Chapter 7 #2
“That’s where we came from that day. It was utterly magical.
I don’t know how, but it still looked like summer there, you know?
Like winter respected it too much, to let it wither in the cold.
” I chuckled at my own delusional thinking.
“But please don’t tell them.” I nodded towards the cabin and the agents inside it.
“I haven’t mentioned it. I don’t want them desecrating the place. ”
George frowned. “Rainbow Falls is sacred. I won’t say anything.”
“Would you be able to find it from here?” I hoped. Maybe if I could get to that sacred place, somewhere closer to the gods, they would listen to me. Maybe I could convince them to bring my soul back to me.
The ranger shook his head, looking the way Grayson and I had immerged from the forest that day. “No, sorry, I don’t think so.”
I only nodded as Owen came down the porch steps. “Ava, will you show me the bunker?”
I sighed and walked around the cabin, Owen following on my heels.
This was all futile. I kept my eyes down as I passed our bedroom window, sure that I would see him sitting on the windowsill, staring out over the forest. I walked into the trees and stopped at the hatch door.
I flipped open the cover to the keypad, then hesitated. Would they have changed the password?
I typed it in, 28882, and the light flashed green, the large bolt releasing audibly.
“Did you choose the password?” Owen asked, moving forward to help me lift the heavy door.
I frowned. “No. It’s been like that since the first time they showed me the bunker.”
He straightened, frowning too. “But it spells…” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He unhooked a flashlight from his belt, shining it into the dark tunnel. The lights hadn’t flickered on. “You coming?” Owen asked, and I swore he sounded flustered.
“You scared?” I lifted a brow at him, not able to hide my smile.
He scoffed, then descended into the darkness.
A familiar squawk had me whipping around. On the lowest branch of a nearby tree sat my crow. The tears were instant. Something between laughter and a sob escaped my throat. I stumbled towards him, holding out my hand, laughing while my tears turned the world blurry.
“Oh, my dearest friend,” I cooed as he came to perch on my wrist. I pressed my forehead to his in greeting.
He puffed and ruffled his feathers, making little happy grinding noises with his beak, as I scratched his head.
Not everyone was gone. My heart soared at that.
He hopped down from my arm and flew a few metres further to a bush of little yellow flowers. He broke off a stalk and hopped over to me, placing it on top of my foot.
I laughed happily. “You are the sweetest little guy.” I placed it behind my ear, watching him squawk and flap his wings, looking pleased.
The crow led me further into the forest, looking eager to show me something. I followed happily behind him, until we reached a small cluster of mushrooms at the base of an enormous tree.
I gasped, cupping my hands over my mouth in awe.
It couldn’t be. I had only ever seen a drawing of them in a 250-year-old grimoire of a green witch who used to live in these forests.
But my professors had assured me that no such mushrooms existed.
Yet here it was, its flesh a dazzling orange, fading out to a dirty pink on the edges that curled up to resemble an upside-down umbrella.
It’s base looked textured like that of a tree trunk.
“How did you know?” I wondered at the crow who was hopping around excitedly.
But I felt that tug on my consciousness. A tug I haven’t sensed in a while.
It was the spirits of the forest, welcoming me home. I knelt before the tree that was beckoning me closer.
“A gift to the curious one.”
I laughed in utter awe, gently gliding my finger over the rim of one mushroom. According to the green witch, a fingernail size of this mushroom, swallowed raw, could cure any septic wound, even stop rotting flesh right in its tracks. A miracle mushroom.
Should I show this to the world? Or would they desecrate this forest in pursuit of it?
I decided to only take one. From the witch’s writings, it was not reproducible anyway. I wouldn’t be able to grow my own batches. The mushroom needed extremely specific conditions to grow that neither I nor anyone else would be able to replicate.
I thanked the tree and stayed a little longer, listening to the chatter, immersing myself back into the vibrant world of the forest. I played with my crow friend like old times, following him around as he showed me all the things he found interesting.
I oohed and aahed at a pebble and mourned with him over a tree splintered apart by a lightning strike and enjoyed the bright sparkle of a stream if you stood in a precise spot.
My friend led me back to the cabin to show me his collection of sticks hidden in a bush near his nest.
