Elias #3
At first… I didn't see anything. Just leaves, mud and twisted roots.
Then the photographer stepped aside. Half buried beneath a blanket of rain-soaked pine needles…
Something silver caught the light. Small, delicate.
A chain. Its pendant is barely visible beneath the earth.
I crouched instinctively, careful to keep outside the evidence markers.
The chain looked old. Weathered. The clasp had tarnished almost black, a tiny oval charm rested against the soil as if someone had simply...
forgotten it. Except people didn't forget necklaces in places like this.
Not usually. The forensic technician looked up at me.
"We haven't touched it yet."
I nodded without taking my eyes off it.
"Good."
For a long moment… Nobody moved or reached for it because the moment someone did… The questions would begin and I had a fucking feeling this tiny piece of silver was about to ask a lot of them.
"Photographs first," I said quietly.
The forensic photographer nodded once before circling the area again, camera clicking methodically from every possible angle. Wide shots, mid-range, close-ups. Every inch documented before a single blade of grass was disturbed.
I stayed where I was, waiting. Patience was one of the first things this job beat into you. Touch nothing and assume everything matters. The smallest mistake had buried more investigations than bad detectives ever had.
A woman in a white Tyvek suit carefully stepped forward, kneeling beside the necklace with practiced precision. Her gloved hands hovered above it for a moment before she reached for a pair of fine forceps.
"Ready?"
The photographer answered with another flash.
She lifted it slowly. The chain emerged from the earth inch by inch, damp soil clinging stubbornly to each tiny link before falling away in soft clumps.
It wasn't expensive and nothing about it screamed valuable.
Simple silver. Oval pendant. Worn smooth by years of use.
She turned it over. Everyone instinctively leaned forward.
There was something engraved on the back. Not words but a single letter.
"A," she murmured.
Sheriff Walker folded his arms.
"Could stand for anything."
"It could," I agreed.
"But let's not assume."
The technician slipped the necklace into a sterile evidence bag before sealing it with practiced hands.
"I'll have it photographed under magnification back at the lab."
"Check for skin cells," I said.
She gave me a tired smile.
"Already on my list."
I stood and slowly surveyed the clearing.
Something about it bothered me, not the necklace but the ground.
I turned in a slow circle. Pine needles covered almost everything.
Rain had flattened the undergrowth overnight, leaving the forest floor soft and dark beneath our boots.
No obvious drag marks, disturbed vegetation or broken saplings.
Nothing that suggested someone had buried anything or that someone had stayed here longer than a few minutes.
I crouched again, not beside the necklace. Three metres away.
Something caught my attention. A patch of moss. Flattened. Only slightly. Enough that I reached into my pocket for a measuring tape.
Deputy Morgan frowned.
"You seeing something?"
"Maybe."
Maybe. The most dangerous word in police work.
I measured silently. Forty-three centimetres.
Too small for a grave. Too irregular for a footprint.
Animal? Probably. I leaned in closer. The moss sprang back slightly beneath the edge of my glove.
Fresh and recent I looked toward the surrounding trees.
"If someone stood here..."
Morgan followed my gaze.
"...they'd have a clear view of the trail."
I nodded.
"They'd also stay hidden."
Neither of us spoke after that because neither of us wanted to say what we were both thinking. Someone could have stood here, watching and waiting then they could’ve walked away without leaving us a single thing.
Fuck.
Hours passed. Search teams spread through the forest in careful lines, orange vests moving silently between towering pines. Cadaver dogs arrived; handlers gave quiet commands. The dogs worked with focused determination, weaving between trees, stopping occasionally before continuing on.
Every time one paused, every time a handler slowed my pulse climbed then dropped again. Nothing. One by one, the sectors were cleared. No clothing, weapons, remains, fresh diggings or discarded phones. Fucking nothing.
By early afternoon the rain had become steadier, soaking through jackets and turning every trail into thick brown mud.
The excitement that had pulled everyone into the forest that morning had faded into something heavier.
Disappointment. You could feel it without anyone saying a word.
A technician approached carrying the evidence bag.
"We've finished here."
