"Call the pack," I say, already moving toward the cruiser. "Full alert. No more pretending this is containable."
The time for controlled solutions died with these bodies. Now comes the reckoning I've spent years trying to avoid.
19
ELLIE
"October 15th, 3:42 a.m.," I whisper into my phone's voice recorder. "Pattern analysis confirms coordinated suppression of evidence across multiple incidents spanning 27 years."
My phone buzzes with a text from Thomas Reed, the overly cautious librarian.
Found those records you asked about. Can meet at 8 a.m. if you're still interested.
I type back immediately:Yes. Same place as yesterday?
The message shows as delivered. Then read.
Then nothing.
I wait five minutes before trying again:Thomas? Everything okay?
Delivered. Read. Silence.
Twenty minutes pass. I call his number directly, listening to rings that stretch into automated voicemail.
I walk to my window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer at the street below. The same pickup truck that was parked across from the diner yesterday now sits three spaces down from my building. Different location, same license plate.
When I first noticed it, I assumed coincidence. Small town, limited parking, people have routines.
Now I recognize surveillance.
The driver isn't trying to hide. He wants me to know I'm being watched. The message isn't subtle: your questions have consequences, and those consequences are escalating.
Which means I've found something worth protecting.
I findhim at the sheriff’s office just after I leave the diner. He’s standing over a map spread across his desk, shoulders tight with a tension I recognize from my own sleepless nights. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
“I know about the quarry,” I say.
My voice is calm, a flat statement of fact.
He stills.
“People talk,” he says carefully.
“About an abandoned quarry?” I ask. “Because that’s new.”
“It’s private property.”
I nod. “So was the forest trail you blocked me from last week.”
His jaw tightens.
“You’re drawing connections that don’t exist,” he says.
“Then help me understand why everyone gets quiet when I say the word out loud,” I reply.
Silence.