6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hydessa

D eciding to settle into my rental home before I explore more, I return to my car and drive the short distance further into the heart of the island and away from the beach. Pulling up to the address, I stare in awe.

The information on the website didn't have any exterior images and only a few interior ones. It was enough to know that it would suit my purposes for however long I needed to stay here. But now, looking up at the large house, I'm wondering if I should have taken one of the short term rentals instead.

The place looms before me, its dark brick exterior giving it an imposing presence. The white trim offers a stark contrast, making the structure stand out even more against the backdrop of the dense forest behind it. The trees seem to crowd in on the house, their branches intertwining to create a thick canopy that blocks out much of the daylight. It's beautiful and eerie all at once.

For a moment, I wonder if it's the oldest or the first house that was ever on the island. It looks far bigger than all the others I have seen, and it is separated from its closest neighbors by a good distance.

I step out of the car, the crunch of gravel under my feet breaking the silence. The air is cooler here, the scent of pine mingling with the salty tang of the ocean. I take a deep breath, the smell is so different from what I'm used to at home, but somehow I like it even more.

Unlocking the front door, I push it open with a creak. The interior is just as impressive as the exterior, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The furnishings are tasteful and comfortable, a mix of modern and vintage pieces that give the house a welcoming yet sophisticated feel. I wander through the rooms, familiarizing myself with the layout.

There's a spacious kitchen, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and several bedrooms, each with its own unique charm. It's large enough with enough hidden spots that I feel like I could get lost in it.

I set my bags down in the largest bedroom upstairs which offers a view of the forest. The bed is inviting, covered in a plush duvet and soft pillows. I can already imagine myself sinking into it after a long day. But for now, I have work to do.

First, I get to checking every square inch of the house for any surveillance. I have seen enough crimes in the city with hidden cameras and listening devices used in rentals that I have learned to be careful. You never know who is watching or who could be listening and it is up to me to ensure this case stays silent until I have found the murderer or murderers.

Maybe even then it can stay silent. I can take them out and dispose of them the same way they have with all their other victims. They can rest beside all of the bodies they already took from the world.

As fitting as that may seem, I don't know if my parents would approve of it. And at the end of the day, I am out doing this job for them.

Once I've cleared all of the rooms, I head back to the main bedroom to unpack a few essentials. Once it feels like I am a little more settled, I make my way back to the kitchen and brew a fresh pot of coffee, thanking whoever decided to leave a small supply of the liquid gold for me.

The aroma fills the house, adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise still atmosphere. I sip my drink as I stand by the window, looking out at the forest. There's something about this place that feels both peaceful and unsettling, a perfect reflection of my own inner turmoil.

Picking up my laptop bag and taking that along with my coffee to the small office setup, I feel a sense of purpose settling over me. There are far more rooms in the house than I will ever use, but at least they have an office set up in one of them with a large iron and glass desk. Placing my bag and coffee onto it, I look around the room for a moment. The walls are a medium gray but offset with the white trim and a large window that takes up most of one wall, looking out at the forest.

Frowning, I carefully move the desk further away from the wall it faces, allowing me more room to move in front of it. As I open my bag and take out the pile of papers I have inside it, I consider how best to organize the information I have. I don't have any photos yet to work with, but I do have some information already.

Looking at the first sheet of paper, the blog post I saw that started this obsession, I frown and glance back up at the blank wall. I can't use pins—I can only imagine how unhappy the real estate office would be with me if they came in to find the wall full of holes after I leave. Reaching into my bag again, I pull out a roll of tape and start taping the pieces of paper to the wall, being sure it doesn't pull at the paint.

I also take out a pad of post-it notes and start writing little notes to stick up on the wall as well.

Did no one hear the screams? Did the killer clean up the blood so no one saw it? Where are the bodies? Could someone be covering it up?

I place a map of the island in the center, looking over areas that could be potential murder sights. When I finish my coffee and step back to survey the wall, it's like a makeshift investigation board. The questions and notes taped to the wall are starting points, breadcrumbs leading me deeper into the mystery of Amity Island.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten anything apart from the croissant earlier. It's already past lunchtime, so I grab my purse and the house keys, lock up and start to walk toward the beach again.

There isn't much noise this far away from the main tourist hub, and it's almost peaceful. It isn't long before I'm passing other houses and see the occasional person here or there who offers curious looks and waves in greeting. Everyone I have come across so far seems polite and friendly. If I didn't have the intuition towards evil that I do, I wouldn't be able to imagine that there is someone here killing people based on the front everyone puts on. It only takes twenty minutes at a leisurely pace to reach the beach, but there is still a decent walk along the beach to reach the strip of shops and the main tourist area.

Taking off my shoes, I bury my feet in the sand and breathe in the smell of the sea. Having lived close to the city for my entire life, I have barely spent any time at the beach. There is something about it that calms the soul.

Taking my time, I walk along the water's edge. There are a few people out this far, taking advantage of the quieter areas to swim and do some beach fishing. Like all the others I have come across, they smile and wave even though they don't know me. It feels strange but nice.

It feels normal .

Eventually, I reach the main town, taking in more detail than I did last time. There are other buildings surrounding the main tourist ones and cafes that I hadn't noticed.

Towards the outer edge near the bakery I visited this morning, there is an industrial looking gym that I make a mental note to check out soon. There are also a bunch of tourist shops with souvenirs along with the cafes and restaurants, and what looks like a little doctor's office toward the center next to the small police station.

Further along the street, a little tattoo parlor is tucked in between some boutiques. On the water side of the street there appears to be a lifeguard stand with a large balcony. I can see a couple of people keeping a watchful eye on those in the water which makes me feel like they are concerned about safety.

