8. Kennedy
Kennedy
Sender: Dr. Jacob King
Subject: Just checking in
Hi Kennedy,
I saw on the news today that they’ve officially confirmed the Carver is back, so I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. I know this can’t be easy for you.
I also wanted to remind you of my offer. If you ever want to talk outside of my office, I’m here. No cost, no pressure. Just call or email anytime.
Stay safe out there.
—Jacob
P.S. I’ve been following your podcast. The way you balance bravery with vulnerability… it’s a really rare combination. You should be proud of yourself for the way you’re showing up. I know I am :)
I stared at the email for a long time, my fingers hovering over my phone keyboard.
I couldn’t deny it. Having a proper therapist right now might actually help. Between the package, the podcast blowing up even more, and the haunting revelations from Malachi about Christopher Miles and the Carver… it was a lot to deal with.
But something about Dr. King’s offer still made me hesitate.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. He’d always been professional and helpful in our sessions before.
But the offer of free therapy still didn’t sit right.
It felt like I’d be accepting a favor I hadn’t earned.
Also, as my father once told me: nothing in life is ever really free, so beware of people who claim to offer it.
Then there was the odd P.S. at the end of the email. The way you balance bravery with vulnerability… it’s a really rare combination.
It was just a compliment, but still… something about it made my skin prickle with a weird sensation.
I typed out a brief reply. Thanks for reaching out, Dr. King. I appreciate it, and I’ll let you know if I need to talk.
I was about to put my phone down when it rang. It was my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, switching the call to loudspeaker so I could start putting dishes away.
“Kennedy, is what I’m seeing on the news true?” she asked, voice tight with anxiety. “Is the Carver really back?”
“Definitely looks that way.” My lips tightened, and I glanced out the kitchen window at the patrol car parked outside my house.
“They finally solved the riddle that was sent to me, and it led them to Christopher Miles’ body.
It was in pieces in the middle of the woods, just like the other Carver victims ten years ago. ”
I’d only heard the news from Malachi three hours ago, so my mind was still whirling. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the grisly scene: bloodied bits of flesh scattered like broken doll parts beneath a canopy of trees, the air thick with rot and death.
I swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself, but even then, I felt like the floor might give way beneath me.
“Oh my god,” Mom muttered. “That poor man.”
“Yeah, it’s awful,” I replied, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “I can’t even imagine what he must’ve gone through all those years.”
“The cruelty is just… well, it’s unspeakable, isn’t it? What happened to the other victims was horrendous, but at least it ended quickly for them,” she said. “But being held for a decade, always waiting and wondering when the hammer’s finally going to drop… that’s something else entirely.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “It’s hell.”
When she spoke again, her voice was thin and wobbly. “Do you think there’s a chance he might come after us now? Because we’re connected to one of his victims?”
“I don’t know. But maybe for now, it’s better for you and Ethan to stay in Florida.”
“He said the same thing.” She cleared her throat. “Have you talked to your sister about all of this? I haven’t called her yet.”
“Yes, we text all the time, and we video chat too,” I replied. “She’s in shock, like the rest of us, but she’s holding up okay.”
Mom was silent for a long moment. Finally, she spoke up again. “This podcast, Kennedy… I’m worried about it,” she said. “With everything that’s been going on, like the ears and the riddle, I can’t help but think the Carver might target you and Freya.”
“I was scared of that at first too,” I admitted. “But it seems more likely that he’s using the podcast for attention. That’s probably why he sent the package to me in the first place. The police agree.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. As long as Freya and I are alive and the show keeps going, he keeps getting what he wants. Attention. So in some twisted way, it’s actually in his best interest to leave us alone.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said hesitantly. “But I still worry. Are they putting you two under protective custody?”
“They talked about it, but they decided it wasn’t necessary because there’s no direct threat to us. But there’s a patrol car outside my place all the time, just in case. Freya has one too. And we have safety guidelines to follow as well.”
