CHAPTER 5
The memory surfaced abruptly, like a fragment of a nightmare.
The cold air of the night forest tickled his lungs. Flashlight beams snatched wet leaves, roots, and scraps of fog from the darkness.
They were moving in a line between the trees, and it seemed to Rick that the pulse pounding in his ears was louder than the snapping twigs beneath their feet.
“Kaaatie!” someone shouted.
The voice echoed through the woods and vanished among the trees. In return — only the rustle of the wind and the distant crack of branches.
They kept shouting, calling her name over and over again. The voices had long since merged into a single chorus. But among them was one voice that made Rick's heart painfully clench every time he heard it.
Aaron's voice.
Raw from shouting. Desperate. Unwilling to fall silent after hours of searching.
Emma walked nearby. She was calling for Katie too, her own voice trembling with tears.
Misty rolled her eyes and muttered,
“Stop crying. I don't think she went far. She's probably just trying to get attention, like always.”
“How can you say that?!” Emma's voice broke. “Katie wouldn't joke about something like this!”
“She would,” Misty snorted. “Now Mark's the one chasing after her instead of the other way around.”
She nodded toward a figure rummaging through the bushes between the trees.
Emma looked at her again.
“You're such an idiot. This isn't funny!”
“I think it is.”
Rick had gripped his flashlight so tightly then that his knuckles turned white.
Somewhere ahead, someone shouted Katie's name again.
Then again.
And again.
The voices grew louder and louder, but the forest remained silent.
Rick felt something cold slowly spreading inside him.
And for the first time, he understood with perfect clarity — they were no longer searching for a girl who had decided to play hide-and-seek.
They were searching for someone who might never answer again.
His fingers tightened around the flashlight.
The beam trembled and swept across the tree trunks.
A foul metallic taste lingered in his mouth. His split lip stung with every breath, but that hardly seemed important anymore.
Something else frightened him far more.
The forest.
This damned forest remained silent.
“Let's split up!” someone shouted ahead.
The group began scattering. Two people turned left, three headed deeper into the woods.
Rick remained where he was, feeling the emptiness growing wider between them.
Cold slid down his spine.
Because he really had known.
He had known about the stupid prank before it happened.
He had known about Misty and Mark's plan.
He had heard their dumb jokes, watched them laugh while imagining Katie's reaction, and simply brushed it off.
«Katie's gonna freak out.» «She'll be scared out of her mind.»
“Let them do whatever they want.”That was what he had said.
And now Katie was nowhere to be found.
The thought hit so hard that Rick stumbled.
Something painfully tightened in his chest, and a chill ran through him.
He had known.
He had known and done nothing.
If only he had said something. If only he had asked them to stop. If only he hadn't waved it away...
“What if it's... because of me?..”
The thought made it difficult to breathe.
Rick instinctively braced a hand against a tree, but his arm gave way.
His fingers slipped across the damp bark, and he slammed his shoulder painfully into the trunk.
The flashlight slipped from his weakening grip and rolled into the leaves, carving a trembling circle of light through the darkness.
His heart hammered somewhere in his throat.
Air stopped entering his lungs properly — instead of breaths, all that came were short, ragged gasps that only made things worse.
The sounds of the forest suddenly crashed down on him from all sides at once.
Every snapping branch, every rustle of leaves sounded unnaturally loud, as though the darkness itself had come alive and was listening.
Rick slowly slid down the trunk and buried his head in his hands.He was shaking. For the first time in his life, panic consumed him completely.
Not fear. Not anxiety.
Terror.
Heavy, sticky, paralyzing.
Somewhere among the trees, his friends were still calling Katie's name, but their voices seemed to come from another world. And Rick sat there in the cold darkness, feeling the last hope that they would find her alive slowly collapsing inside him.
“What are you doing sitting here?”
The hoarse voice came from somewhere off to the side. Rick jerked his head up.
Steve stood in front of him, and beside him was Aaron. Beaten. In the darkness, he looked even grimmer: a dried streak of blood cut across his cheekbone, his lips were split, and the gash over his eyebrow had sealed into a rough scab.
“Leave him alone,” Steve said tiredly.
