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Rachel's hands clenched the steering wheel as she navigated the car down the winding road that led to her family's old home. The ranch in the Hill Country loomed ahead, its weathered exterior a testament to the passage of time. Her heartbeat quickened with each turn, the weight of her personal connection to the location settling heavily on her shoulders.
This was a familiar place—the place she lost her parents.
"Been a while, hasn't it?" Rachel whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the engine.
She tilted her white Stetson hat, her fingers brushing the single feather fluttering in the brim.
As she did, the turquoise beads in her raven-colored hair shifted under the hat, clinking softly. The beads and feather were artifacts of a Native heritage that went as deep as the roots in this land.
She couldn't help but recall the countless afternoons spent wandering the property with her parents and Aunt Sarah, picking wildflowers and laughing under the warm sun.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of the house, Rachel forced herself to take a deep breath. She still owned the property, despite the painful memories that clung to every corner like cobwebs. Selling it would feel like losing another piece of her family, and she couldn't bear to let it go.
"Alright," she muttered, gathering her courage.
With a determined stride, Rachel approached the porch, her boots crunching on the gravel pathway. She paused for a moment, allowing herself to absorb the sight of her childhood home. The once-vibrant paint was chipped and faded, and the shutters hung crookedly, but the house retained an undeniable charm.
"Mom and Dad would be heartbroken to see you like this," Rachel murmured. She shook her head, banishing the emotion, and took a step forward. This wasn't just about reminiscing; there was work to be done.
Rachel glanced around the property, her keen eyes taking in every detail.
Her parents had disappeared from this property nearly two decades ago.
Their bodies had never been found--Rachel had only been ten at the time.
And now...
She swallowed, hands clenching at her side...
She was back.
Her Aunt Sarah had made it clear; it was Rachel's job to figure out what had happened. And if she didn't? It was a testament to Rachel's neglect.
No... she was back.
And she wasn't going to allow the cold case to intimidate her like it once had.
Rachel stepped approached the rusty chain of the gate that barred her way up the old, weathered steps. She could still remember when it was shiny and new, a symbol of protection for her family's home and the people who lived within its walls. Now, it only served as a reminder of how much time had passed since she last set foot on this land.
The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air as she fumbled with the lock, hands trembling slightly with anticipation. The chain resisted, as if protesting her intrusion after all these years. Rachel clenched her jaw, determined to push past the physical and emotional barriers before her. With a final tug, the chain gave way, clattering to the ground like the heavy weight of her past.
"Let's see what secrets you're hiding now," she muttered, taking a deep breath and stepping onto the property.
Upon entering the house, Rachel was instantly hit with the musty smell of old furniture and the lingering scent of dust that had accumulated over the years. For a moment, it seemed like time had stood still—except for the subtle changes that marked the passage of years. Wallpaper peeled at the edges, revealing the bare bones of the house beneath; cobwebs adorned every corner like ghostly lace.
"Hello?" she called out hesitantly, not expecting an answer but compelled to announce her presence nonetheless. Her voice echoed through the empty halls, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the heavy silence that hung in the air.
"Of course no one's here, idiot," she chastised herself, shaking her head. "It's been years."
As Rachel moved further into the house, her footsteps stirred up clouds of dust, momentarily obscuring her view. She squinted, trying to make out familiar shapes through the haze. Memories flooded back, some warm and comforting, others icy and unwelcome.
Her thoughts wandered to Aunt Sarah, the woman who had once been her rock, her guiding star in the darkness. To think that their bond could grow so fractured was a pain that gnawed at Rachel's heart. She hoped that by solving the mystery of her family's past, she could mend the rift between them.
Continuing through the house, she catalogued each room, each piece of furniture, as if recording evidence for some future trial. Every surface was layered with dust, a testament to the passage of time and the weight of memories left behind.
Her determination wavered when she entered the kitchen.
She paused, staring at the corner of the room, under an old table.
