Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Hopper
It’s been two days since Nysa Calloway came back.
Two days of pacing the floor at night, of staring out the window toward her darkened house, watching for something . . . or maybe someone. Two days of telling myself it’s none of my business and failing miserably because somehow something feels very wrong.
Her return just doesn’t sit right.
Not because she’s here—she has every right to be—but because of the way she carries herself, like she’s waiting for something to go wrong. The way she hesitates before stepping onto the porch, eyes darting toward the tree line as if expecting movement. The way she jumps at sudden noises, fingers tightening around whatever she’s holding, her body going rigid before she forces herself to relax.
She’s avoiding town.
Avoiding people.
Avoiding something.
I’ve stopped by more than once, bringing food because it’s obvious she doesn’t have much in the house. She hasn’t made a single trip to the store. There’s no way she has anything in those cupboards or the fridge unless I’ve delivered it.
Every time I knock, it takes too long for her to answer. Like she’s standing on the other side, debating whether to open the door at all.
And if that’s not enough to be worried, there’s Maddie.
For the last couple of nights she’s had night terrors. Her cry shatters the silence. And just as I’m about to finally settle in for the night, there they are again. I’m out of bed before my mind fully catches up, shoving open her door.
She’s curled in the middle of the mattress, blanket fisted in both hands, her tiny chest rising and falling too fast. Tears streak her flushed cheeks, her breath hitching as she struggles to come back from whatever pulled her under.
My throat tightens.
I sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for her. “Mads, hey. I’m here.”
Her wide eyes find mine, still glossy with tears. Her lip wobbles as she clutches her blanket tighter. “Am scawed.”
Her voice is so small, so unsteady, that something inside me twists. I brush damp curls away from her forehead, my palm resting lightly against her warm skin. “I know, baby girl. But you’re safe. I promise.”
Her face is damp with tears, her lower lip trembling as she burrows into my chest, small fingers clutching my shirt. “Daddy,” she whimpers, voice wobbly. “Man outside.”
A chill runs through me. “Outside where, baby?”
She sniffles, pressing her face against my neck. “My window.”
My arms tighten around her. “Did you see his face?”
She nods, curls tickling my chin, her breath warm and uneven. “He lookin’ at me.”
I pull her closer, my mind racing. She’s two and a half—too young to make up something this vivid, but old enough to have bad dreams. Could it be her imagination? A shadow from the trees outside? Or is it something worse?
Memories? No, that’s impossible.
I glance toward the window, the curtains drawn tight. The thought of someone outside, staring into my little girl’s room, makes my stomach churn. I press a kiss to the top of her head, trying to keep my voice calm. “It’s okay, Maddie. Daddy’s here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
She sniffles, her tiny fingers gripping my shirt in tight fists. “No let him get me, Daddy.”
“I won’t,” I promise, the words burning in my throat. “I won’t let anyone near you.”
I stay with her until she drifts back to sleep, her breaths evening out against my chest. Even then, I don’t move. I sit in the dark, staring at the window, every instinct I have screaming to get up and check the locks, to grab my shotgun and patrol the yard. Call my brother to have police officers in the perimeter. But I also know I’m being too unreasonable. There’s nothing.
When I finally leave her room, it’s nearly dawn. The house is quiet. Still. I check the locks twice, then pull the curtains tighter over the windows. It’s probably nothing. Maddie’s too young to know what’s real and what’s a dream. But I can’t shake the image of her little face, filled with fear.
I can’t shake the unease.
The following day, Mrs. Johnson arrives like clockwork to watch Maddie, who’s still curled up in bed, her tiny face peaceful. She slept through the night—finally. Like the last two nights never happened.
Kids are resilient like that. They take what the world throws at them, shake it off, and keep going.
I wish I could do the same.
While Mrs. Johnson is with her, I go through the motions. Feed the horses. Check the stalls. Wash up.
By noon, the sun blazes high, drenching the land in heat, but it does nothing to thaw the unease knotting itself into my chest. Maddie hums as she stacks blocks in the living room, lost in her world, unfazed. Maybe I should be too. Maybe this is just a toddler’s imagination running wild.
But I know better.
I grab my phone, step onto the porch, and dial Malerick. The line barely rings twice before he picks up, his voice edged with impatience. “What’s up, Hopper?”
I don’t waste time. “Maddie’s been waking up at night. Two nights in a row.”
His irritation is instant. “Call her pediatrician?”
I exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “She says there’s a man outside her window.”
There’s a pause. His breathing is loud, but he doesn’t say a word. I can picture Malerick now—leaning back, brows furrowing, calculating.
“Mal, are you still there?”
“You think she actually saw someone?” he finally asks.
“I don’t know. She’s two and a half, Mal. It could be nightmares, but . . .” My gaze drifts toward the tree line. “Everything around feels . . . it feels off. Especially with Nysa back.”
Another pause. Longer this time. Then?—
“The fuck is Nysa? That her mother? Do you need a restraining order?”
My family doesn’t know much about Maddie’s mom—or anything for that matter. It’s complicated, and since my brothers and I are not that close, it doesn’t seem logical even to disclose anything—and this is obviously not the time.
