The Last to Vanish(65)

Like I could stop him this time.

Let’s start at the beginning. Where did you find the camera?

Here. Her answer sent a chill up my spine.

In the inn?

No, some guests brought it back from a hike. It was in one of those weather-resistant cases, but it looked like it had been dragged around by an animal. They said they found it exploring the section beyond the falls and wondered if it belonged to another guest.

Did you know it belonged to Farrah Jordan?

No, I didn’t know whose it was. I took it from them and said I’d look into it. There was no identification, so I pulled out the photo card to see if I could figure out who it belonged to so I could get it back to them.

And?

And, there was the date. The date listed in the pictures. That’s how I knew. We close the inn for two weeks in January. I knew that she was last seen during that time period a few years before, at the trailhead. That’s how I knew it was her camera.

Did you tell anyone?

No, definitely not. A pause. Look, you’ve seen the time stamps, right? The first pictures, blurry, in the snow, those were taken hours before the rest.

I don’t follow.

She sighed a long familiar sigh. I think something happened, during those pictures. It looks like she’s struggling. Or falling. The silence stretched, then there was the sound of something shifting, and I imagined her pushing the hair off her forehead, looking to the side. She lowered her voice, and I could hear the waver in it. I think someone else took the rest of those pictures.

Fabric rustling, like Landon was shifting positions. You didn’t tell anyone here. A statement, but also a question.

No, I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to do with it. And then I thought of you. My dad used to save your articles, ever since you interned for him in college.

It was quite the surprise to get a call from you at my parents’ place over the holidays.

A nervous laugh. Yeah, well, I knew how to reach them. Hoped that’s where you’d be.

And then the recording stopped.

I looked over my shoulder, at my closed apartment door, imagined Georgia just feet away down the hall. I was struck by her words: that she didn’t think Farrah had taken those photos. And wasn’t that what had nagged at me, too? They didn’t look like Farrah’s typical shots, because they weren’t.

I hadn’t checked the time stamps of the earlier photos, but I knew the sheriff must have. Did he see the same thing she did? A struggle; something happening. A time lapse. Something changed. Or did it all depend on what you wanted to see?

She was right, about the photos not seeming like Farrah’s. And now I believed she was right about all of it. That this camera was showing not where she had been, but what had happened to her.

But that realization paled in comparison with the next: She’d found Farrah’s camera and contacted Landon West instead of telling us. Georgia hadn’t told me, hadn’t asked me about it—as if she didn’t fully trust me. Or trust that I didn’t have something to do with it.

I moved on to Interview 2, wondering who else Landon had convinced to talk—and how. For so long, this town had remained silent and closed off to outsiders. They’d presented a united, impenetrable front.

The first thing I heard on the recording was laughter in the background. A clattering of glasses, the sound of distant chatter. And then: Can I get you another? A man’s voice, deep and measured.

That’d be great. Landon’s voice then, closer to the microphone.

Want to open a tab?

Paying cash. Hey, Ray was it?

Mmm. I heard the sound of a glass being pushed across a surface. I could imagine it perfectly: Landon West, sitting at the bar of the Last Stop Tavern, speaking with Ray across the bar top. But this didn’t sound like an interview. It didn’t sound like Ray knew he was being recorded at all.

That picture, Landon continued, that’s the famous Fraternity Four everyone talks about?

That’s them.

I smiled slightly, hearing Ray’s terse replies. Poor Landon West, didn’t realize he’d picked the one person in the bar least likely to give him any information. There would be no gossip spilled, no rumors shared. He’d be lucky if he got more than a two-word response.

Who took that picture?

Pardon?

I mean, how did that picture get in your possession. Someone must’ve taken it, right?

Disposable camera. One of them brought it with him. Must’ve asked someone in the tavern to go out and take it for them. They left the camera behind.

And this was the only thing on it?

Yep. Don’t see they had much chance to take any others.

I could picture Ray pacing behind the bar, to another guest, another visitor.

Did you work here then? Landon’s voice again, and I imagined Ray passing by him. I imagined the tight, stoic expression on his face.

Yeah, this was my parents’ place.

Must’ve been a crazy time. What, were you around their age then, too? What was that like?

I’m afraid I don’t have much gossip for you. I had a toddler then. Was pretty busy with him. A pause, a sudden crack, as if a palm had slapped the surface of the bar. Your receipt, sir.

The recording ended.

I sat back, taking it all in.

There were questions people asked often: Were you here for it? What was it like here? What do you think happened?