Sleipnir
The Eight-Legged Norse Horse
The first call hadn't been that unusual.
Alex Rhodes had never once in all his years working turned down a tough case, and he wasn't about to start on that first day: Three weeks before christmas, on December second, it was brought to him that a woman by the name of Rae Bauer was missing. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'6", 120lb... he'd spent the first three or four days looking at her photo. But after those first three or four days, the second report came in. Then the third...
The first few had agent Rhodes looking at a specific business -- a real estate agency who employed all three. He'd conducted countless interviews and strenuous interrogations, but ultimately, didn't find much in the way of motives for murder, kidnapping, or even a connection between the three beyond their shared work. For a brief, thrillingly frightening moment, he'd even believed that perhaps he had a serial homicide on his hands. Maybe he still did.
That was when the link finally clicked into place: The location. First there were the three trying to collect land payments, now missing. Then there were three more local or semi-local, unrelated people, none of whom had links at all. Then there was one more: An employee at the Hollybrook Tree Farm. He showed up for work... then he vanished. No warning. No lead-up. The only stroke of luck the poor kids there had was that Alex was already on site when it happened. The two were no older than 17, and they begged him to believe them, that their supervisor would never just leave without telling anyone. He'd listened -- of course he'd listened.
And so there he stood. Maybe, he wondered, he still did have his serial homicide. He stood in a forest of straight rows of pine trees, most only a foot or so taller than him. The snow came up to his shins, and he had his coat collar up against the chilly breeze as he surveyed the little clearing around him. He'd seen and done enough that he considered himself prepared for anything. Almost anything. But all around him, there were strange signs. He'd already shut the whole place down, and yet he still felt watched. Something was very, very off, in the sap, in the rustling, in the way he swore he heard voices... Even in the evidence still strewn on the ground in places and in the trees.
So he did the only thing he could think to do. He flipped open his phone.
Morgan turned and looked over her shoulder when her phone started vibrating on the counter. She sighed and wiped her hands on her towel, brushed the flour off on her pants, and grabbed it. When she lifted it up to glance at the name, though, she frowned. Alex Rhodes. Alex Rhodes? She looked over her shoulder again, and leaned through the kitchen bar window. Warren was in the other room. He'd invited her over for some impromptu baking -- to help him with a cake to take to the library, he'd said. For Alex to call her felt off. But all the same, she answered the phone. "Hey. Is something wrong?"
"Hi, Morgan, I'm having a great Christmas season. Thanks for asking! Happy holidays to you, too, by the way." She scoffed and rolled her eyes at the response. He didn't wait for her to get a word in. "Yes. Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I'm on a case..."
"You can't have him."
"I'm not asking for Warren. If I was, I wouldn't have called you." Alex paused on the other end, and Morgan turned around to lean against the counter. "I... kinda think you might be who I need to consult."
"I don't know shit about criminal justice. What, is this about trees, or rocks, or...?"
"Trees." Alex's answer came quick.
Morgan raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Um... Well, okay."
"I... think something's not right." There was a short silence. "I think this might be a 'you' thing, not a 'ranger' thing. It's... I don't know."
"Then explain it in the best way you can," Morgan told him. She dropped her eyes to the floor. "You'd be surprised how well I handle that."
Alex didn't answer right away. Another silence hung, just long enough that Morgan wondered what he was thinking on his end, wherever he was calling from. "...They're pine trees. The staff here says they... aren't supposed to be here," he told her. "It's a christmas tree farm. They aren't in the rows."
"How old are they?"
"According to the staff, a few days at the oldest and some swear they weren't there at all til just today. According to the size of them..." He hesitated and sighed. "I don't know. How should I know? I don't... there's no disturbed soil, they're a little taller than me. There are divots from footprints but no other disturbance-- well..." Morgan frowned when he went back on it. "There's... I don't know. It's, um... like sap. Black sap."
Morgan's stomach dropped. It was her turn to fall silent for awhile, standing there in the kitchen, staring at the floor. A terrible, buzzing chill crawled up her spine. "...You said this has to do with a case you're on? What kind?"
"Morgan, this is--"
"You made it my problem when I answered the phone. What is it?"
Alex paused again. "Missing people," he answered. "Seven. And... we have evidence that they were here. Fabric from clothing they were last seen in."
The chill turned to ice then. For a moment that stretched on for far too long, Morgan wasn't in the kitchen anymore. She wasn't a broad-shouldered, well-muscled ranger with long hair tied up in a bun, making cake in her friend's kitchen out in Utah. She had short hair, a beat up old green sedan with one headlight, standing in a living room, where chunks of clothing, couch, and flesh hung in the branches of a tree that appeared to pop up in a heartbeat. She had an iron pipe in her hands. They were shaking. You can't let it touch you, he told herself. If it touches you, you're dead. It can't touch you.
"Get off site. You. Everyone else. Get them away from those trees, don't let anyone near them, and do not touch anything. Tell me you haven't touched anything," she urged.
"What do you take us for? No one's touched anything," he told her. Morgan let out a breath and nodded.
"Send me the address. I'll be there. Merry Christmas," she told him.
"Merry Christmas, Morgan. Stay safe getting here."
Morgan hung up and let out a sharp breath. She closed her eyes again and shook her head.
