Chapter 3
Maxim recoiled and shook the insects off his feet. The crumpled, rotten log beneath his shoe was infested with them. Termites. Maybe something else. The eerie shine of his flashlight's beam on their wings, the unnatural hive of movement... It was unsettling. Especially in the middle of the night in the woods.
It was all the reminder Maxim needed that he wasn't much of an outdoorsman.
The detective was still wearing his suit. That was strike one. His shoes weren't made for hiking either. As he pounded the last of the bugs from them, he made a mental note to throw them away.
Maxim raised his Maglite to his flank. Twenty yards to his left was Clint, one of the bikers from the local motorcycle club and the best hunter of the bunch. To his right was another civilian. Flanking them would be others, spread out in a wide formation, attempting to get as much coverage of the dense wild as possible.
Maxim had made good on his word to David Harper. He'd gathered support in Sanctuary to find the missing girl and was currently leading his own leg of the effort. After a harrowing day, Hazel Cunningham had still not turned up. The sheriff's office had been forced to broaden the search area, but the damage was already done. The little girl might be spending the night lost.
Maxim hopped over the ruined log and hurried to keep pace with the others. He swept his light back and forth, looking for anyone hiding or sleeping among the trees. Sycamore—the wild to the west of Flagstaff, bordering Sanctuary. The land built for outdoorsmen.
Sycamore was an imaginary place. The name wasn't on any map, and it was bigger or smaller depending on who you talked to. Some denied the place existed. Coconino and Yavapai Counties were enough designation for the unincorporated forest and desert, not to mention the many townships that dotted the landscape.
But for those that lived in the wild, the concept was very real. The Sycamore woods were different than other forests. Not the oaks and pines and sycamores, themselves—it was a matter of the whole. The beauty of the landscape attracted a strange sort. Wild men. Those distrustful of society and government. Not the south but the southwest. It created a lawless mentality in the area, a foreboding that seeped into the bark and the leaves and the dirt. Sycamore didn't
feel
like a normal place.
On reflection, Maxim wasn't sure if the miscreants created the atmosphere or if the atmosphere attracted the miscreants. It was a chicken-and-egg problem, but one thing was sure: everyone out here belonged, in their own twisted way.
The detective checked his cell phone. Reception was getting spotty, sometimes dropping out altogether. Of course, he thought. Just another sign that the woods were fighting him. Just another sign of a sentience beyond his understanding.
It was late. Late at night, sure, but late for the girl, Hazel Cunningham. Whether a victim of accident or design, she'd been missing nearly fifteen hours. The chances of serious danger increased as each hour passed. While Maxim had started the afternoon optimistically, he couldn't help but doubt himself now.
The girl was only eight. Cute, judging by the pictures he'd seen. He didn't know anything about kids, but he imagined she was a good one. The mother only had nice things to say.
The situation forced Maxim to ponder his own loss. His wife had gone missing some years ago. He'd been hopeful in the face of that tragedy as well, right up until he discovered her grave. These relationships, these attachments, they tugged hard at his soul. He couldn't imagine being a parent. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to be one.
In the far distance ahead, Maxim thought he saw a light. It was bright but contained—a minor glow that didn't illuminate the surroundings. Maybe it was a cell phone.
The detective checked both men to his flanks again. The beam of his flashlight caught each of them in position, moving within their lanes. None appeared to notice the flare ahead.
Maxim studied it. For a moment it wasn't there, but then he found it again. It was turning, sometimes facing away from him, nearly invisible, and sometimes shining back at him with a gentle sway.
"Hello?" Maxim called out. He shined his Maglite ahead.
The glow continued its movement as if riding a midnight current.
"Is anyone there?"
The strange light dimmed, and Maxim picked up his pace. He was afraid of completely losing sight of it. He turned off his flashlight and the glimmer grew in strength, still spinning in a dizzying pattern. He was getting closer to it.
But a part of him swore the beacon was moving away from him.
Maxim crunched over the brush. After hours of searching, this was the break they'd been waiting for. Twigs clawed at his face as he pushed ahead. The glow spun in a circle. It blinked and faced him, then danced away.
Whoever it was, they were definitely avoiding him.
"There's someone over here!" he called out. The detective surged forward, sliding between the thickening trees. As he neared the source of the blaze, it didn't grow larger or clearer. Whoever carried it seemed to hover just out of sight, moving silently—but as quick as lightning.
Maxim abandoned caution and charged. With his Maglite shut off, that was a bad move. After several paces, his knee crashed hard into something that bowled him over. He thudded face first to the ground.
His head spun only for a moment, and Maxim recovered quickly. He heard the branches snapping as someone converged on him.
"You okay?" asked Clint. The biker had seen the commotion and abandoned his path. Maxim looked up and a flashlight shone directly into his eyes. He turned away quickly. "You hurt?"
"Nah," said Maxim, waving off the help.