Next to that there are several custom surfboards on display along with some used boards in a stand. From my angle, I can just make out the front of the building that has art on display through the glass windows. I get the impression that the artist is the same one that created the beautiful surfboards.

Deciding to try a small seaside cafe that catches my eye, with tables set up outside under colorful umbrellas, I find a seat at one of the tables with a view of the ocean and order a seafood salad and a cold drink.

As I wait for my meal, I pull out my phone and review my notes, thinking about how to proceed with my investigation. The blog posts still nag at me, but they aren't going to provide me with any more detail than what I already have. I need to learn the ins and outs of everyone on the island and survey the area to see if any location could match up with the small hints from the posts.

Judging from how long they have been posting, it has to be a long term resident and not someone simply visiting on vacation. But there are still a lot of residents, a lot of personalities to learn about.

It could be any number of people, though; there is no detail on how the killer interacts with their victims. Do they actually get to know them or are they simply people who are in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The blog gave details that these victims are almost all homeless, the mention of having no one is a clear indication that they are targeting people who won't be missed.

Because it won't draw attention to them and the island? Because they think that they will get away with it the longer no one investigates? Are they relying on it not being investigated and if so, why post the blog?

My food arrives, and I dig in, savoring the fresh, tangy flavors. It's a nice change from the usual hurried meals back in the city. As I eat, I overhear snippets of conversation from the other diners—mostly small talk and vacation plans, but occasionally, something about the island's history or local legends.

Once I finish my meal, I go inside to pay at the little counter. There is an older woman there with her brown hair tied back behind her neck and kind brown eyes as she offers me a friendly smile, her badge says her name is ‘Lily'. "How was it, dear?" she asks.

"Amazing, thank you. I can honestly say I've never had seafood that tastes so good before," I respond, and her smile widens.

"I'll have to let Jonah know you said that."

I tilt my head curiously, wondering if Jonah is the chef. Lily chuckles and clarifies, "Jonah is one of the local fishermen. We only source local seafood, and he supplies our little slice of heaven here almost every morning."

I smile as she hands me my change. "Please do. I'm sure I'll be back here again soon."

"See you then, dear." She nods as I turn away and leave the cafe.

I make my way to the little grocery store near the real estate office I spotted earlier. It's not overly busy inside, which I assume is because most tourists rely heavily on the cafes and restaurants.

An old lady with short salt and pepper hair behind the counter is serving a customer while a young boy helps bag up items. They all glance at me as I enter, but I just smile and take a basket before strolling down one of the few aisles. I can hear low voices talking amongst themselves as I pick up more coffee and basic essentials for sandwiches, along with some snacks. Lastly, I grab some wine before making my way back to the front.

"Well, if it isn't our newest resident," the old lady says with a smile, and I almost want to duck my head as the heads of the few other people in the store turn in my direction. "Don't be shy, I'm Gladys. You must be Taylor, aren't you a pretty thing," she says as I put my basket on the counter in front of her. I blush slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Gladys," I respond as she starts to scan the items in my basket. I feel someone step up behind me, almost overbearingly so, and I shift so I can look without being too obvious.

"I wouldn't get too attached, Miss Gladys. She looks like a city girl. You know they don't last long around here," comes a deep male voice.

I focus on him while still keeping an eye on the rest of the store. The man behind me is a little taller than me, his brown hair short and shaved close to his head on the sides. He's muscular with tattoos and wears a tight shirt with a construction company logo, jeans, and heavy-duty boots. Dirt and dust from an already busy workday covers him. His face isn't unfriendly but also not open and friendly either. He seems wary and jaded.

Just like me.

"Oh, hush, Rye. Nothing wrong with city girls. You forget I was one once upon a time," Gladys responds with a wave of her hand in his direction. A smile pulls at Rye's lips, probably thinking about how long ago that must have been, as he dips his head to her in response.

A couple of other people in the store have stopped to watch. One is an older gentleman with gray hair who seems to find humor in our conversation. The other is a man who looks to be in his early thirties, with messy sandy blond hair and a few days' worth of stubble.

He looks rugged with tan skin, like he spends too long in the sun, but it's the deep scowl on his face that catches my attention. His focus isn't on me but on the man behind me. When his green eyes meet mine, he simply turns and enters one of the aisles.

Should I take that as a sign I should be wary of Rye? There is obviously more to the look, but I doubt I'll find out what it is right now. I don't even know who that other man is.

Gladys finishes scanning my items while I am focused elsewhere and, with a smile, she says, "Ignore Rye. Don't let his hatred of city girls scare you off."

She shoots him a glare before taking my money and giving me my change. The young boy, who looks like he could be Gladys' grandson, hands me my groceries in a paper bag. I thank them both and make my way out of the store pleased that I am already getting to know people and clearly making an impression.

The more I can get these people to know me, trust me, the more likely it will be that I can get to the bottom of this town and complete my mission.

The sun is starting to lower across the sky, casting a deeper golden glow over the beach. I take my time walking back along the shore, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the calming sound of the waves. By the time I reach the house, the sky is a deep orange, and the forest behind the house is a silhouette against the fading light.

Unlocking the front door, I push it open and step inside. The house is quiet and still, a stark contrast to the bustling beach and the lively cafe. After putting the groceries away, I head straight to the office, where my makeshift investigation board awaits. The questions and notes taped to the wall seem to beckon me, and I need to add the information to it I learned today.

It would also help me pass the time until darkness fell across the island. Until I could go out again and see what was hiding in the shadows.