Birds chirped from Douglas firs, and nestled in the branches of mighty pines. Winds gently blow across the open space, the leaves which have already fallen are swept up in billowing streams, then settle to the ground.
A blue Hatchback rolls through the overgrown patch of grass, following the crude dirt path. The car finally stops before a chain-link fence, separating the junkyard from the wild forest surrounding it. The four occupants take their time climbing out of the car, observing the tranquil stillness of this forgettable refuge. Overhead and to the north, titanic clouds rolled over the slope of the mountains like a wave, indicating a return to the dreary overcast they'd grown accustomed to.
Bright sunrays were already curtailed, and a certain dimness fell upon the quartet as they walked to the entrance. There was no surveillance, no guard, and no lock to the fence. It seemed that most people chose to simply leave whatever they did not want so that it might be forgotten. This was where material possessions were figuratively lost to time, doomed to rot away into dust.
For dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return. Genesis.
"…is this the place?"
"I don't know of any other junkyard besides this one," Warren answered Juliet's question, "I checked the GPS app on my phone to see if there were others, but no luck."
"This should be it, then," Kate surmised. She wasn't all that interested in having to visit anymore junkyards besides the one. Max did not specify which junkyard it was, assuming there existed others besides this one, but this place gave Kate an ominous certainty. She walked forwards, the others still hesitating.
"Kate, be careful," Juliet called, "We don't know what's in there!"
"D'you think people go to this place any more than they have to?" Dana wondered aloud, "I sure as hell wouldn't—uhm, Warren?"
Heads turned to the sound of metal bumping against metal, as Warren pulled out a shovel from the storage compartment of his Hatchback, closing the trunk thereafter. The girls did not look worriedly upon the shovel because of its presence, but because of its implication.
"…you're not serious, are you?"
Warren was stone-faced, "Better to be safe than sorry. If Max is right about this, then we'll know if we're on the right track."
Worried glances passed between Dana and Juliet, but they said nothing. Kate rested a hand on the strap of her messenger bag, which contained the journal.
Follow the doe to her resting place.
They entered the junkyard. The pathways were narrow, and uneven. One part allowed them to walk abreast of each other, another part forced them into a single-file line. They waded through piles of scrap metal and wood, of rusted husks of vehicles of all kinds. Many times, they glanced at the rotting corpse of a school bus, the yellow paint faded by years of sunlight and rain.
"Hey, guys," Warren pointed to a concrete structure just ahead of them, "let's check that out."
The structure was a small one-room abode, its walls decorated in a rather chaotic manner. One of these walls was layered with exotic articles of cloth; at least, exotic considering the materialistic standard of this junkyard. Above them was a giant hole in the ceiling, the metal rebar still remained, but otherwise couldn't prevent any rain from seeping through and dousing everything inside. Up against the walls opposite of the quartet and on their left, makeshift benches covered with towels faced a small, round wooden table. The table's surface was strewn with empty beer bottles, some takeout from a local restaurant, and of all things, a palette of makeup and polish remover. To the right was an old La-Z-Boy, acting as the centerpiece to the small alcove, a mighty upholstered throne.
It was given the honor of seating the new king, and Warren let out a content sigh at the coziness of the recliner, "Now this is what I'm talking about!"
"Don't get too comfy, there," Juliet chastised him, "There's bound to be some juicy clues hiding around here."
"What makes you think that?"
"'Cause somebody's been here before us," the reporter's hand gestured to the table, "Look at this: takeout, beer bottles, makeup? Someone's using this place."
"I bet it's like a hideout of sorts," Dana walked aimlessly, admiring the chaotic décor, "it's like a home away from home. Although, I don't know why someone would want to be here all the time. It kinda smells."
"I dunno, it ain't that bad," Warren smirked from his throne, "perhaps a desk, and a portable stereo with a pack of batteries, and it might become a worthwhile place to study, if you want to be away from people."
