Page 31 of Her Last Farewell

Inside the house, the temperature difference was immediate. The cabin was warm, almost uncomfortably so, heated by what looked like a wood-burning stove in one corner.

"Marion," Eaves replied, his voice catching slightly. He gestured toward a framed photo on the wall…a smiling woman with kind eyes, probably taken twenty years earlier. The photo was slightly askew, as if it was frequently touched or adjusted. "She struggled with opioids for years. Started with a back injury, then... well, you know how that story usually goes." He cleared his throat, running a finger along the frame's edge. "That's why I volunteer at the hotline. After she passed—after she took that final handful of pills—I promised myself I'd try to help others who were in that dark place. Maybe save someone else's Marion."

The interior of the cabin was surprisingly welcoming, with warm wood walls and a stone fireplace that dominated one wall of the main room. A few embers still glowed there, casting a faint warmth into the space. The open floor plan revealed a simple kitchen with worn but clean counters, and a living area furnished with a well-used leather armchair and small sofa. The leather was cracked and worn in places, particularly on the armchair. Bookshelves lined one wall, packed with paperbacks whose spines were cracked and faded from repeated reading. Rachel noted titles ranging from religious texts to self-help books, many focused on grief and recovery. A small collection of fishing lures sat in a glass bowl on one shelf, their hooks dulled with age.

“Can I be blunt, Mr. Eaves?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.”

“Your record and your…current situation, I suppose…it made us want to speak with you about these disappearances. The man we believe to be responsible seems to be targeting young women with thoughts of suicide. And given that youalsowork at the hotline…”

“Ah, Jesus,” he said with a sigh. But he shrugged and placed his hands on his hips as he said, “I guess it makes sense. Covering your bases and all that?”

“Exactly,” Novak said.

"Would you mind if we had a look around?" Novak asked, his tone respectful but professional.

Eaves spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "Be my guest. Though I should probably mention the rifles in the gun safe. They're not all registered - hunting weapons, mostly. I know that's what got me in trouble before." He settled into his armchair with a slight grimace. "Been meaning to get them properly registered, but, well... time gets away from you out here."

Rachel nodded, appreciating his honesty. They began a methodical search of the cabin, finding exactly what Eaves had described - a space lived in by someone who preferred solitude but wasn't hiding from the world. The two bedrooms were sparsely furnished, one clearly unused. A thin layer of dust covered the dresser in the spare room, undisturbed except for a single set of fingerprints near a framed photo of Marion.

The bathroom was basic but clean, with a medicine cabinet containing nothing more suspicious than over-the-counter pain relievers and basic first aid supplies. A small trapdoor led to a basement that held nothing more suspicious than boxes of old books and hunting magazines, along with some preserved food and emergency supplies. The space smelled of earth and old paper, with a single bare bulb casting harsh shadows among the stacked boxes.

As they completed their search, Rachel returned to the main room where Eaves sat in his leather chair, looking suddenly very tired. The lines in his face seemed deeper in the dim light, etched with years of solitude and grief. But he watched them closely, with great curiosity and interest.

"Tell me about your conversation with Andrea," she said, taking a seat on the sofa. A spring creaked underneath her, and she shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position.

Eaves rubbed his face, his eyes distant. "She called late…most of them do. The ones who seem to be serious about it, anyway. She said she'd been clean for months, but the emptiness was worse than the cravings. Said she felt like she was disappointing everyone by still being broken even after getting clean. She said she was afraid of letting down her boyfriend, who was also a user and struggling to quit." He paused, swallowing hard. "It was like hearing Marion all over again. That same despair, that same conviction that the world would be better off without them."

His hands trembled slightly as he spoke, and he clasped them together to still them. "I tried to tell her what I wish…what I wish I'd known to tell Marion.”

“And what’s that?” Rachel asked.

“That the darkness doesn't last forever, that there are people who can help. But sometimes... sometimes the words just aren't enough, you know?"

"Did she mention any specific plans?" Novak asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Eaves nodded slowly, his expression growing darker. "Patterson Bridge. Said she'd been driving past it every day, thinking about how easy it would be." His voice grew harder. "That damned bridge. It's become something of a terrible landmark around here. At least three people have jumped from it since they closed it to traffic in the seventies. Maybe more that were never found in the creek bed below, for all we know. The locals don't even like to talk about it anymore. I think if the county could afford it, they’d just tear the damned thing down.”

Something in Rachel's mind clicked at his words—a sudden connection that made her pulse quicken. The bridge. A location where desperate people might go in their darkest moments. A well-known, local landmark place where someone could watch, and wait, and...

The pieces started falling into place, creating a picture that made her stomach twist.

"Where exactly is Patterson Bridge?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual despite the urgency building inside her.

“Literally just along the outskirts of town. Some people will walk to it from time to time, just for a hike or a jog, you know?” He then went to give them detailed directions, his voice taking on a note of concern. Like most directions that involved back roads and dirt roads, they seemed a bit obscure. Rachel also noted how he’d mentioned it was an easy walk for most people inthe area. People committing suicide could just walk to it rather than driving and leaving their car stranded on the side of an old, forgotten road.

"You're not thinking of going out there tonight, are you?” Eaves said. “It's dangerous enough in daylight. At night..." He shook his head, genuine worry creasing his brow. "The footing's not good, and there are sections where the railings have completely rusted away. It’s a huge safety hazard."

"We'll be careful," Rachel assured him, already standing. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Eaves."

“Of course. And…good luck.”

He walked them to the door but didn’t say another word. As they walked back to their car, Rachel's mind was racing. The bridge may be much more than a grim landmark; it could be a hunting ground for their killer. And someone who lived nearby would have the perfect vantage point to watch for potential victims.

The forest had grown completely dark now, the trees nothing more than black silhouettes against the dark sky. As they pulled away from Eaves' cabin, Rachel could feel Novak’s eyes on her.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as they navigated back down the narrow drive.

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