“I think I found something,” she said as she reached into one of the boxes that contained hundreds of prescription medicine bottles.

She pulled them out, one at a time, holding them up to the light and reading the label—each bottle prescribed to a different person. They had to have been stolen, Tara assumed—something only a drug addict would do. But that would explain James’s odd behavior.

“What is it?” Warren asked as he walked closer. He stopped just over her shoulder.

Tara passed them behind her and Warren read the labels.

“No wonder he was acting odd. They’re almost all empty,” he replied.

They both agreed that it would explain his odd behavior, but it wasn’t exactly what they were looking for. None of the names on the bottles were familiar and they continued to move through the room, digging through more and more boxes, each one filled with a large quantity of a single object—baseball cards, books, copper pipes. Tara knew his intent was most likely to sell them, probably in hopes to support his drug problem.

“Come look at this,” Tara suddenly heard from down the hall, which was where Warren had since moved.

Tara followed his voice until she was standing over him in James’s bedroom. The small room was just as claustrophobic as the rest of the house, as boxes flooded into it. Warren sat on his heels on the soiled carpet, his hands deep in a box until he pulled out a bunch of wallets. Tara kneeled down next to him, picking up each one that he placed down on the ground and checking the licenses inside. All random strangers. Warren continued to pull more out, checking the IDs as well, until he stopped moving and continued to study two now in his hands.

“What is it?” Tara asked.

Warren turned around to face her. “Look whose wallets these are.”

He handed the licenses to Tara and she looked down at them—immediately recognizing the faces. They were the first two victims and the ones that the woman at the information center said James gave directions to. Now they knew he had taken their wallets too, but Tara wondered when—if it was at the information center, or if he tracked them down on the trail.

“That’s not all I found,” Warren said, now picking up a camera next to him. “Take a look at this.”

Tara picked it up and flicked through the pictures. It was another victim—Anna—the oldest of the two sisters that just went missing. And Tara remembered now that the youngest had a passion for photography, and probably took the picture. In the image, Anna stood on the trail, looking back at the camera and smiling.

“This must be right before they went missing,” Tara replied.

She passed the camera back to Warren, but Warren’s eyes were locked on something else underneath the bed.

He crawled over to get closer, and Tara could now see that he spotted the edge of an object sticking out from under the bed. He reached for the bed skirt and lifted it up, as Tara moved closer for a better look. Behind it, piled on top of each other, sat dozens of guns of varying types, but something stuck out among them all—a crossbow.