Chapter 5 - The Whispering Creek Road
The drive out to the Whispering Creek woods was choked with dense pine trees and rolling patches of late-summer fog. My Jeep bounced over the unpaved gravel road, the headlights cutting jagged beams through the gray gloom.
Dr. Morales was following closely behind us in her state-issued sedan, keeping Harper safe while coordinating backup units from the county sheriff’s office. But radio static crackled through our dashboard—a dead zone caused by the deep canyon walls surrounding the old mill property.
“Ethan, look!” Harper pointed a small finger out the passenger window.
Through the canopy of trees, a dull, unnatural orange glow stained the horizon.
It wasn't a sunrise. It was fire.
“Hold on, Harper,” I muttered, slamming my foot down on the accelerator. The Jeep surged forward, tires churning gravel as we rounded the final bend of the logging trail.
The old mill house loomed out of the darkness like a skeletal ghost. Flames were already licking up the wooden siding of the western wing, casting long, writhing shadows across the overgrown yard. Parked right in front of the rotting porch was Vivian’s silver sedan, its trunk wide open.
I pulled the Jeep to a screeching halt, cutting the engine.
“Stay in the car, lock the doors, and keep Dr. Morales on the phone!” I ordered Harper, grabbing a heavy heavy-duty flashlight from my glove compartment.
“Ethan, don’t go in there!” she cried, pressing her face against the glass. “It’s a trap!”
I ignored the warning, sprinting across the gravel driveway as the heat of the fire began to wash over the clearing. The front door of the mill was kicked wide open. Thick, acrid black smoke billowed from the hallway, carrying the unmistakable scent of accelerant—gasoline mixed with old turpentine.
I dropped low, wrapping the collar of my jacket over my nose and mouth, and plunged into the burning building.
“Vivian!” I shouted, coughing as the smoke burned my throat. “Police! Get out of the house!”
A shadow moved through the haze near the back staircase. A woman with wild, unkempt blonde hair turned toward me, her arms loaded with heavy plastic storage bins and ledgers.
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“You’re too late, nurse!” Vivian shrieked over the roaring crackle of the flames eating through the ceiling beams. “Clara built this family on secrets, and I’m burning the foundation down to the dirt!”
She threw a heavy iron ledger directly at my head, missing by inches as it crashed into the wall, before bolting toward the back exit.
