As she grabs her kit on the table, she centers herself a little bit. As she turns to descend the stairs once again, an older officer emerges from the hallway.
“Do you guys hear music?” he asks.
Wren strains to listen amid all the movement in the house. Will and Leroux also perk up. She does hear something off in the distance. It’s faint and sounds like it’s coming from outside.
Leroux waves them on. “Come on. It’s outside. We have officers in the back, checking it out now.”
The three of them make their way outside, and the music becomes clearer. The ocean of trees before them remains still but not silent. It is still a bit muffled, but it is unmistakably “Black Magic” by Badwoods cutting through the organic orchestra of the bayou. The soundtrack is sickeningly upbeat, and the dissonance is haunting. Wren takes a shaky breath in, trying to rid herself of the anxiety that threatens to consume her.
“This has Cal written all over it,” she states, remembering the feeling of being suffocated by music in her most terrified moments as Emily.
“Was he a theater kid?” Leroux shoots her a subtle smirk as he looks over his shoulder.
She is thankful for the lightness he brings this moment, and replies, “No, though I imagine he’s making up for that now.”
They walk down the rickety back porch steps and step onto wooden planks that lead to a thickly forested area. Cypress trees hug one another from every angle, and the sun can’t penetrate the blanket they form over this area. This is where he took his victims. This is where they cut the skin on their legs and feet while trying to run away from him. The feeling in this place is dark and ominous, saturated with the evil that has touched it for so long.
They enter the backyard together, with one officer behind them and one in front. Leroux and Will both have their guns drawn. As they stride forward together, the music gets louder, competing with the cicadas that are humming loudly from the trees. The smell of decay becomes almost too much to take as they go deeper into this hunting ground. When they reach the water, she spots its epicenter.
“We have the source of the smell,” she hisses, pointing to the dark, crumpled body lying beside the swampy water.
The three of them move as a unit, and the smell of decay becomes otherworldly. The body is decomposing rapidly, thanks to the weather and the insects, but Wren identifies the victim as male. There is an apparent wound to the side of his temple that looks like it could be from a gunshot. Wren snaps a quick photo on her phone, and she grabs tweezers from her kit to go to work. She dislodges the bullet from its entry wound, holding it up at eye level.
“Good thing you’re here, Muller. You were right,” Leroux shakes his head, covering his mouth and nose with a gloved hand.
She smirks, dropping the bullet into a baggy and placing it back into the medical bag. As she snaps the latch shut, Leroux arches his back and lets out a howl like an injured animal. He slumps forward, then falls onto his side. He grasps his left leg. Wren’s eyes fixate on the hunting arrow sticking out of his calf. It’s metal and long. The wound it creates is larger than she expected. Wren leans over to start tending to him.
“Officer down!” Will yells.
As soon as he does, another shot is fired in their direction. This one meets its mark in another officer’s back. He falls forward, and Wren can’t help but scream. Leroux is groaning in agony, grasping at his leg and scanning the trees manically. Will stands over Leroux and Wren now. No one can determine where the shots came from in the chaos, and now they feel like sitting ducks.
A twig snaps.
“Emily.”
The voice is calm, and it’s familiar. Wren looks up from Leroux’s wound and sees him. He steps out from beside an ancient tree, holding the crossbow in his hands. He levels it directly at her. His long hair has fallen onto his forehead like it used to when she last saw him. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with dark jeans and black combat-style boots. He looks calm and satisfied. He takes a moment to size her up. Under his gaze, she immediately feels transported back to that night seven years ago. She feels the same urgency and the same rage. He has those same dead eyes, and over the years that have passed, they have become even darker.