Chapter One

I shove the last of my clothes into my battered old duffel bag and zip it up with a sigh. This is happening- I’m going to track down Hunter Graham, the famous author who vanished without a trace some months ago. My roommate and also my only friend, Jenna, leans against the doorframe of my small bedroom, arms crossed as she watches me pack with a skeptical look. 

“I still think this is a crazy idea, you know," she says. I roll my eyes as I toss my toiletries into another bag. 

“You’ve said that about fifty times already, Jenna. But I have to do this." She pushes off the doorframe and comes further into the room. 

“So you’re still going through with this crazy plan?" I give her a small smile. 

“When have you known me to back down from a story?" She walks over and perched at the edge of my unmade bed.

“I don’t get why you’re doing this, honestly."

I sight. “I’m sure we’ve been over this before Jess. I have to impress my boss. And tell me, what better way to do that than finding a missing bestselling author?"

She scoffs “Yeah, chasing an exclusive author through who knows where. I’m sure that will impress your boss," she says dryly. I shoot her a look. 

“It shows initiative. It shows creativity. That I’m willing to go above and beyond for a story. They want someone passionate…"

“Or they need someone with common sense," she retorts. 

“Why can’t you just write a normal story like everyone else, with fictional characters?"

“Because I want something exciting. Something no one else will have thought of," I argue stubbornly.

“Think about it- a front-page story about how the whereabouts of Hunter Graham. Don’t you see how perfectly this story writes itself? Barbara would have to keep me. It would be career-making."

Jenna plops down on my bed with a worried frown.

“Well, following a missing author into the unknown seems like a terrible way to start your career. Besides, have you considered that Hunter Graham might have wanted to disappear? People go off the grid for a reason sometimes, Elsie. What makes you think that he’ll want to be found?"

I pause as I think of the right answer to her question. 

“That’s possible I guess, but I still need to be sure that solitude is the reason why he disappeared.” Jenna sighs.

“Look, I get you want this job so bad but you don’t know what’s going on. For all we know, this dude could be at the bottom of a river somewhere. Do you want to end up like one of the cases we watch on those crime TV shows?" I shudder at the thought. As much as I love solving crime cases, I have no desire to become one. 

“Or… it could be something else. What if something happened and he became depressed? Then he decided to just let it go and disappear. Maybe he just needs help."

I turn to face her. 

“I know this is insane, but I have to try Jenna. I need to know what has happened to him and for me to know that, I have to find him."

“Except for the fact that he doesn’t want to be found!" Jenna exclaims. 

“Look, I’m worried about you. Do you think you drive to some random town and expect to locate one man who doesn’t want to be looked for? This isn’t those novels you read Elsie. Real life isn’t that simple. Do you think that it’s a coincidence he disappeared without a trace? People don’t just do that Elsie, except they don’t want to be found."

I nod slowly.

“I know, but something just doesn’t add up about this whole thing. It was so abrupt right after releasing the first half of his duet series. Fans were desperate for the release of the second book and then suddenly, nothing. No social media posts, phone calls were unanswered and then, his house was found empty when the cops did a welfare check. It’s like he vanished into thin air!"

“And you think you, an intern, are going to find out what happened when the cops couldn’t?" Jenna says as she gives me a look of disbelief. I meet her gaze steadily. “The cops didn’t have me, his biggest fan looking into it. I know his work better than anyone, I’ve read every one of his books. I’m sure there’s something they are missing."

Jenna throws her hands up in exasperation. 

“ or you’re losing your mind. Now, you know more than the cops, come on."

When I don’t say anything, she runs a hand through her hair in frustration.

“Elsie, please be rational. This is crazy and unsafe." 

I know she has a point but I’m determined. 

“I know it is. But this is the only story idea I have that could save me a spot when I’m done with my internship at Barbara’s editorial firm, which is just a month away. Wouldn’t you take a chance if it was your career on the line?"

She shakes her head almost immediately.

“No. I wouldn’t do something as stupid as this. Do you even have any idea where to start? Any real clues besides a hunch and your overactive imagination? I mean, this man could be anywhere in the world. For all we know, he could be off on some tropical island sipping mai tais as we speak." I pause, considering her question.

“Well, there’s this place he made mention of during his last interview before his disappearance. He called it his haven. He said that he’ll go live there when he retires and stops writing. He didn’t give out this place’s specific location but he did say that it’s somewhere in Cleveland. That’s where I’ll begin my search."

