“THE DAMPFIELD SNARES”

“Roots”

CHAPTER 1

The silence by the lake was broken only by the rustle of wet yellow leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

The ground still smelled of dampness after the rain, and a thin, chilly mist drifted over the lake’s dark surface.

The young woman stopped to catch her breath after her run, bracing her hands against her knees and greedily drawing in air.

At this time of year, almost no one came to Three Maples Lake. The locals avoided it whenever they could, and tourists wandered here even less often.

That was probably why she liked it so much.

She straightened up, adjusted the hair tie that had slipped loose, and pulled out her phone. For a few seconds, she simply looked at the lake through the camera, wondering whether it was even worth taking a picture. Then she smirked to herself and turned the phone around.

Why not.

New workout clothes, a morning run, a beautiful backdrop - why not?

She raised the phone a little higher, searching for a better angle, snapped several photos in a row, and was about to slip it back into her pocket when something in one of the pictures made her freeze.

The smile slowly faded from her face.

Frowning, she zoomed in on the image with her fingers.

Right by the shore, in the murky water, there was something dark.

At first, she thought it was just a plastic bag or a log. Then she wondered if someone had dumped a mannequin.

She zoomed in even further.

Only then did she realize she was looking at hair. Wet hair, plastered against pale, bloated skin.
Something tightened in her chest.

For several seconds, she simply stared at the screen, as though her mind refused to assemble what she was seeing into a coherent picture.

No.

That can’t be.

Her fingers trembled, and the phone nearly slipped from her hands. The wind still lazily swayed the half-bare branches of the trees, but now every sound echoed in her head as if in slow motion.

Very slowly, she lifted her gaze from the phone and turned toward the lake.

The dark water along the shore rippled faintly, rocking withered leaves and thin branches. And among them, there really were two human heads.

Empty, mutilated eye sockets stared directly at her.

Only then did her scream cut through the forest.

***

A dark blue car rolled onto the spacious parking lot outside the police station with a disgruntled groan. The engine rattled quietly for a few moments before finally falling silent, and the man behind the wheel let out a heavy breath and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

Finally made it.

After several hours on the road, his entire body ached unpleasantly: his knees throbbed, his lower back protested, and a dull pulse beat in his temples from too little sleep and endless miles behind the wheel.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, beneath that familiar exhaustion, there lingered a strange sense of relief, as though after all these years and thousands of attempts to lose himself, he had finally stopped running from who he was.

At least for a little while.

Rick slowly climbed out of the car, straightened his back with a quiet hiss, and looked around.

In ten years, Dampfield had hardly changed.

The same damp scent of rain and wet leaves, the same old streetlamps, the same gray streets he had once wanted to leave behind as fast as possible and never return to.

And yet something twisted unpleasantly inside him.

He had never considered this place home. Too much had been left behind here—things he had spent years trying not to think about, people he had never quite managed to forget, and memories that still clung somewhere beneath his ribs with a dull, familiar ache.

Ironic.

In the end, life had dragged him right back here anyway, to this God-forsaken little town, as if it had decided to have another laugh at his expense.

Rick let out a quiet chuckle under his breath and lifted his gaze to the police station.

It, too, had barely changed over the years.

The same two-story block of darkened brick, patches of peeling plaster, the same old spruce by the entrance, its heavy branches hanging directly over the porch as though it, too, had grown tired of the endless damp.

Well then.

The attempt to start over is officially underway.

Rick was just about to finally head inside when someone suddenly called out to him.

“Good afternoon! You’re Richard Parker, right?”

He turned around.
A young man of about twenty with black hair and an expression that was far too open, almost puppy-like, was striding toward him.

“Sorry, my grandmother forgot to tell me you’d be stopping by for the keys today,” he said with a slightly awkward smile. “I was supposed to meet you.”

Rick absently brushed the wavy chestnut strands, tousled by the long drive, away from his forehead and lifted his tired gaze of warm brown eyes to him.

“Yeah. But just Rick is fine.”

“Right, yeah...” the young man immediately caught himself and hurriedly held out his hand. “I’m William Su Hong. Though everyone calls me Billy. I’m an intern here.”

