by Blake Pierce
“Windows,” she said.
John’s weapon was already in his hand, and Adele’s hand was at her hip.
“Remember,” he said, “this is a hunch. They might be Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus. They could be as nice as your dad says.”
“I’m not planning on shooting anyone. That’s your job.”
John’s eyes flitted across the orange windows. No curtains, and Adele spotted faint shadows moving against log beams in the back of the cabin.
“Not exactly private folk,” said John. “You’d think if they were killers, they might invest in some tinted windows.”
Adele took the steps, and she reached the porch of the single-story cabin. She raised her hand, glanced at John, and waited for him to shift just out of view of the doorframe. If needed, it would give them a brief second of surprise.
For a moment, Adele half expected a shotgun to suddenly appear through the window. When it didn’t happen, she rapped her knuckles against the door.
Her mind was racing, her heart in her throat. Then again, perhaps she was putting too much on this hunch. For all she knew, her father was right. These were just nice folks living off-grid. They had a nice garden.
A few moments passed, then the door opened.
Two people waited inside. Both of them were older than her father, gray-haired, both of them smiling. Adele was immediately confronted by a warmth emanating from the house, and the smell of food on the stove.
“Another guest,” the woman exclaimed, beaming. “Welcome, might I assume you’re law enforcement too?”
The man’s and the woman’s eyes flicked past Adele, spotting John just out of frame in the doorway.
“Interpol,” Adele said. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Klose?”
“That’s us,” the woman said, still beaming. “And who might you be?”
So friendly, so disarming. Something felt off. Adele’s eyes narrowed. Instead of answering the question, she posed one of her own. “What do you mean law enforcement too?”
The man chuckled congenially. “Oh, nothing. We had another friend stop by last night. You’re welcome to a meal as well, if that’s what you’re after.”
He gave his wife a squeeze around the shoulders, and she leaned in, kissing him on the cheek.
Adele felt a sudden surge of embarrassment. These weren’t the evil, knife-wielding psychos she’d been expecting. Then again, when were they ever? She kept her cool. “I’m sorry, but we’re involved in a missing persons case. Would you mind if we look around the place?”
The man cleared his throat. “Did we do something, Officer?”
“Agent,” she said. “Agent Sharp. No—nothing. Just want to check this place off the list. That’s not a problem, is it?” She frowned at the couple, waiting expectantly.
The husband and wife shared a look.
“I can get a warrant if I have to,” Adele said, quietly.
But the man was already shaking his head. “No, don’t be silly. Anything to help the protectors of society. Knock yourselves out, look around the place.”
Adele nodded in gratitude, and John raised his eyebrows at her; a look she didn’t return.
They paused in the doorway. There wasn’t much of a house to begin with. Her eyes scanned the floor, looking for a basement entrance or trapdoor or some sort of stairwell. She only spotted a single room. A bed next to a fireplace and an oversized table with too many chairs next to the kitchen.
The chairs gave her pause. “How many of you live here?” she said.
The man chuckled. “Just the two of us. We like guests though, so we’re optimists. We keep the chairs in case anyone comes through.”
“Right,” she said. “That’s a lot of chairs, even for an optimist.”
The man’s smile didn’t shrink one watt. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Like I said, you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”
“I think I’m fine. You mind if I look in that room back there?” Adele said.
“Help yourself,” the man called over his shoulder, already moving with his wife toward the kitchen. They held hands as they moved, and the woman sort of rocked and swayed as if dancing to some unheard music. She giggled as her husband whispered something, and she kissed him again.
Again, John raised his eyebrows at Adele. But again she ignored him. He might not be convinced, but Adele could smell something off. The cooking in the kitchen wasn’t the only thing that stank. She moved toward the door and gestured toward John.
“I’ll be around back,” he called out.
As he spoke, she glanced toward the couple. But his words didn’t seem to arouse anything as far as worry. Adele reached the door and turned the handle.
The cabin felt quiet, and a prickle crept across the Adele’s spine as she turned the door handle. The metal lever was cold beneath her hand, and she pushed open the door, stepping into the room beyond.
The swell of expectation was met with an enterprise of disappointment.
A bathroom.
She glanced around the small, contained room. A single window, also with no curtains, revealed the backyard and the garage. Adele spotted John moving toward a van parked in front of the makeshift garage. Though, perhaps to call it a garage was generous. More like a shed made from plywood.
The bathroom itself was cramped, with a standup shower, sink, and toilet.
After a cursory glance, Adele left the room again, dejected.
She stepped back out into the main portion of the cabin, scanning the small area once more. Her eyes flitted from the bed to various portions of the floor, scanning for a trapdoor, for anything that might descend to a lower level.
She looked toward the kitchen again, watching as the older couple dished out food for themselves and then set four plates at the table, clearly expecting the agents to take them up on their offer of hospitality.
They were so at ease. Adele stared at them, frowning, framed in the doorway of the bathroom.
