The Cave Read online

  It had been two weeks since he’d saved the McCarver family from the Louisiana coast. Two weeks since he’d signed the papers that released him on indefinite military leave. Two weeks since he’d received a call that his dad had been arrested for his third fucking DWI, and after a short stint in jail, was being forced by the judge—his father’s old high school buddy—to enter a sixty-day rehab program.

  His dad… in rehab. His mess of a father who after his mom walked out on him, went into a deep liquor-induced depression throwing away everything and anything positive in his life. The man had given up on everything except booze.

  Lester Grayson had spent his life serving his country in the Navy, just like his father—Owen’s grandfather—did. Owen was born between his father’s deployments, to a nineteen-year-old girl who’d decided it would be fun to go home with a sailor after a few too many whiskey shots at the local bar. That single decision turned into a baby boy they’d named Owen. Despite the birth of his first and only son, Les continued his career in the military, but only after deciding it was probably best to marry Sheila—he had knocked her up, anyway—in jeans and T-shirts at the county courthouse. And so began a tumultuous relationship of a man who put his country above all else and a woman who never wanted his baby in the first place.

  Owen spent his childhood roaming the mountains of Berry Springs, doing everything he could to avoid being home where arguing was as common as empty whiskey bottles. The woods, the mountains, were his home… until his uncle, Ray Grayson, taught him to swim in the lake just below their small cabin.

  At seventy miles long and covering over five-hundred miles of shoreline, Otter Lake was one of the main tourist attractions in the small, southern town. Splitting off into dozens of rivers and creeks that wound through the treacherous mountains, the lake was speckled with soaring bluffs, deep valleys and miles of caves.

  Before school, Owen would swim four miles every morning, despite the temperature. He taught himself how to fish and eventually bought a small fishing boat, where he spent most of his evenings. The water was his peace, his solitude, his escape from the chaos of his house.

  Owen found his new home in the water, so it was no surprise that the day after graduating high school, he enlisted in the Coast Guard, spending the next fifteen years of his life as a rescue swimmer on an elite Search and Rescue team stationed in Louisiana.

  He’d found his one true love in the ocean, and he’d found his family in his teammates, and despite several trips home to bail his father out of jail or to attend funerals, Owen had vowed never to return to the Ozark Mountains. For good, anyway.

  That was until he’d received the call about his dad’s latest fuck up, and was informed that his father had not only spent the last year of his life drinking himself to death, but also barely paying his debt to the bank, stopping payments altogether over the last few months. Owen was at risk of losing his family home and the family business while his dad went away.

  “Let him lose everything, Grayson. It’s his fuck up, not yours,” his Coast Guard buddies had told him. “Maybe this is what he needs to finally wake up,” they’d said.

  But just like the times he’d made the ten hour drive from his base in New Orleans to bail his dad out, or just like the times he’d wired money when the man couldn’t make ends meet, Owen couldn’t turn a shoulder to his dad. Never had been able to. Because the truth was, Owen knew what serving decades in the military did to a man. Owen knew the sacrifice and respected it. Owen knew the weight of seeing dead bodies, watching men die in your arms, and making life or death decisions in the blink of an eye. It fucked with a man’s psyche. Some men were stronger than others, but they were all bonded by a common thread—serving their country.

  Commitment.

  Honor.

  Respect.

  That’s why he’d come back.

  Owen shook the thoughts away as he braked next to a rusted mailbox with more dents in it than his Chevy.

  L. Grayson

  The damn lid didn’t even close. He pulled out the stacks of mail, noting more than one red envelope.

  Nothing good ever came from a red envelope.

  After taking a second to jimmy the lid closed, then adding a new mailbox to the running shopping list in his head, he stared at the narrow dirt driveway that led to his family home.

  Tall oak trees grew like a tunnel over the drive, swaying in the autumn breeze. Dead leaves covered the ground. The underbrush was thick, with snarled bushes, rotting logs and tree limbs. A massive tree had fallen inches from the ditch, probably during the last ice storm, he guessed.

