Chapter 4 - The Dead Man's Cabin

Blackwater Cabin Six stood beside a frozen lake in West Virginia, thirty miles from the nearest interstate and two miles beyond the point where Holloway’s truck lost radio reception.

Ava preferred the silence.

For the first time since the coin had awakened, the world inside her head felt almost manageable.

Ruth sat in the back seat wrapped in a wool blanket, eating crackers from a gas station package with the dignity of a queen at state dinner.

“You’re bleeding,” she told Holloway.

He touched the cut above his eyebrow.

“It’s nothing.”

“That is what men say right before women have to clean blood off upholstery.”

Ava glanced at him.

“She has a point.”

“I have had four decades of points,” Ruth said. “No one listens until there is upholstery involved.”

Holloway pulled the truck beside the cabin.

“No vehicles.”

Ava listened.

“No people either.”

“You sure?”

She gave him a look.

He raised both hands.

“Still learning.”

The cabin door had three locks.

The brass key from Saint Agnes opened the middle one.

The top lock was already broken.

Ava stopped.

“Holloway.”

He saw it.

“Someone’s been inside.”

Ruth sighed.

“Ethan hated being obvious.”

Ava touched the doorframe.

Dust had been disturbed recently.

A partial boot print marked the porch.

“Three days, maybe less.”

Holloway looked at her.

“You can tell that from a print?”

“No. From the mud beneath it. It rained here Tuesday.”

He nodded.

“Good. I was starting to worry you were becoming supernatural.”

“I’m worried you’re becoming funny.”

Ruth pushed between them.

“Both of you move. I am cold.”

Inside, the cabin smelled of cedar and old smoke.

A small kitchen opened into a living room with one couch, one chair, and a stone fireplace. Nothing looked personal except a framed photograph on the mantel.

Ava crossed to it.

It showed her at sixteen, standing beside Ethan in front of a battered fishing boat.

Her father had one arm around her shoulders.

She remembered complaining about mosquitoes for six straight hours.

On the back, in Ethan’s handwriting, were four words.

Best day she hated.

Ava laughed softly.

Then she realized the frame had no dust on it.

Her smile vanished.

“Holloway.”

He came beside her.

“Someone handled this.”

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

Ruth tapped her cane against a floorboard.

“Ethan used to hide things in places sentimental people would touch first.”

Ava looked at the frame again.

The backing slid free.

Inside was a strip of paper.

NOT THE WALLS. THE WATER.

Holloway frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Ava looked toward the lake.

“My father taught me to fish here.”

“You were here?”

“No. Not this cabin. A lake like it.”

Ruth lowered herself onto the couch.

“He repeated places.”

“What?” Ava asked.

“Ethan had a habit. If something mattered, he rebuilt the circumstances around it. Same songs. Same meals. Same kind of room. He believed memory was strongest when the body recognized the setting.”

Ava stared at her.

“That sounds a lot like ORISON.”

Ruth’s expression tightened.

“He learned from the enemy.”

Ava went outside.

The lake was edged with ice, dark water moving near the dock.

At the end sat a rusted tackle box chained beneath a bench.

She smiled despite herself.

“Subtle, Dad.”

The key from Saint Agnes opened the chain.

Inside the tackle box were no lures.

There were notebooks wrapped in plastic, a cassette tape, three photographs, and a sealed envelope addressed to MARCUS.

Holloway opened it.

His face changed as he read.

“What?” Ava asked.

He handed it to her.

Marcus,

If Ava brought you here, you have one job left. Believe her before you believe the institution that promoted you for being quiet.

Holloway looked toward the lake.

“He really knew how to make a point.”

“Apparently Ruth taught him.”

Ruth called from the porch.

“I heard that.”

Ava opened the first notebook.

Dates began four months after Ethan’s funeral.

Her knees weakened.

“He was here.”

Holloway stayed silent.

“He was alive.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

Ava flipped pages.

Six months.

Nine.

A year.

Eighteen months.

The final entry was dated eleven months ago.

Her chest tightened.

“Less than a year.”

Ruth came closer.

“What does it say?”

Ava read aloud.

“Celia confirmed. Jonah lost. Leah moved again. Elias still with Vale. Miriam disappeared after Denver. Noah refuses contact. Seven remains unactivated.”

She looked up.

“Seven is me.”

Holloway nodded.

Ava turned the page.

“‘I cannot go home. Vale watches the grave because he understands grief better than loyalty.’”

Her voice cracked.

Ruth touched her shoulder.

Ava pulled away.

“I buried an empty coffin.”

“Yes,” Holloway said.

“I gave a eulogy.”

“I know.”

“I stood there and told everyone my father never lied to me.”

Holloway looked at her.

“He lied about being dead.”

“That is a significant exception.”

“Yes.”

Ava shut the notebook.

Anger steadied her better than grief.

“Why stage the accident?”

Holloway picked up another notebook.

“Maybe this.”

A page had been marked with red tape.

Ava read.

Rourke compromised. Internal access deeper than expected. Vehicle tracker on Ava removed twice. Vale asked about her by name at Asterion briefing request. Death buys distance. Must become irrelevant.