He said it with such genuine pride that Rick couldn’t help smiling.

Billy’s handshake was surprisingly firm despite his slight build.

“Well then, Intern Billy, nice to meet you.”

“Come on, I’ll give you the keys. I think I left them on my desk...” he said quickly, already heading toward the entrance. “And it’s about to start raining again. Better get inside.”

He spoke with a slight nervous energy, as if he was afraid of an awkward silence.

Rick followed at an unhurried pace.

“You don’t mind if I come in with you?” he asked, more out of politeness than anything else.

“What? Of course not!” Billy immediately glanced back over his shoulder. “Everyone here is normal. Well... mostly.”

Rick let out a quiet huff.

That sounded a lot more honest.

“Dampfield’s a small town,” Billy continued, holding the door open for him. “Everyone finds out pretty quickly when somebody new shows up.”

«Wonderful» - Rick thought grimly. But he didn’t say anything out loud.

Inside, the place smelled of old wood, paperwork, and terrible coffee.

Rick grimaced automatically.

The police station turned out to be exactly as he remembered it—noisy, slightly cramped, and buried under so many folders that paperwork seemed to have defeated crime a long time ago.

The desks were separated by low partitions. Wanted notices, old announcements, and yellowed duty schedules hung on the walls, while somewhere deeper inside the station an old printer hummed quietly.

At the reception desk, a plump woman with an openly bored expression was listening to an elderly lady’s complaints, occasionally glancing at the clock.

The moment she noticed Billy and Rick, she immediately perked up.

“Please fill out a report,” she said brightly, handing the old woman a form, then added in a quieter voice, “And preferably without the stories about Satanists in the parking lot.”

“Mrs. Hunter is here again?” Billy asked in surprise.

“When isn’t she?” the woman snorted.

The old lady pursed her lips in offense and muttered something under her breath, while Maria had already turned back to them.

“Today she saw ‘black silhouettes’ near the highway,” she informed them with the expression of someone discussing the weather.

“After the little green men, that’s still pretty normal,” Billy nodded seriously.

The corners of Rick’s mouth twitched into a faint smile.

“Wait, you’ve had UFOs too?”

“Oh, you have no idea how much we’ve had,” the woman replied wearily. “Welcome to Dampfield.”

She adjusted her round glasses and finally took a proper look at him.

“Maria de Sanchez. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re Mrs. Hong’s new tenant?”

“That makes it sound like the whole town already knows about me,” Rick said with a crooked smile. “But yeah. Rick Parker.”

“News travels faster than the internet around here,” Maria remarked.

“I’ll go find the keys!” Billy waved hurriedly and almost immediately disappeared between the partitions.

Rick followed him with a lazy glance.

“Energetic kid.”

“He still hasn’t figured out where he got himself hired,” Maria observed dryly.

Rick merely let out a quiet huff. Meanwhile, Maria was already busy with an old coffee machine in the corner behind the desk.

“By the way, want some coffee?” she asked over her shoulder. “It’s terrible, but it usually helps after a long drive.”

“Sounds promising,” Rick said with a faint grin. “Sure.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“If the coffee really is that bad, I’d better take everything.”

The woman snorted under her breath and reached for a stack of plastic cups.
Rick leaned wearily against the counter and absently picked up a form lying nearby. His eyes skimmed over the lines without really reading them—a property damage report, a noise complaint, numbers, signatures.

The usual paperwork routine.

Somewhere deeper inside the station, the printer hummed again. A door slammed. Quiet footsteps echoed nearby.

And at that exact moment, Rick suddenly froze.

He realized someone was standing behind him.

Too close.

Almost immediately, a familiar scent washed over him—green tea, pine, something faintly citrusy and fresh, achingly familiar, reminding him of warm skin after a shower and someone's breath close enough to touch.

His breath caught at once.

His heart lurched so hard it almost hurt.

No, no... that's impossible. Not here.

His fingers tightened involuntarily around the edge of the counter, and tension slowly ran down his spine, making his chest constrict unpleasantly.

