Chapter 5 - The Shadow of the Barn
Retrieving that journal meant returning to the site of the crime.
Gloria and Walt had secured a temporary restraining order against me following the incident, meaning I couldn't set foot within five hundred feet of their property without risking immediate arrest. If I was caught on their land, my chances of gaining legal custody of Lizzy—and keeping my own son—would be completely destroyed.
"You're not going," Adam said firmly when I returned home and explained Ian's plan. "If anyone gets arrested for trespassing, it's going to be me. They don't have a restraining order against me."
"No, Adam, it's too risky for you alone. You don't know the layout of the property," I reasoned. "The barn sits right on the edge of the property line, bordering the old county woods. If you enter through the tree line from the south, you never cross the main driveway. But you need someone who knows exactly which floorboard in the tack room holds the stash."
"Then we go together, but you stay in the woods as lookout," Adam said, his eyes hard. "No arguments, Nat. We do this smart."
That night, under the cover of a dense, fog-heavy fog, Adam and I parked our car half a mile down the rural county road. We moved quietly through the thick brush, guided only by the dim beam of a shielded flashlight.
The old wooden barn stood tall and grey against the night sky, its weathered wood smelling of ancient hay and rust. Through the trees, I could see the soft yellow lights of my parents' house glowing in the distance. The broken kitchen window was covered with a sheet of plywood.
Adam slipped through the side door of the barn while I crouched in the shadows near the tree line, my heart pounding in my ears. Every rustle of dry leaves sounded like an approaching police car.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Inside the barn, a floorboard creaked loudly. My pulse spiked. Suddenly, a beam of light flashed from the house.
The back porch door clicked open.
Walt stepped out onto the porch, carrying a heavy flashlight and holding the leash of his German Shepherd, Buster. The dog's ears were pinned back, sniffing the air, low rumbles vibrating in its chest.
May you like
"Who's out there?" Walt's voice boomed across the yard, sharp and suspicious.
My breath hitched in my throat. I pressed myself flat against the wet bark of an oak tree, pulling my dark jacket tight around me. Walt unhooked the leash. "Go find 'em, boy."
