AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cal grunted. “A family affair. What did Merit say to Hopeful at dinner last night? It spooked him.”
Vigil sighed. “I don’t know. They kicked me out of the room. Hopeful doesn’t trust me anymore, so I’m leaving tonight.” He took a small ring of keys from his pants pocket. “But I wanted to give you these. They open every locked door in this place.”
Ellie took the keys from Vigil and held them tight in her hand. They felt cold and heavy. “Thank you, Vigil.”
Vigil gave her a slight nod. “My name’s actually Trent.”
She smiled back. “Thank you, Trent.”
He turned to Cal. “I’ll be at the bottom of the hill below the apple orchard at three a.m. I’ve got a ride waiting if you want to come.”
“Thanks, but we have to find the girl first.” Cal offered his hand, and the other man took it in a firm shake.
“I know, but the offer stands. If you find her, she’s welcome to come, too. Good luck.”
“We’ll need it. Hey,” Cal called as he started to turn away. When you get off the mountain, I’d appreciate one more favor. Could you contact Sheriff Ash Rawlings in Steam Valley and tell him what’s going on up here?”
Vigil—Trent—gave a smile that bordered on mean. “With pleasure.”
As he slipped away, Ellie’s gaze returned to the Trans Am, and a cold dread seeped into her bones. She’d known her sister was here somewhere, but seeing the car in person made it all too real. The paint was faded and peeling. Leaves and a layer of dirt covered the hood from years of neglect. But it was undeniably the same car Hope had been last seen in.
Cal put his arm around her, pulling her close. “We’re going to find her, Elle.”
She nodded, her gaze fixed on the car’s fading black paint. The past was coming back in a rush of dream-like images of Hope laughing and dancing.
Cal squeezed her shoulder gently. “Come on. Let’s see what’s inside.”
The shack was small and musty. Decades worth of dust and cobwebs covered every surface, and the wooden floorboards creaked ominously under their weight.
In one corner stood an old, rusted stove, its door hanging unhinged. A battered couch occupied another side, its cushions sunken in from years of neglect. But it was the wall covered with old photos that drew Ellie’s attention.
Cal picked a picture off the wall and studied it. She walked over and frowned at it. It was a group photo from years ago, the members of the commune all standing in front of the main building with broad smiles on their faces. But it wasn’t the group that caught her attention. It was a figure at the center of the frame holding a baby. A young woman with wild, curly hair and a rebellious smile.
Hope.
There she was.
Alive.
Healthy.
Ellie reached out for the photo, needing to see it up close. Cal relinquished it without a word, but he watched her closely as she ran her fingers over the grainy image.
The tender way Hope held the baby contrasted starkly with the wild child she’d been back home. Was that what the commune offered her? A chance for peace? To start fresh and reinvent herself? But then, why had she never reached out and never let them know she was okay?
“This must be True.” The baby, barely a year old and with dark curls like her mom, reached out a chubby hand toward the camera.
The man beside them, with his arms around them both, was Hopeful.
They all looked so happy, and Ellie couldn’t reconcile this joyful version of her sister with the troubled woman her mom had told her about.
Her hand trembled slightly as she put the photo back on the wall. She needed answers, but the shack offered more questions than solutions.
She glanced at Cal, finding the same confusion mirrored in his eyes. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. It was a comforting gesture, one that kept her grounded amidst the disarray of emotions swirling inside her.
“Let’s see what else we can find,” he said. He began rifling through drawers while Ellie moved toward a small wooden desk tucked in the corner of the room.
She hesitated before opening the first drawer, torn between dread and anticipation. When she finally pulled it open, she found stacks of old letters and envelopes yellowed with age yet unopened. The return addresses varied—some from California, where they used to reside, and others from unfamiliar places across the country.
