With his hand gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, Marc takes a left on the street up ahead as he follows the directions Taylor had given him earlier. Although he already has a strong feeling that he knows the answer to the question he's about to ask, he decides to toss it out there anyway. "Where are we going?"

"You know where." She says, peering over at him from the passenger seat.

His cell phone lights up, for about the tenth time now, and vibrates in the cup holder between the two of them. She leans over to glance at the screen and takes in a heavy sigh before turning to look out of the passenger window.

"Morgan again?"

Her silence is enough to answer Marc's question. He glances over at her before turning back to the windshield, spinning the steering wheel of the car to turn onto Shady Grove Blvd. This time he didn't ask for the directions.

He attempts, yet again, to break the silence. "So, how did you even know that was in the trunk?"

"Millie told me that most officers keep one in the trunk." She glances down at the shotgun leaning on the floorboard between her legs. Its barrel points up at the roof of the car and she gulps, finding just the sight of the large weapon rather intimidating. The closest thing resembling a gun that she ever held was a Nerf gun, and even using that her aim was terrible. She remembers the many times, when she and Morgan were just children, they would have these little battles in her front yard. Each time she'd attempt to shoot the darts at him, for some reason or another, the foam bullets were always drawn her parent's direction. Needless to say, that was the last time they were ever bought a set of toy guns on Christmas. "That... and I always see it in the movies."

The two laugh, mostly from nerves building up, and—at the mention of her old friend's name—Taylor's smile fades and she glances back out the window on her car door to watch as they quickly pass by a lot of trees and overgrown acres of land. A small dirt road is up ahead on the right, a moldering wooden gate blocking its entrance with a rusted No Trespassing sign hanging from small chains in between its doors. She recognizes it immediately, knowing that they're getting close.

"We're almost there." He says, confirming that he does in fact know where they're heading.

As Taylor continues to stare out the window, watching as the once small lot of trees begin to stretch into miles of seemingly endless woods, she begins to contemplate on how she is going to tell Marc the truth about that night. She certainly can't bring it up now, as their main focus needs to be on finding Millie and bringing her back to safety.

But, after that, how should she go about telling him?

An old windmill can be seen in the distance, past acres of trees tucked away just behind the incline of a hill. It has been standing, yet falling apart, for as long as she could remember. Before she was born, before her parents or grandparents were born, these lands used to be nothing but farms. The windmill was once a well structured building used to mill grain and pump water for the locals south of the interstate. Now, it's nothing but broken remnants of a simpler time. As they continue to drive further down Shady Grove Blvd, its deteriorating blades begin to slip behind the outline of the hill until the windmill completely falls out of sight.

She can see the trees passing by at a slower, steadier pace as Marc easies on the brakes and the car comes to a stop. Turning to look at the windshield, she immediately feels her skin growing cold at the sight of the long strip of pavement in front of her. At first glance, it looks like just another section of the road. But, after witnessing what she did that one night, she will never forget this area. The trees, the gravel, the sky overlooking them. Glancing in the small mirror hanging from the side of the door, she half expects to see a flipped school bus behind them. Red and orange lights flashing from its extended stop sign. Smoke rising from its bloody grill as a hand, its burnt flesh smoldering, slams against the cracked windshield.

"Are you okay?" Marc asks, genuinely concerned as he watches her. Although he's still not sure of her involvement in the accident, he can tell that she is reminiscing on it.

Blinking, Taylor looks away from the mirror and over to him. As she takes a deep sigh, she looks quickly around at the street again. She's ignores his question, feeling a more intensified panic starting to set in. "Nobody's here."

Marc also scans the street, along with the trees surrounding them from both sides, looking for any sign of life. Or death. He lifts his foot from the brakes and switches it over to the gas pedal, easing his toes against it to send the car slowly pushing forward.

She reaches into her jean pocket to dig out the note they had found earlier in Millie's dining room. As she unfolds it, she rereads the handwritten words to make sure that, in her state of distress, she didn't overlook anything. But no, it still says the same short message.

"Where it all began..." Flipping the note over, she mumbles the words under her breath as she reads them aloud to herself. "Or she's next."

Taylor glares back up at the windshield and, further up ahead, she can see a small dirt path branching off to the right—barely noticeable through the overgrown shrubs and trees. Her eyes widen as another thought crosses her mind and she turns to Marc, pointing up ahead. "There. Take a right."

Not quite sure where the trail leads, he gazes over at her hesitantly.

"They were heading to the lake to celebrate the game." Taylor turns back to the road, staring blankly forward. In a way, she feels as if she is confessing to being there that night. In a way, she is. "It's part of the Riverside Gators tradition that, when they win a victory, to come to the lake and party the night off. Morgan invited me a couple of times but I never went. He said there was a camp that closed down around here and they would have the cabins and the entire east side of the lake to themselves."

Marc nods, turning back to the windshield as he allows his foot to apply more pressure to the gas pedal. The car lightly jolts forward until he, again, taps the brakes as they approach the narrow dirt path. Gulping, he twists the wheel and dirt flies up behind his rear bumper as the car carries on further down the trail.

They pass a large wooden sign, which has fallen from its stand years before. Although rotting, Taylor can make out the words reading 'Camp Riverside'. The car creeps down the tight lane until it passes through a wooden archway, its pillars swaying with the wind as they nearly crumble apart, with the camp's name carved into another sign hanging from the center of it. Once they drive through it, Marc turns the wheel to wind down another narrow path until they finally arrive at the closed campgrounds.

Three middling cabins line up perfectly with each other on their right as they drive through an open lot, across from them a larger building that the counselors probably held the lunches and indoor activities in when the camp was open. As Marc stops the car in front of the first cabin, Taylor looks through the field of overgrown grass and weeds to see the outline of the lake. Its water is gloomy and pitch black under the night sky, looking as if it were a massive pool of oil. A small pier stretches out a few yards in the water, many of its wooden planks have fallen off and the end of the deck had actually caved in over time, what's left of its rotting wood submerged in the lake.

The two gaze through the windows as the car remains in idle, not quite sure where to start looking. The only light comes from Marc's headlights, casting an eerie shadow of trees onto each of the buildings. The contours of their branches are vivid, dancing alongside the walls of each cabin to a heavy gust a wind.

A sudden buzz breaks the silence, the slight vibration from the cup holder startling both of them. The screen of Marc's phone lights up again, this time from an incoming text message. Taylor glances at the screen and, not believing her eyes, quickly snatches the phone up to get a better look.

'1 New Message from Millie'

♫ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅғʟᴏᴏᴅ / ᴀʟᴛ-ᴊ ♫