Sara Parker
Badge #—
If you’re reading this, I’m alive.
But he won’t let me leave until the story is finished.
If you find this, don’t stop looking.
Everybody in Jackson County knew where he hunted this time of year.
Somebody had counted on that.
Somebody had placed it there for him.
He stared at the words until the cold bit through his gloves. The thermos lid slipped from his fingers and spilled into the snow below, dark coffee bleeding across white before he even felt his hand let go. He closed the book, slid it into his jacket, and climbed down faster. By the time he reached the trail again, the snow had started to fall harder, whispering against the leaves as he broke into a run toward the cabin.
The Cabin — an hour later
Marlene looked up when the door banged open. Tom stood there, chest heaving, snow caught in his hair and beard.
“Tom—what on earth?”
He peeled off his gloves and pulled a small notebook from inside his jacket. The leather looked strange in his calloused hands—too fine for the mountain.
“Found this in my stand,” he said. “Wedged up in the crook, like somebody wanted it found.”
She unwrapped the plastic and opened the first page. For a moment, the only sound was the hiss of the fire. Then she looked up, color draining from her face.
“Tom… it’s Sara Parker,” she whispered. “It’s her journal.”
“Of all the places,” Marlene said softly. “They knew you’d be there.”
He stared at her, at the fire, at the window where the snow had thickened to a steady fall.
“Then we need to get this to town.”
“I’ll pack what we need?—”
“Leave it,” he cut in, already reaching for his coat. “We’ll worry about that later. Let’s go.”
They stepped outside into a blur of white. The air had changed—heavy now, the way it gets before a storm settles in for good. Marlene climbed on behind him, the journal clutched tight inside her coat.
As the engine growled to life, flakes spun through the headlights.
“Hold on,” Tom said. “We get this to Burke, now.”
The ridge fell away behind them, the snow falling harder now, blurring the tree line.
By the time they reached the first turn, the cabin was gone.
If she was alive, they were already late.
17
Tom Grady — At the Sheriffs Department
They hit town with snow still clinging to the wheel wells and the journal riding the dashboard like a live thing. Marlene kept one hand on it as if the wind might lift it through the cracked window. Streets shone wet beneath the courthouse clock. Neighbors lingered in doorways, watching every passing vehicle.