It was as if they didn’t have a care in the world. And yet, that struck her as unusual. Even if they had clean consciences, most folks were wary of police. But, as she thought about it, she’s was certain that people like this, who distanced themselves from society to go live off-grid, would have an even bigger helping of dislike for law enforcement. And so why was her presence disregarded? Why did they seemed disinterested in the two agents searching their home?
Was it because they had nothing to hide? Or because they were certain they hid it so well?
“I’ll be outside with my partner,” Adele said, marching toward the cracked front door.
Mr. Klose waved in her direction, while his wife swayed back and forth in that same dancing motion.
Troubled, her stomach twisting, Adele moved back out into the cool night, facing the dark forest. Now that she stood in the frame of the door, before the open, glowing window, the shadows cast toward the woods seemed longer. It was one thing to be moving from the dark toward the light, but another to be standing in the light facing the dark. Things seemed clear from here, and the trees were more detailed; she could make out the grooves in the bark, the scattering of twigs, the various plants in the garden, and the young saplings still pushing through the cold ground.
“Adele,” came a voice from around the side of the cabin.
Adele took the two steps down the patio and moved along the edge of the house. She reached the back, where she had spotted John next to the plywood shed.
“Anything in there?” Adele asked.
The tall agent had his head up against a window, peering into the small shed. “Nothing,” he said. “Dirt floor, no ladders, no trapdoors.”
“So why did you call me?”
John turned and jerked a thumb toward the large blue van. “Look in the backseat,” he said.
Adele approached the blue vehicle and peered through the side window, frowning. There was a baby seat in the back.
“I didn’t see a child in that cabin,” John said.
Adele shook her head. “Me neither. Why do you think they have that?”
John and Adele stood in the darkness, eyes on each other.
“Anything inside?”
Adele shook her head again.
John cursed and wiped a hand through his hair.
“Something is off about those folks,” said Adele. “My dad’s right. They’re very warm, hospitable. Nice. Which makes no sense with two federal agents snooping around their property. No one is that easygoing.”
John shrugged. “Most people don’t abscond to the woods.”
“Be that as it may, we’re a disturbance. An unexpected, unwanted disturbance. And yet they’re inside, setting food for us. Either they’re the kindest people I’ve ever met, or… they’ve rehearsed this before. They’ve prepared for this sort of thing.”
John tapped a finger against the hood of the blue van, his narrowed eyes darting back toward the cabin. He puffed a breath. “All right, but right now all we’ve got to go on is they’re really nice, and they have a baby seat without a baby. What does that mean?”
Adele waited, hoping the clues would click into place. She stood still, and John allowed her silence. But as she waited, there was no sudden sense of realization. No clue popping to the forefront of her mind.
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t know,” she said in nearly a whisper. “I don’t know.”
“I think maybe we just leave, regroup. Maybe we can come back in the morning, with other people to help us search.”
“It might be too late by then,” said Adele. “If they think we’re getting close, they might make a move. If there are others… like Ha Eun… like Amanda… they might kill them too, bury the evidence…”
The ominous words hung over the garden, and the sounds within the cabin seemed to have faded.
Adele shook her head. “Nothing back here? Nothing besides that baby seat?”
“Nothing.”
Adele growled and turned, and with John in tow, the two of them marched back around the house.
They passed through the garden in the front yard, and Adele hesitated, glancing toward the partially open door to the cabin. “Should we tell them we’re leaving?”
“Let them stew in it,” said John. “Your gut says something’s off, and I trust your gut.”
For some reason, this filled Adele with a sudden surge of warmth. She smiled at John, watching him, and for an unusual moment, he didn’t have a sarcastic smile or twinkle in his eye. His face was illuminated by the orange light from the cabin, but he watched her back, sincere, solemn. He dipped his head once in a sort of acknowledging nod, then his tall form continued down the path, away from the cabin now.
With another long look back at the cabin, her eyes scanning the garden, then over to the shed just visible behind the main structure, Adele also sighed and turned, moving away.
A dead end. Her promise to the Johnsons: broken. Her skills as an investigator: failed. Her own mother’s case would never be solved now. The missing searcher, the other missing persons—all in pain. All without help. All lost.
Adele moved down the path toward the road and stepped from the dirt driveway, with John behind her, moving back into the forest.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
As she passed the driveway and stepped through the trees, Adele’s eyes flicked once last time toward the garden; up the hill, she noticed a hose curled by the cabin, barely visible past a wooden fence post. The hose was attached to a spigot beneath the wooden structure. Her gaze moved between a couple of trees, and she spotted the stone structure of a well.
The gray stone surrounding the well, and the wooden roof splayed above it, caught her attention for a moment.
She hesitated, strolling to a halt.
John, a few paces ahead, noticed her stop, and he turned back. “What is it?”
“That hose,” she said.
John followed her gaze, both of them at the end of the dirt trail, now both peering up toward the garden and the cabin.
“Yeah? Probably for the garden.”
