I hang around the bar with the bartenders and the lingering customers as Jake starts
his rounds of bringing people home. I agreed to his ride, but I'll be the last of the
night. I don't mind. Sitting here looking out over the people gives me the opportunity
to start getting a feel for Feathered Nest and those who live here. I was fully anticipating the
uncertainty at my arrival. People always think of the inhabitants of small Southern
towns being hospitable and welcoming. But there's a tremendous difference between
hospitality toward guests and visitors, and openly trusting and welcoming those who may
linger around.
Especially for people who have grown up in very small, isolated tones like this one, new
people are reasons to be suspicloud. If you can't connect at least dots and prove some sort
of link to the area, you don't belong.
The backstory I rambled out to the police chief and to Jake gave me a fake relative in a
nearby town, but that's enough to give me credibility. I'm going to have to ease into
their existence and wear their trust. That starts with learning about them and the way
of life in the town. I'm drawn in to watching the conversations unfolding and the
slivers of life happening in all corners of the bar. Couples stare at each other, seeming
to have lost all awareness of the rest of the world around them. New cou-
ples are at the brink of forming between people paired up on the dance floor swaying,
even though the music volume has been turned down to nearly inaudible in preparation for
closing. People sit alone, decompressing from their day, longing for someone, or enjoying
time on their own, thinking of what to do next. Friend carry on like they have the rest too
the night even though last call was half an hour ago, and soon the bar will close.
I'm so drawn into watching them I barely even notice when Jake gets
back. He steps up beside me, and I jump slightly.
"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's fine. I'm not usually so jumpy," I tell him.
"Nobody can blame you. When your welcoming committee to a new
town consists of a dead body, people are going to give you a little bit of
leeway when it comes to jangly nerves. Are you ready to get going?"
"Absolutely."
Jake reaches out, so his hand hovers a few inches away from my back
as I get down from the stool. He uses the presence of that hand not
touching me, but right there, close enough that I can sense it, to guide
me out if the bar and to a car waiting at the curb. He walks around the
front of the car to the passenger seat with me. He opens the door, hold-
ing it for me as I climb inside. The sharply cold air coming from outside
follows me into the car, and I shiver.
"Don't worry," he says as he gets behind the wheel and notices my
shaking. "The heat gets going fast."
"Thank you," I tell him as he turns the engine voter, and we start to-
ward the cabin. "I really appreciate this."
"Not a problem. It'll make me feel better to know you got back safely.
You've only been here a day so you can't know the town well, yet. Rat-
tkesnake Point is a little bit out there. It would be easy to get lost trying to
make your way through those woods at night."
"I'm sure it would be," I agree. We fall silent for a few seconds before I
speak again. "So, giving people rides home is a normal thing for you?"
He nods without looking at me. "I've always given the occasional ride
here and there to people who needed it, but over the last few months, it's
become a much more regular thing.'
"Why is that?" I ask.
That makes him glance my way for a few seconds before he looks
back through the windshield.
"You mean, you dion't know?"
"I don't know what?"
"I thought everybody knew about Feathered Nest and what's been
going on around here. But I guess that only makes sense. Why would you
agree to come out here when you're looking for something calm if you
did know?" he asks, almost to himself.
"You lost me somewhere," I frown. Of course I know, I just need to
keep up the act.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Now I'm the one who sounds like a lunatic. It's
just. . . Feathered Nest has built up its own reputation recently."
"Why?"
He hesitates, not seeming to want to go any further.
"Because of the disappearances," he tells me.
"What disappearances?" I ask, readying myself to absorb as much in-
formation as he'll give me.
"But I want to know," I insist.
He looks at me again, and a hint of a smile plays at his lips.
"You sure are persistent. You know that?" he asks.
"I might have been told that a time or two," I grin.
"Well, I'll tell you what. I'm not going to get into it tonight before you
go to bed. But if you'll meet me for breakfast in the morning, I'll tell you
everything."
