The Mayfield diner was a local institution. Much like any low-priced, quick-bite eatery, the Mayfield was the preferred haunt of the elderly, youths with little disposable income, and those just hoping for a perfectly cooked cheeseburger. One would never expect good service or spotless dining, but if they overlooked the decades-old cigarette stains on the walls and the yellowed laminate tables, one can have a great meal at a steal of a price.
Timothy entered and found Marshall waiting for him in the same booth he always did, the booth he and Allison had shared the last time he saw her. He waved shyly as Timothy walked over.
"It's good to see you," he said resignedly, standing up to hug Timothy.
"It's good to see you too," Timothy replied, embracing his old friend and then sitting opposite him.
"It feels strange to be back here," Marshall said after a moment of awkward silence.
"You don't eat here anymore?" Timothy asked with surprise.
"Not really," Marshall answered. "Not since the last time you asked me to meet you here. It just reminds me of her too much, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."
A waitress came by and took Timothy's order while refilling a coffee cup in front of Marshall.
"So," Marshall said after she walked away. "What is it you need to tell me that is so important?"
"I know this is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out, okay?" Timothy replied, sweat forming along his brow.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Marshall replied, opening his arms to signal his presence. "Just spit it out."
"Do you remember the dream?"
"Jesus Christ, not the fucking dream again, Tim!" Marshall exclaimed. "I thought you had something real to talk about."
"This is real, Marshall!"
"No, it's not!" Marshall raged while moving to the edge of the booth. "It's a paranoid delusion!"
"What are you doing?" Timothy asked.
"I'm leaving!" Marshall replied, standing up from the booth.
"Please don't go," Timothy pleaded as he reached out and grabbed Marshall's arm. "Just hear me out."
Marshall turned and scowled at Timothy.
"Please?" He asked again.
Marshall stood for a moment and took a deep breath. He then slowly retook his seat and stared Timothy down.
"I'm giving you five minutes," he said coldly. "If you don't say anything of note before that, I'm leaving."
"Thank you."
"Your time has already started," Marshall said coldly, his eyes drilling holes into Timothy.
"Did Allison ever mention anything about a house by a lake?"
"You've asked me this before," Marshall replied, eyes narrowing.
"Did she?"
"No."
"Did she ever mention anything about wood carvings?"
"Wood carvings?" Marshall asked, perplexed.
"Yeah," Timothy answered. "You know, like art pieces. Folk art."
"What kind of carvings?"
"Like faces and stuff."
Marshall stopped for a moment, lost deep in thought. Timothy could tell he had touched upon something. He could feel his heart racing.
"I remember her buying something like that, I think," Marshall said finally. "It looked like a wizard. I remember asking what the hell she was buying it for."
"What did she say?"
"She said it was a gift. That's it. I never asked further."
"You didn't ask who it was for?"
"Why does it matter?"
"It could be a clue, Marshall!"
"Where'd you come up with the carvings anyway?" Marshall asked, a little perplexed by the line of questioning.
"I saw them in the dream."
"You realize how crazy you sound, don't you?" Marshall said between laughs.
"Of course, I know what it sounds like, but how do you explain my knowing about the carvings?"
"I don't know. Maybe she mentioned it to you, and you're just now remembering it."
"Marshall," Timothy replied sternly. "She never mentioned anything of the sort to me. If she had, I would have asked you about it years ago. I swear to fucking God, man, I saw it in this dream. It's like she's trying to send me clues. She knows I'm the last one looking."
"She's dead, Tim. She's not sending you clues. She's dead. Gone. Okay? The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be. She wouldn't want you ruining your life trying to find a killer that was already caught!"
"You know, Crandall didn't do it!"
"Do I?" Marshall questioned. "I don't know anything anymore, Tim. It's a lot easier to go with the official narrative and just put my questions in the ground with the rest of her."
"Don't be so crass. You loved her."
"I still love her, Tim. That's why I can't do this anymore," Marshall said, tears threatening to roll from his eyes. "I need to go."
"Can you just tell me one more thing?"
"What?" Marshall demanded, his anger at Timothy's opening of his old wounds growing rapidly.
"Where did she buy the carving?"
"Are you serious?" He asked incredulously
"Yes!" Timothy insisted. "Where did she buy it?"
Marshall sat and stared Timothy down for a long moment, weighing which route he felt like taking that morning. For him, this new line of questioning felt like cruelty and not the continuation of some lifelong quest to save the girl he had already forced himself to believe was long since passed on.
