The Devil, the Witch and the Whore (The Deal Book 1)

by Amy Cross

  Suddenly I turn and look back out at the forest, and I stare for a moment at the set of footprints. Clearly a lot of snow has fallen since the accident, and the prints are barely visible now, but there's definitely a series of print-like indentations. It's odd that they seem to lead away from the road rather than up the incline, but I guess anyone who'd been in a crash like this would most likely have ended up dazed and confused.

  I try my radio again, and this time I hear a human voice in the heart of the static.

  “Hey, it's me!” I say firmly, before remembering the proper etiquette. “I mean, uh, Ranger Four to Ranger One. Do you copy me? Over.”

  I wait, and I'm sure it's Buddy's voice that's coming over the airwaves, but I really can't make out any of the words.

  “- like it's come down,” he says suddenly. “The road's gonna be impassable, so I'll have to go around and -”

  His voice is gone again, swirling through the static.

  “Ranger Four to Ranger One,” I say again, “can you hear me? This is important! Over.”

  I listen to more static, and finally I realize that the signal is lost.

  Sighing, I clip the radio back onto my belt and look around at the edge of the clearing. I'm supposed to stay here, I know that, but from the snatch of radio communication I reckon it's clear Buddy isn't even close to reaching the station yet, let alone getting the truck ready and starting on his way back. I want to obey my orders, of course, but at the same time I also like the idea of wrapping this particular mystery up before he returns. That way, when he comes tramping down the incline with a bunch of cops in tow, I can surprise them all by telling them exactly what happened.

  I won't just do my job.

  I'll surpass it. I'll exceed expectations.

  “We'll see who's a rookie,” I mutter under my breath, as I turn and start pushing my way through the snow-banks that fill the gaps between the trees. “We'll see who can figure out what happened to Charlotte Stewart. There's no -”

  Suddenly stumbling against an extra-thick patch of snow, I fall forward and only just manage to grab a nearby tree at the last moment. Relieved that I didn't fall flat on my face, I push on, but my legs are already starting to ache and I make a mental note to start exercising more. Still, there's no way I'm going to back down, and I'm determined to follow these prints for at least a few minutes so I can figure out how far the second person managed to get. That's assuming that there was a second person at all.

  I'll find out for sure. And with that aim in mind, I start making my way from the crash site, out into the dark forest.

  Twenty-Seven

  Molly Abernathy

  Stopping for a moment to get my breath back, it occurs to me that maybe the second person wasn't actually in the car. Maybe they simply happened to be out in the forest, and then they stumbled across the site of the accident. Then again, why wouldn't they have reported it? And wouldn't there be two sets of prints, one heading toward the car and one heading away? I look around for a moment, but the rest of the snow looks pristine and undisturbed. I'm pretty sure, then, that the prints must have been caused by somebody who simply walked away.

  I take a step forward.

  Or somebody who walked to the car.

  I hesitate again, before turning and looking over my shoulder. The car is now about a hundred feet behind me, but the flashlight is still picking out Charlotte Stewart's face. For a moment, I start wondering whether I might have understood this all back-to-front. What if Charlotte wasn't in the car when it crashed? What if...

  I furrow my brow.

  No, that doesn't make sense. For one thing, she's pinned inside the damn thing. For another, there's no reason why she'd walk all the way to the car and then stop there, rather than going up to the side of the road. I know it's good to have an inquisitive mind, but I need to stay focused on the rational possibilities, and the most likely option right now is that somebody was in the passenger seat and managed to get away. Where they got away to is another matter, and I'm worried that any body might have been covered by snow to such an extent that their body won't be found until spring. Still, I have to at least take a look around, so I shine my flashlight forward and get moving again.

  “Under no circumstances,” I hear Buddy's voice saying, echoing through my mind, “are you to go past the treeline and into the forest.”

  I get why he warned me, but he was just being protective. He'll be proud of me once he finds out that I've taken a little initiative. That I can think for myself.