“Mal, focus,” I grit out. “Nysa Calloway is my neighbor.”
His snort is instant. “No one lives next door. I know there’s a case . . . some woman lived there three years ago, but she disappeared. They were looking for her, and then the case went cold. I could look into it when I’m back at the office.”
“Well, someone does now.” My grip tightens around the phone. “Nysa Calloway moved in two nights ago.”
“Isn’t that Mrs. Harper’s granddaughter?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Who the fuck knows?”
“So she’s living at the abandoned farm. When did that happen?”
I glance toward her house, barely visible through the trees, the windows dark and unreadable. “Like I said. Two nights ago. And she doesn’t seem like she wants people knowing.”
Malerick exhales, the sound crackling through the line. It’s like I’m annoying the fuck out of him and he has more important shit to do.
“She was scared, Mal,” I say, lowering my voice, my mind flicking back to that night in the barn—the way her whole body had tensed, the raw fear in her eyes. “Really scared. And now Maddie’s seeing a man outside her window? It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It could be,” he admits, but there’s doubt in his voice. “Or it could be nothing. Kids make things up.”
“Yeah?” I counter. “Like the explosion at the Doherty mansion?”
A groan. “Fuck, don’t remind me.” There’s a rustling sound on his end. “You really think?—”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it worries me.”
A beat passes. Then, as if to shift gears, I ask, “What’s going on with Ledger and his new bride? Are they really safe? Are they ever coming back?”
“They’re on their honeymoon. You don’t have to worry about them.” A chair scrapes. “I’ll swing by your place later. Check the area, see if anything feels off. In the meantime, keep an eye on Maddie. And Nysa, if you can. If she’s scared, there’s probably a reason.”
I swallow the unease creeping up my throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Mal.”
“Anytime.”
I lower the phone, staring past the porch railing. The barn looms in the distance, its doors shut tight, but it’s Nysa’s house that keeps pulling my gaze. It sits in eerie silence, the windows dark, reflecting nothing back.
I wonder if she’s inside right now, staring at the same trees. Feeling the same creeping unease.
I wonder if she knows I do too.
By the time Malerick shows up, the sun is dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. His truck rumbles up the driveway.
He steps out, straightens, and scans the property with that cool, assessing look he’s mastered. He’s taller than me by an inch, broader too. With that build, people hesitate before testing him.
“Where’s Maddie?” he asks, his voice low but firm, already in work mode.
“Inside, watching a movie.” I jerk my chin toward the house. “Figured I’d keep her busy while we talk.”
He nods, then sweeps his gaze over the yard, his attention sharp. “Show me the window.”
I lead him to Maddie’s room. The small window faces the side yard, framed by the gnarled branches of the tree that leans too close to the house. Malerick crouches, inspecting the latch before stepping outside. He moves with purpose, checking the ground beneath it, the tree’s bark, the distance from the house.
A few minutes later, he straightens, brushing dirt from his hands. “No footprints. No obvious signs of someone hanging around. But that doesn’t mean no one was here.”
The muscles in my jaw tighten. “What do you think?”
He exhales slowly, gaze unreadable. “Could be nothing. Could be someone screwing around. But if Nysa’s back and she’s scared, it’s worth paying attention to.”
My eyes drift toward her house. “You think someone’s after her?”
“What I want to know,” he says, voice even, “is why she left without telling anyone. And if she’s scared, she’s probably not giving you the full picture.”
I let out a slow breath, my thoughts circling back to the way I found her in the barn—wide-eyed, breathing too fast, like she expected something worse than me to be standing there. “That house sat empty for years.” My voice is quieter now. “Now she’s back, and she looks like she’s bracing for something to go wrong.”
Malerick rubs a hand along his jaw, gaze distant. “I’ll ask around. See if anyone’s noticed anything off. In the meantime, keep an eye on her. And on Maddie.” His focus sharpens, locking onto mine. “If something’s going on, I want to know about it.”
I nod. “Yeah. Will do.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing good, Hopper. You’re a good dad.”
I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. This is something I never thought I would do right, not with the fucked-up childhood we lived. “Thanks, Mal.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just gives me a final look before heading back to his truck. The engine rumbles to life, headlights slicing through the dusk, and then he’s gone.
The yard feels different once he leaves. Quieter. Darker.
I stand there for a beat, staring at the empty space where his truck was, the night pressing in from the edges of the property. The barn looms, its doors shut tight. Beyond it, Nysa’s house remains still, like a place caught between belonging and being forgotten.
I push away the feeling creeping up my spine and step back inside.
Maddie is curled up on the couch, her tiny body sinking into the cushions, eyes drooping as the credits roll on her movie. I scoop her up, her warmth seeping into me as she instinctively buries her face against my shoulder.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I don’t wan the man back.”
I force a smile, brushing her curls from her forehead. “He’s not coming back. I promise.”
She stares at me for a moment, then nods, trusting me in the way only a child can.
It’s a promise, but also a lie. I don’t know how to protect her if I have no idea what’s happening. The unease lingers, wrapping around me, settling deep.
Something’s coming. I can feel it. It happened when . . . I don’t want to remember that night and all the losses.
This time it won’t happen again. I need to figure out what it is before it’s too late.