Tori Spark surveyed the wreckage before her. The house, once a sanctuary of laughter and life, now lay in tatters—its walls ripped open, its secrets spilled into the unforgiving daylight. This place, a mausoleum to Sammy's memory, echoed with the silence of his absence.
For more than fifteen years, this place had stood here, abandoned. She stared with a cold detachment at the home.
Her storm-cloud hair billowed in the erratic gusts that swept through the debris-strewn yard, the white strands a stark contrast to the darkened ruin. Eyes—the color of the sea during a squall—scanned the environment with a rigor born from FBI training, even here, amidst the remnants of her childhood.
She’d returned to the Midwest, and now, standing in front of her childhood home, she felt the fingers of memory massaging her mind.
Did she really want to remember?
A burst of wind. The banging of the open cellar door. A scream… Sammy was ripped away by the tornado's wrath.
But Sammy wasn’t the only one.
A news article from two weeks ago—something her father had found: another boy, also dead in a tornado. And the father in that case had sworn he’d locked the cellar door.
Tori scowled. She approached the door to their old cellar, staring at it. It remained ajar as if it had simply been left that way all those years ago. Hesitating, her hand was poised to push the door open further. As her fingers trembled, stopping in the air, the memories rushed back, unbidden, like a flood breaking through the dam of her stoicism: Sammy's laughter echoing off the walls, their childhood whispers shared in secret, and then... the day everything changed.
Shaking off the tendrils of nostalgia threatening to engulf her, Tori took a deep breath, steadying her hand, and pushed the door with a creaking protest. The dank air enveloped her like a shroud, carrying with it the scent of dust and neglect. As she descended the stairs, each step felt laden with the weight of unanswered questions that had haunted her for years.
The cellar was as she remembered it—dimly lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, the light from the open door casting long shadows that seemed to dance in anticipation of revealing long-buried secrets. Tori's gaze swept over the room, looking for any clue, any indication of what had happened all those years ago.
Amidst the cobwebs and forgotten relics of their childhood, she found only darkness.
Her eyes swept over the remnants of their lives scattered around—broken furniture, shattered glass, and memories that seemed to seep from every crack in the walls.
She turned back, examining the hinges on the cellar door.
They were rusted, old, but nothing else.
Her gaze following her hands, Tori inspected the neglected lock…
It was shattered.
She frowned, a momentary unease stirring in her chest. Had the wind done this? A tornado could reach speeds of up to 300 miles per hour. That force had been known to rip buildings apart, shatter windows, and hurl debris like a wrathful giant. But could it have shattered the lock on this cellar door? Tori found it hard to believe. The unease near her heart slid down into the pit of her stomach, becoming a gnawing sense that something was amiss, something beyond the natural disaster that had taken Sammy from her.
As she crouched down to examine the broken lock more closely, a glint of metal caught her eye. A silvery bit of metal was embedded in the splintered wood of the doorframe. Tori's heart quickened as she reached out to touch it, her fingertips tracing the jagged edges with a mix of trepidation and determination. It was big, buried in the dodgy wood as if slammed in at force.
With a steady hand, Tori carefully pried the metal from its resting place, old moldering wood flecking off with each scrape of her fingernails. Holding it up to the dim light filtering in from above. A lighter.
Tori’s brow furrowed in confusion. Her father wasn’t a smoker. Was this another artifact of the tornado? Or had someone placed the lighter there intentionally?
She stared at the silvery steel of the flip lighter, releasing a slow pent-up sigh. Her thoughts were moving too fast. One step at a time.
She pocketed the lighter, rising to her feet and turning back towards the yard.
Gravel crunched in the distance, distinct even amid the keening wind. Tori's posture tensed, honed instincts alert to the intrusion. She turned, her gaze cutting through the swaying branches that littered the landscape, locking onto the black-and-white cruiser that rolled to a stop at the curb.
Cops.
Well, one cop. The one she’d asked for.
The door opened, and out stepped James Gyver, the boy who had climbed trees and skinned knees with her, now wearing the uniform of law and order, his features hardened by years on the force. The badge on his chest glinted dully in the fitful sun as he approached, his stride measured, his eyes wary. He had a smile that caused his nose to hunch and his cheeks to flare back, giving him an almost boyish look, though his hairline was now receding, and he’d gone to great efforts to comb forward his fading, light brown hair.
"James," she acknowledged, her voice carrying the weight of shared history, yet edged with the formality their paths now demanded.
"Agent Spark," he returned, the title both a salute to her achievements and a barrier to the past they had once shared.
The silence between them stretched, a tangible thing against the backdrop of ruin. James's gaze followed the line of Tori's shoulder, to where the remnants of her childhood home lay scattered like broken teeth.
“Thanks for coming,” Tori said.
James just nodded. “Surprised to hear you were back in town. Been a while.”
“Yeah.”
Tori shifted awkwardly. They had been teenagers the last time they’d known each other, and for a second, an awkward silence filled the space between them.
"Remember how we used to race up to the attic to find those marbles your brother hid?" he said, breaking the quiet, his voice carrying a trace of nostalgia. "You always won, said you'd be a great detective someday."
Tori's lips curved in a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I guess I kept my word," she said, glancing sideways at him.
"Seems like a lifetime ago." James stuffed his hands into his pockets, his posture loosening with the recollection. "This place... it's hard to see it like this."
"Everything changes," Tori murmured, her gaze lingering on a jagged piece of wood that might once have been part of Sammy's old crib that had been stored in the cellar.