  The prints – if that's what they are – turn out to take a meandering path through the forest. Twice, they almost curve right around and head back the way they came, only to turn again each time and head off deeper into the darkness. Whoever was out here, they sure as heck didn't keep going in a straight line, and it's almost as if the person was dazed. I guess that fits with my idea that they'd been hurt in the car crash, but they can't have been hurt that badly if they made it this far. I've been walking for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes by now and I'm starting to feel exhausted. Whoever came this way before me, they at least had the strength to push through snowdrift after snowdrift.

  Finally I have to stop again, and I take a moment to shine the flashlight around. All I see, in every direction, is thin dark tree trunks rising high into the night sky, with snow still drifting down. I can't see the wrecked car anymore, and the scene is actually kinda peaceful. In other circumstances, I think I might even enjoy traipsing around out here on my own, although I'd definitely want a tent and some decent supplies. Maybe some time, when I get a few days off, I should come out and explore the natural world a little, instead of squirreling myself away in my apartment above the store in town. I mean, that's why I moved away from New York and came to this neck of the woods. I wanted to explore the great outdoors.

  I'll need better boots, though. My toes are already feeling cold and damp.

  Suddenly the radio bursts into life again, filling the quiet forest with a burst of intense static.

  “Hey,” I say as I answer, but then I remember how I'm supposed to respond. “I mean, this is Ranger Four. I repeat, Ranger Four. You're breaking up. I can't really hear you properly.”

  I wait for an answer.

  “Oh, yeah, over!” I add.

  Again, I wait.

  All I hear is a swirl of distorted noise.

  For a moment, I'm tempted to just turn right around and head back to the car. Then again, I can follow the prints back at any time, so there's no danger of getting lost.

  “Ranger One, is that you?” I ask, holding the radio up.

  I wait, but there's no chance of making anything out.

  Sighing, I slip the radio back onto my belt and continue trekking through the forest. Ahead of me, the faint footprints still meander between the trees, sometimes curving left and sometimes curving right. I'm no expert, but I feel pretty sure that they're human prints, and I'm more and more confident of my theory that somebody else was in the car with Charlotte Stewart. I can't help smiling as I imagine Buddy's reaction when he finally gets back and finds that I've been making progress with the investigation. Not that I'm belittling the gravity of the situation, or the sadness of people dying, but I definitely like the idea that I might be able to prove myself. I might even save a life.

  I stop again, staring at the prints ahead.

  I might save a life.

  But how?

  I don't know the first thing about helping someone who's injured. If I stumble upon a survivor from the crash, I won't know what to do.

  Well, I'll figure it out.

  I'm not an idiot. I can assess the situation and determine the best course of action.

  I adjust my jacket, to make sure the creases are straight and that my badge is showing, and then I set off again, pushing through the snow. I guess I'll learn better on the job, rather than trying to study from books, and I genuinely believe that when push comes to shove I'll switch into some kinda higher gear. My instincts are pretty
good and -

  I stop again.

  The beam from my flashlight is wiggling and wobbling as it picks out the trees ahead, but I think I can see something a little further off in the distance. Some kind of low, long rectangular darkness. I continue to shine the beam for a moment, before realizing that the light hitting the trees is actually making it harder for me to see the darkness beyond, so I cut the flashlight and wait for my eyes to adjust.

  There's definitely something there, but it's big. House-sized, or at least cabin-sized.

  Figuring that maybe I want to keep my flashlight off for a little while, so as not to announce my arrival too strongly, I start wading through the snow again. The closer I get, the more I realize that I have found some kind of cabin, although the lights are off and it sure doesn't look like anybody's home. Still, the shallow footprints are running more or less parallel to my path, and it's looking more and more likely that they lead all the way to the cabin's front door.

  I don't remember seeing a cabin marked on the map as Buddy and I drove out here, but then again I wasn't studying too closely. Truth be told, I was too excited.