“I...” Rick parted his lips, but the words stuck.
The air jammed in his throat again, refusing to come out.
“Katie's missing, and you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?” Lake shot back sharply.
His voice faltered — just barely, as though beneath the layer of anger something else was hiding there.
“You knew!”
He took a short step toward him.
“Parker, you knew! Cooper told me you knew! You knew everything and you still kept your mouth shut!”
“I...” He tried to say something — anything — but nothing came out.
Something like disappointment flashed in Lake's pale eyes. Or fear. To this day, Rick wasn't sure.
Maybe he'd imagined it.
Aaron turned sharply away. His shoulders were tense, his fists clenched white, dried blood staining his fingers.
Rick watched him go and only then realized he could breathe again.
As though that ragged voice had finally cut through the noise surrounding him.
Or simply forced him to remember that the world still existed.
“Parker, can you hear me?”
Rick blinked. The sounds of the forest vanished, and he was back at the station.
Lake stood beside him, while Mr. King and his son were walking toward them.
“What?” he asked, his lips dry.
“I said, let's go,” Aaron said, studying him carefully. “To Turner's place.”
He stopped when he noticed how pale Rick had become. For a brief moment, concern slipped into his voice, only to hide again behind its usual reserve.
“You okay?”
“Yeah... Just got lost in thought,” Rick answered quietly, looking away.
For a second, it seemed as though Aaron wanted to ask something else. But he only gave a short nod and headed for the exit.
Adjusting the collar of his jacket, Rick hurried after him, trying not to show how unsettled he felt.
“Detective Lake,” the man greeted them in a low, almost velvety voice that did not fit the cold mask of his face at all.
“Mr. King,” Aaron replied with a brief nod.
“Paaarker!” John drawled with exaggerated cheer, as though greeting an old friend. “Long time no see. Didn't know this department hired just anyone these days.”
“Jealousy doesn't suit you, John,” Rick shot back.
John smirked and stepped forward, but Lake shifted lazily in place, casually blocking his path.
“Need me to remind you where you're supposed to be going?” he said coldly, looking down at John.
Rick blinked in surprise. He had almost forgotten what it felt like when someone took his side.
As though those ten years had never happened, Lake stepped in so quickly that something inside him stirred despite himself.
Strange.
Once, that kind of thing would have infuriated him. Now, for some reason, it didn't.
And at the same time, Rick suddenly felt like that same kid who had just been shielded from a gang of street punks.
An awkward feeling.
John gave a short hum, but his eyes darkened noticeably.
“Oh, come on,” the older King interrupted, glancing between them. “You're bickering like children.”
“Mr. King!” Sheriff Hayes appeared from her office almost immediately. “Good morning. Please, come with me.”
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Michael smiled. “Always a pleasure. I see business is thriving.”
“Ha-ha... yes,” Hayes replied with a strained smile.
“John, let's go.”
Reluctantly, he looked away from Lake.
“We're not finished,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
Then his gaze slid toward Rick and caught on the badge hanging from his neck.
His smile sharpened into something unpleasantly thin.
“By the way, Parker... nice photo.”
A chill ran down Rick's spine. Whether it was the mockery in his voice or the anger written so clearly in his eyes, he couldn't tell.
***
The men stepped out of the car, slamming the doors hard enough for the sound to echo across the vacant lot.
The cold wind chased plastic bags and scraps of newspaper across the ground.
Ahead of them, tucked among piles of rusting scrap metal, sat a lonely trailer. Its peeling walls were streaked with orange rust.
Nimbly weaving through the trash, Parker avoided a length of rebar sticking out of the ground, only to nearly step on a used syringe.
“Watch it.” Lake grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. “Watch where you're stepping.”
“Yeah, I see it...” Rick muttered, though he still nodded, trying not to show how unpleasantly his heart had lurched.
They approached the door. Lake raised a hand and knocked three times.
Not loudly, but with the kind of knock that was impossible to ignore.
“Daniel Turner?” His voice was firm. “Detective Aaron Lake and my partner, Richard Parker. We'd like to ask you a few questions.”
When Lake said my partner, warmth unexpectedly stirred inside Rick.
