16. Questions
Questions
Helena
He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.
Silas is still asleep upstairs when a sharp knock on the front door jolts me from the rhythm of breakfast dishes.
The clatter of plates ceases, replaced by a growing unease.
Drying my hands on a towel, I move toward the entryway, but the sound of voices halts me.
Eli’s distinct tone carries from outside, and I pivot toward the side window.
Peering out, I see him emerging from the barn, his long strides measured. He’s heading toward the front porch, where a figure stands and I instantly recognize the man wearing the broad-brimmed hat. The sheriff from the diner.
My stomach tightens as I slip into the living room, hiding behind the thin curtain, my eyes trained on the two men.
“Eli,” the sheriff greets, tipping his hat.
“Sheriff,” Eli replies evenly, extending his hand. The gesture is smooth and calm. “What brings you by? ”
“There were shots fired on the Everly property last night,” the sheriff begins wearily. “Barrett claims he heard unfamiliar voices, something in the line of trees that border the property. Did you notice anything unusual on your land?”
Without missing a beat, Eli shakes his head. “No, sir. Quiet night here.”
The sheriff’s shoulders sag slightly as he rubs his jaw, frustration evident. “Alright. Just keep an eye out. Tell your hands to stay close to the herd. No wandering.”
Eli’s expression hardens. “Barrett or his men see anything more? Any leads?” I study Eli’s face, impressed.
The sheriff continues, “No evidence, no witnesses, just bodies with rope burns. And every damn rancher in the county uses ropes. Short of testing every single one, we’re at a loss.”
Eli nods slowly, a picture of quiet empathy. “It’s a tragedy, losing those boys. I hope something breaks for you soon.”
The sheriff’s lips press into a thin line. “Barrett’s holding on, but it’s eating him up. My men are ready for this nightmare to end.”
“Aren’t we all?” Eli says with a sigh. “Did Barrett see which way the rider went?”
“Into their trees near the main road,” the sheriff replies grimly. “After that, nothing.”
The sheriff claps Eli on the shoulder. “Well, I’ve got more stops to make. Let me know if you hear anything.”
“You’ll be the first,” Eli assures him.
The sheriff tips his hat again, heading toward his patrol car. Eli stands motionless on the porch, watching the vehicle disappear down the driveway. Only when the taillights fade completely does he exhale and let his shoulders drop.
I push the door open, stepping outside, my voice low but biting. “It was Silas, wasn’t it?”
Frustration clouds Eli's face as he turns. “He’s got to be more careful. Barrett won’t let this go.”
“Why, Eli? What is going on?” My voice cracks with desperation, but Eli shakes his head .
“You need to ask Silas,” he says firmly. “It’s not my place to tell you.”
His expression softens as he wipes his face with a handkerchief. “How’s he holding up?”
“Fever,” I reply. “I started antibiotics.”
Eli smirks, a trace of humor slipping through. “Mood?”
“Better than usual,” I admit reluctantly. “The fever makes him manageable.”
He chuckles. “I bet. You should get some rest while you can. Kiran’s out with us and doing fine.”
“Thank you, Eli.”
But as he walks away, the knot in my chest only tightens. Whatever storm Silas is dragging us into feels closer than ever. The more I learn, the more I realize he’s even more far gone than I had expected.
As I turn back to the door, something catches my eye. I look toward the porch swing and the bright silver of a new chain shines in the afternoon sun.
Since Kiran was busy elsewhere, I sought rest. But sleep escapes me, the faint glow from the window cutting through the stillness of my room.
Suspicions about Silas's night rides weigh heavily on my mind as I lay staring at the ceiling.
My left hand drifts, almost instinctively, to the scar etched across my back.
As my fingertips trace the uneven landscape of healed skin, a sharp ache blooms beneath the touch, both physical and far deeper.
I close my eyes, and the memories return, vivid and unrelenting. The night I cannot forget. The roar of the flames, the desperate cries, the choking smoke that stole my breath and blurred my vision. And then, the flames, merciless, consuming, dragging me into surrender as they devoured my flesh.
That night unraveled who I was and wove me into someone else.
The images haunt me still, a cruel slideshow that plays unbidden in the quiet moments.
The tears have dried, and the crushing sorrow has given way to something else over the years.
I’ve filled the hollow with faith. I have God’s word, His mercy, and the fragile hope of a second chance.
A second chance that my family never knowingly received.
The quiet creak of a door pulls me from the depths of memory, the ghosts of my past scattering. The sound comes from Silas’s room. He must be up.
I glance at the mirror in the bathroom as I pass, catching the thin reflection of someone who hasn’t slept.
The shadows beneath my eyes have deepened, a silent testament to keeping watch last night.
Of the tears I shed as I heard Silas call out the name of his wife.
I press my fingers against the cool porcelain of the sink, take a steadying breath, and move toward his room.
The door is ajar, a thin shaft of golden light spilling onto the floor. I knock gently, my knuckles barely grazing the surface, before stepping inside.
Silas sits on the edge of his bed, his shoulders hunched and his hands resting limply on his knees.
He’s changed into a simple white T-shirt and sleep pants.
His hair is disheveled, sticking up at odd angles, and his gaze drifts toward me as though it takes effort to pull himself from some faraway place.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly.
He looks at me for a long moment before answering, his voice rough but steady. “I don’t feel like I’m on fire anymore.”
The words hit me like a stone to the chest, too raw, too close to the images that had danced behind my eyelids only minutes ago. Flames, smoke, screams. I force a steady nod, schooling my expression into something that resembles calm.
“Good,” I manage, my voice even. “I’ll get you some soup. You need to eat.”
I turn to leave, eager to escape the intensity of the moment, but his voice stops me.
“Helena?”
It’s barely a whisper, and yet it holds me in place.
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “Yes, Silas?”
He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with those clear blue eyes. There’s a vulnerability in them I rarely see, like a crack in stone letting the light slip through.
“Thank you.”
The words are simple, unadorned, but they strike with a force I don’t expect. Gratitude hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I see the man beneath the guarded walls.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, the edges of a smile softening my face.
For a fleeting moment, the world feels lighter. It’s fragile, this flicker of hope, but it’s enough to steady me as I leave the room and make my way toward the kitchen.