Page 21 of Obscurity
She pulled the curtains closed and returned to bed, but sleep felt impossible.
She lay in the darkness listening to Jason settle back onto his blankets, acutely aware of every sound from outside—the whisper of wind through pine needles, the distant hoot of an owl, the creak of tree branches that could be nature settling or could be something else entirely.
The trees are watching.
Chloe Kingston’s final message took on new meaning as Olive stared at the ceiling.
What if her message hadn’t been the ramblings of a depressed young woman having a breakdown? What if it had been a literal warning about the dangers hidden in these woods?
Now she and Jason were planning to walk directly into that same wilderness, following trails that might lead them to answers—or might lead them to become victim numbers four and five.
The bad feeling in Olive’s gut intensified as she finally drifted toward an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of hooded figures and trees with eyes and voices in the darkness whispering about things that were happening again.
CHAPTER 12
ELEVEN YEARS AGO, BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS, GEORGIA
Olive’s family had been hiking for two hours on a well-traveled trail that wound up the mountain.
The late morning air carried the earthy scent of decomposing leaves and the clean smell of granite warmed by early sunlight. Olive’s boots crunched softly on the gravel path as she adjusted her pack straps, her legs already feeling the burn from the steady uphill climb.
They’d passed several people since they started, which made her feel a little better.
At least they weren’t out here alone.
When they reached a scenic overlook, Dad paused. Another family was there taking photographs.
A well-dressed couple with expensive camera equipment was positioning their teenage son in front of the vista. Their voices carried the cadence of people accustomed to having their vacation plans accommodate any whim.
The woman wore designer hiking boots while her husband sported a high-tech outdoor jacket that made subtle statements about disposable income. Their son shifted awkwardly as they directed his poses, clearly more interested in the handheldgaming device tucked into his jacket pocket than the stunning mountain panorama behind him.
“Beautiful morning for treasure hunting, isn’t it?” Dad called out, his voice carrying that warm, engaging tone that could make strangers feel like old friends within minutes.
The woman lowered her camera—a professional-grade Canon that gleamed silver and black in the sunlight—and turned toward them with the polite but slightly guarded smile of someone interrupted during a private family moment.
“Treasure hunting?” she asked.
The familiar flutter of anxiety captured Olive’s stomach. Here it comes, she thought as she watched her father’s face transform into what she’d learned to recognize as his “showtime” expression.
She knew it well. Knew the way his eyes slightly widened. The way his smile became more animated. The subtle shift in his posture that made him appear both trustworthy and knowledgeable.
“Family tradition.” Dad gestured to his brood of excited children with the kind of paternal pride that looked absolutely genuine.
The twins bounced on their toes beside him, their matching purple backpacks and gap-toothed grins making them look like poster children for wholesome family adventures.
“We’re following an old Civil War-era treasure map,” he continued. “Allegedly, there’s buried gold somewhere in these mountains.”
“Really? That’s fascinating.” The man stepped closer and extended his hand. “We’re the Hendersons, from Atlanta. This is our son Michael’s sixteenth birthday celebration.”
“James Sterling.” Dad grasped the offered hand with the kind of firm, confident grip that suggested reliability andcompetence. “What a perfect way to celebrate a birthday. History coming alive in these beautiful mountains.”
Her father’s movements became more enthusiastic as he pulled the leather portfolio from his pack.
Her mother hung back with the twins, her expression neutral as she fidgeted with the straps of Jessie’s backpack, adjusting and readjusting them.
“This is incredible.” Mrs. Henderson examined the hand-drawn map, her voice filled with genuine awe. “It looks so authentic.”
Dad’s smile held just the right mixture of pride and humility. “Doesn’t it, though? I’ve been planning this expedition for months. Michael, you look like a young man who appreciates history. What do you think of our treasure map?”