Kate said nothing. Like Dana, she shifted around the enclosed space, and caught onto the small details. There was a dartboard next to the threshold, some darts spread unevenly across the board's surface. Small posters and inscriptions littered the empty space between the tapestry behind the benches.
Silver eyes caught sight of the scribblings underneath a hole in the brick wall, in the corner farthest from the entrance. Curious, Marsh walked over, and read the first blocky inscription:
Chloe was here.
And below that, in gentle handwriting—
Rachel was here.
"…guys."
She hears the shuffle of footsteps, and the curious tone in their voices, "What? What is it, Kate?"
"They've been here," she points, "Look."
"…I wonder how often they come here?" Dana thought aloud, "Must be a decent amount, if this is any indication."
"Keep checking for clues," Juliet called from the benches, though not even a couple seconds after, she would exclaimed, "Well, well, well—look what I've found!"
They gathered around the reporter, and beheld a collage of photos one could find from a photo-booth, and a crumpled letter. The collage showed the two girls in question, acting as if they were close friends—
Kate gasped at the bottom picture, where a tactfully placed hand obscured the girls' faces, which were suggestively facing towards each other, and awfully close at that. Warren couldn't help but whistle in acknowledgement, "Oh, damn. That's…that's interesting—"
He is promptly elbowed in the side by Juliet, the reporter giving him a suspicious glare as she yoinked the photo-slip from his view, "Don't get your pants in a twist. Here, why don't you figure out what the letter says."
Watson hands him the letter, pointedly ignoring the miffed expression on the nerd's face. Yet nevertheless, he and Kate peered over the crumpled piece of paper. Words were written in blue ink, and near the bottom of the page, a great chunk of the passages were blotted out.
…C, You can tell how much I want you to read this letter since I've been dragging my heels trying to give it to you. Maybe I just want you to find it when I'm not around so we never have to talk about it, and I don't want you to hate me. Where to start?
I've…met with somebody recently. They're so different from those Vortex snobs, and I know you'll not approve of him because you think he's gross but I swear that he's better than that. He's kinda scary, but not in a "bad boy" sort of way, he's just been through a lot of shit in his life and I can't help but relate to that. Yes, I'm probably obsessed, so I won't blame you for freaking out on me.
Maybe I know that you were right about me being flimsy when it comes to real love, but I just can't help myself. Maybe, this just has to be my secret to keep. We agreed to be honest with ourselves about who we love and this is me following through with that promise in my own way. I'm sorry.
I hate not sharing this with you, except I know you'd glare daggers into my heart for what I've done. I know you'll do nothing but call me out for my problems, but I'd rather you just let this go…just this once…
"…wait, are we sure that she—that she was…?"
"This ain't right," Warren noted, handing the letter back to Juliet, "If Rachel is—was—in a relationship with Chloe, then this other guy she's mentioned could be some kind of love affair, right?"
"It seems so," Juliet finished reading, folding the letter and stuffing it in her jacket's breast pocket, "It'd be something worth asking Chloe about, that's for sure. A love triangle is never a good thing to be a part of."
They vacate the hideout after a few minutes of searching. Warren was adamant about proving the prophecy's validity, and began his slow, methodical journey digging holes wherever he suspected of finding Rachel's body. For her part, Kate never dissuaded him from choosing his spots and digging to his heart's content, but Juliet and Dana quickly lost faith after the first handful of attempts turned up nothing.
"I hate to be that kind of person, but maybe this isn't the best way of finding Rachel," Juliet nagged him for the tenth time this minute, "Like, surely they wouldn't just pick a spot at random, it'd have to be somewhere deliberate, somewhere that's…not there."
She oh-so-subtly gestures to the current hole Warren attempts, this particular one going as deep as his knees. He's panting from exertion, and each heave of the shovel is straining his muscles and slowing him down. This does not stop him from looking up at her with a sardonic frown.
"Are you saying that to help me," he brushed a hand through his sweaty bangs, "or so you can avoid having to find out?"
"Personally, I would've called it quits the second time around," Watson admitted, "but we've been out here for some time now. If we don't find her soon, then we'll have to come back another day."