  I look around, but the clearing is otherwise empty, and it sure looks like somebody just plonked a cabin down in the middle of nowhere. I guess I can imagine the appeal of getting away from the craziness of the world, and this is definitely an isolated location. Still, as I reach the spot in front of the front door and look over at the dark windows, I can't help thinking that it'd be nice to at least leave a porch light on, for the benefit of anyone who happens to stumble upon the place. I mean, left in darkness like this, the place almost looks a little menacing.

  Sighing, I switch my flashlight back on and shine the beam at the dusty, scratched windows. When I look down at the decking, I realize that the wood looks old and damaged, even rotten in places. I'm starting to think this place hasn't been in use for a while.

  “Hello?” I say out loud, although my throat croaks a little and catches the words.

  Is it dumb to call out?

  I pause for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons.

  “Hello?” I say again, a little louder this time.

  Silence.

  Looking down, I see that the meandering footprints lead all the way to the front door, as if somebody went inside the cabin. When I shine the flashlight at the door, I see that it doesn't quite seem to be closed properly.

  “Hello?” I call out for a third time, as I feel a tightening fear starting to roil in my chest.

  All things considered, I'm starting to think that maybe I should've just stayed at the car. Still, now that I'm here, I'd be a total chicken not to at least double-check that the place is abandoned. And if there's one thing I've got, it's guts.

  Heading over to the window, I shine my flashlight at the glass. The beam catches all the scratches, but I'm almost blinded by the reflection so I lower the flashlight again and lean closer to the window, cupping a hand around my eyes as I try to peer inside. All I see, however, is darkness. For all I know, there could be thirty people right on the other side of this window, all staring back at me from the darkness, and I wouldn't be any the wiser.

  I pause, before stepping back. That's kind of a creepy thought. I should probably take care not to put that kind of idea in my head.

  I should head back to the car, is what I should do.

  Then again, Buddy would be disappointed if I told him I came out here and found a cabin, and that I turned right around without checking it out. He'd mark me down as someone who doesn't have an inquisitive bone in her body. He probably already knows about this cabin, seeing as how he's been working this forest all his life, but that doesn't mean I can't show some initiative.

  Then again -

  Suddenly I hear the sound of a child crying inside the little house. A little girl, I think.

  I freeze, not sure what to do, but the sound continues and I instantly realize that there's no way I can just turn around and walk away. Not if a child's life is at risk.

  “Hello?” I call out again. “Is anyone in there? Anyone at all?”

  I wait, but the crying continues.

  Stepping back over to the door, I reach out for the handle and give it a gentle tug. Sure enough, the door creaks open, revealing the dark interior, and the crying seems louder now. Closer.

  “Hello?” I whisper, before realizing that I need to raise my voice. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  I wait as the door continues to swing open. Finally the handle bumps against the wall, leaving me staring into the darkness of the cabin.

  Taking my flashlight from my belt, I switch it on and shine the beam through the doorway. The first thing I see is an old, beaten-up sofa against the far wall, and a moment later I spot some kind of painting next to a door that leads deeper into the cabin. The place looks pretty low-tech and old-fashioned, so I cautiously step into the doorway and swing the flashlight around, casting the beam across the room and seeing several armchairs and tables. The tables are bare, and nearby there's a set of empty hooks on the wall. Whoever uses this place, it looks like they skipped out a while ago, and the air smells noticeably fusty.

  “Hello?” I call out. “This is Molly Abernathy. I'm just checking to make sure everything's okay here. Does anyone need assistance?”

  I wait, anticipating that perhaps I'll hear a faint groan in the distance, but the only sound is the constant crying of the little girl. There's no sign at all that anyone else came stumbling through here, and I'm starting to think that maybe my theory about the steps in the snow might have been a little off-base. At the same time, I can't just walk away if there's a child in trouble, so I head to the doorway in the corner and look through into what turns out to be a kitchen.

