Page 6 of Not This Place

"Where'd you get to be such a crack shot?" The pudgy man's voice cut through the quiet that had befallen the crowd. His stance was wide, arms akimbo, the previous sneer now replaced with a quizzical brow.

"Practice," Rachel replied curtly. The word hung between them, an offering stripped of embellishment.

"Must've been one hell of a teacher." He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge on his temple.

"Learned from a few folks over the years," she said. Her eyes scanned the horizon, a narrow focus on nothing in particular. "John Red Bear. Joseph White Cloud."

"Never heard of 'em." His response came quick, without hesitation or the telltale twitch of deceit.

"Local marksmen. Good teachers." Rachel kept her voice even, though inside questions turned like gears. She noted the lack of recognition, the absence of a flicker in his eyes.

"Must be good if they taught you to shoot like that and still keep humble about it." A chuckle escaped him, a sound that bounced off the trailers and brought curious faces peeking out once more.

"Maybe." Rachel allowed herself a nod, her own curiosity gnawing at her. The matriarch's frown from earlier etched itself into her thoughts. They knew more than they let on. She was certain of it. But for now, she'd let the illusion of camaraderie linger just a little while longer.

The sun cast long shadows across the dust-ridden ground. Rachel's gaze flicked to the matriarch, caught the downturn of her mouth, the subtle crease between aging brows. A silent conversation hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths.

"Something wrong?" Rachel's voice cut through the tension, sharp and precise.

“You know the brothers?”

“Joseph and John?” Rachel nodded. “Do you?”

The matriarch didn’t reply. But just shrugged, turning on her heel.

Rachel tried to call after the woman. She knew those names. Knew the brothers. Did she know about Rachel’s mother?

But before she could call out, Rachel's pocket buzzed. Ethan. The call vibrated against her thigh twice before she fished out the phone, thumbed the accept button. "Blackwood."

"Rae, we've got a case," Ethan's voice crackled over the line, urgency threading through each syllable.

"Copy that." She kept her response clipped, aware of the many ears straining to catch fragments of her conversation.

"Need you back at the station. Now." No room for questions.

"Understood." She ended the call, slipped the phone back into her pocket. The tightness in her chest loosened.

A nod to the matriarch, a formal tilt of the head. "I appreciate the hospitality." Rachel turned on her heel, strides eating up the distance to her vehicle. The off-gridders' stares clung to her like burrs on denim.

She wanted to turn back around. To demand the matriarch reveal what she knew. But Rachel had played it slow this far, and she

wouldn't get anywhere by rushing now. As she neared her vehicle, the sun glinted off its windows, harsh against her eyes. She reached for the handle, pausing to glance back over her shoulder at the off-grid commune.

The matriarch was watching her, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Rachel met her gaze, held it for a moment longer before sliding into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life under her touch, familiarity oozing from its steady rumble. She spared the commune one last look before pulling away, leaving a trail of dust in her wake.

Her thoughts whirled as the landscape sped by, but she kept calculating as she went. The matriarch knew something—Rachel was sure of it. The name recognition had been there, faint but unmistakable. And then, evasion. It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough.

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she navigated the dirt roads back towards civilization. She replayed the encounter again and again in her head - every look, every word exchanged. John Red Bear and Joseph White Cloud – those names meant something to the matriarch, even if she wouldn't admit it.

She reached for her phone again and punched in Ethan's number. He picked up after one ring - always reliable Ethan Morgan.

“En route. You got coffees?”

“Nah. We’re meeting on the coast,” he called back. “We can get some there.”

“Roger.”

Behind her, the community returned to its secrets, to the silence that shielded them from the world outside. But Rachel carried a piece of that silence with her now, a frown etched in memory, a promise of answers yet to come.

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