I saw Grayson watching me from the windowsill as laughter bubbled out of my chest. I had no idea what the crow found so interesting in these mundane sticks.
I blew him a kiss as he grinned at me like I was the most fascinating creature he had ever seen.
He always looked at me like that when I was in the forest. It always made my chest feel warm and my stomach flutter like a hummingbird.
I frowned. He didn’t blow a kiss back, which was unlike him. He always blows kisses back.
I stood from where I was crouched on the ground and tried to read his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Was something wrong?
I blinked and Grayson was gone.
In his place stood Liam, with a confused look on his face.
My stomach dropped, the warmth rushing out of my body. The world tilted.
Gods, I was going crazy—my mind so effortlessly slipping back into time.
“I’m sorry,” I told my friend. “I can’t be here anymore. But I’ll come visit you again when I’m better.”
My chest felt heavy and raw as I walked back towards the helicopter. I climbed in and shut my eyes. The forest had turned a sickly grey and I couldn’t bare looking at it anymore.
Grayson was gone. They all were. I could no longer call this magical piece of land home.
Nothing much came from our visit to the cabin, just as I had expected.
Except now the agents thought I was crazy, having witnessed my breakdown.
Liam found nothing. No fingerprints, no DNA, no sign of master thieves having once occupied the space.
Tom, Grayson’s contact at the airport, had also vanished overnight.
He and his family had left town with no explanation or forwarding address.
Owen was in a sour mood, having everyone split up and question the townspeople the following day.
We showed pictures around, but no one we encountered had ever seen any one of them.
By noon, we had all found each other again, hiding from the relentless sun under a large oak tree.
A heatwave had struck the town—Summer’s last hoorah as Autumn prepared the trees for Winter.
“This is pointless, Beck.” Liam groaned as he lowered himself onto the grass, the last of us to give up.
“I don’t care, Taylor. We will search every nook and cranny of this world if that’s what it takes,” Owen shot back, grumpily.
Emerie sighed. “I’m sure there are other leads we can work on? We’re wasting…”
“We follow every lead.” Owen glared at Emerie, ready for battle if she dared to open her mouth again.
The truth was, we had no new leads on the Apparitions, and it was weighing heavily on Owen. He’d come so close but was thrown back down to square one. And he wasn’t taking it well.
I pushed him with my shoulder. “Why don’t you and I go see if the sheriff is back yet?”
Owen glared at me too, knowing my intention. But he stood anyway, knowing I was right. He needed to take a breather.
We walked down a quiet street, staying under the cover of the large oak trees lining the sidewalk.
“How do they do it? How do they just vanish like that?” he seethed. He came to a stop, scratching harshly at his jaw. “They fucking make me question my own sanity sometimes. You were there, right? You saw them on that balcony? You saw them in that helicopter? How the fuck do they not exist again?”
I sighed and hooked my arm around his, pulling him forward. “The lights finally went out, and the cabin was completely quiet. I waited a bit longer just to be sure everyone was asleep, then I slid the window open,” I began my story.
Owen shook his head, letting his head fall back in exasperation, but he smiled. It’s what we did for each other, telling our stories so the other doesn’t feel so insane for chasing ghosts.
“I tumbled to the ground, probably looking like a complete idiot,” I continued with my story. “I thought I was home free, but…”
Owen stopped abruptly. “That was the night he slapped you, right? That’s why you were laughing like a maniac in the chopper. You were thinking of that night.”
I snickered. “Yeah, the whole thing is pretty hilarious, looking back. In a fucked-up way. Gods, I’m depressingly ridiculous.”
“That you are.”
I punched at Owen’s arm. “Hey! Only I’m allowed to say it.”
We finally had an audience with the sheriff, who’d run around all morning searching for a man that escaped the old age home. The man had severe dementia and was a risk to himself and others.
Owen scratched at his jaw in frustration. The sheriff was of no help. He didn’t recognise any of them.
“Well then, have you had any unusual cases lately? Anything out of the ordinary?” Owen tried again.
The sheriff sighed but picked up a stack of files, flipping through it listlessly. “Not really anything that would have to do with your perps.”
A name caught my attention, making my stomach drop to my feet. “Wait.” I pushed my hand between the files to stop the sheriff from flipping further. “This one.” I ignored the look of indignation from him and pulled at the file, enough to uncover the name on it. My eyes hadn’t played tricks on me.
