Chapter 4 - The Cabin in the Woods
The storm hit us just as we crossed into the Adirondacks.
Sheet after sheet of freezing rain slammed against our windshield, turning the narrow, winding mountain roads into treacherous sheets of black ice. The red dot on Mark’s tracking app was stationary now, located in a remote area near Lake Placid—deep inside the pine forest where the luxury wellness clinic was hidden.
"The tracker stopped," I said, holding the phone with shaking hands. "She’s there."
"The clinic is an old estate," Mark said, his eyes glued to the dark road. "It was bought by a shell company owned by Rachel’s business partner, a disgraced doctor named Julian Fletcher. He’s the one who supplied her with the chemicals."
We turned off the main highway onto a gravel road, our tires slipping on the mud and slush. The tall pine trees crowded the road, their dark branches heavy with ice, blocking out the moonlight. It felt like we were driving into the mouth of a monster.
After two miles of driving in complete darkness, we saw it.
A massive, rustic stone lodge sat at the end of the road, its windows dark except for a single, flickering light on the second floor. Rachel’s silver sedan was parked near the front steps, its driver’s side door still open, the interior light casting a pale glow over the snow.
Mark pulled our car behind a thick thicket of trees, turning off the headlights.
"Stay here," Mark whispered, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a small, heavy metal flashlight.
"No way," I said, opening my door. "I’m not letting you go in there alone."
We crept up the stone steps, our boots crunching softly on the frozen gravel. The front door of the lodge was unlocked, swinging slowly in the wind. Inside, the lodge smelled of damp wood, expensive leather, and something chemically sweet—the same scent that had been in Emma’s cup.
We walked down a long, dark hallway lined with closed doors. At the end of the hall, we heard voices.
"You were supposed to wait until next month, Rachel!" a man’s voice hissed. It was sharp, panicked. "You’ve brought the police right to our doorstep!"
"I couldn't wait, Julian!" Rachel’s voice rose in a hysterical shriek. "Mark was onto the accounts! He was going to expose the trust fund fraud by Monday! If Emma died today, the investigation would have been halted while the estate was frozen. I had to do it!"
"And you failed!" Julian roared. "The girl is alive! The husband identified the poison! They’re tracking you right now!"
"They can't track me," Rachel said, her voice dropping to a low, desperate whisper. "I threw my phone. We just need to get to the boat. The lake is clear. We can be in Canada in twenty minutes."
Mark looked at me, his eyes flashing. He raised the heavy flashlight, ready to burst through the door.
But before he could move, a floorboard creaked beneath my boot.
The voices inside the room instantly stopped.
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"Who's there?" Julian called out.
The door swung open, and a tall, thin man in a white lab coat stepped into the hallway. In his hand, he held a small, black revolver.