"Then what the hell is all the racket about?"
Maxim pulled himself to his feet. He was tender above the knee where he'd run into the object and nearly blind after Clint's light in his face. His eyes had trouble adjusting to the darkness again. He scanned ahead, but couldn't see the small gleam again. "Where's my flashlight?" Maxim pawed at the ground until he found it, but it didn't help. He illuminated the forest ahead, but the bulb of light was gone.
"What's going on?" asked the biker.
"There was a light up there." As he spoke, the old man on his other flank approached. "I don't see it," Maxim added, rubbing his eyes. "Where'd it go?"
The old man stopped and shook his head.
"We didn't see no light, man," said Clint. He shined his flashlight around until he finally fixed the beam on a point behind the detective. "Ouch," he said.
Maxim focused on the object he had tripped over. A metal bumper from an old truck was nestled in the grass, rusted out and abandoned. It didn't make any sense for it to be in the middle of the woods. The detective turned away in disgust. When he moved toward the last place he'd seen the light, he couldn't do it without limping.
"I saw something out there," he repeated with conviction. The others didn't respond. They just followed him silently.
He tried, but he couldn't find it again. Maxim cursed himself for tripping. For getting distracted. He trudged ahead, determined not to lose whatever opportunity was left. The detective was slower now, but the pain in his leg subsided the more he pressed on. It was certainly nothing compared to a lost little girl.
Searching the area ahead turned up nothing. He was sure this was the place he'd last seen the light. Pretty sure, anyway. The woods all looked the same, just an oppressive army of pillars in what was otherwise a wasteland.
Maxim noted the flashlights of the rest of the search party in the distance. He'd gotten turned around for a minute, but he righted his path. The other two men stuck loosely to his trail. It annoyed Maxim that they were checking up on him.
The bad feeling returned to his stomach. Sadness for the world. Half of Sanctuary was searching the woods north of the Interstate for Hazel. He didn't know what bothered him more—that times of trouble like this existed at all, or that so many people could become invested in what was sometimes, ultimately, a lost cause.
Maxim had long ago learned that answers often brought more pain than absence.
Just as the detective was about to check the time again, he really did see something. At first he figured it for a deer, but the silhouette pushed away from a tree. Maxim shone his flashlight over it.
It was a person. A child.
Maxim limped forward. As he neared, he saw her, the little girl with long, disheveled hair. She was pale and weak—malnourished. She wore a pretty blue dress that was frayed and tattered on the ends, and long streaks of dark eyeliner dribbled down her cheeks.
Did eight-year-olds wear makeup? Honestly, Maxim couldn't say.
"Hazel!"
The girl stood still, unresponsive to Maxim's voice, not even affording him a glance. She stared past him, above him, into the trees.
"Hazel, can you hear me?"
Maxim kneeled in front of the girl and clasped his arms around her. She was cold, her arms and legs exposed to the night air. He pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Maxim heard the others approaching from behind. He withdrew a whistle from his pocket and blew it several times. The line of flashlights from his search party all converged on him.
He checked the girl's vitals. She was in shock. Her limbs were scratched up. Her feet, absent of shoes, were bleeding. She'd probably panicked and stumbled around the forest in a daze.
"It'll be okay," said the detective, picking her up in an embrace. She breathed heavily, which he took as a good sign. Wherever she was, she was coming back to him.
Short, stuttered coughs escaped her lips. They were like muffled cries. As a swarm of flashlights waved around him in the air, Maxim clutched the girl more tightly.
"It's gonna be okay, Hazel," he assured her once more.
The little girl seemed to notice him for the first time. She watched him with troubled eyes. "But my name's Annabelle."
Chapter 4
"We need to get her to the hospital," stressed the paramedic.
Maxim chewed his lip and considered the little girl. She was wrapped in a blanket now, sitting in the back of the ambulance, doors open, feet on bumper. "She's okay, isn't she?"
"Looks that way, but it's standard procedure. She needs to be examined, treated, fed—"
"I understand that," said Maxim. "But I need some time with her."
"I don't know."
"Listen, man. That girl is not eight years old. She said her name was Annabelle. That means there's another little girl out there. This one can wait a little longer if it means finding the other one."
The paramedic winced under the pressure. Nobody wanted to deny Hazel Cunningham a chance. The man averted his eyes. Maxim took that as agreement enough. He approached Annabelle and waved away the woman unsuccessfully trying to get her to drink a hot chocolate.
Annabelle hadn't said a word going on fifteen minutes. Without proper identification, Maxim couldn't figure out her story yet.
Looking at her now, it was obvious she wasn't Hazel. Annabelle was a little older, taller. Her long hair wasn't as dark and had curls in it. This was another little girl that had been lost in the woods, probably longer than a day judging by the condition of her clothes and level of exhaustion.
The only problem was, why hadn't anyone been looking for her?
"Are you ready to talk to me now, Annabelle?"