I looked at the necklace one last time. Such a tiny thing.
Small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.
Small enough to make twenty people spend six hours searching thirty acres of forest. Small enough…
to mean absolutely nothing or everything and that was the part I hated most. The fucking uncertainty.
Evidence didn't lie. People did. The trick was figuring out which one you were looking at. I pulled my notebook from my pocket and wrote a single sentence beneath today's date.
One necklace. No answers. Keep looking.
I stared at the words for a moment before snapping the notebook shut.
Life goes on, people are still living their lives.
Going to work, buying groceries or smiling at strangers.
While eight families sat at dinner every night staring at empty chairs.
I wasn't leaving this town until I fucking found them or whoever made them disappear.
Even if it killed me.
By the time I pulled into the Dawsons' driveway, the sun had already slipped behind the mountains.
The house looked exactly as it had in Emily's file.
White siding, blue shutters. A swing hanging motionless from the old oak tree.
It looked like the sort of place children should've been playing outside.
Instead, there was silence. The porch light clicked on before I'd even reached the front steps.
Mrs. Dawson opened the door before I could knock.
She'd seen my truck, she always did. For a second… Just a second… Hope crossed her face. Hope. I can’t fucking give.
The cruellest emotion I'd ever witnessed.
"Detective."
Her smile was small. Fragile.
"You found something?"
I hated that question, because every time she asked it… I wanted the answer to be different. I lowered my eyes. Fuck, I hate this part.
"We found an item this morning."
Her shoulders straightened.
"A piece of jewellery."
Her breathing caught.
"Emily?"
"I don't know yet."
The hope disappeared almost as quickly as it'd arrived not completely but just enough to hurt.
"Oh."
One tiny word. One tiny word carrying the weight 8 months.
"I'm sorry."
She smiled anyway. Parents were remarkable like that. Always trying to make you feel better while their own world had already ended.
"Would you like some tea?"
I almost laughed, not because it was funny but because she'd offered me tea every single time I'd visited. Every single time.
"No, thank you."
She nodded.
"I understand."
Silence settled between us. Finally, she looked past me toward the empty street.
"She hated the dark."
I frowned.
"Emily."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her voice trembles as tears run down her cheeks.
"When she was little..."
She smiled to herself.
"...she'd run into our room every time there was thunder."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door.
"I keep wondering..."
She swallowed.
"...if she was scared."
There it was. Not… Is she alive? Or did she suffer? Just… Was she scared? My throat tightened. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, her mind going somewhere it shouldn’t.
"...Oh God, what if my baby girl was scared and she couldn’t run to us."
As soon as those words were spoken her body started to crumble. I caught her just as she was going to collapse. I took her hand and looked into her eyes. Fuck so much pain in those eyes.
"I don't know but I will look for her. I will bring her home to you I promise."
It wasn't the answer or words she wanted or the answer I wanted but it was the only honest one I had. She nodded slowly.
"I suppose that's worse, not knowing where my baby girl is or if she is…"
Another silence.
"Thank you for not giving up on her."
I looked at the photograph sitting on the hallway table behind her. Emily, smiling frozen forever at twenty-four.
"I won't."
This time… I meant it as much for myself as I did for her.
The drive home felt longer than usual. Max greeted me at the door with a tennis ball in his mouth and absolutely no understanding that the world had been unbearably heavy all day.
Lucky fucker.
I scratched behind his ears as he leaned against my leg with the complete certainty that, whatever had happened beyond the front door, it no longer mattered because I was home.
I wished people were that simple. I locked the front door.
I checked it once then I checked it again not because I thought someone had broken in but because routine was one of the few things that still made sense.
The house was quiet. Almost too quiet. My eyes drifted across the hallway.
There was a little clump of dirt that wasn’t there this morning…
Did I step it inside? I can’t even fucking remember. I shook my head. The case was getting to my head. Everything was starting to feel important. Everything except the one thing I needed. A fucking answer. I killed the kitchen lights and started toward the stairs.
Tomorrow. I'd start again tomorrow because somewhere someone was still waiting to be found and I refused to let them become just another photograph pinned to a wall.