Completely inappropriate.
He even straightened up a little more than necessary and, despite the disgusting surroundings, the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the hint of a smile.
No answer came. No footsteps. No rustling. Nothing.
“Mind if I try?” Rick asked quietly, leaning closer.
Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly, then nodded.
Parker knocked again, louder this time. When no answer came, he smirked and pulled on the rusty handle. The door opened with a creak.
“I didn't do that, Detective. The door opened itself. You saw it,” Rick said in an overly serious voice, hiding a satisfied smile.
Lake let out a heavy sigh.
“Of course.”
And stepped across the threshold first.
The stale, oppressive air hit them like a solid wall.
Everything was mixed together in it: sour alcohol, the sweet stench of rotting food, the cloying smell of acetone, and rancid mold.
The room itself seemed soaked in filth that clung to the skin and clogged the lungs.
A shapeless heap of rags lay on a couch in the corner.
Whether it was clothing or old blankets, Rick couldn't tell.
Everything had fused into a single filthy mass, burned through by cigarettes and covered in dark stains.
The kitchen table looked as though it had spent years being used for anything but eating.
Syringes, empty vials, scraps of foil, and scorched spoons lay mixed together with garbage and dried food remains.
A mountain of dirty dishes towered in the sink.
That alone was enough.
Parker instinctively covered his nose with his sleeve. The nausea hit immediately, and for a second he genuinely thought he might throw up right there in the doorway.
“God, this place is disgusting,” he grimaced, breathing in the heavy smell of mold, weed, and something rancid that had long since spoiled.
Trash crunched beneath his boots, and he inwardly shuddered, imagining what exactly he had just stepped on.
“Same as always,” Aaron said with a shrug, as though all of this were perfectly ordinary.
Parker glanced at him. Lake looked as composed as ever. Only the tense line of his mouth betrayed that the smell was getting to him too.
Rick found himself wondering how many places like this Aaron had seen in his life if he could look at all of this with near indifference now.
Lake approached the body sprawled across the couch.
The man reeked of sweat and cheap burnt weed.He lay there like a sack of bones, and only the faint rise and fall of his breathing proved he was still alive.
Aaron crouched down and gave him a light shake by the shoulder.
“Wake up.”
“Huh?...” slipped from his cracked lips.
“We need to talk.”
The man mumbled something and tried to sit up, but his hands slipped off the armrest and he slumped back down helplessly.
“I said get up,” Lake repeated, pulling him upright by a bony shoulder, and the man reluctantly opened his eyes.
Now they were looking at a face that resembled a skull more than a living person. The skin stretched tight across his cheekbones, dark hollows sank beneath his eyes, and his gaze wandered somewhere beyond them.
“We have some questions about your girlfriend, Caroline Thompson,” Lake said firmly.
“Who... who even are you?” he rasped. “You... friends of Carrie's, yeah?”
He was looking directly at them, but it was obvious he wasn't really seeing anyone.
Parker grimaced.
“Useless. He's completely out of it.”
“I can see that,” Aaron replied shortly. He crouched in front of the couch. “Turner. Focus. Caroline Thompson is your girlfriend.”
“Caaarrie!” the man suddenly shouted into empty space and broke into a raspy laugh. “You've got visitors!.. Guys, I don't know where her stash is...”
The words tangled together as though he were talking in his sleep.
Rick leaned closer to Lake.
“How long has he been high?” he asked quietly. “He doesn't even know she's dead.”
“Turner.” Aaron's voice turned cold and sharp. “Caroline is dead. We need to know who she was spending time with besides you recently.”
The man blinked in genuine confusion.
“How... dead?”
He frowned, trying to gather his thoughts.
“No, uh... she just... went somewhere... yesterday...”
Rick rubbed a hand over his face.
“She disappeared over a week ago, and you didn't even notice?”
Turner merely waved a hand weakly, as though brushing away an annoying fly.
“Nahhh... guys... you're talking crap. She's probably... with Coop.”
Aaron's expression sharpened immediately.
“Who's Coop?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Everybody knows...” Turner grimaced, trying to hold on to the slipping thought. “Want good stuff cheap? Look for Coop.”
