When Devils Sing(98)
Reid shrugged. “Safety seems a little relative right now.”
Isaiah nodded in agreement as he put Dawson’s address into his phone’s map. “It’s only thirty minutes away. Let’s go.”
* * *
MILES AWAY, ISAIAH and Neera stood watch as Reid Langley struggled to pick the back door lock of a peculiar, seemingly abandoned cabin.
Though standing watch wasn’t much use as the thunderstorm persisted, graying out the flatland with impenetrable sheets of rain. The towering slash pines swayed violently, looking perilously close to being ripped from the ground.
Isaiah glanced over his shoulder at his parked BMW, hidden from the road behind a thick copse of trees and kudzu.
To Reid, he called out, “Come on, Boy Scout. Pick up the pace, please.”
“Patience, Nancy Drew,” Reid fired back. “I’m in.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes as he trudged toward the cabin. He wished he’d chosen better shoes as they sank in the wet earth with every step, muddying the leather. When he and Neera reached the back door, he glanced around the property one last time before stepping inside. If the area had nosy neighbors, they were thankfully acres away, tucked behind rows and rows of dense pines.
Once inside, Isaiah shut the door behind them, locking the dead bolt in place. “Remember, no lights,” he warned. He shone his phone’s low flashlight around the room, illuminating a narrow laundry room that doubled as both a pantry and storage closet. Grabbing a nearby hanging towel, Isaiah wiped the mud from his shoes, then handed it to Reid to do the same.
“Got it,” Reid said, passing the towel to Neera.
Isaiah wasn’t big on breaking and entering, preferring his investigations to err on the side of legal. But given the dire situation, his previous methods were no longer sufficient.
“What do you think this place was for?” Isaiah asked Reid as they moved into the living room. The cabin was tiny and unremarkable, but very clearly lived in if one knew where to look.
“I have no idea,” Reid said quietly.
“I’ll look around out here if you two wanna take that side,” Neera offered.
The boys nodded. Reid led Isaiah down a shadowed narrow hallway barely wider than their shoulders. The carpeted floor dipped beneath their shoes as they walked. Heavy sheets of rain clattered on the tin roof above their heads and slammed against the walls of the cabin.
The first door they found swung open on creaky hinges, revealing a sparse but tidy bedroom. There was a neat twin-size bed with a faded quilt, a makeshift desk made from a plastic folding table with matching chair, and stacks of perfectly folded clothes that sat in the corner.
Then Isaiah’s gaze settled on a corkboard resting against the farthest wall. He crossed the room, observing the brightly colored collage up close. The board was a messy array of cutout images depicting city skylines, international locales, and college campus brochures with cheesy, inspirational quotes sprinkled throughout.
“Dawson’s vision board, I guess,” Reid said from behind him. “His dreams for his future.”
Isaiah nodded, looking around the tiny, gray room that was in stark contrast to the vibrant, faraway life depicted on the corkboard. “Whatever he did, I guess he thought Lake Clearwater was his way out of … all of this.”
Reid collapsed onto the edge of Dawson’s twin bed, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. He rubbed his face, eyes going distant. “I told him I’d help him—pull whatever strings I could to get him out of this place, but he refused my help. Dawson said he’d figure it out on his own, in his own way.” He moved from the bed to the floor, kneeling at the bedside table and leafing through the stack of books atop it.
“Why would he stay here then, rather than go home?” Isaiah asked.
“He really hated home,” Reid replied as he closed a dog-eared book and tossed it on the floor. “Seeing his mom like that every day … he couldn’t stand it anymore.” He then positioned himself flat on the ground and began to pull plastic storage bins from beneath the bed.
Thunder crackled and boomed overhead, rattling the windows. From the rainfall growing heavier, it seemed as if the storm was becoming worse, threatening to take the little cabin with it.
“Oh, shit,” Reid breathed as he emptied a plastic bin filled with folded clothes. “I think I found Dawson’s journal.”
Isaiah’s eyes widened as Reid pulled a notebook from the bottom of the bin. He held it delicately in his hand, as if the journal could bite. “Go on then.”
Reid hesitated to open it. “This feels wrong somehow. Like, really wrong.”
“The answers to all of our questions could be in there, Reid,” Isaiah said. “We can’t draw an arbitrary line here. Not when lives are at stake.”
“You’re right.” Reid nodded slowly. “Dawson would understand.” He unfolded the journal in his lap, slowly flipping through the pages.
Isaiah’s dark eyes combed the room. “I’m gonna look around the rest of the house. Let me know if you read anything useful.”
“Yeah,” Reid said, turning over a new page. “I will.”
Isaiah stepped into the dark hallway, then joined Neera in the modest living room. He looked around the cramped space with an adjoining kitchenette, taking in the details of the cabin in the low light. There was a small table with a hunting knife sitting atop it, then above the fireplace, a gun rack with several rifles. Within the nearest closet, he found more peculiar items—rope, bleach, worn work gloves, a heavy baseball bat.