  Owen tossed the mail on the passenger seat and turned into the driveway. It had been five months since he’d been home last, and based on the mailbox and landscaping, he couldn’t wait to see what condition the house was in.

  He descended the long driveway with one elbow hanging out the window, and memories of his childhood racing through his head. He passed the pine tree where he’d carved his initials, a mound of moss-covered boulders where he used to play cops and robbers—with himself, of course. A hundred-year-old oak tree that he used to climb and nestle himself in-between the branches with a Coca-Cola and a Hardy Boys book that he’d read a thousand times. So many memories, yet, as he drove down the dirt road, he realized they were all lonely memories. No family trips, no brothers, or sisters. Not many friends’ parents were willing to drive that far into the woods just for a playdate. Hell, Owen had felt alone his whole life.

  Just like he did now.

  As he descended deeper into the valley, he eyed the old barbed wire fence that ran along the sides of the road, and hit the brakes.

  I’ll be a son of a bitch, he thought as he peered out the window at the long, black hair caught in the wire, and just beyond that, two massive bite marks on the tree. The black bears had moved in… which meant two things—his dad apparently didn’t make it past the liquor cabinet when he was home, and two, the Ozark Mountain ecosystem was thriving.

  Of all the times Owen had played in the woods as a child, he’d only seen a bear one time… and that was nothing compared to the mountain lion he’d come across one morning while hiking. It was all part of what made the woods magical to him—you never knew what you’d find.

  Bears, elk, white-tailed deer, coyotes, were just a handful of the creatures that roamed the mountains. And although his home turf was the opposite of his address on the ocean, the woods were just as beautiful. Well… they would be after he spent weeks of back-breaking work getting the land up and running again.

  He pressed on, driving deeper into the woods, when finally, the musty scent of lakeshore filled his nose.

  Home.

  A steep dip in the terrain, then a sharp corner, and the woods opened up to a small clearing speckled with maple and pine trees. Old, wooden fencing ran along the yard of his childhood home—the small cabin he stood to inherit one day.

  Shaded by tree cover, the two bedroom, two bathroom log cabin was nestled in a small cove just above the lake. A pebbled walkway in the back led down to a dock, complete with a humble fishing boat.

  Home.

  Owen parked next to the single-car standalone garage, which was packed with boxes, old furniture, and whatever else his dad didn’t have room for, and got out of the truck.

  The woods were still, quiet.

  The sound of the water lapping against the dock in the distance pulled him back in time—a familiar song of his past. A breeze swept past his skin, rustling the trees above as he fisted his hands on his hips and gazed at the decrepit house.

  Rotted planks ran throughout the wraparound porch, the front window was cracked from God knows what, and there were dozens of shingles missing around a rock chimney. Leaves scattered the front porch, piling on the crooked porch swing that, apparently, his dad never used.

  Owen grabbed his camo backpack from the bed of the truck, slung it over his shoulder, and walked up the aged wooden steps that led to the front porch. He kicked the pine ne
edles and cigarette butts away from the front door as he slid the key inside.

  With a deep breath he pushed through the heavy wooden door.

  Stale, humid air hit him like a brick wall. Musty, dirty, was his first thought—his second was holy shit. The house he’d grown up in was an absolute wreck. Newspapers, beer cans, and magazines covered the leather couches that sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the lake. Dust particles danced in the dimming sunlight spilling in through the smudged, dirty glass. The back deck was in the same shape as the front. A kitchen that hadn’t seen a sponge or a can of Comet in months sat to the right, and beyond the massive rock fireplace to the left were two bedrooms—and based on the clutter he could see on the floor, also hadn’t been cleaned in months.

  He dropped his bag onto the dusty floor and blew out a breath. His father had given up. What man just gives up on life? Hell, his father had raised him to get up after every fall. No kissing or coddling, just wipe yourself off, and get back up.

  What the hell happened to his dad?