Sprig trees. It had to be sprig trees.
Hawke.
Alex Rhodes had never once in all his years working turned down a tough case, and he wasn't about to start on that first day: Three weeks before christmas, on December second, it was brought to him that a woman by the name of Rae Bauer was missing. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'6", 120lb... he'd spent the first three or four days looking at her photo. But after those first three or four days, the second report came in. Then the third...
The first few had agent Rhodes looking at a specific business -- a real estate agency who employed all three. He'd conducted countless interviews and strenuous interrogations, but ultimately, didn't find much in the way of motives for murder, kidnapping, or even a connection between the three beyond their shared work. For a brief, thrillingly frightening moment, he'd even believed that perhaps he had a serial homicide on his hands. Maybe he still did.
That was when the link finally clicked into place: The location. First there were the three trying to collect land payments, now missing. Then there were three more local or semi-local, unrelated people, none of whom had links at all. Then there was one more: An employee at the Hollybrook Tree Farm. He showed up for work... then he vanished. No warning. No lead-up. The only stroke of luck the poor kids there had was that Alex was already on site when it happened. The two were no older than 17, and they begged him to believe them, that their supervisor would never just leave without telling anyone. He'd listened -- of course he'd listened.
And so there he stood. Maybe, he wondered, he still did have his serial homicide. He stood in a forest of straight rows of pine trees, most only a foot or so taller than him. The snow came up to his shins, and he had his coat collar up against the chilly breeze as he surveyed the little clearing around him. He'd seen and done enough that he considered himself prepared for anything. Almost anything. But all around him, there were strange signs. He'd already shut the whole place down, and yet he still felt watched. Something was very, very off, in the sap, in the rustling, in the way he swore he heard voices... Even in the evidence still strewn on the ground in places and in the trees.
So he did the only thing he could think to do. He flipped open his phone.
Morgan turned and looked over her shoulder when her phone started vibrating on the counter. She sighed and wiped her hands on her towel, brushed the flour off on her pants, and grabbed it. When she lifted it up to glance at the name, though, she frowned. Alex Rhodes. Alex Rhodes? She looked over her shoulder again, and leaned through the kitchen bar window. Warren was in the other room. He'd invited her over for some impromptu baking -- to help him with a cake to take to the library, he'd said. For Alex to call her felt off. But all the same, she answered the phone. "Hey. Is something wrong?"
"Hi, Morgan, I'm having a great Christmas season. Thanks for asking! Happy holidays to you, too, by the way." She scoffed and rolled her eyes at the response. He didn't wait for her to get a word in. "Yes. Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I'm on a case..."
"You can't have him."
"I'm not asking for Warren. If I was, I wouldn't have called you." Alex paused on the other end, and Morgan turned around to lean against the counter. "I... kinda think you might be who I need to consult."
"I don't know shit about criminal justice. What, is this about trees, or rocks, or...?"
"Trees." Alex's answer came quick.
Morgan raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Um... Well, okay."
"I... think something's not right." There was a short silence. "I think this might be a 'you' thing, not a 'ranger' thing. It's... I don't know."
"Then explain it in the best way you can," Morgan told him. She dropped her eyes to the floor. "You'd be surprised how well I handle that."
Alex didn't answer right away. Another silence hung, just long enough that Morgan wondered what he was thinking on his end, wherever he was calling from. "...They're pine trees. The staff here says they... aren't supposed to be here," he told her. "It's a christmas tree farm. They aren't in the rows."
"How old are they?"
"According to the staff, a few days at the oldest and some swear they weren't there at all til just today. According to the size of them..." He hesitated and sighed. "I don't know. How should I know? I don't... there's no disturbed soil, they're a little taller than me. There are divots from footprints but no other disturbance-- well..." Morgan frowned when he went back on it. "There's... I don't know. It's, um... like sap. Black sap."
Morgan's stomach dropped. It was her turn to fall silent for awhile, standing there in the kitchen, staring at the floor. A terrible, buzzing chill crawled up her spine. "...You said this has to do with a case you're on? What kind?"
"Morgan, this is--"
"You made it my problem when I answered the phone. What is it?"
Alex paused again. "Missing people," he answered. "Seven. And... we have evidence that they were here. Fabric from clothing they were last seen in."
The chill turned to ice then. For a moment that stretched on for far too long, Morgan wasn't in the kitchen anymore. She wasn't a broad-shouldered, well-muscled ranger with long hair tied up in a bun, making cake in her friend's kitchen out in Utah. She had short hair, a beat up old green sedan with one headlight, standing in a living room, where chunks of clothing, couch, and flesh hung in the branches of a tree that appeared to pop up in a heartbeat. She had an iron pipe in her hands. They were shaking. You can't let it touch you, he told herself. If it touches you, you're dead. It can't touch you.
"Get off site. You. Everyone else. Get them away from those trees, don't let anyone near them, and do not touch anything. Tell me you haven't touched anything," she urged.
"What do you take us for? No one's touched anything," he told her. Morgan let out a breath and nodded.
"Send me the address. I'll be there. Merry Christmas," she told him.
"Merry Christmas, Morgan. Stay safe getting here."
Morgan hung up and let out a sharp breath. She closed her eyes again and shook her head.
Sprig trees. It had to be sprig trees.
Hawke.