Adele nodded, slowly, her eyes narrowing. She felt a tingle across her palms.
“John,” she said, slowly. “That hose is attached to the house. If they have a water source, some creek or something leading to pipes beneath the house itself…”
John just watched her, frowning in confusion.
“Then why do they also have an open well?” she said, pointing.
John shook his head. “Come again?”
She felt a prickle on her palms spread to the backs of her hands.
“John, they had faucets in the house, a sink, a toilet. That hose is attached to the house. They have water pressure.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Why would they need a well?” she said, her voice rising, the prickles now crossing her arms and trickling down her back. John was responding to her, his own eyes slowly widening.
“Maybe,” he stammered, “maybe they just like having a second source—”
“These minimalists? Out in the woods, in their single-story cabin? That well isn’t even near the garden, John,” Adele said. “Look! Why would they need a well? They have a hose, a faucet, a sink, a toilet, a shower…”
John blanched, and a shiver crossed his expression. “Christ, Adele, you don’t think—”
Adele was already moving rapidly, turning back toward the house, her gun in hand.
“Adele, hang on,” John said.
He had his phone out, jutting up toward the sky. “There’s no signal,” he said quickly. “Adele, I can’t call backup, there’s no signal!”
“Forget it, quick.”
John fell into step, and they marched back through the line of saplings, now both of them crouched, both of them with their guns drawn.
“They might just have a second well,” John said, quickly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
But Adele was shaking her head rapidly. “Too far from the house, John. It’s too far. They have a sink in the back of the cabin. A toilet in the back of the cabin. They’re getting water from somewhere else. Why would these minimalists need a well? It doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you think that even means?”
“I think they have something else buried back there,” Adele said, quickly.
“I’m still not getting a signal.”
Adele ignored this. Now, her weapon gripped tight in her hand, she strode through the garden. Almost out of spite, she kicked some dust and dirt over one of the plants. She marched up the porch steps. The door was still ajar.
As she reached the door, though, it clicked shut. She heard a bolt slide.
Adele gritted her teeth. She raised her hand and began pounding on the door. “Open up,” she shouted. “Open up now!”
John was out of frame, away from the door, his own gun drawn. His phone was now back in his pocket, as he had given up on trying to call backup.
Adele’s whole body shivered, but her eyes were wide and vibrant. The bloodhound scent had returned. It was directing her straight into that cabin.
“Federal agents,” she said. “Open the door, now!”
John took a couple of steps, wound up, then kicked with a mighty shove of his foot. The door made a splintering sound. John grunted, his full form stretched to capacity. He wound up, took a running start, then kicked again, a powerful blow.
The door splintered and flew off its top hinge, falling askew and twisting at a tilted angle into the cabin.
“Watch out!” Adele shouted.
Mr. Klose no longer had the same smiling, warm expression. Like a ghoul shedding its skin, he now had a snarl across his face. Lines in deep wrinkles gouged around his eyes. He had a knife raised and was already charging toward John, moving just around the side of the doorframe, as John reeled back from his kick.
John’s gun raised, but the man darted to the side, placing himself between Adele and John.
Adele fired.
Missed. The man lurched
past her and threw himself at John, the knife flashing. John rolled to the side, catching the man’s wrist and knocking him to the ground.
But the older man was spry, and far quicker than his age suggested. He lashed out with a foot and John toppled to the deck.
“Gretel!” the man shouted into the house. “My love—run!”
“Adele, get her,” John grunted, from where he was grappling with the man with the knife.
Adele shot one look at her partner, tried to get a shot, but it was too difficult, both of them rolling one way or the other.
The man was smaller than John, not nearly as muscular, but he was fighting with the wild strength of an animal in a corner. Rabid grunting noises emitted from his mouth, like a wounded beast.
Adele hesitated a moment longer, and John screamed, “Don’t let that bitch get away!”
Adele propelled herself back into the cabin, darting past the broken door. The cabin was empty. Adele stomped to a halt, standing in the middle of the bare floorboards, her eyes wide, rapidly scanning the cabin.
Over her shoulder she shouted, “John, she’s gone!”
More grunting, no response. John and the man were still fighting for the knife. But John seemed to, for the moment, be getting the upper hand. Adele turned back toward the door; she fired in the air, over the two of them. “Stop!” she screamed.
But Mr. Klose seemed intent. He ignored her, still snarling.
“Get her,” John gasped. “Get her, Adele!”
Adele whirled back around, scanning the cabin. She cursed and sprinted toward the bathroom door. It was closed again. She twisted the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
She shouted at the door, “Open up, I’m coming in! Keep your hands where I can see them!”
No response.
She backed up. “Get away from the door!” A pause, and then she fired twice at the door handle.
There was a smashing sound, a crunch, and she tried the handle again. The door swung open, the locking mechanism broken. No one in the bathroom. The window was open.
Adele cursed and shouted, “She got out the back! John, are you okay?”