Chapter 2- Evergreen
1483 Words
Ava
The town hadn’t changed.
Same cracked sidewalks. Same shuttered storefronts. Same silence when Ava stepped out of the truck.
She didn’t speak. Ian didn’t ask.
They’d driven through the night, past the edge of Montana and into Pennsylvania, chasing a name Ava hadn’t used in years. Aelia Elizabeth White.
She hadn’t remembered it until last week.
Now it was all she could think about.
The library was still standing. The mural was still there. Her face, painted in soft colors, stared back at her from the brick wall like it had been waiting.
She walked toward it slowly. No one stopped her.
Inside, the librarian looked up and froze.
“I’m looking for records,” Ava said. “From 2015.”
The woman hesitated. “Are you…?”
“Aelia White,” Ava said. “I lived here. I disappeared.”
The silence stretched.
“We thought you were dead,” the librarian whispered.
Ava didn’t answer.
She found the missing person report in the archives. Filed June 4th. Closed without resolution. No leads. No suspects.
Kaleb’s name wasn’t mentioned.
She left the library with a copy of the report and a photograph she hadn’t expected—her birth pack, standing in a field behind the Davies property. Carson’s grandfather was in the back row.
Ian waited outside.
“They buried it,” Ava said. “All of it.”
He nodded. “But you’re here now.”
She didn’t feel here. She felt erased.
They drove past her old house. The porch was rotting. The windows were boarded.
She asked Ian to stop.
Inside, the floorboards creaked. She found claw marks near the fireplace. A broken frame. A name carved into the wood—Aelia.
She sat down on the floor.
“I don’t know who I am,” she said.
Ian sat beside her. “You don’t have to decide today.”
She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak.
Outside, Evergreen kept breathing.
But Ava didn’t belong to it anymore.
She had returned.
Not for comfort.
Not for origin.
Just for truth.
And the truth was this:
She was never meant to be found.
She didn’t sleep that night.
The motel bed was too clean. The air too still. The silence too loud.
Ian had taken the room next door. He didn’t ask if she wanted company. He knew better.
At 3:12 a.m., Ava walked.
Evergreen was quiet, but not empty. Porch lights flickered. A dog barked once, then stopped. Somewhere, a screen door creaked open and shut.
She passed the church. The school. The diner with the same chipped sign.
And then she saw it.
The police station.
It was smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she was just taller now.
She stepped inside.
The officer at the desk looked up. He was older. Tired. His badge read M. Callahan.
“I need to talk to someone about a missing person case,” she said.
He blinked. “Whose?”
“Mine.”
He stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
“My name is Aelia Elizabeth White. I disappeared from this town ten years ago. I was taken.”
He didn’t write anything down. Not yet.
“Do you have ID?”
She handed him the forged license. Ava Klein. Montana address.
“This isn’t—”
“I know. It’s not real.”
He looked at her again. Longer this time. “You’re saying you’re Aelia White?”
“I’m not saying it. I am.”
He stood. Left the desk. Came back with a folder.
The photo on the report was her. Younger. Softer. But her.
He sat down slowly. “You were thirteen.”
“Yes.”
“Where have you been?”
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t press.
Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a recorder. “Do you want to make a statement?”
Ava looked at the machine. Then at the door.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.”
She left before he could stop her.
Outside, the air had turned colder.
She walked back to the motel. Ian was sitting on the curb, hoodie pulled over his head, hands in his pockets.
He didn’t ask where she’d gone.
She sat beside him.
“I told them,” she said.
He nodded. “Good.”
“I didn’t tell them everything.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked at him. “But I will.”
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away.
They sat there until the sun came up.
And when it did, Ava stood.
“I want to see what’s left,” she said. “Of the house. The woods. The pack.”
Ian stood too. “Then we start there.”
They didn’t hold hands.
They didn’t need to.
They walked toward the trees.
They reached the tree line just after sunrise.
The woods were damp. Quiet. Not peaceful.
Ava stepped over a fallen branch and paused. The air smelled like rot and pine.
“This is where the photo was taken,” she said.
Ian nodded. “The birth pack?”
She didn’t answer.
The field was smaller than it looked in the picture. Overgrown now. Wild.
She walked to the center and turned slowly.
No markers. No graves. No sign of what happened.
But the silence felt deliberate.
She crouched near a patch of flattened grass. Something had been there recently. A deer, maybe. Or something else.
Ian scanned the perimeter. “You think Kaleb came back?”
“I think he never left.”
They found a rusted chain buried in the dirt. A collar. No tags.
Ava didn’t touch it.
She stood and looked toward Davies house. The roof was caved in. The porch sagged.
She remembered Carson’s voice—sharp, protective, already breaking.
She remembered the infection. The way it moved through the family like fire.
She didn’t remember leaving.
Ian stepped beside her. “You okay?”
“No.”
They walked back in silence.
At the motel, the officer from the station was waiting. Callahan.
“I need you to come in,” he said. “We reopened the case.”
Ava didn’t move.
“There’s someone asking about you,” he added. “Says he knew your family.”
Ian stepped forward. “Who?”
Callahan hesitated. “Name’s Elias. Said he used to work with Kaleb.”
Ava’s stomach turned.
She looked at Ian. Then at the officer.
“I’ll come,” she said. “But not alone.”
Callahan nodded. “Of course.”
She didn’t ask what Elias wanted.
She already knew.
The station smelled like dust and coffee.
Ava stood just inside the door, arms crossed, jaw locked. Ian stayed behind her, close enough to catch her if she fell.
Callahan led them down the hall. Past the bulletin board. Past the room where her photo had once hung.
Elias was waiting.
He looked older than Kaleb. Greyer. But his eyes were sharp. Watchful.
He didn’t stand when she entered.
“You’re Aelia,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
Callahan gestured to the chair. Ava sat. Ian stayed standing.
Elias leaned forward. “I worked with Kaleb. We tracked infected packs. We kept towns safe.”
“You hunted children,” Ava said.
Elias didn’t blink. “We followed orders.”
“Whose?”
He didn’t answer.
Callahan cleared his throat. “We’re reopening the case. Elias came forward voluntarily.”
Ava looked at him. “Why now?”
Elias hesitated. “Because Kaleb’s gone. And because you’re not.”
She stared at him. “Did you know he took me?”
“I suspected.”
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
“Did you help him?”
Elias didn’t speak.
Ava stood. “Then you’re part of it.”
Callahan stepped between them. “We’re not here to assign blame. We’re here to document.”
Ava turned to him. “Then write this down. Kaleb changed my name. He buried my past. He erased my pack. And Elias watched.”
Callahan nodded. “We’ll take your statement.”
“I’m not ready,” she said.
Elias stood. “You should be.”
Ian moved. Fast. Between them.
“She said no,” he said.
Elias looked at Ian. Then at Ava. “You survived.”
Ava didn’t flinch. “That doesn’t make it right.”
She walked out. Ian followed.
Outside, the air was colder.
She didn’t speak until they reached the truck.
“He knew,” she said. “They all knew.”
Ian didn’t argue.
She looked at him. “I want to find the rest. The ones who disappeared. The ones Kaleb didn’t name.”
Ian nodded. “We’ll start with the mural.”
She didn’t ask why. She already knew.
Some faces were painted to be remembered.
Others were painted to be found.
- Writer