"If we come back another day," Dana chimed in. The duo were particularly adamant to get back the Blackwell so as to avoid getting in trouble. Homework did not suddenly disappear once they decided to go about their journey to uncovering the truth.
But Warren would not have it—he turned to Kate for an answer, "Wasn't there any details about the location that Max gave us, anything at all?"
"No, there wasn't," the blonde somberly remarked, "All we know is to follow the doe, for she will guide us to the resting place, and that's it."
The nerd huffed in frustration, "Damn it—there's gotta be something more to that. Maybe it's somewhere specific in this junkyard, somewhere we haven't checked."
"Warren, let's just go," Juliet begged of him, "You're tired, we're tired, everyone's tired. We can always come back, Rachel isn't going anywhere after all. Besides, it's not like Max gave us the best of instructions for finding her—I mean, for all we know she was saying that there'd be some freaking doe, just casually waiting for us to notice it so that it can show us right where Rachel's body is, like come on, that's just ridiculous—"
Watson paused at the bug-eyed look Warren was giving her. She notices Dana and Kate are in much the same manner.
"What? What's wrong?"
They slowly point behind her, and the reporter glances over her shoulder. There, on a pathway leading further into the junkyard not a handful of meters away, a doe watches them curiously. It tilts its head once Juliet notices it, as if to visibly taunt her rambling.
"…oh you have got to be shitting me."
"Did…did anyone hear it walk up to us?" Dana nervously muttered, "'cause I sure as hell didn't."
"I don't think it's moved at all, Dana," Kate whispered, "I think it just…appeared."
Juliet gave Marsh a desperate side glance, "Are you saying this thing's not even real?"
"Guys, why are we whispering?" Warren exasperated, "Last I checked, a doe is harmless to us. We…we shouldn't be afraid of it, it should be more afraid of us."
Despite this fact, none of them dared to move. They understood, by way of its transparency and its shimmering presence, that this was not an ordinary doe. This one carried an essence beyond their comprehension, turning it into an unidentifiable spirit of nature. They had no clue what to expect of it, whether it would leave them be or cast fantastic spells and turn them into the blades of grass poking throughout the mounds of debris in this junkyard.
The doe seemed to understand their hesitation, and slowly turned away from them, its head almost beckoning them to follow after it as it began to walk. Entranced, like moths to a flame, the quartet cautiously followed.
They passed the rotting school bus, through the stack of washing machines and wire spools, around the husk of a red automobile, and into a small clearing. This clearing was surrounded by large neon signs and mangled beams of metal and wood. The debris seemed to be encompassing a clear patch of earth, and the doe took its purposeful stride to be front and center of this figurative stage, as if it were a painted actress that would begin her part in the grand play. The doe circled once, then lowered itself to rest upon the ground, and looked to them expectantly.
They collectively froze when a gust of wind passed through, and seemed to sweep the doe away in a flurry of dead leaves, carrying it up, up, and upwards—to be lost in eternity.
"…there."
Warren gathered his courage, and marched to the patch of earth. The girls followed him, nervous that something may go wrong. Yet, nothing assailed them. It was quiet, save for the rustle of the tree branches as the wind passed through them, and the distant rumble of a brewing thunderstorm.
Then, the spade struck the ground. Then again, and again. Chunks of malleable dirt were flung to the side as Warren dug, his brow pinched in concentration. His eyes were steady as he drove the blade down, then back up, repeating the process like a machine.
Dana and Juliet were a few steps behind him. They had nothing to say. They knew no words of dissuasion would stop him. And they too were morbidly curious, such that they eyed the expanding hole with anxious glares, as if daring the unspeakable to come true.
Kate stood beside them, a hand of hers clasping her crucifix necklace. She pauses on the silent prayer she's reciting when Warren's spade clashes against something, and jerks him from his stable position. The girls edge closer, looking over the boy's shoulder as he crouches down to inspect what he had struck.
