The warm interior of the cozy timber cabin felt heavenly after the freezing mountain air outside. A stone fireplace crackled softly in the corner of the room.
Old Man: Take off your heavy packs and sit down on the sofa.
Mark: Thank you so much, sir. We really appreciate your hospitality tonight.
Old Man: I'll go fetch some warm mugs for you both. Sit tight.
The old man stepped into the small kitchen area nearby. The cabin featured polished hardwood oak floors, crisp white crown molding on beige walls, and rustic furniture.
Sarah: This place is surprisingly nice for being so deep in the woods.
Mark: Yeah, he clearly has electricity and running water back here.
Mark sat down on the comfortable leather couch and rubbed his aching shoulders. Above the sofa, a large framed USA flag was prominently displayed on the wall.
Sarah: Look at the wall behind you, Mark. He must be a veteran.
Mark: Seems like it. He certainly knows these mountains like his own backyard.
Sarah stood up slowly and walked across the smooth wooden floor toward a small side table. Several old framed photographs rested on a lace runner.
Sarah: Mark... come look at these pictures for a second.
Mark: What is it? Did you find a local map?
Sarah: No... look at this portrait right here on the corner shelf.
Mark leaned forward and looked closely at the aged black-and-white photograph in Sarah's shaking hand. A young woman smiled brightly beside a vintage classic sports car.
Mark: That looks a lot like your mother when she was young.
Sarah: Mark, that IS my mother! Look at the silver locket she is wearing!
Sarah pulled her own silver heart locket from under her sweater and held it right next to the glass picture frame. The unique flower carving was identical.
Sarah: My mother gave me this locket before she passed away last year.
Mark: How could a picture of your mom be in a stranger's cabin?
Sarah: She grew up in California. She never mentioned living in these mountains.
Mark: Maybe it's just a strange coincidence or a similar looking woman.
Sarah: Look at the back of the frame, Mark! There is handwriting on it!
Sarah turned the silver frame over with trembling fingers. Faded ink spelled out two names and a date: "Evelyn and Thomas - Summer 1982."
Sarah: My mother's name was Evelyn! This isn't a random coincidence!
Mark: Put it back before he comes back in from the kitchen.
Sarah: Why does this old man have personal photos of my late mother?
The sound of footsteps echoed on the floorboards as the older man walked back into the living room, holding two steaming ceramic mugs in his hands.
Old Man: You’re safe now. The highway is right outside past the ridge.
Sarah: Who are you? Really? Tell me the truth right now!
Old Man: My name is Thomas, young lady. Take this tea.
Sarah: My mother's name was Evelyn. Why do you have her picture on your table?
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