“It says the Mill,” Jagger said.
“Wait…” Hawk said. “This isn’t about the bar, is it? It’s about the old paper mill.”
“My dad worked there,” I said. “He was an engineer.”
“And it’s still around? “Jagger asked.
“And still abandoned,” I said. “As far as I know.”
Vigo opened his mouth to say something but Hawk stopped him.
“Don’t ask,” Hawk said. “Because I’m thinkingexactlywhat you’re thinking.”
50
HAWK
I hadn’t beento the Blackwell Paper Company in years, but from the looks of things, it hadn’t changed. We pulled up in the G-Wagon and got out, then stood, looking around.
The place was as deserted as I remembered, a big factory building near the Blackwell River on the outskirts of town. Weeds grew two feet tall through cracks in the old paved parking lot, the field surrounding the old building glowing gold in the late September sun.
In the distance, the trees in the preserve were starting to turn, shades of red, organs, and yellow mixed in with green under the kind of blue sky that only happened in fall.
Vigo looked around. “I’m surprised Bram hasn’t bought this place already.”
“Give him time,” I said.
It was an open secret that Bram Montgomery had been buying up property in Blackwell Falls for years. No one knew why or what he planned to do with it, and none of the property had ever been developed.
The rush of the Blackwell River got louder as we headed for the three-story brick building that had once been the Blackwell Paper Company.
“Your dad work on the machines here?” Jagger asked.
“I’m not sure,” Cassie said, her brow furrowed. “I was pretty young when he worked here, but I guess that would make sense. They’d need people to maintain all the equipment.”
My heart kind of hurt looking at her, that combination of vulnerability and unrealized strength a fucking drug I couldn’t quit. She looked as heartbreakingly beautiful in the shorts and white T-shirt she’d thrown on that morning as she’d looked in the designer dress she’d worn to the award ceremony for Vigo’s dad.
I was almost starting to accept that I would never stop wanting her.
“It looks like it’s been closed forever,” Vigo said.
I did a double take. When had he grabbed his bat?
I frowned. “What the fuck are you doing with that?”
He slapped the end of it against his hand. “Whataren’tI going to do with it is the question.”
“It hasn’t been close that long actually,” Cassie said. “The paper mill. About eight years I think.”
“It’s in pretty good shape,” Jagger said. “I hope we can get in.”
He was right: the exterior of the building looked fine, the brick worn but otherwise intact, metal door lining the ground floor where workers must have entered to start their shifts every day.
“We’ll get in,” I said.
I started around the building with the on my heels. It was eerily quiet, nothing but the river rushing a hundred yards away, a distant plane humming in the autumn sky.
The windows on the side of the building were boarded up, but we found out opportunity in the back: two windows here the plywood had been removed, graffiti marking the building in multicolored streaks and whorls.