Ava looked at Holloway.

“Rourke?”

“Colonel Thomas Rourke. My deputy chief of operations.”

“You trust him?”

“I did.”

“Past tense?”

“It became past tense five seconds ago.”

Ruth shook her head.

“Men with polished shoes.”

“What?” Holloway asked.

“Never trust them.”

“That is not a reliable intelligence standard.”

“It has served me for eighty-two years.”

Ava opened the cassette recorder from Saint Agnes and inserted the tape from the tackle box.

Static hissed.

Then Ethan spoke.

“If this one still works, miracles exist and they are manufactured by Panasonic.”

Ava closed her eyes.

“Dad.”

“I’m recording this at Blackwater because paper is too easy to photograph and computers are too easy to betray.”

Holloway muttered, “He would hate cloud storage.”

“He hated automatic updates,” Ava said.

The recording continued.

“Ava, if you learned I survived the crash, you are angry. Good. Anger means you are still yourself.”

Her eyes filled.

“I stayed away because Vale had people inside the Army, the contractor network, and at least one federal task force. Every time I moved toward you, surveillance tightened around your life.”

Ava looked at the floor.

“So I watched from a distance. Birthdays. Promotions. The day you made lieutenant. I’m sorry.”

She pressed stop.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Ava said, “He watched my promotion?”

Holloway nodded slowly.

“There was a man outside the ceremony. Baseball cap. I noticed him because he left before the reception.”

Ava remembered.

A gray pickup near the far fence.

She had thought nothing of it.

She pressed play.

“Celia Ward is the safest next contact. She became a trauma surgeon because apparently some children respond to medical experimentation by becoming doctors. She does not trust anyone connected to ORISON, including me. That is probably healthy.”

Ava almost smiled.

“Do not bring her key to yours. Do not ask her to activate anything. Ask her about the night at Fort Danner.”

Holloway frowned.

“Fort Danner burned in 2005.”

“Accidental electrical fire?” Ava asked.

“That was the report.”

“Then probably not.”

Ethan’s voice continued.

“If Celia tells you the truth, you’ll understand why Vale needs all seven children alive long enough to open LANTERN.”

Ava stopped the tape again.

“Alive long enough.”

Ruth’s gaze hardened.

“He never intended witnesses to survive.”

Ava looked at Holloway.

“We go to Philadelphia.”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“We need to get Ruth somewhere secure.”

“I am sitting right here,” Ruth said.

“And you were almost killed at Saint Agnes.”

“I was almost killed during the Nixon administration too. I continued with my afternoon.”

Holloway stared at her.

Ava said, “He’s right.”

Ruth turned on Ava with betrayal in her eyes.

“Young people are very disappointing.”

“We get you safe first.”

“Safe with whom?”

Holloway thought.

“My wife.”

Ava blinked.

“You’re bringing an ORISON witness to your house?”

“No. My wife hasn’t lived at our listed address in two years.”

Ruth smiled.

“Finally, something intelligent.”

Holloway ignored her.

“She owns a horse farm under her mother’s family trust. Rourke doesn’t know about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“Comforting.”

“Which is why we verify before we move.”

Ava looked at the notebooks.

A page near the back contained a series of initials and dates.

One line was circled twice.

M.H. — NOT CORRUPT. JUST AFRAID.

Ava held it up.

Holloway read it and looked wounded.

“That is unkindly accurate.”

Ruth nodded.

“Ethan liked accuracy.”

Ava kept reading.

At the bottom of the page, written later in darker ink, was another note.

IF I DISAPPEAR, ASK CELIA WHO DIED IN MY CAR.

Ava’s pulse changed.

She read it twice.

Holloway came beside her.

“What does that mean?”

“My father’s car was recovered after the crash.”

“Yes.”

“A body was identified.”

“Yes.”

“By dental records.”

Holloway went still.

Ava looked at him.

“Who died in his car?”

“I don’t know.”

“You signed the death notification.”

“I was given the forensic confirmation.”

“From whom?”

He thought for a moment.

“An Asterion subcontract laboratory.”

Silence.

Ruth whispered, “There it is.”

Ava’s anger sharpened into purpose.

“Vale didn’t just help my father disappear.”

Holloway understood.

“He covered something else with Ethan’s death.”

Ava closed the notebook.

“Then Philadelphia isn’t just where we find Celia.”

“What else is there?”

“The hospital that received the body.”

Holloway looked at her.

“You remember the name?”

Ava did.

She had signed papers there while barely able to stand.

“Mercy General.”

The coin warmed in her pocket.

The whisper returned.

Not yet.

Ava looked toward the dark lake.

May you like

[COMPLETED] She waited ten years for her fiancé, but the night she marri...

[COMPLETED] Five Years After My Mafia Husband Chose Another Woman, He Me...

[COMPLETED] I CALLED MY HUSBAND 18 TIMES WHILE OUR SON WAS DYING. EIGHT...

For the first time, she wondered whether the voice she kept hearing was truly her father’s memory.

Or whether something inside ORISON had learned exactly which voice she would trust.