She nods, her brows furrowed in thought. 

“Okay, that makes sense. But, what if he isn’t there?. What if he’s somewhere else? What next?"

I chew on my lower lip, feeling a twinge of uncertainty. 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. That’s the only lead I have. I’m just going to check this place out. If I don’t find anything, I’ll come home. I promise."

Jenna sighs as she stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she stands.

“I know I can’t talk you out of this, right?" She asks a hint of resignation in her voice. I shake my head as a small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. 

“No, you can’t. This is something I have to do, Jenna. I hope you can understand." She pulls me into a tight and I feel the tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? And even if you don’t find him, please just come home. We’ll find you another story. Don’t go wandering around, looking for something that shouldn’t be found. I won’t survive if something bad happens to you." I nod, my tears spilling over as I hold onto her." 

“I’ll be careful, I promise. And I’ll come home, no matter what happens."

“Good. Take this," she says as she pulls away and hands me a can of pepper spray. “For any creepy stalker you may encounter." I smile as I tuck it into my bag. 

“I know I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. Please be careful out there, okay?" She says, her eyes glistening with mushed tears.

“And don’t forget to call me as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting to hear from you."

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. 

“I will Jenna, I promise."

I give her another hug, then I grab my bag and hurry out to my car. I load my bag into the driver’s seat of my old Honda Civic and slide into the driver’s seat. As I turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputters and creaks as it always does.

“Come on Betty, don’t give out on me now," I plead as I turn the key again.

With a reluctant groan, she finally tumbles to life with a loud coughing sound. I breathe a sigh of relief, patting the steering wheel affectionately. 

“Good girl."

No, the smoothest ride, but she’s gotten me where I need to go for the past four years. A small cloud of smoke puffs from the exhaust pipe. I roll down the windows to let the fumes escape and turn up the radio, tapping my fingers along the beat of some classic rock song. As Betty’s engine settles into its usual rough idle, with a final wave to Jenna who’s watching from the porch, I shift gears and pull out onto the empty road leading away from town. Betty rattles as cornfields and wildflowers pass by in a blur of color. A feeling of excitement and nervousness grows in my stomach. What if I don’t find him? Or worse, what if I actually find him but he turns me away and refuses to give me the story I so desperately need? I shove those thoughts away. I’ve come this far already, I really can’t give up now. I focus on the music flowing through the speakers and try to let go of every thought as I drive through the open road, the familiar landscape of rolling hills and fields stretches out before me. The wipers on Betty squeak as they frantically clear the growing layer of snow from the windshield. The weather is taking a turn for the worse as dark clouds roll in overhead. The news reports had warned that there was a massive blizzard on its way, set to dump several feet of snow in the next couple of days. I need to make it to Cleveland and back home before the storm hits. As the hours tick by, the scenery around becomes increasingly desolate. The small country roads are lined with abandoned buildings, their windows boarded up and their paint peeling. An eerie silence hangs in the air, broken only by the occasional flutter of a loose shutter or the crunch of Betty’s tires on the freshly fallen snow. Finally, faded road signs signal my arrival to Cleveland. If you can even call it a town, it’s a little more than a bend in the road with a post office and a scattering of run-down houses. The sun is low in the sky as I cruise slowly down a winding two-lane road, scanning for any sign of life. Who in their right mind would choose to live way out here? I wonder. A writer looking to lose himself in solitude, that’s who. It’s easy to see why Hunter Graham would find solace in such a secluded environment- there’s a heavy stillness here that feels like moles removed from the noise and crowds of the city. Soon, in the distance, I spot what seems to be a grocery store or at least, the remnants of one. Pulling into the cracked and overgrown parking lot, I park my car and step out, taking the eerie sight before me. The storefront is partially boarded up, the faded lettering on the sign barely legible. Weeds have taken over the once-nearly landscaped flowerbeds, and trash litter the ground around the entrance. The building is silent, save for the occasional creak of its weathered frame and the distant call of a bird. I walk through the freshly fallen snow towards the store’s entrance. The wind whips at my face, my eyes stinging but I press on. As I step inside, a little bell jingles above the door, announcing my arrival.