"Tell me about the FBI." James shifted, interest etching his features as he redirected the conversation away from the past. "What's it like, chasing down the bad guys?"
"Complicated," she replied tersely, her eyes narrowing slightly as if focusing on something far beyond the wreckage. "Every case is a puzzle, but the pieces don't always fit."
"Must be quite the change from small-town life." He watched her, searching for the girl he once knew within the composed agent before him.
"Change is constant," she agreed quietly. "But some things stay the same." Her hand drifted to the badge clipped at her waist—a symbol of the oath she'd taken, a promise to pursue justice, even when it led back to where the nightmare began.
"Any cases you can share? Off the record?" His voice held genuine intrigue, a professional curiosity mingled with concern.
"Most are classified," Tori said, her tone guarded, yet a flicker of camaraderie softened her stance. "But let's just say there's rarely a dull moment."
"Figures," James nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "You were never one to sit still." His eyes held a mix of admiration and something unspoken, a shared understanding of the weight they each carried in their own way.
"Still don’t," she confirmed, her white hair catching a rogue breeze. "Too much at stake."
"Always was with you, Tori."
"The same could be said for you, Officer Gyver."
The gravel crunched beneath their feet, a quiet punctuation to the weight of their conversation. Tori's eyes remained vigilant, her training never allowing her to fully relax even in the presence of familiarity. James shifted, his gaze darting to ensure they were alone before he reached into the depths of his coat.
“So… you said on the phone you had something.”
“Yeah. Sorry for making you fly out here, but… electronic trail. It would mean my job.”
She nodded. “No problem. I appreciate it. Really.”
"Take a look at this," James murmured, slipping a manila file into her hands. "Keep it close. It's not exactly public record."
Her fingers closed around the edges, the texture of the folder rough against her skin. "I understand," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her promise as binding as the badge that she wore.
With deliberate movements, Tori opened the file, and the churning sea of her eyes darkened like storm clouds rolling in. The first page bore the insignia of the Iron Wheels, a biker gang whose reputation preceded them like the howl of an approaching tempest. She scanned the dossier, each detail searing into her mind—the threats scrawled across town hall walls, the midnight rides that thundered through the silent streets, shattering the peace like breaking glass.
"Threats?" Her brow furrowed, her lips forming the word though no sound escaped. “They made threats just generally, speaking?”
“Yeah… threatened the town in general,” James said. “But look at the dates.”
Tori's fingers stilled on the papers, a cold knot of realization forming in her gut. "James, these threats from the Iron Wheels... they started the same week Sammy..." Her voice hitched, but she pushed through, "...the week he died."
James shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the scarred earth where Sammy's laughter once echoed. "I know. I'm sorry, Tori. I truly am." His words were a quiet murmur against the backdrop of their shared grief.
"Yeah,” Tori whispered, more to herself than to James. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here, not now. There was work to be done.
"Thank you for this," she said after a moment, her tone hardened with fresh resolve as she tapped the file. "The Iron Wheels... if there's a connection, I need to find it." Her eyes, mirroring the stormy sky, held a fierce glint that had nothing to do with the fading light.
"Be careful, Tori," James cautioned, but she could tell he understood. “Anyway, I gotta go. Clock in. Take care, Tori.”
“You too, James.”
She watched as he slipped back into his squad car, the engine purring to life before he pulled away, leaving Tori standing amidst the ghosts of her past. With a resigned sigh, she closed the file and tucked it securely under her arm, the weight of its contents a silent reminder of the danger lurking beneath the surface of this quiet Midwestern town.
As the shadows lengthened and the sky dimmed to twilight, Tori's mind raced with possibilities. The puzzle of Sammy's death had always haunted her, a mystery she couldn't solve with the limited tools at her disposal back then. But now, armed with years of training and experience, she was determined to unearth the truth, no matter where it led her.
With a steely glint in her eyes, Tori turned back towards the neglected house that once echoed with laughter and love. The shattered windows and peeling paint were a stark contrast to the memories she held dear, but she refused to let the decay consume her spirit.
Tori's fingers had just begun to slip the manila cover into the back of her parked car when the sharp trill of her phone cleaved through the quiet. She flinched, the file momentarily forgotten as she fished the device from the pocket of her FBI-issued jacket. The caller ID flashed 'Javi' in bold letters, and her stomach tightened with the anticipation of urgency.
"Talk to me," she said, thumbing the speaker button.
"Tori, it's Javi. We've got a situation brewing in Colorado," came the strained voice of her partner, a hint of static marring the connection like a storm threatening to break.
"Details," she demanded, her gaze drifting towards the sky where dark clouds brooded on the horizon.
"Multiple victims. We're looking at a potential serial scenario. The brass wants us on the ground, ASAP."
Her breath hitched at the severity in his tone. The crisp Colorado air, the crunch of snow beneath boots, the chilling silence after an avalanche—fragments of a case that hadn't yet unfolded but felt ice-cold and immediate in her mind.
"Understood. I'm en route." Tori's decision was swift, slicing through any hesitation.
She ended the call, her fingers tightening around the phone until the plastic creaked. The Iron Wheels file lay open on her car hood, a whisper of menace amidst the pages. But it would have to wait. Tori closed the file with a snap, her movements deliberate, each action a step towards the inevitable.
She slid into her vehicle. The engine roared to life, a beast awakened, as she navigated away from the wreckage of her past and towards the unknown danger ahead. Sammy's memory receded, a silent promise that she'd return to seek the truth.
For now, there were lives at stake, a killer's shadow to chase across the snow-blanketed slopes of Colorado.