Leroux and Will both release a chuckle.
“Jesus, I never saw this being my job,” Will says, wiping his eye.
Leroux looks confused. “No? You never saw yourself catching a prolific serial killer? Isn’t that kind of the point?”
“Well, yeah, of course. But it’s never been quite this dramatic, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. This whole thing has been very True Detective.”
Wren chuckles now.
“You think I went into the death industry for this kind of drama? I mean, yeah, I’m a cliché for spending my life speaking for the victims of brutal killers after almost becoming one myself,” Wren jokes, and rubs her hand across her face. “But I chose the morgue for a reason. It’s quiet and controlled.”
They sit together in comfortable silence, riding along the isolated back roads of Jefferson Parish, heading toward the Montz area. Leroux was able to find the address of the Rose property easily enough, and now they’re on their way to it. The home sits on a large swath of land outside of the well-trodden paths frequented by outdoor adventurers year-round. As the tree line becomes thicker and the roads bumpier, she can tell they are approaching their destination. She can feel the sickness rise again in her throat as she grips her medical bag and rubs her rings with her thumbs.
When they pull into the long, winding driveway leading up to 35 Evangeline Road, the air seems to thicken. All three of them silently take in the isolated surroundings, following the two other police vehicles ahead of them. Without warning, the home comes into view. It’s like a shot of adrenaline to the chest. Wren’s heart beats fast and hard. Her breaths become quick and shallow, and her face heats up. A panic attack is nearing, but she manages to use the breathing techniques she learned from therapy sessions long past to slow it down. She takes in the air through her nose and slowly releases it through her mouth.
The home has been taken care of as well as it could be in the middle of swampland. It’s old, but the yard is well maintained and clean, with a new-looking Nissan Altima parked in the driveway. A stretch of bayou and cypress trees sprays out from the back of the property as far as the eye can see. Docks and boardwalks sparsely dot the landscape, but most of it is untouched and natural. It’s both beautiful and horrifying, the perfect hunting ground for a monster.
Leroux turns his body to face her in the back seat, a look of concern across his face.
“We’ve got a lot of bayou to cover. You still okay, Muller?” he asks.
She nods, knowing she doesn’t look okay, and confirms, “I’m fine.”
He waits for a second to look for hesitation in her face.
“Okay, we’re going to have a team go in and clear the place first. If he’s in there, they will detain him. They’re going to make sure we don’t walk into any kind of ambush, especially with you,” Leroux briefs and takes in a sharp breath. “We aren’t letting you out of our sight.”
“I understand. I trust you,” she says gratefully.
He nods and turns to Will, who is watching the first team of officers surround the house. They knock on the front door and wait. The anticipation is already strangling Wren. Nothing happens. After a couple of attempts, they kick open the door. The team rushes in from all sides, entering the home in a frenzy.
Wren closes her eyes tightly. Everything suddenly sounds muffled and warped like noise-canceling headphones have been placed on her head. She waits for gunfire or an explosion. She waits for something terrible to happen, but nothing does. It’s just muffled footsteps and controlled shouts from inside confirming the rooms are clear.
A young officer dressed in tactical gear steps out onto the front porch. He waves his arm at Leroux and Will and shouts, “He’s not in there! All clear!”
They nod in response and open the car doors to exit. Leroux lets Wren out from the back, and she steps into the oppressively hot air.