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Rook’s sharp gaze followed me, watching my every move. I returned the tools to the shed, then walked the path towards Benson's cottage, with Rook and Hawke on my heels. I could feel their eyes on my back, burning into me.
It was strange that Benson hadn't come out to meet us. He was always so attentive. Plus, he didn’t answer my text this morning—I needed to make sure he was okay.
When he didn't answer my knock, I tried calling him. I could hear his phone ringing, but he didn't pick up. His car was parked behind the house.
Something wasn’t right.
Despite the warm humidity, an eerie chill crept up my back.
“Summer?" Rook stood next to me, his strong body-heat a contrast to the rigidity my body had taken on. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm not sure," I said, "It's not like Benson to not answer."
I slowly reached forward and twisted the doorknob.
To my surprise, it was unlocked.
I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.
There was a strange stillness to the house. No wafting smell of coffee or the small sounds of puttering around in the back room. His plants in the front foyer looked a little wilted.
I crept inside, calling out, "Benson?"
There was no answer. Glancing in the kitchen, I could see a newly cleaned pan, plate, spatula, and fork drying next to the sink. Still feeling Rook and Hawke at my back, I turned towards his bedroom—maybe he was taking a nap?
I was sure his treatments were exhausting—I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sleeping through the noise we were making.
But, his room was empty.
His bed was made, his clothes neatly hung in his closet.
Frowning, I noted the rest of the house was empty.
In the living room, there was a partially filled coffee mug, but it looked cold. It was on the coffee table, resting next to a historical thriller book.
The book was open, with its pages facing downward. From the couch, I took in the row of windows. “Maybe he’s in the marsh,” I announced.
Rook nodded, “Maybe.” Though neither him nor Hawke looked convinced.
As I made my way deeper into the mire, my unease grew stronger—the unease in my stomach now tightening my chest. Rook and Hawke spread out, moving so quietly it was uncanny.
Something really wasn't right.
It smelled fresh from the rain, though I was glad Rook’d brought my muck boots, because they sunk into the mud as I walked, and the water went to my ankles.
The birds were back, circling overhead.
I followed their gaze, troweling through the tall grass and mud until I saw something that stopped my heart.
It was Benson, laying on the ground.
“Benson!” I ran to him, falling by his side. He wasn’t moving, his body looking so small on the ground. Still wearing his suit and bow tie, now muddy and wet. His gold rimmed glasses knocked to the ground. I shook him. “Benson!”
He didn’t move.
Panicking, I shook him again. Mind racing, I tried to remember my first aid—tilt the head. Open the mouth. Push in a breath.
Once, twice, my thoughts a tangled mess as I tried to remember what to do. Something about the song, Staying Alive.