The preteen was catatonic. Her baby blues gazed downward, not at the ground but low enough to avoid eye contact.
Maxim sighed. He noticed the paramedic watching him and knew he needed to make headway soon or they would take her away. He sat beside the girl, feeling the soothing hum of the truck's engine.
"Can you tell me your last name?"
No answer.
"Or, at least, what you were doing alone in the woods?"
The girl's eyes fluttered as they registered a thought. She was definitely listening to him, perhaps deciding whether to speak again.
"You know," said Maxim, "a lot of worried people are outside right now. I don't know how long you've been out there, but there's another little girl who wandered away from her mom this morning. She's out there somewhere. Right now. She's younger than you, just a kid. And she's probably cold and scared. And Annabelle?" Maxim leaned forward to get a better view of her face. "I think you can help her."
The girl's lips stretched tight. She was upset, he saw now. The shock had worn off but maybe she was still distraught. Traumatized. Maybe Maxim did need to leave her alone.
"Three days," said Annabelle suddenly.
"What?"
The girl stared ahead. "I was out here three days. And I wasn't alone. I was with my friends."
Maxim took in a breath. "Which friends? Did you see Hazel?"
Her face was devoid of emotion, but she considered the question. Then she simply shook her head.
"Okay, Annabelle. What about adults? Were there any grown-ups with you? Did they take you anywhere?"
The little girl paused, then turned away. "You're the one that took me."
Maxim was taken aback by the statement. But the girl wasn't accusing him of anything malicious. It was just a statement, perhaps a way for a passive-aggressive child to be clever. Before he could follow up, Maxim heard a commotion on the other side of the vehicle. Deputies from the sheriff's office attempted to contain the situation.
"Where's my daughter?" a woman demanded. "Where is she?"
Maxim frowned and stood. Walking around the ambulance, he saw the deputy holding back Julia Cunningham. Diego was next to her.
"It's okay, Deputy. Let them through."
Julia immediately charged him and ran around to the back of the ambulance. "Where's my da—" She froze, confused and frightened.
"Ms. Cunningham, we're still looking for Hazel."
Diego came around and saw Annabelle. "She's the wrong girl."
"I don't understand," said Julia.
Maxim spun Julia away from Annabelle. "I'm sorry if you'd gotten your hopes up. We found another girl wandering in the woods, but we don't know anything else yet."
"So that's it?" asked Diego. "You're done looking for Hazel?"
Maxim set his jaw and focused on the woman. "The search for your daughter is ongoing, Ms. Cunningham. A lot of good people are still looking. You two should continue assisting them. I need to stay with this girl and see what I can find out. It could be a lead."
"This is bullshit," exclaimed Diego. "Half the search party went home because they thought we found Hazel."
Maxim glowered at the biker and raised his voice. "It's getting late. We can pick things up tomorrow, but for now I'd suggest helping who's left. We're focusing on the area where we found Annabelle."
"She's not there," said the girl suddenly. Everyone turned to her. The words were cold, detached. "You'll never catch them."
"What does that mean?" asked Julia, looking to the detective before addressing the girl. "What do you mean?"
Maxim caught the woman by the shoulders before she advanced on the girl. "Deputies!" he called out. Two men were immediately at hand. "Get them out of here."
Annabelle spoke now, in a whisper. "I'll never catch them."
Before they could drag the frantic mother away, Diego put his arms around her and whispered. He pulled her away gently and shot Maxim a hard glare. The deputies escorted them from the area.
"What are they doing here?" came a voice from behind him. Maxim turned and saw David Harper approach. He must have just pulled up after calling off one of the search parties.
"Detective. You done for the night?"
Harper nodded. "We can't see shit out here anymore. We'll start again when the sun's out. I heard you found another possible victim."
"This is Annabelle," he said. "She was out there for three days."
"Thank you, Detective. That will be all."
Maxim jutted his chin out. "Actually, I'm still questioning her."
The other detective brandished a smug look. "This is my case, remember? Finish up here. I'm taking the girl to County."
"I'm not—"
David Harper banged a fist on the side of the ambulance. "Let's go people," he yelled. The paramedic returned and helped Annabelle into the back. The truck had been running already but the red strobe lights came on.
"Where are we going?" she demanded.
David Harper returned a relaxing smile. "We're going to the county hospital in Flagstaff, honey."
She pulled away, suddenly having a fit. "I don't
want
to." The detective boxed her into the back of the ambulance. "I want to go home!"
"Wait!" said Maxim, pushing into the truck and past Harper. "Where is home, Annabelle?" He grabbed the girl by the shoulders and kneeled beside her, speaking gently to calm her down. "Where is home?"
She faced him straight on, deflated. "Sanctuary."
Maxim turned to Harper with a challenge on his face. "That calls it. She's not going to Flagstaff—she's going to the clinic in Sanctuary. The marshal's office is now actively involved in this investigation."