  Owen looked around the house, recalling their last conversation at the funeral, months earlier.

  He knew. Owen knew exactly what had happened to his dad… and that thought brought a surprising pang of guilt. Maybe if he had stayed around after everything had happened. Maybe if he had never left in the first place…

  Owen pushed the thought aside. One thing at a time… one thing at a time.

  He made his way to the kitchen, set the stack of mail on the counter, killed a line of ants, then yanked open the fridge. Beer, more beer, boxed wine, wine coolers, and hot dogs. Owen grabbed a Shiner, popped the top and stepped outside onto the back deck.

  A camping chair lay on its side next to an empty beer bottle filled with cigarette butts.

  He walked to the middle of the deck, to a spot where he could see the lake through a break in the trees. After taking a sip, he leaned his forearms on the railing and gazed out to the water, sparkling under the setting sun.

  He could not believe he was back here.

  He could not believe the twist his life had taken.

  He could not believe the knots in his stomach.

  One thing at a time, Owen…

  And with that thought, he ignored the unease coursing through his body and began making the long list of things he needed to get done.

  Chapter 2

  Two months later…

  The early morning light cut through the trees, illuminating the bodies on the ground like a horror show in its final act. Vultures swooped overhead, circling, circling, circling, waiting for their chance.

  Sadie looked up at the two massive black and brown buzzards, with their muted red faces and dirty beaks. “Morning, Bert, Ernie. You’re up early today.” She popped the rubber band from her wrist and haphazardly tied back her long, brown hair before pulling a face mask over her nose and mouth.

  No matter how many times Sadie visited the body farm, she never got used to the scent. Gut gobbling birds she could handle, but the rancid smell of human decay made her stomach flop like a fish out of water… and after the morning she’d already had, her stomach was already in knots.

  Make that gut clenching twists, following by weepy panic.

  After entering her eight-digit code, Sadie stepped through the ten-foot security gate. Dead leaves crunched under her feet as she made her way across the dying grass—a fitting environment for the farm’s residents.

  Sadie walked up to her newest resident—7395—and tilted her head to the side, looking the body over.

  Maggots slithered in and out of the eye sockets, gathering on the teeth of a crooked opened jaw, as if the corpse was in mid-scream. The puffy Y-incision from the autopsy marked the torso, the grey flesh moving with maggots.

  She pulled out her pocket weather meter and recorded the current weather conditions.

  Temperature: 68F

  Humidity: 47%

  Wind Speed: SW 6mph

  Dew Point: 45%

  She had just begun taking soil samples when she heard footsteps behind her.

  “Holy shit.”

  Sadie stiffened, steeling herself for the onslaught of jokes to come. When there were none, she glanced over her shoulder at Griffin Olsen, a twenty-something wide-eyed, eager resident student that had been assigned to her team as an intern for the fall. With shaggy brown hair, a six-foot, lean body sculpted from years of marathon training, and wide-rimmed glasses over bright green eyes, Griffin had the nerdy-hot-guy thing going for him, and the women of the lab took notice. Griffin was outspoken, cocky, and sure as hell wasn’t one to miss a joke.

  Had he seen the morning paper? Read the gossip columns that wrote about her life as if they knew her? As if they’d known what had really happened? As if they had any right to display her personal life for the world to see?

  “Morning,” she said with a touch of skepticism. And after waiting a moment, she stood and continued, assuming he wasn’t up on the latest gossip, “You’re here early.”

  “Have to keep up with you, boss,” he said, staring down at 7395.

  Her gaze shifted to his hands. “One of those for me?”

  Griffin tore his eyes away from the decaying body and handed her a travel cup of coffee, keeping the larger one for himself. “Sorry.” He stepped next to her, his eyes boring into the corpse at her feet, like a car crash. He couldn’t look away. “That dude has doubled in size since yesterday.”

  “Is it a triple?” Her sole focus now being on the much-needed caffeine kick she was about to get.

  “Triple chocolate mocha, extra drizzle, made especially for one of the top forensic anthropologists in the country.”

