Night fell, and the trees grew larger, and Ilse's heart seemed to shrink in her chest. Occasionally, she heard the squawk of Sawyer's radio in his belt as the arriving search parties notified them of their locations. Sawyer, though, only answered enough to give curt instructions to the new arrivals. Hundreds of square miles, only twenty or so searchers.
They had their work cut out for them.
Ilse was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She hated to admit it, but she wasn't nearly as over her own trauma as she wanted to think. Trauma didn't control her, didn't dominate her life. She refused to let it. But when it did show up, it whispered lies in her ears. I'm all you are. You'll never be free.
This, she knew rationally, wasn't true. The trauma grew less, her strength more, the PTSD fading. Her life was wonderful, if she took a moment to think about it. Not just professionally, but also personally. She had dear friends like Dr. Mitchell, and even Sawyer. She enjoyed her work. Loved her clients.
But sometimes, every now and then, it would all be threatened by memories of a past she'd long left behind.
It wasn't a successful professional in her thirties following Sawyer through the dark now, but a seven-year-old German girl with an unusual name.
Her eyes were wide, and Ilse kept glancing side to side.
Sawyer was following what he called tracks in the dust. To Ilse, it was little more than the occasional bump in the dirt. But Sawyer seemed certain and continued to pick up the pace, hurrying faster and faster.
Suddenly, a voice squawked over Sawyer's belt-radio. “We're at the cabin. Agent Sawyer. Hello, come in Agent Sawyer.”
Tom scowled, paused, clicked the radio and barked. “Follow the trail,” he snapped. His tone suggested the word duh.
Though Ilse could never imagine the man actually saying the word. Still, he clicked the radio receiver down, turning the volume as low as possible while still allowing the searchers to contact him. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder down the path they'd taken through the deep woods.
“You okay?” he said at last, looking towards Ilse.
She winced, flashing a thumbs up, but didn't reply right away—it took all her energy just to remember to breathe properly.
He looked at her, his hard expression softening for a moment, caught by the glow of the flashlight in his hand. “Here,” he said, “You hold this.” He handed the light to her.
Ilse hesitated, but then took it, feeling a surge of gratitude. She shone the light through the trees around her, illuminating the thick underbrush and the even thicker trunks, ridged with bark. Wherever she shone the light, illuminating the forest, things seemed less eerie somehow. Less frightening. Just branches and twigs and leaves and moss...
She found she was breathing a bit easier.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Sawyer pretended like he hadn't heard. Pretended, she guessed, like he hadn't noticed the sweat on her forehead, or the unblinking widening of her eyes, or the panting of her breath.
He just gave her a look, patted her on the shoulder, said, “I'm right here. We got this, yeah? Shine the light this way. I think I see something.”
Ilse felt another flash of gratitude and swallowed a lump in her throat. She pointed the light in the direction Tom had indicated, and he clicked his tongue, leaping forward suddenly and pointing. “Aha!” he said. “Look.”
She did, and then she frowned. A piece of fabric was lopped over a branch, torn and frayed. Sawyer's eyebrows rose. “We're on the right track,” he said, slowly placing the fabric back on the branch. He scuffed the dirt beneath the branch with his foot. “Would draw a sign if I could,” he muttered. “Others will walk right past it otherwise.” He shook his head in irritation at the lack of observational skills he found in others.
Ilse, though, was frowning for different reasons. Another breadcrumb. It seemed too... easy?
An unlocked door. A hair fiber. A fragment of clothing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, keeping the flashlight raised so she could feel the glow of the light against her skin, inside her eyelids. In the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel were lost in the woods and came across a witch's house. Breadcrumbs were left to help find the kids... A trail.
If the killer really was reenacting the fairy tales, then there had to be a building or a structure nearby. Perhaps not quite a witch's house, but at least some place to reenact the tale.
Ilse glanced at the sky, frowning towards the moon through the trees. They were running out of time. The twins had already been missing for hours. The killer could easily have disposed of them already. She glanced at Tom. “Do you get GPS out here?”
“Hmm? Yeah, why?”
“Can you look for any buildings nearby? Structures of any kind. Just somewhere he might have taken them.”
“What if he's just in the woods somewhere? Some hidey-hole, like that creepy skin-stuffer we caught.”
Ilse winced. “I—I think he'll try and stay as close to the story as possible. At least... I hope so.” She shrugged.
“What about this?” Sawyer said, pointing to the fabric.
Ilse paused, staring at it, then looked back at Sawyer. She didn't speak for a moment, trying to process through her own threat of panic, but Sawyer seemed to be able to study her expression. He frowned now, his green-eyes flashing in the light. “Hmm, yeah. Bit too easy, right? That's what I was thinking too. Think he's leading us on a wild goose chase?”
“I don't know,” Ilse said, still somewhat panting. “But if we find nearby structures, somewhere in the woods, we might be able to find the twins before it's too late.”
Sawyer huffed, but then said, “My phone won't be good enough. Here, hang on—let's see if the peanut gallery can do something useful for a change.”
Sawyer reached for his radio, turning the volume back up, then rocking on his heels. He gritted his teeth, listening to chatter on the line for a moment. Comments like, “Taking north third. Dawkins, you take west fourth. Quadrant patterns, guys. Stick to it!”
Sawyer waited for this to end, before raising his voice and saying, “Hello, dispatch? You copy? Anyone with a SAT phone or onboard GPS—I need some eyes!”
“Who is this?” a voice replied.
“This is Agent Sawyer,” Tom snapped. “You got what I need?”