His body recognized him before his mind had a chance to react.

And that was the worst part.

Because in ten years, Rick had never managed to forget how Aaron Lake smelled.

No amount of cigarettes, other people's cologne, random girls, alcohol, or endless attempts to burn him out of his memory had ever managed to erase it.

One breath—and something he had thought he'd buried long ago came painfully tight inside him again.

“Good afternoon, Detective Lake!” Maria brightened.

The world tilted.

That was probably why Rick didn't immediately understand how he'd ended up outside the station. The drizzle had already grown heavier, cold drops settling quickly in his hair and slipping beneath the collar of his jacket, but he still crossed the parking lot at almost a run, without looking back and trying not to think about anything.

He wanted to get away.
Fast.

He yanked open the car door, dropped heavily into the driver's seat, and shoved the key into the ignition with trembling fingers.

The engine shuddered, let out an unpleasant grinding noise, and immediately died.

“Shit...” he exhaled, turning the key again.

Nothing.

Only thin streams of rainwater slid down the windshield, blurring the gray outline of the station ahead.

And in that sudden silence, something inside him cracked sharply.

The air suddenly felt thick and heavy. Rick sucked it in through his mouth, but the breath still caught somewhere in his chest, as though his lungs had suddenly forgotten how to work properly. His heart slammed too hard, painfully, so hard that his vision darkened for a second, then started racing even faster, pounding dully in his temples.

His fingers began to go numb.

He gripped the steering wheel harder, feeling the painfully familiar panic slowly rising inside him.

A frightened girl's face flashed before his eyes with sudden clarity. A dark forest. Someone shouting in the distance. Branches snapping underfoot. And that horrible sense of helplessness he had lived with all these years.

If only he had said something back then. Stopped them. If only he hadn't been a coward.

It felt as though his chest had been caught in an iron vise. His heart hammered so hard it seemed ready to break through his ribs from the inside.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead heavily against the steering wheel, trying to steady his breathing.

Inhale.
One more.

But that night kept rising before his eyes anyway—the dampness, the fear, and the maddening weight of guilt.

And at that exact moment, someone knocked on the window.

The unexpected sound made him flinch, and he jerked his head up.
The panic was still ringing unpleasantly beneath his ribs, but the world was finally beginning to come back into focus.

He was standing outside the car.

For a second, Rick simply froze.

Tall. Still just as tall—nearly a head taller than him. His long black hair was still gathered into a low bun, with soft strands escaping around his cheekbones, and his pale skin and sharp features made him painfully familiar even after ten years.

Only his gaze was different. Colder. Older. And somehow too calm.

Aaron had one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and in the other he was holding Rick's apartment keys.

Rick swallowed hard and finally stepped out of the car.

“Hey, Lake...” His voice betrayed him, coming out rough. “Long time no see.”

He nervously ran a hand through his wet hair and reached for the keys, but for some reason Aaron didn't release them right away.

Gray-blue eyes traveled carefully over his face.

As if he could see it all—the uneven breathing, the trembling hands, the dilated pupils, and the entirety of this pathetic state.

Suddenly, Rick hated with startling intensity how easily Aaron could still read him.

After a moment's hesitation, Aaron finally let go of the keys.

“Do you need help?” he asked, and somehow that only made everything worse.
“No, I'm fine,” Rick replied too quickly, tightening his grip around the keys. “The car acts up sometimes. It'll start.”

He tried to smile, but it came out crooked and tired.

The rain continued drumming softly against the puddles, tangling in his hair. Cars hummed somewhere in the distance. Rick noticed none of it.

Aaron raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I see,” he said quietly.

And somehow, that «I see» sounded very much like he hadn't believed him for even a second.

***

They drove in silence for a while.

Wet pines and maples drifted slowly past the windows. The asphalt gleamed after the rain, and the windshield wipers moved steadily across the glass, wiping away thin trails of water again and again.

Rick sat turned toward the window, absently spinning the keychain around his fingers.

His entire life now really did fit into a single duffel bag on the back seat, and for some reason the thought felt both ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and let his gaze wander lazily around the car. Then, before he realized it, he found himself looking at Aaron again, only to meet his eyes almost immediately.

