Chapter 2

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

They say there's no place like home, but what they don't tell you is that sometimes, home is where your darkest nightmares are waiting to come to life.

In the case of my hometown, they already have.

I could have made the drive from Reno to Pine Ridge Falls blindfolded if I had to. I have a feeling no matter where I was in this great nation, my internal compass would always be set to home, and I would always be able to make my way there.

After all, I know the way to Hell. I'm headed there now.

As I steer my car around another winding curve, the familiar rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains welcome me like a pair of open arms—like the old friends they are. It's been two long years since I last drove these roads, two years since the chaos of my life made me swear off Pine Ridge Falls for good. Yet, here I am, heading back, drawn by both duty and desperation.

The little dusty gem of a town pops up abruptly, as it always does, tucked away in a valley that's lush with evergreens in the shadow of the towering mountains.

My heart thumps unnaturally at the sight of the waterfall that stands at the helm of Pine Ridge Falls. Its water cascades down with a force that seems to shake the entire planet. It always does.

I roll down the window of my 4Runner and let in the fresh, misty air that carries the unmistakable scent of pine and wildflowers. It might be early summer, but there's still snow on the ground in patches and the frozen breeze does its best to steal the warmth from my truck. Despite the fact, I take in a deep breath and the scent of Pine Ridge Falls brings back a flood of memories, some good, most painful.

The rolling hills, the sharp crags of the mountain, I can't seem to drink them in fast enough as I navigate along the cobbled streets where most of the businesses are lined up like poorly performing fiscal soldiers.

I wouldn't say time left Pine Ridge Falls behind. It has its fair share of technology, usually by way of a glowing screen tucked into the palm of every hand, but something about this place screams mid-twentieth-century time capsule.

I navigate the familiar streets, noting how little has changed. The same old wooden sign that reads Welcome to Pine Ridge Falls stands proudly at the town's entrance. There's a carving of a bear cub hinged over the top of it, looking just as adorable as I remember. The sign looks a bit more weathered but just as welcoming. The old grocery store zips by, and the bakery flashes by as well with its windows glowing warmly against the backdrop of the mountains. It's comforting to see that some things remain constant.

A fancy new coffee shop greets me, then the laundromat, a bookstore, a candy shop—a real draw for tourists, but we don't get many. And lastly, I see exactly what I came for.

My destination is just ahead—Bea's Diner.

Bea as in Beatrice Baxter, my mother.

The sight of it squeezes my heart.

Mom's diner is quaint with a slightly faded sign. The red checkered curtains in the window give it a homey appeal. There's a smaller sign next to the door, promising of the best blueberry pancakes this side of the Rockies.

I press my lips together as I blink back tears. It looks exactly as I remember. Exactly how I remembered it that night.

I park in a spot out front and sit for a moment to gather my thoughts.

Returning here wasn't an easy decision.

My sister Erin blinks through my mind. My sister Riley does as well. Next, it's my father's turn, but with him I just see the blood splatter. Then lastly, my mother with my Glock in her hand.

"Wonderful," I mutter as I force myself out of the truck before I change my mind and head straight back to Nevada.

No sooner do my feet land on the ground than the sound of the distant falls embraces me like an old friend. It's late morning, but the fog is still hugging the ground and I can feel the mist brushing against my skin, a cold reminder of the mysteries that lie hidden in this town.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, steeling myself as I head for the entrance. It's not just the warmth of the diner or my mother's embrace I'm here for—it's the search for truth in a place that, for all its beauty, harbors a very dark secret beneath its surface.

As much as I'd like to brag that I know each and every one of them, I have a feeling I know just enough to be dangerous.

The sign reading Bea's Diner flickers above the entry. Like a lot of things in Pine Ridge Falls, it's holding on to its charm by a thread. The windows are streaked with the muddy trails of countless storms and a part of me wonders if it's a harbinger for things to come.

Inside, it's light and bright, a touch too warm with the scent of freshly grilled burgers and fries alerting me to the fact it's just about lunchtime.

Eighties music plays softly from the speakers, and just above that is the chatter of happy customers. A few families sit scattered about, a handful of couples, and just about as many singles are hunched over their meals and coffee.

The interior, much like the exterior, wears its age with a certain dignity quickly overshadowed by a cry for renovations. Red Naugahyde seats pepper the place with color, their surfaces cracked and peeling just like the walls. The black and white checkered floor, once pristine, now shows signs of wear. The ample counter up front is chipped and faded and yet stands proud like a true testament to years of service. The last three of those years has been in the hands of my mother.

She was the head waitress here just before that, ever since she graduated from high school. It's safe to say I've grown up here, but that was when it was called the Corner Café.

In elementary school, I'd help my mother wait tables, in junior high, I hid behind a stack of menus from the embarrassment of being seen at my mother's place of employment, and in high school, I sat in the alley out back with the stoners hoping the cute boys would notice me. That last bit didn't happen until much later and not in Colorado. It turns out, the boys in Virginia found me much more their type, especially the boys in Quantico.

I half-expected to see my mother behind the counter as soon as I set foot in this place. She knows I'm coming, so that's the reception I rehearsed in my mind. Her presence is as much a part of this place as the diner itself.

Instead, my eyes fall on another face, one that feels just as much like family, and I make a beeline his way.

"Well, well," I say with a laugh trapped in my throat. "I knew I was in Hell, but I didn't think I'd get to see the devil himself."

His lips curl at the tips because he knows I'm right.