#11: Shot Through The Heart

[00:00:28] Speaker A: The sound of crunching leaves beneath a boot is a quiet noise, tender even, like nature sighing under your weight. Like the woods whispering, oh, it's you again. But sometimes on the right morning, or maybe the wrong one, it's deafening, loud in a way that doesn't make sense, loud in a way that feels personal. It isn't just sound. It's memory, it's pressure. It's the crackle of something old being broken all over again. Rusty used to think it was the leaves themselves making the noise. Now he's not so sure. Maybe it's the earth groaning. Maybe it's the ghosts underneath, rattling their bones in protest. Maybe it's the land keeping score. There's a rhythm to it, too, if you listen close. Step, sigh, step, crunch. Like a heartbeat, like someone following just a few paces behind. And once you notice it, you can't unhear it. The sound echoed through Rusty's mind, the crackling hush of leaves beneath his boots, dry and skeletal, like a warning whisper. Too late, it moved with him, matched his steps, danced in time with the birds who'd gone quiet the moment they crossed onto the wooded trail. It filled up the hollow spaces between his thoughts, pressed into his ears like someone softly tearing paper. In the next room over behind him, Beau Harley followed, heavy footed and unusually quiet for a man who normally stomped around like he owned the ground. There was no small talk, no wisecracks, just the crunch of leaves and the slow drip of sweat down the back of Rusty's neck, like the woods were breathing hot against him. They were close now. The Foxfire river, old and unkind, wound somewhere just ahead, hidden behind a curtain of branches that swayed even when the wind forgot to show up. The trees here didn't seem to grow so much as lean, bending slightly as if listening for secrets. Back near the clearing, Maisie Kurtz had finally given up the act. She was curled in the backseat of Rusty's cruiser now, wrapped in a scratchy emergency blanket that didn't do much but give her something to hold. She still wore Bo's flannel, oversized and unbuttoned. Sleeves swallowed her hands, and it looked more like protection than comfort, like she wasn't quite ready to be her own person again. She'd said nothing since they reached the trailhead, just stayed in the cruiser like she'd been told by a voice only she could hear, one of those voices that didn't shout, just whispered your name until it was the only sound left in your head. Rusty had looked back at her once before, heading toward the river's bank. She hadn't looked at him. She was staring straight ahead, eyes glassy, face pale like she could already see what he and Beau were about to find. Tears streaked down her face. Her hair was still tousled from her mourning with Bo before things took a turn for the biblical. Rusty noticed Bo taking a breath, turning his focus back to the ground. The blanket was still there, right where they left it, proof of what was supposed to be just another bad decision in the long list of them. Rusty slowed, eyes narrowing. He bent down slightly, nudging something with the toe of his boot. A scrap of lace peeked out from the corner of the blanket. Panties. Maisies. Rusty took his time standing up, brushing non existent dust from his pants, rolling his tongue over his teeth like he had a thought forming, but wasn't sure if it was worth saying. Oh, to be young again. Rusty's voice was even, but Bo didn't miss the slow turn of his head, the way his eyes dragged over the blanket, then back to him. Bo felt his defenses spike, so instead he jerked his chin forward, pointing ahead. There. And there it was, the body, face down in the muddy bank of the Foxfire river, arms limp, suit soaked and clinging to his body like a second skin. Even in death, the man looked expensive, like he didn't belong here. Well, a body in the Foxfire river, sure, no lost soul belongs there. But in this place as a whole hickory bent, it's not the kind of place well dressed men come to die. Rusty swallowed hard and moved slow as he approached. He studied the corpse the way a man studies a hand of bad cards, calculating, resigned, his body stiff in the kind of way that meant he'd been here for a while. Maybe a few hours, Maybe more. But not less. Rusty exhaled, rubbing his chin. Then he looked back at Beau. I left my radio in the cruiser. Bo nodded, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between himself and the dead man. He turned, heading back toward the car. He kept walking, reaching Rusty's car. The handheld radio sat on the dashboard, waiting. He grabbed it, turned back, and jogged toward Rusty. Maisie just looked at him, waiting to hear an update, something, anything that would snap her out of this nightmare. Rusty took the radio from Bo without saying a word, clicking the button with his thumb. Bo just stared at him with a look that suggested he was wondering where Rusty was going with this. Come in, Jen. It's Rusty. Over. A second of static, then the radio hissed back to life. Copy, Rusty. Over. Rusty ran a hand through his thinning hair, looking at the dead man like he was already regretting the paperwork. Yeah, there's a body. Can you send Dr. Hawthorne and someone with a camera? The radio crackled again. Copy that. A pause. Jesus, Rusty. A body? Rusty sighed, standing up, stretching out his knees with a groan. Yeah, rusty muttered, still studying the body. And from the looks of it, definitely foul play. Over, bo responded. Foul play? Rusty didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pen, the same one he used to fill out parking violations and scribble words in his notepad. The fabric was torn, a ragged hole near the shoulder blade, darker than the rest of the soaked suit. Rusty tilted his head. Exit wound Shot through the heart. Maybe either bled out or it just ceased to stop working. Shot like a gun, bo replied. [00:08:07] Speaker B: Rusty didn't look at him, just gave a small grunt, the kind that could mean yes, maybe, or congratulations. [00:08:15] Speaker A: You just figured out the obvious. [00:08:18] Speaker B: Then he just stared at the man. [00:08:21] Speaker A: The expensive suit, the way the river. [00:08:24] Speaker B: Had already started pulling him into his cold embrace. This wasn't some unlucky drunk who took a bad fall. Somebody put him here. Who is he? Bo asked, shifting uneasily. Are you going to turn him over? Rusty sighed, the kind of sigh that came from too many years. Too many problems. He rubbed his jaw, eyes still locked on the corpse like it might get up and explain itself. Not yet, he said. We don't want to contaminate the scene. Need pictures. Medical examiner? Bo nodded, and Rusty kept his eyes focused on the dead man. The way his body was half sunk into the soft, muddy bank, it felt wrong letting him stay like that, like he was just part of the river now. Should we cover him or something? Bo asked. Rusty shook his head. We leave him as is for now. That's how it works. How long till they get here? The medical examiner. A guy with a camera? Bo asked. Rusty exhaled again, knowing Hickory Bend, he muttered. Could be five minutes. Could be lunch.