“That’s good. You need to stay safe, honey.” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds before she spoke again, softer this time. “Do you think he could still be out there? Just like Christopher Miles was?”
“You mean Dad?” I asked, stomach twisting.
“Yes. Ever since I heard the news, I can’t stop picturing him locked in some basement, begging to be let out,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to be picturing it, of course, but I just can’t stop it.”
I hesitated. Truthfully, the thought had crossed my mind more times than I could count over the last couple of days.
The idea that my father had probably spent the last ten years alive—tortured, imprisoned, waiting for death—was something I just couldn’t shake.
But I didn’t want to say any of that out loud.
It would only upset my mother even more.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I said. “All we can do is wait and see what the investigation turns up.”
She sniffled. “I hate to make this all about me right now, but I keep thinking… if he is still alive, he’s probably going to hate me.”
“Why would he hate you?” I asked, frowning.
“Because if he’s been alive all this time as the Carver’s prisoner, he’s probably spent the last ten years desperately praying to come home and be with his family again,” she said. “But instead, he’d come home and find that I’ve moved on and married the neighbor.”
“He wouldn’t hate you for that,” I said, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s been a decade, and you believed he was dead. We all did. So he would understand.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. He wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life pining over his death.
He would’ve wanted you to rebuild your life and try to be happy,” I said.
“So if he’s really still alive out there, and the police are actually able to track the Carver down and rescue him, he won’t come back here expecting to walk straight back into your marriage.
” I paused for a second. “Unless… is that something you might want if he’s still alive? To get back with him?”
My mother fell into yet another long silence. This time it dragged on for so long that I wondered if the call had been disconnected.
“Mom?” I said, brows pulling together.
“Sorry. It’s just… this is something I’ve thought about a lot over the years. But I really don’t know how to say it without sounding like an absolute monster.”
I sighed. “Just tell me, please. I’ve heard so many shocking things over the last week that I seriously doubt anything you say can affect me now.”
“All right.” She inhaled deeply before going on. “The thing is, I’ve often wondered if your father and I would still be married if what happened to him never happened.”
My brows lifted. “Really?”
“Yes.” She swallowed audibly and went on.
“Please don’t take this as me saying anything negative about your father.
He was a great man. But the thing is, when you’re married for a long time and have kids, busy careers, a house and yard to keep up with along with a million other daily or weekly things…
after a while, if you aren’t actively trying to keep the spark alive, you start to turn into roommates instead of romantic partners. ”
“You felt like that was happening to you and Dad?”
“Yes. After we married, we stopped dating, if that makes sense. Eventually, it started to feel like we were just two friends who happened to share a life and daughters.”
I nodded slowly. “I get it. You two were just so busy with everything else that having special one-on-one time probably didn’t feel so important.”
“That’s exactly it. Of course we loved each other, but we let everything else come first, and that made us neglect each other.” She sniffed again, and it was clear that she was on the verge of tears. “I was devastated when we lost him. You know that. But if it never happened…”
“You might be divorced by now,” I said softly.
“I’m sorry, honey.” She sniffed again. “I don’t even know why I brought this up. I think I’m in shock from the news, so I’m just blurting out every single intrusive thought.”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s okay, Mom. You don’t need to say sorry, and you don’t need to feel guilty.”
“I just don’t want you to think I ever stopped loving him. I didn’t. I really didn’t.”
“I know.” My voice softened. “But you were also allowed to move on. He’d want that for you.”
She went quiet again.
“We’re all pretty wrecked right now,” I added. “You’re not a monster. You’re just human. And this whole thing is bringing up stuff we never imagined we’d have to deal with again.”
Mom let out a long, trembling sigh. “I know I’ve already said it, but I just hate that you’re in the middle of all this again. I wish I could do something.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m okay. I’ve got people looking out for me, and I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“Please keep checking in with me. Even if it’s just a text. I think I’d sleep better.”
“I promise I will.”
“All right,” she said. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Mom.”