  She frowned, cocked her head.

  Griffin winked. “According to Ben the barista, of course. You should have seen his face drop when I walked in without you.” He strapped on a face mask. “Dude’s obsessed.”

  “He’s obsessed with the tip we leave him every day.” She lifted her mask and sipped, savoring the warm tingle of chocolate and cream on her tongue, then replaced the mask and squatted down next to 7395.

  “He’s obsessed with what he can’t have. The guy knows who you’re dating… I mean, come on.”

  The muscles in Sadie’s shoulders tightened, like intertwined ropes being twisted tighter, tighter, tighter. She took a quick breath, looked down, then changed the subject.

  “So, anyway, yes, dude has doubled in size since yesterday. He’s in the bloat phase, which usually occurs within the first few days of death. We were lucky to get this one so soon.”

  “And it’s the bacteria from the cells that makes him swell, right?” Griffin kneeled next to her.

  She took another sip. “Sort of. Right after death, the fluid in the cells leak out, feeding the bacteria. Then, the bacteria converts the insides of the body to gas basically, which causes the body to bloat.” She pulled the pen from behind her ear and pointed to the “dude’s” coppery-colored limbs. “See here? This is marbling, from the sulfur in the body, created from the bacteria, too.”

  “And I’m assuming that’s the smell, too.”

  Sadie grinned under her mask. “Yep.” She stood. “I just recorded the weather stats and took a soil sample. We’ll need to do this every morning. Be sure to log it in his file before the end of the day.”

  Griffin nodded. “You got it, boss.”

  Sadie stood and looked at the dozens of bodies, each in different stages of decomposition, lying under metal cages so that scavengers couldn’t partake. A few bodies lay in the shade, a few in the sun, a few on a man-made creek, and a few in tubs of water at the bottom of the hill. Each body strategically placed to analyze and record each stage of decomposition.

  A body farm was everything worst nightmares were made of, except this was very real.

  And very important.

  A gust of wind followed by a grinding creak, pulled their attention to a nearby tree.

  “God, that’s creepy,” Griffin muttered as they
stared at the decomposing body hanging by its neck from a tree branch. With every gust of wind, the dead body swayed back and forth, scraggy scraps of hair attached to a decaying face blowing in the wind while the rope groaned at its weight.

  Sadie walked to the tree with Griffin on her heels. “It’s important to recreate different homicide—or suicide—scenarios so we provide the best analysis we can to law enforcement. Bodies that decompose in the air are a lot different than ones on the ground. Even after the bones begin to drop from the body, or perhaps after all of them drop, we can still tell that the majority of decomposition happened in the air—which would imply a hanging, which would be huge in an investigation.” The body caught in the wind again, turning in circles now. “But yeah, I’ll give you that. It’s pretty damn creepy.”

  Griffin turned away from the grotesque image floating in front of them. “Anyway, I came down here to make sure you had everything you needed for your presentation that starts in thirty.”

  “Thirty minutes?” She glanced at her watch. “Damn, okay, I need to print a few things out…” She slid her notebook into her pocket and began making her way through the bodies, “… and look at something else beforehand.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Griffin fell into step next to her.

  “No thanks.” Her mind started racing with everything she needed to get done. The job never slept, and neither did she.

  After getting her doctorate in forensic anthropology years earlier, Sadie had jumped at the opportunity to intern with KT Crime Labs—a privately funded forensics laboratory with one of the largest body farms in the country. That internship had turned into a job offer, which she’d accepted on the spot. She was living her dream, committing herself to every case she worked. As the years ticked by, Sadie had begun to make a name for herself, and was given more and more responsibility, earning the label of a workaholic. And when the only other forensic anthropologist in the area left his job at the state crime lab, local law enforcement agencies were calling on her to do work that typically went to the state. Before she knew it, Sadie was working fifteen-hour days just to keep her head above water. But that was okay, she was doing something that she truly loved—helping solve homicides.