He turned back to the window at once, pretending to be suddenly interested in the view outside, though in reality Lake was still standing before his eyes—almost unchanged after all these years, except perhaps broader in the shoulders and somehow even more brooding.

The silence in the car was slowly beginning to get on his nerves, and eventually he couldn't take it anymore and reached for the radio.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked calmly, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Turning on some music,” Rick replied lazily.

“Don't.”

“Why?”

“It distracts me.”

Rick didn't answer. He only sank a little deeper into his seat, his gaze sliding over the rain-soaked streets beyond the glass. The forest along the road was gradually giving way to familiar sights—wet storefronts, gray houses, and the occasional pedestrian beneath an umbrella—and Rick kept catching himself growing more and more uneasy from the silence.

That was probably why he didn't immediately notice when music quietly began playing through the speakers anyway.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he couldn't help glancing at Aaron again. He was still watching the road as calmly as before, as though nothing unusual had happened, but for some reason it suddenly made something warm stir inside Rick.

“So... police,” he exhaled. “A detective now?”

Lake gave a short nod without taking his eyes off the road.

“Mm.”

“For long?”

“A few years.”

“Wow.” Rick let out a quiet chuckle. “Never thought you'd stay here.”

For a while, Rick simply stared at the dark interior of the car in silence. Then he absentmindedly reached for the glove compartment and opened it with a soft click.

Among some papers, receipts, and assorted clutter, his eyes almost immediately landed on a neatly placed black handgun, and right beside it he unexpectedly found a familiar red package of cookies.


Rick froze in surprise.

“With chocolate chips...” he murmured, almost in disbelief, then immediately laughed under his breath. “Seriously?”

His stomach tightened unpleasantly with hunger.

“I'm taking one, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he had already pulled the cookies from the package and bitten off half of one.

The sweet taste of chocolate and buttery shortbread melted on his tongue at once, and Rick nearly closed his eyes in bliss.

God...He'd forgotten just how good they were.

“I thought you didn't like sweets at all,” Rick said, pulling out another cookie. “Then why do you have these?”

Aaron didn't answer, continuing to watch the road ahead, and Rick only shot him a thoughtful glance as he chewed.

“Fine, then...” he muttered. “Maybe there's something you want to ask me?”

“No,” Aaron replied shortly, without even turning his head.

Rick raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Seriously? Nothing at all?”

“I don't want to.”

For several seconds, Rick looked at him in silence. Then he let out a quiet huff under his breath, as if he had suddenly made up his mind about something.

“Then I'll tell you myself.”

“Why?” Aaron frowned almost imperceptibly.

“Well...” Rick shrugged and turned his gaze back to the window. “We were friends, weren't we?”

For a few seconds, something heavy hung between them, almost tangible.
Then Aaron finally looked at him.

“No,” he said calmly. “We weren't.”

Something scraped unpleasantly inside him, but Rick only tightened his grip on the package of cookies and shrugged, as though it meant absolutely nothing.

“Okay. If you say so.”

The sharp crackle of the radio tore through the tension hanging between them. Aaron reached for it almost immediately, and Rick couldn't help noticing the way his jaw tightened and his fingers closed more firmly around the steering wheel.

“Detective Lake. Do you copy?”

The sheriff's voice came through the static, muffled and uneasy, while the rain-soaked streets of Dampfield continued drifting past outside the windows.

“I'm here,” Aaron replied evenly.

“Three Maples Lake. Get there now.”

Lake frowned almost imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving the road.

“What happened?”

For a second, there was only the quiet hiss of static from the radio. Then the sheriff spoke, brief and direct.

“We've got two bodies.”

After those words, the inside of the car seemed to shrink, and the steady whisper of tires over wet asphalt suddenly became painfully loud. Rick felt tension tighten unpleasantly beneath his ribs, while Aaron silently adjusted his grip on the wheel.

“Copy that,” he replied after a brief pause, his voice steady. “I'm on my way.”

The click of the radio disconnecting sounded especially sharp in the silence of the car...