There was little to make out amongst the sea of dirt, but they could visualize a shape of sorts. Narrow it was, and coated with a sheen of some substance, as if the dirt had fused with it to create a noticeable discoloration. They all leaned in further to try and get a better look—
Then the smell hit them.
That foul, acrid smell of overbearing rot pierced their nostrils and sent the four recoiling, and the shovel clattered to the ground as they tucked their arms up to block the stench, "Oh, my God—!"
Dana and Juliet backed away, coughing their lungs out, already looking like they would become sick if they stayed a second longer amidst the foul odor. But Warren and Kate had not been deterred as easily, and so they edged towards the source of this rotten smell, and Warren took the shovel and began carving the dirt away from this shape. Soon enough, they spotted something unnatural. A sort of off-white streak, almost shining compared to the darkened earth surrounding it.
They realized it simultaneously, and gasped. It was bone.
They were looking at the narrow length of a bone.
Warren paused his digging, and dropped the shovel. His hands were shaking, and it was clear that this was not because of exertion.
"I…oh my God."
Kate shivered at the realization. Her eyes couldn't stop looking at the identifiable shape of someone's arm, twisted and mangled and laden with the rotten stench of death. The dirt surrounding the arm was caked on like another layer of skin, tainted darker with what could only be rotted tissue. If the two looked close enough, they could see a slight piece of flannel cloth sticking out, discolored and tattered, barely holding together.
"…it's her. It's Rachel."
Warren didn't know what Rachel looked like, and even now could not find any distinguishing features to back up his assertion. Anybody could've worn a flannel, anybody could've been buried here—but he knew. They all knew.
"…holy shit," Juliet finally spoke, "Holy-fucking-shit!"
"How the fuck did Max know she was here?" Dana sputtered, lost in her head, "She—there's no fucking way she could've known, right? There's…there's no way—"
"Kate, can I see the journal again?" Warren asks, reaching a hand out. A few moments thereafter, Marsh hands him the journal, and he peers over the prophecy given to them.
"…I don't like the idea of it," he starts, "but at this point, we've got no reason not to trust Max's words. She's been right about everything, and we still got a ways to go. It'd be best to follow the prophecy, and do what Max tells us to do."
"What about Rachel?" Dana spared a dreadful glance at the freshly dug hole, "Are we just going to leave her there?"
"…we need to tell somebody about this," Watson muttered hysterically, "We have to get the word out. I bet it's got something to do with whoever Rachel was having an affair with, whoever that could be—!"
"…what if it was Nathan?"
Heads turned at Warren's suggestion, "…no way. She wouldn't."
"Okay, maybe not Nathan," Graham agreed with the popular sentiment, "but what if it was someone close to his family? Someone that the Prescotts might have ties to? I mean, it could be anyone in Arcadia—and until we know who exactly it is, we have to assume the worst."
"So…what do we do, then?" Dana muttered. Her hands were clasped together, and she rolled her knuckles nervously.
"We'd have to keep knowledge of this a secret for now," Kate deduced, much to Juliet's chagrin. Warren nods in agreement, "Exactly. Only once we know that the right people will follow through, can we be sure that Rachel's murderer gets what's coming to them."
Dana and Juliet wanted to object, for this wasn't something that could be simply ignored—there exists the terrifying realization that even a girl like Rachel, with her impressive popularity and charisma, could be taken and murdered without so much as a fuss from the town's officials and from the public. Deterrence is important to help keep murderers from following through with their urges to hurt others, and spreading the word was the best method to do so—but Warren's concerns were damning in their own right. The idea of the dynastic hegemon controlling the town and its people being responsible for the spilling of blood is just as probable as a lone perpetrator, in fact even more so. They simply could not risk taking action until they knew for certain what they were exposing, and how much effort it would take to uncover the people responsible.
So, Warren reburied the body, and marked the location with a piece of wood salvaged from the debris surrounding the site. They silently returned to the Hatchback, and began their drive back to Blackwell.
Thunder rolled from the north. The storm sweeps down the coast, approaching the town at a slow and steady pace.