Page 23 of When You're Gone

“Tim Nolan,” Finn agreed. “If hedid send cryptic messages to Emily Stanton, it’s possible he is our poetickiller.”

“Or one of them,” Amelia said,gravely.

***

The evening sun cast an eerie glowon the unkempt hedges and wild ivy that clung to the desolate Victorianmansion. Soon it would be dark, and that was not something Finn was lookingforward to. Finn's sharp gaze swept over the boarded windows, noting how theyseemed to stare back like dark, unblinking eyes. Amelia walked beside him, herhand resting lightly on the service weapon at her hip.

"Why does everyone have tolive in a creepy location in this case?" Amelia murmured, her voice barelymore than a whisper against the haunting silence surrounding the Nolan estate.

"It wouldn’t be funotherwise," Finn replied, his mind racing with the implications of whatthey might find inside. He had seen enough in his career to know that houseslike these often bore witness to the darkest corners of the human psyche.

They reached the weathered frontdoor, where peeling paint hung like ancient parchment. Finn raised his hand andknocked firmly, the sound hollow against the thick wood.

"Tim Nolan!" he calledout. "Open up! It's the police."

Silence answered them – as heavyand unyielding as the door before them.

"Maybe he's not home,"Amelia suggested, but her tone betrayed her doubt.

"Maybe," Finn agreed,though his instinct whispered otherwise.

Finn pressed his ear against thedoor. Barely audible, but it was there—the sound of someone or something movingaround inside.

“You hear anything?” Amelia asked,quiety.

“Someone's in there,” Finnanswered. “Let's proceed carefully.” His fingers twitched for the presence of agun that wasn’t there.

They exchanged a nod. With nofurther words needed, Finn turned the door handle and was surprised to find itunlocked. The door groaned on its hinges, a sound that seemed too loud in thequiet neighborhood.

The musty scent of disuse waftedout to greet them, and dust motes danced in the beam of light that cut throughthe gloom of the house's interior. They stepped into the threshold, theirsenses heightened, every nerve attuned to the possibility of danger.

"Clear left," Ameliasaid, her voice low but carrying in the oppressive atmosphere of the mansion.

"Right," Finn confirmed,moving in the opposite direction. His footsteps were near silent, a testamentto years spent pursuing suspects through less-than-hospitable environments.

Adrenaline coursed through Finn'sveins, sharpening his focus.

"Amelia," he whisperedinto his radio, the device a lifeline between them in the sprawling house."Anything?"

"Negative," came theterse reply. "Keep your eyes open, Finn. This place feels... off."

"Understood," heresponded, but as the words left his mouth, another sound broke through thestillness, guiding him with grim certainty towards the heart of Tim Nolan'ssecrets.

Finn's gaze swept over the chaos ofthe once grand foyer, the air thick with dust and the heavy silence ofabandonment. The Victorian mansion, a relic of opulence now surrendered todecay, seemed almost resentful of their intrusion.

"Amelia," he whisperedinto the radio, his voice steady despite the eerie setting. "Takeupstairs. I'll cover the ground floor."

"Got it," Ameliaanswered, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as she ascended thestaircase.

Finn moved through the roomsmethodically, his eyes scanning for any sign of Tim Nolan or clues to hismacabre obsession. The trail of destruction was palpable, furniture upended asif in a desperate search, or perhaps the aftermath of a struggle. Pages tornfrom books and strewn across the floor fluttered like injured birds in thebreeze that slipped through the cracks of the boarded windows.

"Looks like Nolan's beenlooking for something," Finn muttered to himself, bending to pick up apaper embellished with what appeared to be a complex diagram, its edges frayedand yellowing. He slid it into an evidence bag, a silent promise to examine itlater.

Amelia’s footsteps soundedupstairs. “Finn! I found him!”

Finn made his way to join herquickly toward a paint-flecked door, the heart of Nolan's madness, where Ameliahad found him. The door creaked open to reveal a room shrouded in shadows,cluttered with artifacts of a bygone era. Amidst the disarray, Amelia stoodstill, her hands open clearly adopting nonthreatening body language, herattention fixed on the figure hunched over a desk.

"Tim Nolan," sheannounced, her voice clear and authoritative, though Finn could detect theundercurrent of curiosity that drove her every pursuit of justice.

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