Chapter 9: The Moving

Ray stood motionless, his jaw tightening as he stared at the empty space where Elizabeth had just been. His fingers curled into fists.

Why did she have to do that? Why couldn't she just stay loyal, like she had with Gunther?

A sharp buzz from his phone snapped him out of his rage.

He answered. "Talk."

The voice on the other end was low and urgent. "We've got a problem. The police are onto South Pier."

Ray's grip tightened around the phone. The mole inside the station had been feeding them intel for years, covering up their dirty business and making sure Gunther always walked free. But now, the cops had found a lead.

There was no time to waste.

"They're moving in?" Ray asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah. They'll be there soon."

Ray exhaled sharply and barked into the phone, "Move the girls. Now."

His gaze drifted to Jerry's lifeless body on the floor. The blood had already pooled beneath him, soaking into the wooden planks.

Jerry had made a mistake.

After what Elizabeth had told him, he had started to doubt her. He thought Ray was the good guy. the one trying to stop a dangerous criminal. So he reached out, looking for protection.

But he had been wrong.

Ray crouched down, staring at Jerry's blank, unseeing eyes.

"Thanks for helping," he muttered, then stood up and walked out, stepping over the body like it was nothing.

There was work to do.

****************

Dale pulled up in front of the house where Elizabeth had grown up. It looked abandoned, but something was off.

The front door was open.

His instincts flared. Someone had been here.

He stepped onto the porch, eyes scanning the dirt-smeared footprints leading inside. His hand rested on his gun as he slowly entered.

The house was a mess, furniture overturned, papers scattered, drawers left open like someone had been searching for something. Dale moved cautiously, taking in every detail.

In the kitchen, he stopped.

Dried blood.

It stained the floor, darkened with time. His gaze flicked to the small metal object nearby—the tracker Elizabeth had been forced to carry.

Slipping on a pair of gloves, he picked it up and sealed it in a small Ziplock bag before taking out his phone. Snap. He took pictures of the crime scene, documenting everything.

Upstairs, the sense of intrusion deepened.

Dale pushed open a door and entered Elizabeth's old room. The air was thick with dust, untouched except for one thing, a broken trapdoor. His brow furrowed as he crouched down, examining it. Someone had forced it open.

His attention shifted to a corner, where a worn-out box sat beneath a thin layer of dust. He knelt, pried it open, and let out a slow breath as he sifted through old belongings, small trinkets, faded papers… and a Polaroid photo.

Elizabeth and her sister.

His jaw tightened as he studied the image. Another piece of the puzzle.

Slipping the photo into his pocket, Dale stood up and continued searching.

That's when he noticed it.

A door.

It blended so well into the wall that it was nearly invisible. A hidden entrance.

Dale stepped closer, testing the handle. Locked.

But not for long.

He pulled out his lock-picking tools, working quickly. A faint click echoed in the silent house.

The door creaked open, revealing what lay beyond.

Dale stared at the room's interior, his pulse quickening.

What the hell is this?

The dim light from his phone illuminated the space. It was small, hidden, and yet… it told a story.

He lifted his phone and snapped a few photos. Just then, his screen lit up. Joe was calling.

"What's up?" Dale answered.

"You won't like this, but… this place is empty."

Dale's heart sank. "What?! What do you mean empty?"

"They must have known we were coming. It looks like they cleared out not too long ago."

Dale clenched his jaw. Damn it.

"Scout the area. Any CCTV footage we can pull?"

"This place is pretty remote," Joe replied. "We checked, nothing recorded. Feeds were wiped. But some of our men are tracking the tire marks leading out of here."

Dale sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. They were always one step ahead.

"I'll meet you back at the station," he said. "I just found something crazy."

He took one last look around the eerie room before turning toward the door. That's when he noticed it.

The back door was open.

Dale's instincts flared. He moved toward it cautiously, stepping outside into the cold air.

Footprints.

The dirt path showed fresh imprints, several sets of tracks. Heavy boots. Able-bodied men.

They had been here. Recently.

Dale knelt down, studying the prints, then slowly followed them, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun. Where did they lead?

Dale followed the footprints cautiously, his hand resting on his holster. The tracks led him through the dense woods, twisting and turning, until he spotted something ahead, a cabin nestled between the trees.

He stopped a few feet away, taking in the scene. Tire tracks. Fresh ones. A car had definitely been here recently.

Who else was involved in this mess?

His eyes narrowed as he noticed the front door slightly ajar.

Dale let out a frustrated sigh, adjusting his grip on his gun. "Why are their damn doors always open?"

He moved closer, stepping onto the wooden porch. The boards creaked under his weight. Carefully, he pushed the door open.

Then he froze.

Jerry.

The lifeless body lay sprawled across the floor, a pool of dried blood staining the wooden planks beneath him.

Dale's stomach twisted.

He stepped forward cautiously, scanning the room for any signs of movement. Nothing. The place was eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of trees outside.

Holstering his gun, he knelt beside Jerry's body. His skin was cold. Stiffness had already begun to set in.

He hadn't been dead long.

A single gunshot wound to the chest. Execution style.

Dale exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. Another body. Another damn body.

He glanced around. The cabin was a mess, drawers flung open, papers scattered across the floor. Whoever had been here last wasn't just killing people. They were searching for something.

But what?

Dale pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Chief, it's Dale."

"What is it?"

"Another body. A man, Shot in the chest. I'll send my location to you."

Silence. Then the chief cursed under his breath.

"Damn it. I'll send forensics. Don't touch anything."

Dale stood, pacing the room as he took in every detail. Something wasn't right.

Why was Jerry here?

Why was he killed?

Dale moved through the house, checking each room until he found the one Elizabeth had slept in. The bed was in disarray, the sheets tangled and partially hanging off the edge. As he scanned the room, something caught his eye…strands of hairon the pillow.

He crouched down, carefully picking them up and examining them closely. This could be a crucial lead. Whatever had happened here, Elizabeth had been right in the middle of it.

Slipping the strands into an evidence bag, Dale took another look around. There had to be more.