This voice went quiet, and Sawyer rolled his eyes, standing with one hand on his hip beneath the trees, illuminated solely by the flashlight in Ilse's hand. Thankfully, a second later, a new, fainter voice said, “What do you need, Tom?”
Sawyer blinked. “Rawley?”
“Yes, Agent Sawyer. How can I help?”
Ilse blinked, impressed. She had to hand it to the supervising agent. Despite Sawyer's intense dislike of the man, for whatever reason, Agent Rawley seemed willing to do even the tough jobs that most supervisors might prefer to assign their subordinates.
Sawyer winced for a second, but then stowing personal pride, he said, “Structures. Anything near us. I'll send you my coordinates. Give me outbuildings, cabins, radio towers—whatever.”
“Parameters?” Rawley returned.
“Fifty-mile radius to start,” Sawyer returned.
Ilse fidgeted uncomfortably. If they really were following the killer's tracks, he couldn't be too far ahead, surely. Unless he was just playing with them.
The two of them waited beneath the creak of the branches as the radio went silent. Most of the chatter had faded as well now as people made space for supervising Agent Rawley's response. A few moments passed before, at last, the radio crackled again.
“Agent Sawyer?” Rawley said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Got anything?”
“Three structures. One of them is twenty miles from your location. I'm sending Sharp's search party that way.”
“The other two?” Sawyer said.
“Near enough. Four miles and seven.”
Sawyer hesitated, and Ilse felt a faint chill along her spine.
“Four and seven?” Sawyer asked. “Near each other?”
“I'm afraid not—they're in opposite directions. I can send you coordinates. But Tom, I'm advising you wait for the other search parties to—”
“Send them,” Sawyer interrupted. “And be quick. We don't have time to wait.”
Sawyer lowered the radio volume again, and Rawley's response faded to little more than a soft purr lost in the breeze. Sawyer looked Ilse dead in the eyes. “What should we do?” he said.
Ilse bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. The search teams had shown up late. They were already running behind. Some as much as half an hour. Sawyer and Ilse had been navigating in the dark for a good amount of time already. If they tried to wait, they would only be wasting precious time.
Two structures in the woods. That's what Rawley had said.
Two possible locations.
Ilse fidgeted uncomfortably. Sawyer's phone buzzed, and he glanced down, studying the text for a moment. Then he glanced back up the path as if gauging something for himself. He sighed, then said, “One of the structures is a few miles down this path,” he said. “An old shed near a water tower.”
“The other?” Ilse asked.
He gestured off in the opposite direction, through the trees, away from the path. “That way. A bit further.”
Ilse knew what they had to do but hated admitting it. Sawyer, to his credit, was waiting, allowing her to reach her own conclusion. The two of them had a head-start on everyone else. The twins were in jeopardy. The killer was out here, somewhere, biding his time. Perhaps even watching them at that moment.
A prickle crept up Ilse's spine, and she turned slowly, looking to the trees and frowning. But only swaying shadows in the gloom met her speculation.
“We...,” she caught the words, her throat tight. She swallowed, trying again, “We should split—split up,” she finished with a stammer.
Even as she said it, she loathed herself for it. But what else could she say? She knew it was true. They had to split up—they had to go separate directions. If they wanted a chance of catching the killer before he finished the twins, they couldn't dawdle. Certainly not out of simple fear. Ilse's own mental state couldn't be the reason these kids died. She'd never forgive herself.
So she summoned what residue of courage remained, and said, more fervently, “We need to split up.”
Sawyer just studied her. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Yes—yes...”
“Right,” Tom said. He glanced at her with something akin to admiration in his gaze. “You head down this path. Don't get off it. The water tower and shed will be visible in a couple of miles. Go slow, don't hurt yourself. Call immediately if you see anything. Got it?”
Ilse bit her lip but nodded once. “And you?”
“I'll do the same, this way. I'm quicker moving through the woods anyway. Hopefully the slowpokes will catch up soon enough.”
He winced and shrugged.
“Maybe... Maybe he'll be at that third structure Rawley mentioned?” Ilse said hopefully. “The one he's sending—”
“Sharp's search team? Yeah. Maybe. Good luck, doc. Remember, stay quiet, stay low, call immediately if you need anything. Got it?” Sawyer began to turn, but then paused, looking back at Ilse. “Doc,” he said slowly. “This guy has already tortured three people to death. Don't be slow on the draw...,” he looked her in the eyes. “Catch my meaning?”
Ilse hesitated, feeling her fingers prickle on the tips. She didn't want to think about shooting someone. Didn't want, at all, to think about a solitary sojourn through the woods. But now wasn't the time for comfort. Now it was action's turn.
She nodded once, and this time Sawyer just waited and watched, letting her turn and begin to move first. She flashed the light along the path, picking slowly along the trail at first, but then hastening forward with each step. The light swayed and swished in front of her, scanning the ground.
Just stick to the trail. That's what he said. How hard could it be?
The same trail where they'd found a discarded piece of clothing. Was she being led into a trap?
She winced, hesitant and glanced back. But Sawyer was gone now, too. She spotted a second, smaller light, probably from his phone, shining through the trees as Tom moved in the opposite direction.
Part of her wanted to call out for him. To get him to come back and help her. But another part of her knew this was the right call. Time was ticking. Splitting up could cover more distance. She'd trained for this, hadn't she?
She only felt like a child. Really, she was a woman who'd faced far worse than a nighttime stroll through the woods.
She swallowed faintly, but looked back to the trail, light on the ground. She stalked forward, head down, heart hammering, doing her best to say on the path.