"She bought it in a tchotchke shop in that old tourist town upstate," Marshall said finally. "What's it called?"
"Trinity?"
"Yeah, that's it. Trinity, Georgia. Looked like an alpine village, or a sad excuse for one."
"Trinity," Timothy mumbled to himself.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing."
"You're thinking of going, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are!" Marshall insisted. "What do you think you're gonna find?"
"I don't know," Timothy replied, looking straight through Marshall. "Maybe a house in the woods, by a lake, with carved wood faces on the walls."
Marshall stood up from the booth and dropped a couple of dollars on the tabletop.
"Then have at it," he said as he walked away. "Just leave me out of it."
Timothy finished his meal before leaving the diner, knowing exactly what he needed to do. Marshall's protestations aside, he knew the little mountain town of Trinity held the key. All he had to do was go there and find it. He had no idea of where to start, or what strand of evidence to pull on first; he only knew that somewhere in that town hid the clue he had been searching for.
He got home quickly and within moments was filling a duffel bag with t-shirts and jeans, both clean and dirty. Timothy felt an excitement welling in his gut that he had not felt in sun time. The malaise that had taken over his life was set into a deep freeze, as though an ice age had taken over his life, casting a glacier over him that was far too thick to break. He knew it wasn't a depression in the clinical sense. It was a profound sense of loss, as though half of him were ripped away, never to be reattached. In a way, it had. Allison had not only been his sister and best friend, she had also been his anchor to reality, the pacifier of his many storms.
After the duffel bag was thoroughly stuffed, Timothy plopped down on his bed and scanned his small apartment. There was very little evidence of prolonged occupation. Anyone who knew Timothy would never be able to tell that he was the sole occupant of that abode. Nothing that defined his personality could be found. He looked down at the duffel bag sitting beside him and let out a sigh. It suddenly hit him that nothing was keeping him in there but memories, and they hurt more than helped. He resolved that after the mystery was solved, he would leave that town for good. The allotted monthly allowance from his trust fund was more than enough to pay for an apartment in any city. He could just pick up and go.
Timothy's phone began to buzz. He looked over and saw that it was Marshall calling. He whipped his hand over and grabbed the phone, swiping his thumb over anxiously to answer.
"Hey, Marshall," Timothy said in reply. "What's up?"
"I've been thinking since I left the diner about what you said. About the carvings…and Trinity. Are you going, Tim? Like, for real, or are you just talking bullshit?"
"My bag is already backed," Timothy replied solemnly. "I'm leaving tonight."
"Leave in the morning," Marshall said firmly. "And pick me up on the way."
"Are you serious?" Timothy questioned with surprise. "After you left, I thought..."
"I know what you thought, and you'd be right for thinking it, but I realized that if there is something to be found, if by some fucking chance you are right and everything we've been told is a lie, then I want to be there when it happens."
"How do you know I'm not just crazy?" Timothy asked.
"Because something else about your dream is sticking in my craw. She never said anything about a house or a cabin in the woods, but she did mention a lake house once. Something about going to one once, or something, I don't know. It's probably nothing but a coincidence."
"The house in my dream is by a lake."
"I know."
"We're gonna find out what happened to her, Marshall."
"I don't think we are," Marshall said with a sigh. "But I'm hoping this will be enough to put it to bed for both of us."
"I hope you're right," Timothy replied after a pause.
"Pick me up tomorrow," Marshall said before abruptly hanging up."
That night, Timothy had the dream again. It played as it had before, moving him from the bedroom, into the living room, and then outside by the rusty bike rack and the broken-down fence. He tried desperately to grasp hold of his lucidity but felt powerless against the will of the dream, trying desperately to take in new clues to no avail. Once he was outside and looking at the woman he believed was his sister, he tried crying out to her, to plead for an answer. She turned to him, her hair flowing in the wind. She faced him, but her hair blocked her face. He could feel his heart racing. The woman reached her hand out to him limply, her long hair still obscuring her face. She looked more ghostly than usual, darker and greyer than in previous versions. Then she tensed, her limp hand seizing into an anguished claw, and then let out a scream that echoed through the woods with its icy fury.
Timothy rose frantically from his pillow and looked around his darkened room in terror. Sweat poured from his shaking body as he struggled to breathe. It took a long moment for him to gain his composure and calm down. The dream had been all too real this time. Her deathly wail still rang in his ears. Timothy knew now that he was on the right path. The dream had shaken him, but also hardened his resolve. He knew he would find her and finally put the whole thing to rest once and for all, no matter what it cost him.