I’m almost at the creek when I spot him. Someone who is definitely not from here. He stands with his jeans and leather jacket on as he takes pictures. I watch him for a bit, and then he takes out his phone and does something on it. I take out my own phone and snap a picture of him.

As I step out into the clearing, the branches snap under my feet, getting the guy’s attention. His black hair is pushed all the way back, his eyes in surprise that someone should be here. “Can I help you?” I ask, and he changes now.

He laughs nervously. “Not really. I think I’m lost. I was …” He turns around and pretends to be looking at something. “On a hike and I must have taken the wrong turn.”

“Yeah, those trails are tricky.” I play into his story even though there are no fucking trails anywhere in this town. “You should really have brought a guide with you.”

“Yeah, I should have,” he says, looking down at his feet, and I notice he’s wearing Chucks.

“Where you from?” I ask, trying to reel him in.

“Oh, I’m a West Coast boy,” he says. “Figured I’d get away to clear my head.”

“Well, you came to the right place,” I say, “but this is private property.”

“Really?” He acts shocked. “I didn’t know.”

I shrug. “Let me help you to your car,” I say, and he nods at me.

“Do you remember where you parked?”

“I think a little over that way.” He points to the path that leads to the road.

“Well, let me escort you there.” I hold out my hand and wait for him to walk in front of me.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me.

“It’s my pleasure.” I smile tight, and I take him to his car that is parked on the side of the road. I make a mental note of his license place, but I have no doubt it’s a rental.

“Well, thank you,” he says, unlocking his car door. “People in the South are so trusting.”

“That’s what we make you believe,” I say. “People in the South also shoot first and ask questions later.”

He laughs nervously, getting into his car. “I didn’t get your name.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “I didn’t get yours either.”

“Dwayne,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Dwayne. You have a safe journey home.” I turn and walk back to the creek, stopping and turning to see which way he drives. When I see him pull off, I run to my truck, getting in and calling Monica.

“I need you to run this plate,” I say, shouting off the number.