"Is this an other one of those deals like me drinking a beer and telling
you about my brush with the law"" I ask.
"That worked out well for me," he shrugs. "I figured I might as well
try it again."
"Where should we meet?"
"Mary Belle's. It's a little place on Main Street. Can't miss it has the
best breakfast in town."
"I'll meet you there at 7:30," I say.
"Sounds good to me," Jake nods. The car crunches along the drive up
the road. There are several cabins out here, but each one is so remote
from one another that mine might as well be the only one around for
miles. The cabin I'm in is the closest one to the lake.
"Which one are you" Jake asks, keeping his eyes peeled in the dark-
ness as we continue on.
"Number 13," I say. "Very last one."
Finally, we get to the very end of the road. He stops in the glow of the
light at the side of the porch.
"Thank you, again. I'll see you in the morning," I tell him.
I climb out of the and walk up the steps onto the porch ice gleams
on the wooden boards where someone rinsed away the signs of blood.
Jake is still sitting in his car watching me, waiting for me to get inside,
so I don't hesitate long. Unlocking the cabin door, I step inside and turn
back to wave goodbye to him. He waves and starts backing out of the
driveway as I shut the door and lock it.
What a daft. Despite everything running through my brain, I can't
stay awake for one more minute. I try my best to put it all aside and col-
lapse onto the bed. T he next morning I'm up before the sun doing a final read-
through of the notes Creagan gave me before I came here.
When the disappearances first started, the police department
tried to launch an investigation and look into it. But they weren't re-
ally prepared for a case like that people around here don't just disap-
pear. There's the occasional runaway or someone who gets mad at their
spouse and stalks out for a few days, but they always come back this
is the first in recent memory people were vanishing and just not
returning. The more people who disappeared, the harder it was for the
department. They didn't know what to do to how to follow the clues left
in each circumstance.
In my opinion, it took far too long for them to make the connections
between the disappearances. While most of the time, people don't want
to think of strings of events or occurrences having to do with on an-
other, it's important to find these links. The sooner you make the con-
nections between individual cases, the faster you'll be able to find the
right path to solving it.
In looking over the cases, something that stands out to me immedi-
ately is the crime scenes from each disappearance. Often when a person
disappears, it goes unnoticed. Even if it's for just a short time, there's
a stretch when nobody realizes they're gone because nothing has gone
amiss. Nothing looks strange or different, and the only way they realize
that person is missing is because they don't show up somewhere they're
supposed to be. It's not the same with these cases. Instead, there's a dis-
tincture crime scene associated with almost all of them. In the last place
these people were, police noted blood and signs of a struggle.
The most recent disappearance was only a short time before three Bu-
reau was called in, and the fresh reality of that girl being missing hangs
over the town. On the way down Main Street last night, I noticed a miss-
ing poster attached to a light post. It hasn't even had time to get faded by
the sun.
I suddenly realize the time has gotten away from me. I need to hurry
if I didn't want to be late to breakfast. As it is, Jake's already waiting for
me at a table when I get to the tiny restaurant. He smiles at me and waves
as if I'm going to miss him among the six other tables. But I smile and
wave in return.
"How did you sleep?" he asks when I slips into the booth across from
him.
"Very well, thank you. How are you this morning?"
It should be the uncomfortable small talk of people who don't know
each other and are trying to get customer to sharing the same space.
But it's not. For some reason, I feel at ease with Jake, like I've always
known him. In a way, that puts me on edge even more than the discom-
fort would. I didn't come here to form connections, and the immediate
draw of this man surprises me. Maybe it's because he's so different. From
the shine in his eyes to the ponytail tied loosely than the back of his neck
to the playful energy around him , he's nothing like any man I've ever
dated. It might be the sheer novelty of him and the way he looks at me
like I'm the only thing he notices in the room that keeps me fascinated.
That stops me from ending this snow and staying locked away with noth-
ing burn my work.
