Page 29 of In the Dark of the Past

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded but didn’t move. “You ever think this whole thing was a mistake? Coming back to—or in your case, staying in—Maple Ridge? Us getting involved again…” I stopped. “In whatever capacity we are,” I hastened to add.

He didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, he said, “Yeah. All the time. But not today.”

Something settled in my chest at that. A small but solid anchor where the rest of me felt a bit adrift.

We kept going, following the barely there markers Finn remembered from cross-country skiing long ago.

At some point, the trail vanished completely, giving way to uneven terrain and rising cedar groves. That’s when Finn stopped walking. He crouched near a thicket just off the main path, where the earth sloped downward toward a cluster of gnarled roots.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer.

He pointed. “There. See that?”

I looked up and saw a faded shape in the bark of the biggest tree. What looked a little like a faint evil eye. It was growing in, the tree attempting to heal itself, but it was there.

“And there,” Finn continued. “That dip. Looks like erosion exposed something.” He tugged on a glove he pulled from his pocket and brushed his hand over the earth. “And the soil’s been disturbed.”

I crouched beside him, my heart thudding. “Animal, maybe?”

“Maybe.” But his voice was tight now. Focused.

We started clearing the area slowly, using sticks and gloved hands, careful not to damage anything. The more we dug, the quieter the forest became. Even the birds had stilled.

Then Finn went completely rigid.

I looked up, my eyes meeting his for a moment before I followed his gaze to the patch of ground he’d just cleared.

A scrap of purple fabric. Faded, rotted.

Then leather.

A boot. Half-buried. Cracked with age but unmistakably footwear.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, my hand immediately flying to my mouth to cover the gasp.

Finn didn’t speak. His hand moved with surgical precision, brushing away more dirt. A second later, something caught the light.

A delicate silver chain tangled around some decomposed fabric. The pendant was dull but still visible. A compass rose.

I stared at it, my breath lodged somewhere between my lungs and throat. “Eleanor wore that every day,” I whispered. “In middle school. I had her for social studies. She said it was her good-luck charm.”

Finn sat back on his heels, wiping a forearm over his face.

“Is this really her?” I whispered.

His voice was low. “We need to call it in. I need to get some backup out here. And forensics.”

“I know.” But I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Everything felt suspended. As if the woods had been holding their breath for fourteen years and had just now exhaled.

“She’s been here this whole time,” I murmured, grief slicing clean through me. “While people speculated and whispered and moved on...she was here.”

Finn reached for my hand. I let him take it.

“We don’t know yet what all is buried here. But still, I’m so sorry,” he said softly.