3
Hadley Dawkins
October 2025
Friday – 9:43am
The familiar curves of the back country road didn’t provide a sense of comfort. If anything, cold dread spread through Hadley’s chest as the tires on her Chevy Equinox brought her effortlessly closer to a past she'd spent years outrunning.
She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel, but the tension in her hands had nothing to do with the hour-and-a-half drive from her apartment. And as the pine trees began to press closer to the roadside and the pavement narrowed to accommodate their ancient roots, she comprehended just how damaged she was mentally and emotionally.
It was no wonder she was still single.
Hadley shifted in her seat and reached for the vent. The morning sun slanted through the windshield, but its deceptive warmth this time of year did nothing to chase the chill fromher body.It was then she caught sight of something she thought she’d never again set eyes on.
She instinctively eased her foot off the gas pedal.
The Whistlerun population sign emerged from behind an overgrown thicket, tilting slightly to the right as though it might collapse under the weight of its own neglect. The wood had grayed with age, weather-beaten and split along its seams. Weeds engulfed its base, reaching tendrils toward the bottom edge as if nature itself was attempting to reclaim this failing marker of civilization. Faded white letters proclaimed, “WELCOME TO WHISTLERUN” while beneath them, peeling numbers declared “POP. 1,842”.
No one had bothered to update the count since she’d left town. A violent, rolling sensation shifted inside Hadley that had nothing to do with the two cups of black coffee she'd consumed that morning and everything to do with the sign's silent accusation.
You left.
You accused.
You destroyed.
Her nausea surged with unexpected force. She had no choice but to yank the steering wheel to the right, bringing her SUV to a complete stop. There was no shoulder out here in the sticks.
She fumbled with her seatbelt while desperately pushing the driver's side door open. While successful in that endeavor, she barely made it around the front of her vehicle before doubling over.
The coffee she'd drunk that morning burned twice as badly coming up as it had going down. Her esophagus constricted with each violent heave, acid scorching a path up her throat while tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She braced her palms against her knees, bent almost perpendicular to the ground as her body rebelled against her homecoming.
When nothing remained in her stomach, she continued to dry heave, her abdominal muscles seizing in painful spasms. Sweat beaded along her hairline despite the cool October morning.
“Great,” Hadley muttered as she straightened slowly. “Just great.”
She pressed a hand against her sternum where a persistent burn had taken hold. She'd forgotten her antacids at home. Taking a moment to compose herself, she leaned against the front bumper and tilted her face toward the sky. The morning light cut through the tree branches in diagonal shafts, casting long shadows across the rural road and highlighting dust motes that danced in the stillness.
The beauty of it made her angry.
How dare Whistlerun come across as this peaceful, sleepy little town when it had completely destroyed her family?
Not wanting anyone to come along and ask if everything was alright, Hadley made her way back to the driver’s side door. Once settled in behind the wheel, she checked the rearview mirror. Taking a few extra seconds, she opened the center console.Extracting a travel pack of tissues, she wiped her mouth, grimacing at the roughness against her lips. After stuffing the tissue into the side compartment of the door, she then dug deeper into the console for her Chapstick.
The comforting routine of applying the balm gave her a moment's reprieve. She traced the waxy substance carefully along her bottom lip, then her top, before pressing them together to distribute the layer evenly. It might have been a tiny act of normalcy in a day that had somewhat spiraled out of control, but the small breather had helped steady her heartbeat.
“You should have fought harder,” Hadley told herself in the mirror. She capped the Chapstick with a decisive click. “Youshould have told Ellis to shove this assignment up his ass and then requested that transfer to Troop L.”
Hadley understood deep down that the sergeant had made his decision, and no amount of protests or professional concerns would have changed his mind. This wasn't just about Missy Claymont or the media circus surrounding her disappearance. This was about politics and optics and tourism dollars…not that Whistlerun was a tourist hotspot. Still, the town served as a pitstop for those who took the scenic route.
Hadley adjusted the clip in her hair before tucking some loose strands behind her ear. With a deep breath that was like swallowing glass, she shifted the Equinox into drive.
The gas station would be her first stop. Maybe some antacids and crackers would settle her stomach. After that, she would need to mentally brace herself for a very overdue conversation with Reed Langley.
Hadley pressed on the gas pedal, taking the last curve before the first of Whistlerun’s buildings came into view. Maisy's Convenience Store was on the left-hand corner lot, its red bricks so aged they appeared to be dark brown. She eased into one of the six parking spaces out front. The two single gas pumps had been updated to digital ones. The modernization was a sign that Maisy had been laid to rest.
Through the dusty display window plastered with faded beer advertisements and lottery promotions, Hadley caught sight of movement near the neon open sign. Whoever was behind the cash register had leaned forward to peer outside. The undisguised curiosity made Hadley's nausea return with full force.
