Page 42 of Not This Place

The crackle of static broke through the silence as Rachel reached for the radio clipped to her belt. "Ethan, it's Rae. The Andersons are clean. Their alibi checks out, both at church bingo the night of," she reported, eyes scanning the dashboard of her unmarked patrol car, its dials and screens lit in the fading light.

"Copy that, Rae," Ethan Morgan's voice responded, a steady presence in the growing dusk. "No luck on my end either. The Cartwright farm’s all clear."

Rachel nodded, though he couldn't see her. "Heading to the last address now. Keep your phone close."

"Be careful out there," Ethan replied, a hint of concern woven through his tone.

The car hummed beneath her as Rachel guided it along the narrowing road, dust kicking up from the unpaved surface. Trees lined the way, their branches reaching overhead like bony fingers against the darkening sky.

She double-checked her phone. This farm belonged to

a Mr. Gerald Barker, a man of 55. His purchase records showed a high quantity of loamy soil, irrigation equipment, and advanced horticultural supplies. Enough for an agricultural operation. But Barker had no previous farming experience on file.

As she neared the property, Rachel slowed the car to a crawl, her keen eyes scanning the landscape. The road ended in a rusted metal gate, wooden fences extending on either side into the shadowy woodland. The wind stirred up dust around her car, carrying with it the scent of dried leaves and pine needles, layered underneath with an earthy note she couldn't place.

Rachel frowned at a stain on one of the gate posts, deep brown against the weather-worn wood. Blood? She grabbed her flashlight from the cup holder and shone it on the post. The stain was definitely blood - fresh enough to still be sticky. She replaced her flashlight, radioing Ethan with a quiet urgency as she slipped from her car.

“Ethan, I've got something at Barker's property," Rachel murmured into her device, eyes scanning the area for any movement. "Stay available."

She unlatched the gate and pushed it open, gravel crunching underfoot as she stepped onto Barker's property. A winding path before her lay sheltered by towering trees, casting long shadows that danced as the wind rustled through their branches.

The landscape was silent except for the chirping crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Her heart pounded in rhythm with each step she took on the rough path.

She hesitated, listening.

The radio static caught her attention. Ahead, she thought she heard the sound of movement.

But it had gone quiet as quickly as it had come.

"Going radio silent, Ethan. Found something," she spoke into the device, her voice low and controlled.

"Understood. Check in soon," came his response.

The gravel crunched under her boots. The air was heavy with an unwelcome stillness.

The wind carried a whisper of desolation as it swept through the dense foliage that flanked the dusty road. Rachel Blackwood's boots disturbed the silence with each step, sending small clouds of dust spiraling into the air, her footfalls a steady rhythm in the quiet. The canopy above formed a natural tunnel, shadows concealing more than they revealed, twisting moonlight into dim ribbons that barely touched the ground.

She scanned the surroundings, her gaze sharp and searching. The trees seemed to watch, their branches swaying gently as if nodding to some secret knowledge of the land. Though the rustling leaves might have been soothing on another day, here they were like hushed conspirators.

Past the tree line, stacks of unused lumber lay scattered, an odd contrast to the untamed growth around them. Nearby, several bags of loamy soil leaned against a dilapidated shed, their contents spilling onto the parched earth. It struck her, the deliberate placement amid nature's indifference. She noted the details, mentally cataloging: recent activity, intent to cultivate.

The scent hit her then, unmistakable despite its mingling with the earthiness of the underbrush. Cannabis. It grew stronger as she advanced, a pungent aroma that clung to the back of her throat. No sight of the plants themselves, but Rachel knew the signs—this was no casual endeavor. Someone had invested time, effort, money. A lot of it.

She paused, allowing her senses to adjust, to take in every nuance of the scene before her. Her breathing even, she listened to the land speak—a distant creak of wood, a soft crackle of dry leaves underfoot, the ever-present whisper of the wind. With each breath, the heavy fragrance filled her lungs, sharpening her focus.

The cabin loomed, a solitary silhouette amongst the dense thicket of pine and oak, its weathered walls telling tales of neglect. Rachel raised her voice, clear and authoritative. "Texas Ranger! Anyone home?" Her call dissipated into the still air, met with silence. She waited. No answer came.

Decision made, she veered off the path, making her way to the rear of the dwelling. Footing was treacherous, the ground littered with twigs and pine needles that crunched under her boots. Eyes scanned for signs of occupancy, ears alert for any hint of movement within.

The back of the cabin offered no more greeting than the front. A small gate, partially hidden by overgrown brambles, caught her attention. Rachel's hand pushed through the tangle, fingers closing around the cold metal latch. The gate creaked open.

Stunned, she stepped through.

Rows upon rows of cannabis plants stood before her, their leaves a vibrant green against the backdrop of the forest's muted tones. The operation sprawled across the clearing, meticulously organized. Rachel inhaled deeply; the air was thick with the musky scent of the plants. Their collective fragrance was almost overpowering, tangling with the forest's natural aromas.

She navigated between the rows, senses sharp. The rustle of leaves filled her ears, each plant brushing against the next as a gentle breeze wound its way through the clearing. Sticky resin clung to her fingertips, where they brushed against the serrated leaves, leaving behind a pungent reminder of the illicit harvest.

Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the earthy soil beneath her feet. The soil was rich, dark, turned recently. Irrigation hoses snaked their way between the plants, droplets of water catching the light, evidence of care and cultivation.

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