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That house carried such good memories for me. It was a happy, beautiful place, and it felt like an assault on those memories when I pieced together why we left.
The last time Sam saw this place, he was young and just trying to get through day camp. After that, he held it in his mind for years, waiting for the chance to go back and spend the night, to get that quintessential childhood experience he’d heard his friends boast about. He wouldn’t get that chance.
Now he sees it through adult eyes. His memories are still here, but what could have been is gone.
Garrison points out the building to the side. “That’s the administrative building. It’s where Mike, the camp director, has hisoffice.”
“Is he accounted for?” Samasks.
“Alive. The officers who found everyone in the dining hall spoke to himbriefly.”
We continue on, Garrison pointing out different features of the camp like we’re on a tour. It’s a bitter overlap of what should be and what is.
It doesn’t take long to find the first body. Draped in a bloodied cloth, it’s sprawled on the ground not far from the fire pit.
“Mallory Barnett,” Garrison says. “One of thecampers.”
“Has everyone already been identified?” I ask, surprised at the speed considering the number ofvictims.
“No. She has her name embroidered on her shirt,” the detective explains.
We continue on as the very edges of the horizon start to soften. By the time the sun comes up, we’ve walked the entire camp and gotten word that the sweep is complete. No further bodies were found in the woods. It still leaves a sickening count.
Sixteen dead, including the two at the house and the counselor found near the crashedtruck.
Twocounselors.
Eleven campers.
One stillmissing.
“One is missing?” I ask when Garrison relays the message he heard through hisradio.
He nods. “A counselor. Miranda Hughes. Her cabin is full of blood but there’s no sign ofher.”
“Just like last time,” Sam notes, earning a solemn nod in response.
“And the entire area has been searched?” Iask.
“Yes. Every inch of the camp, the woods, the lake. We can’t get divers out there until later today, but there aren’t any signs of anyone near it or in it. We can’t search the private property beyond the camp until we get permission or warrants, but according to the officers at the station, the count is enough to account for everyone in one way oranother.”
“Except the killer,” I pointout.
The sunlight now beating down on the camp provides a harsh underscore to the aftermath. It was gruesome in the darkness, but shadows can cover a multitude of sins. Nothing can hide in the bright morning sunlight. It cuts through the windows of the craft cabin, glowing on a handprint in blood against the glass. It shows every splatter, every drop, every drag mark on the cabins, the buildings, the dirt.
Details that were all but invisible in the darkness now stand out and make the investigation we have in front of us even more heart-wrenching. And infuriating.
The process of accurately identifying the victims is still going. It isn’t as easy as checking the names on the registration. Every one of the survivors sitting in the station has to be asked their name and their identity verified by their parents before we can conclusively check them off. What’s left is the dead. And they aren’t speaking.
I don’t envy the people responsible for identifying them. Some will be easier than others. Their wounds can be covered with a sheet so their faces are the only things visible. There will still be streaks of blood, caked dirt, scratches, and other signs of what happened to them, but at least the family members brought into the morgue to confirm their identities won’t have to face the full extent of their wounds.
Others, though, aren’t as fortunate. Faces are missing. Heads are destroyed. They’ll have to find other ways to identify them. Even without seeing those horrific injuries, the families will know their loved ones were brutalized beyond description. They’ll have to carry that with them.
The last building we see is the one with the heaviest mystery hanging over it: Miranda Hughes’s cabin.
It hasn’t been fully processed by the CSU yet, so we’re careful to stay near the door and not disturb anything inside. If there are fingerprints or fibers that might give some hint to who came in here and hurt the young counselor, then apparently took her away, we don’t want to contaminate it or accidentally remove it.
The cabin itself is difficult to look at. The bedding tangled up on the floor gives the impression that she was in the bed when the attack began. I point it out to Sam and DetectiveGarrison.
