.
Minutes ticked by. Behind us, an engine growled to life, and the Reverend sped away.
"He’s gone. Let’s move." Nick collapsed the umbrella in one swift snap and led the way into the woods.
The forest lay under a damp, gray mist, heavy with the scent of earth and decaying leaves.
He held a branch aside, saving me from a cold snap against my face.
We pushed through a dense thicket of ferns, but instead of Sammy’s familiar hiding spot, I found myself disoriented.
The space was different. It was only when Nick stopped in front of me that I understood why.
All of Sammy’s belongings were gone, just like Sammy himself. The clearing was empty.
"The bark’s been cut where the symbol was," Nick squatted by the tree. I approached to see the gash in the trunk, the exposed wood raw and pale as perished fruit.
The forest instantly felt even less welcoming. I started glancing around, uneasy, as if someone might be watching us. The Reverend had found Sammy’s hiding spot, and judging by the way he cleared it out, he knew exactly what it was and did not want anyone else to see it.
When we got back to the car, I immediately cranked up the heat and rubbed my hands together, but the shiver I felt wasn’t just from my wet boots.
Duane’s death was no accident, though I’d convinced myself it wasn’t our fault, at least not directly.
After all, he’d been investigating the disappearances long before we had.
Now, the facts stared me in the face: people who knew something were silenced after we’d talked to them.
"Mathilda was right," I gasped, my throat tight. "Duane didn’t paint over his walls. The Reverend did. We need to tell Mitch and June."
"Not yet."
"What? Why?"
"I want to check out that place in the woods. The one Tilly told us about."
"All the more reason to bring Mitch and June! We shouldn’t go alone."
"Mitch will shoot it down, like he does with every other reasonable idea we have. I’m tired of him micromanaging us. We should go, just the two of us. Now. And if we find something, great. If not, at least we’ll know we tried."
Nick turned to face me, his elbow propped on the seatback.
I felt it in my gut—Nick had a point. Mitchell’s frustration was clouding his judgment, and as he focused on managing it, time slipped away, fueling his anger.
He expected faster results, but each step we took seemed to create more questions.
Yet, sneaking off didn’t sit right with me. Not for a second time.
"Your shoes are soaked," I said, giving him one last reason not to go. "You’ll catch a cold."
"I won’t," Nick said, cocking his head as he awaited my response.
I had a pair of running shoes stashed in the trunk. Not ideal, but they’d suffice for a hike through the woods.
"Fine, give me directions."
The Black Water Creek Trail was the only one on the east side of town.
It was pretty far out—about a forty-minute drive—and tucked away in the middle of nowhere, with no signs to mark the turnoff.
We almost missed it. From the looks of it, the trail hadn’t been maintained in a while.
Whether it was the weather or the condition of the path, there weren’t any other cars parked nearby.
No one else was hiking out there today. Just us.
"Let’s start with the trail and see where it takes us," Nick suggested.