AN: This is my first go at writing fic, so feed back is appreciated. I started in on this last winter after coming across a photo of a little, blue cabin on the internet that was titled "Cabot Cabin." It gave me the idea for this story, or at least the beginnings of it.
AN2: I don't own the characters, unfortunately. They belong to Dick Wolf.
"Falling temperatures and high winds will accompany 20-24 inches of snow over night in the White Mountains. Expect heavy drifting and road closures. Subzero temperatures will persist into next week and more snow is likely..."
Olivia clicked off the radio, glad that she'd be headed home for the weekend in less than an hour. With any luck people would heed the winter storm warnings and stay put for a few days. Not that many people wintered in this section of New Hampshire. Summer and fall were the busy seasons, when she and her fellow rangers were overworked thanks to ill-prepared hikers on the Appalachian Trail.
Having finished the last of her reports, Olivia tidied her desk, pulled on her coat and grabbed her broad-brimmed hat as she knocked on her boss' door.
"Hey, Don, I'm headed out. I'll see you next week."
"Oh Liv! I'm glad you're still here. I know you're off duty, but can you swing up north on your way home? John's tied up with a moose-meets-motor-vehicle accident and is behind on his rounds. I wouldn't ask, but this storm is coming in so quickly."
"Sure thing. It's not like I've got any reason to rush home."
"Thanks. It shouldn't take you too long. The Johnson's and Old Ned should be just fine. And I think that writer up in the Cabot cabin said she was heading back to Boston this week."
Pushing back from her desk, Alex took her glasses off and rolled her shoulders. It was growing dark in the cabin; somehow the afternoon had gotten away from her, and yet she felt like she had made no progress at all. Maybe she should have stuck with historical fiction, she was good at that. But trying to pull apart the threads of an 11 year old boy's death after almost a century, having to limit her story to the facts, rather than being able to manufacture them, well, it was harder than she had expected it to be. Of course it didn't help that she had this nagging suspicion that she was missing some important piece of information.
Shaking the thought from her head, Alex put her glasses back on and got up to turn on some lights. It had gotten chilly and Alex glanced out the window, debating whether she should go out and get some firewood before it got too dark. The wind had picked up some and a few snowflakes were starting to fall. It looked like that storm was coming in faster than the morning weather forecast had predicted. Some extra firewood was probably a good idea.
Alex bundled herself up in her coat and an old scarf she had found in the trunk of her car. She paused as she put her hand on the doorknob. She was being silly. Despite the fact that she was 33 year old woman, she still felt the twinges of the irrational fear of bears she'd had as a child. It probably didn't help that her grandfather had told her such vivid stories when she was a child. Especially the stories about shape shifters that appeared as bears and wolves, abducting little girls like her who misbehaved.
"Snap out of it Cabot," Alex said to herself. "Nobody's going to get you wood for you. Just go get it and you can have a glass of wine." Opening the door, she stepped out into the cold.