Donald “Digger” Mullens
I swallowed hard at the saliva flooding my mouth. The sheriff tried to pull the file from my hand, flabbergasted at my audacity, but I held tight.
Owen put a hand on my shoulder. “This name mean anything to you?”
I couldn’t find my voice.
He turned to the sheriff instead. “May I see it?”
The sheriff hesitated, scowling at me, then released it with a sigh. “Why the heck not? It’s a murder we’re working on. Some sort of ritual or something. Maybe you can help.” The sheriff waved to Owen, slouching back into his chair.
Owen moved closer as I slowly opened the file, unsure of what to expect.
My hand flung to my mouth.
Gods! Oh, gods!
At the very top of the file was an enlarged crime scene photo.
It was Digger, naked and almost unrecognisable, strapped upside down on a wheel.
There was something around his neck. The end of a whip, I realised, choking him.
In front of him was something written in blood.
But the thing that made me want to die, wasn’t the scene showcasing the horrific torture Digger had endured.
No. It was the carefully strewn Blue Vervain flowers in a circle around his mutilated body.
The beautiful, delicate flowers looked completely at odds with the gruesome scene it surrounded.
Grayson. Grayson had done this.
Did he not promise me he would make Digger pay?
The sheriff’s voice made me jump. “As you can see it looks like some kind of ritual, but from the looks of the guy, I’d say it was pretty personal too.”
“What does it say?” Owen pointed at the writing on the ground, written in Digger’s blood.
The sheriff quoted the writing by heart, “And you should fear the vengeance of the gods. The wrath, the unforgotten wrath of Rhamnusis.”
“What does it mean?” Owen frowned.
“It’s a passage from the Metamorphosis by Ovid, about—”
“The goddess Nemesis,” I murmured shakily, finishing the sheriff’s sentence.
Owen and the sheriff frowned at me.
“Yes,” the sheriff continued, watching me.
“Rhamnusis is another name for Nemesis. She is the punisher of evildoers. She makes sure the scale of justice is balanced.” He pointed to the picture.
“See? He’s strapped upside down on the wheel of fortune, and the whip… it’s all symbolism for this goddess.”
“So, this man did something wrong, and this was… justice?” Owen’s eyes kept flicking to me while I just sat there, frozen. My thoughts running wild.
“Seems like it. But what I don’t understand is the flowers. They’ve got nothing to do with the goddess, but obviously a very important part of the ritual. What are they for?” The sheriff scratched at his beard, his eyes narrowing at the picture as he tried to make sense of it.
“They’re… for me,” I heard myself say.
Owen’s head snapped to me, then he snatched the picture off the table, studying it intently.
The sheriff gave a confused laugh, looking at me as if I belonged in an asylum.
“Ava, is this…” Owen didn’t finish his sentence, inspecting my face like he did the picture.
I stared at him, horrified. “The hunter, yes.”
“Jesus.”
“Agent Becket, what the hell are you two on about? Do you know this man?” The sheriff looked at me irritably.
I cleared my throat. “I do, yes. Digger had tried to… rape me.” The word almost lodged in my throat.
The sheriff sat up straight, taking the photo from Owen.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He appraised the scene again, then let out a low whistle.
“Well, I’ll be damned. That would explain why his dick was pulverised by a meat tenderiser.
While he was still alive,” he added with a flinch.
He stared at me for a long time, then shook his head.
“Well, I guess I’m handing this case over to you, Agent Becket. I’ll go get the paperwork ready.”
The sheriff was gone, and Owen hadn’t said a thing.
We sat in silence, both hounded by our own thoughts.
Finally, Owen turned to me. He let his gaze slip over the photo of Digger’s mutilated body again.
“This is pretty fucked-up.” He warily lifted his eyes to mine.
I waited for him to voice the thoughts whirling behind his eyes.
“And you…” He stopped, shaking his head, deciding not to say it.
But my heart was already squeezing so painfully at the accusation, I couldn’t inhale. I knew what he wanted to say, “And you loved this monster?”
Tears escaped me as I felt the incessant ache and betrayal of my own heart.
Gods help me because I still do.