A waitress comes by and hands us menus. I order a cup of coffee be-
fore she walks away, and Jake laughs.
"Are you one of those people who believes they aren't capable of any
sort of functioning before they have the right saturation of coffee in
their blood in the morning?" he asks.
"Without a shadow of a doubt," I respond without hesitation.
He laughs again. "Me, too." The waitress returns and sets mugs in
front of both of us. He lifts his to show me. "See?"
She takes our breakfast orders and leaves. I stare at Jake expectantly.
"Well?" I ask.
"What?" he asks.
"I believe we had a deal,"I say. "You're supposed to tell me about these
disappearances.
"The agreement was we'd meet for breakfast, and I'd tell you. We
haven't had breakfast yet, so technically, the terms haven't been met," he
points out.
"You drive a hard bargain. Are you just trying to stretch this out?
He picks up his coffee and puts it to his lips for a long sip. Gazing at
me over the mug, he winks like he did the night before. It has the same
effect.
"You drive a hard bargain. Are you just trying to stretch this out?"
He picks up his coffee and puts it to his lips for a long sip. Gazing at
me over the mug, he winks like he did the night before. It has the same
effect.
"You see that man over there?" he asks when he's finished with his
sip.
I look where he's pointing and see a man in a red and black plaid gold
hat sitting by himself in the corner of a booth.
"Yes," I say.
"That's Elliot. He comes where very single morning and has the exact
same breakfast. Coffee, orange juice, a bowl of grits with butter, two
over-easy eggs, and a piece of white toast, heavily buttered."
"Just one piece of toast with two eggs?" I ask.
He gives slow single nod, still watching the older man. "It's cut in
half, and he uses the points of the triangles to poke open the yolks of
each egg. He's been doing it for twenty-five years," Jake says.
I scoff at him. "How could you possibly know that? You aren't old
enough."
He straightens up. "I'm thirty-four."
"Seriously?" I start.
He looks at me strangely. "Why is that so unbelievable?"
"You just seem younger," I tell him.
"Well, if you want to talk about young, look over to the booth under
the window."
I do, and see a pretty brunette woman around my age, maybe a couple
years older, feeding a baby sitting in a high chair at the end of the table.
"Okay," I nod.
"What?" I ask, my voice climbing so loud and sharp, nearly everyone
at the restaurant turns to look at me. "Sorry," I whisper meekly, then look
back at Jake. "What?"
He nods, chucking. "Yep. Her family is known for their. . . let's say,
consistency. For the last four generations, the women have gotten mar-
ried and had their first baby at fifteen. That's Ella. She fell down right
along in her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother's footsteps.
She has a sister, Fanny, who just turned fourteen and says she isn't
speaking to anyone male until she turns twenty."
I laugh. "Smart girl."
Our breakfasts come, and we eat for a few moments in silence. Fi-
nally, Jake takes a sip of coffee to wash down a bite of his omelet.
"You sure you want to hear all this?" he asks, forking a piece of his
food.
"Yes," I tell him.
I settle into the bowl of yogurt and granola in front of me and listen
as he tells me about the disappearances. He doesn't give me any infor-
matron I didn't already have from the case files, but there are emotion
and insight through the discovery of each disappearance and the horror of
the two bodies is evident in his voice. This has had a major impact on the
people of this town, and it's seeping deeper. Every day without a resolu-
tion is stirring suspicions and turning people who were once content to
never lock a lock and stroll everywhere in town at night into those who
hide behind deadbolts and keep to their homes.
"I started escorting people home when it got obvious the police
weren't going to find whoever was doing this and make them stop. I hate
the thought of anyone coming to my place to relax and enjoy themselves,
only to have something happen to them when they leave. Keeping them
safe became a top priority for me. I want to protect them and do what-
ever I can to make this town as secure as possible. Watching people
change their lives because of this is heartbreaking. No one should have
to live in fear all the time and not able to just live their lives."
"I agree."