“Who is Coop?” Lake repeated.
“Don't know... never seen him,” Turner muttered, already sinking back into a half-doze. “Carrie... used to hang around him. Just wait... she'll come back herself... tell you...”
“Great. And how exactly are we supposed to find this Coop?” Rick exhaled through clenched teeth, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“We'll find out.”
Aaron was silent for a moment, watching him.
“Turner.”
The man managed to focus his cloudy gaze on him.
“Hm?”
“Look at me.”
Reluctantly, he raised his eyes.
Lake paused briefly.
“You understand what's happening here, right?”
“Huh?” Turner twitched.
“Who do you think we are?”
Turner frowned, struggling to put his thoughts together.
“You... debt collectors?”
“Try again.”
For several seconds, he genuinely thought about it. Then his eyes suddenly widened.
“You’re cops...”
For the first time, real fear entered his voice. Lake gave a faint nod.
“That's right.” He held his gaze. “Now think carefully. You don't want me processing your arrest right now, do you?”
Turner twitched and swallowed nervously. Aaron noticed immediately.
“That's what I thought.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Because I'm looking at you, and I see a man who's going to start crashing before this evening is over.”
Turner looked away.
“I don't know any Coop... I'm telling you, Carrie...”
“You're lying.”
The word came out calm and matter-of-fact, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
For some reason, that was what made Rick feel the trailer suddenly become smaller.
“And you know it yourself.”
“I... I really don't know...”
“Another lie, Daniel.”
Lake said it without irritation. Almost evenly.
“You don't know who he is. But you know who to ask.”
Silence settled over the trailer. Turner flinched again. Now it was impossible not to notice how frightened he really was.
“You have one hour,” Aaron said calmly. “Find someone who knows Coop.”
He paused briefly.
“Otherwise our next conversation will take place at the station.”
“I... I'll ask around...”
“Of course you will.”
“I know people. They might know Coop.”
“There you go. Better already.”
Lake pulled out a business card and placed it into his hand. He didn't let go until Turner clutched the card in whitening fingers.
“You'll call this number the moment you learn anything.”
“Yeah... yeah...”
Aaron finally stood up.
From above, Turner looked even more pathetic — thin, broken, as though he were sinking into the sagging couch.
“And clean this place up,” Lake added dryly.
Turner nodded rapidly.
Aaron didn't add anything else. He simply swept his gaze across the room and headed for the exit.
Parker followed silently.
As he stepped over the trash near the doorway, he glanced back despite himself.
Turner was still sitting on the couch, clutching the business card in trembling fingers.
Fear had finally broken through the narcotic haze in his eyes.
The cold air hit Rick's face so sharply that he only then realized he had barely been breathing the entire time. He took a deep breath, trying to get rid of the stench of mold, stale alcohol, and rot that had seeped into him.
The wind pushed plastic bags and dry grass across the vacant lot. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked again.
“So, you're not going to say anything?” Aaron asked suddenly.
Rick snorted and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“What exactly am I supposed to say? The guy got so scared of you that he might sign up for Narcotics Anonymous now.”
The corner of Lake's mouth twitched faintly.
“Hmph.”
“I'm serious,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I think you overdid it a little.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah. Another minute and he'd have started writing a will.”
“But he talked.”
“He's going to leave town before he tells us anything about this Coop.”
“He won't.”
The calm certainty in his voice made Rick raise an eyebrow.
“Where does all that faith in people come from?”
“It's not faith.”
“Then what is it?”
Lake opened the car door.
“Experience.”
Rick rolled his eyes.
“That's it?”
“What?”
“‘Experience.’”
“Yes.”
“Remarkable. Very informative.”
This time, Aaron actually smiled.
Briefly. Almost imperceptibly. But Rick suddenly fell silent.
For some reason, that brief smile affected him more than anything that had happened inside the trailer.
He quickly looked away, fixing his eyes on the ground, and grabbed the passenger-side door handle.
“Want to grab something to eat?” he asked casually.
For a moment, Lake held his gaze, as though checking whether he was serious.
Then he nodded calmly.
“Sure.”