  “Anybody?” I say after a moment.

  No reply.

  “I guess that means no,” I mutter, turning and making my way back across the room. “Wherever -”

  Suddenly the flashlight's beam cuts across a chair over by the window, and for a fraction of a second I see a man's face. I freeze, having already lowered the flashlight. Although I can no longer see the man, I'm absolutely certain he was there a moment ago. Cautiously, I raise the beam again, and sure enough I find that a man is sitting calmly in the dark with his eyes wide open.

  He's staring straight at me.

  Twenty-Eight

  Molly Abernathy

  He's dead.

  No, he's not dead.

  He can't be dead. Why would he stumble all the way here, only to die in an armchair?

  It's at a time like this that I'm glad Buddy made me carry a gun, even though I was initially kind of opposed to the idea. I keep the flashlight trained on the man's impassive face, while reaching down to double-check that the gun is within easy reach.

  “Sir?” I say cautiously. “Are you okay over there?”

  No reply. Meanwhile, the girl's cries are louder than ever, but I can't quite see where they're coming from.

  “Sir?”

  I wait, but he seems content to simply stare into space. After a moment, however, he blinks, which I guess means he's at least still alive.

  “Sir, are you in need of assistance?”

  I step closer, while still poised to grab my gun at any moment. The last thing I want is to offend this guy by taking the gun from its holster, but my heart is pounding and I'm still not entirely sure that the situation is safe. In fact, as I get to the middle of the room, I turn and take a quick look around, just to make absolutely sure that nobody's about to come creeping up behind me.

  “Where's the child?” I ask, turning back to the man. “Can you tell me that?”

  No reply.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Again, nothing.

  “Sir,” I continue, “my name is Molly Abernathy. I said that earlier, but maybe you didn't hear me. I'm out here investigating a car crash that occurred not far from this location. I followed some tracks through the snow, and they seemed to lead here. And, well, I'm hearing what sounds like
a little girl crying, and I need to know that she isn't in any danger.”

  I wait for a reply.

  “Sir? Is it possible that you were involved in that incident with the car? With the crash?”

  The flashlight's beam is picking out one side of his face, but so far I don't see any sign of an injury. He just seems content to sit and stare at nothing.

  “Okay,” I mutter, reaching for my radio on the off-chance that it might be working. Hearing nothing but a burst of static, I try tapping at a few of the buttons, but to be honest I never quite understood how the damn thing works. “That great,” I continue, keeping my voice low as I fiddle with the radio, hoping to find some secret button that fixes the signal problem. “I guess -”

  Suddenly the man gets up, rising from the chair so fast that he almost bumps straight into me.

  Startled, I step back just as he turns to me, and I can't help feeling a little flustered by the fact that he's finally noticed me.

  “Hi,” I stammer, “um, my name is Molly Abernathy and I don't know if you heard me just now, but I'm a little concerned about the sound of...”

  My voice trails off, and I can't help feeling that he's not entirely aware of his surroundings.

  “Police?” he whispers finally.

  “That's right. I don't know if you saw it on your way here, but there's a town a little way back. It's called Deal and...”

  Again, my voice trails off. This guy seems very dazed, and after a moment I take a step back, just so I can feel a little less awkward.

  “Are you okay?” I ask finally. “The crash... Were you in the crash?”

  He pauses, before looking over at the open door, where snow is already drifting into the cabin.

  “There's a crashed car not far from here,” I explain. “There's a woman inside, we think her name is Charlotte Stewart and -”

  “Charlotte?” He turns back to me. “Is she okay?”

  “Well, she...” I pause again, starting to realize that I might've opened a can of worms that I should've left shut for now. “She was hurt pretty badly in the crash, truth be told. In fact, we think she must have been out there for a good few days at least, in very bad conditions. In the circumstances, I'm afraid it's not entirely surprising that she...”