An old radio plays scratchy polka from somewhere in the back. The interior of the grocery store is barely larger than a walk-in closet, but towering shelves are crammed floor to ceiling with canned goods, most bearing labels several decades out of date. A grizzled tomcat dozed on a radiator beneath the crowded front windows. Other than that, there’s no one else.

“Hello?" I call out, my voice echoing through the room.

“Is anyone here?".

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then a small shuffling sound comes from behind a towering stack of canned soups. An elderly woman emerges, moving with care as if her joints ache with every step. Her silver hair is pulled back in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Bright eyes peer at me from beneath heavy brows, curiosity and caution warring within their depths. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m wondering if you can help me." Reaching into my back pocket, I retrieve my phone and pull up a photo of Hunter I found in an online article. 

“Have you seen this man around?"

She takes the phone from me, holding it close to peer at the small screen through thin-framed lenses. For a long moment, she studies the image in silence before returning the phone to me with a nod. 

“Si, he comes every Wednesday. For provisions."

My heart leaps. An actual lead! 

“Was he here this past Wednesday, do you know?"

A brief frown creases her brows as she thinks back.

“Si, I think so. He got eggs, milk, bread. Simple things."

Then her gaze grows more skeptical, sizing me up warily.

“Why are looking for him?" I hesitate. I know I have to choose my next words carefully if I want to gain her trust and cooperation. Placing my hands palm down on the counter between us in a gesture of openness, I say slowly,

“My name is Elsie. I’m a writer, doing a profile on Mr Hunter for an independent magazine. It’s just an interview. I promise I mean no harm. I just need to find him and talk to him. Please, do you by chance know where he stays? Or do you know the direction he heads after leaving?"

She eyes my hands on the counter for a long time before responding.

“I don’t know where he stays, but he takes the road by the right from here. He follows it a few miles, then takes the right again. That’s all I can say. But I’m sure the house isn’t hard to find. It’s the only one around here. Do you follow that, si? And when you find him, don’t say Rosita sent you, capisce?"

I smile warmly.

“Thank you so much, ma’am."

The lead she has given me isn’t it, but it would have to do. So I head back to Betty and start her up. Her engine rumbles and I drive out of the store’s driveway, into the road. Following the directions Rosita gave, I continued my journey down the lonely roads. The gravel roads seem to stretch on forever as darkness begins to fall around me. Betty’s headlights cut feeble beams through the thick pine trees lining the road, barely illuminating the way ahead. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly 6 pm. I’ve been driving for hours in this lonely stretch of forest. I wonder how long more I need to drive before I get to Hunter’s place. Soon, I begin to doubt Rosita’s directions. What if she had given me the wrong directions? Someone her age may not be so good at recalling things after all. She may even have Dementia or Alzheimer's. It’s even very possible that she may not know who Hunter Graham is but thought that she did. I’ve been driving for hours and I’ve not come across any houses. What are the chances that I’d find anyone at all out here? My phone only has one bar of reception out here, not that there’s anyone to call. I wouldn’t want to call Jenna and get her worried. I just have to figure this out myself. Just as my eyes begin to droop with exhaustion, I spot a narrow gap in the trees up ahead. Hoping it’s a side road that might lead to what I hope it will, I steer Betty towards it only to find the way blocked by an overgrown thicket of brambles and branches. My heart sinks as I twist the key in the ignition, silencing the engine with a cough of spent fuel. I’m alone in nowhere, stranded with no means of escape. Gravel crunch underfoot as I climb from the car, locking it instinctively though there’s no one for miles to see. Taking a deep breath of the cold pine-scented air, I gaze down the long empty road stretched behind me. There’s nothing to do but walk for shelter or a stranger who’s willing to help. Time seems to drag on as I put one foot in front of the other down the gravel lane. Only the hushed rustlings of nocturnal creatures break the heavy silence pressing in from all sides. My footsteps echo dully, my only companion on the lonely trail. I have no idea how long I’ve been walking when the beam of my phone’s flashlight flutters across something in the distance up ahead. Squinting, I focus my fading light and make out the faint outlines of a small wooden structure nestled in a clearing amidst the trees. Renewed energy surges through my tired legs as I quicken my pace, my breath coming fast in clouds before me in the chilly night air. I rush over to the front door, heart pounding hard, only to find the doors securely locked. I try peering in the windows, but the thick curtains block any view inside. Walking around the side, I discover the sliding glass door was also securely locked. It seems my only choice was to break in, which I don’t want to do. Disappointed, I turn to head back to where I came from when a sudden noise makes me freeze in my tracks. The sound comes again- a loud chopping sound that makes me jump. It seems to be coming from somewhere behind the cabin. Gripped by curiosity and fear, I slowly edge around the back. A tall fence comes into view. There’s a gate and just like the doors, it’s also locked. My throat goes dry, every horror movie I’ve watched in the past cautions me to turn back now. But I need help, and if this is my only chance to do it, I have to take it. Quickly, I scan the area, searching for something- anything that would help me gain entry. My eyes land on a fallen log and without hesitation, I grab it and carry it back to the gate. As I carefully climb up the log, my heart pounds on my chest. The sound of the loud chopping grows louder, sending chills down my spine. I peer over the gate, my eyes straining to make out any detail in the growing darkness. At first, all I can see are the shadowy outlines of trees and bushes. But then, movement catches my eye. There, in the distance, I see a man. He has his back to me, hacking forcefully at something with an axe. I swallow hard as I tighten my grip on the rough wood, unsure whether I should call out or slip away unseen. My heart pounds in my chest as a million scenarios race through my mind. Before I can decide, he suddenly stops. I freeze, certain that he must have sensed my presence. 

