The next morning dawned cool and bright, the kind of early summer day that almost felt like an invitation. Eli eased his truck onto Main Street in Shoals, Indiana, the hum of the tires mixing with the faint chime of the courthouse clock tower. Only it wasn’t a courthouse anymore. The old limestone building that had once handled trials and verdicts now housed the Martin County Historical Society Museum, a keeper of the county’s memory.
Kate studied the building as they parked. “Hard to believe this used to be the place people came to decide their fate,” she said.
Eli grinned. “Still is, in a way. Depends on what you find inside.”
The museum smelled faintly of oiled wood and dust, the kind of scent that carried the weight of decades. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with arrowheads, sepia-toned photographs, and Civil War medals. In one corner sat the old judge’s gavel, worn smooth from years of decisions.
Behind the reception desk, a wiry man with sharp blue eyes greeted them. His name tag read Harold.
“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.
“Marriage records,” Kate said, “and maybe land deeds from the late 1800s.”
Harold’s eyes lit up. “Got just the place for you. Follow me.”
They were led into a smaller room off the main hall, where shelves bowed under the weight of bound ledgers. Kate slid one toward her, the spine creaking as she opened it. Eli found himself drawn to the land transaction records, his fingers tracing names and dates inked in precise, looping script.
“Here,” Kate said after several minutes, her finger resting on a yellowed page. “Arvin… married into someone named Draycott. Does that mean anything to you?”
Eli frowned. “Not yet. But it might.”
They thanked Harold, promised to visit again, and stepped back into the sunlight. That’s when Eli saw it — his truck door hanging open a few inches.
He crossed the street in quick strides, Kate close behind. The glovebox was open, papers scattered across the seat. On top lay a single folded slip of paper. He opened it.
Leave the past buried.
The words were printed in blocky, uneven letters, as if torn from a typewriter or stamped by an unsteady hand.
Kate’s voice was low. “Eli… look at the ground.”
By the curb, dusty boot prints led away from the truck. They didn’t match either of their shoes.
Eli scanned the street. Only two people were in sight — an older woman watering flowers in front of a shop and a man leaning casually against a dark sedan across the way. The man wasn’t looking directly at them, but his hand rested in his pocket while the other idly turned something on his left hand.
The afternoon sun caught a flash of green.
The serpent’s eye.
Eli’s jaw tightened. “Let’s go.”
They drove east out of town. Kate suggested the back route toward Loogootee, the one that passed near Hindostan Falls.
“Scenery might help clear our heads,” she said.
Eli nodded, but his thoughts stayed locked on that glint of green. If the man was willing to leave a warning in broad daylight, then the game had just changed.
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