“Damn… thing’s stuck again," he mutters, yanking at the axe embedded in…. Is that a trunk? Relief washes over me. I stretch up on my toes to get a better view. When I do so, I can’t help but be captivated by the sight of his muscular back. The white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his broad shoulders and defined shoulder blades, leaving little to the imagination. I find myself mesmerized, unable to look away as I drink in the sight of his toned physique. His movements are so fluid and powerful, that it’s almost hypnotic. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as my eyes trace the contours of his back, admiring the way the muscles there flex and strain with each swing of the axe. I strain my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but the angle is all wrong. All I can see is the strong line of his jaw and the scruff of his beard. I find myself wondering what his facial features look like; what color his eyes are, the shape of his lips. I’m almost aching to see more of him. He pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow. I bite my lip, my gaze fixated on the flex of his biceps, the way his shirt clings to the contours of his chest. I can feel a familiar heat of desire pooling in the pit of my stomach. It’s been a long time since I’ve been drawn to someone this way. The sight of this man is doing all sorts of things to my heart rate and I haven’t even seen his face yet. His head tilts back slightly as he takes a long drink from a water bottle. The motion exposes the long elegant line of his throat and I can’t help but stare, hungrily. 

I find myself wondering, again, what it would feel like to press my lips to that smooth skin, to trace the curve of his jaw with my fingertips. The thought has me biting my lip, trying to hold back a whimper of desire. As he bends to pick up another log, I’m treated to an even more tantalizing view. The fabric of his shirt his shirt clings to his back and I can see the flex of his biceps, the way his shirt strains against the bulge of his arm. I lick my suddenly dry lips, my heart pounding in my chest as I drink in the sight of him. He’s gorgeous, the kind of man who looks like he’s walked straight off the pages of a magazine. And there’s something about the way he’s working, the effortless grace and strength of his movements, that’s just incredibly appealing. The primal and compelling way he works with his hands to shape the wood, it’s a side of masculinity that I don’t often get to witness up close and I find myself utterly entranced. As he lines up the next log and raises the axe, I shift my weight again, trying to get a better view. Suddenly, the log in standing on lets out a loud crack, causing me to sway unsteadily. I freeze. Holding my breath, I pray the man didn’t hear the sound. But to my dismay, he stops what he’s doing and I see him turn his head slightly as if he’s listening for the source of the sound. My heart pounds loudly as I watch, waiting with bated breath to see if he’ll turn around. The seconds feel like an eternity as I stand there, teetering precariously on the creaking log. After what feels like hours but is just a few seconds, the man turns back to what he’s doing. Just as I’m about to let out a sigh of relief, the log gives way beneath me with a splintering crack. I let out a startled scream as I feel myself falling, my heart racing with a thousand panicked thoughts. The man whips around at the sound of my cry, his eyes widening as he sees me. Time seems to slow to a crawl as our eyes meet and in that moment, I realize who he is. The recognition hits me like a ton of bricks, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. Hunter Graham. The one and only. And then, I’m falling, the ground rushing to meet me. All I can do is brace myself for the impact.