Exposing Sin (Touch of Evil #14)

Chapter 1

Brooklyn Walsh

The house had surrendered itself to a heavy silence.

The bleak quietness lingered in the corners and along the stairwell like it had every right to stay, while pop music trickled from the radio in a sad attempt to chase it away. The tunes were nothing more than a thin distraction that couldn’t quite mask the emptiness.

Through the open bedroom window, the hum of the neighborhood carried on, from the thrum of a lawnmower to the distant bark of a dog.

Those sounds seemed to falter at the windowsill, as if unwilling to cross into the desolation.

A warm August breeze slipped inside instead, stirring the curtains and carrying with it the faint scent of fresh-cut grass, a reminder that life beyond these walls hadn’t stopped.

Brook folded a t-shirt before placing it in the dust-crusted suitcase she’d dragged down from the attic.

It was a relic from when vacations had still been a part of her family’s vocabulary.

She tried to recall the last trip her parents had planned for them, and she vaguely remembered visiting her aunt in North Carolina maybe five or six years ago.

Movement in her peripheral vision turned her attention toward the hallway. She paused before reaching for another shirt, wondering if her mother would finally acknowledge her existence. Brook received her answer when her mom merely shuffled past the doorway without a single glance.

Even though it was midday on a Saturday, she still wore a faded pink robe that probably covered the pajamas she had slept in last night. She hadn’t said more than two words since the day she found out her son was a murderer.

Brook had read somewhere that an individual needed to claim the lives of three people in order to be labeled a serial killer. As far as she was aware, her brother had killed two young women. In the eyes of the law, he didn’t fit their criteria.

To her?

Jacob’s depravity had cost far more than two lives.

She reached for another shirt inside the bottom dresser drawer, wondering how her hands could be so steady. There was no tremor whatsoever, and somehow, she managed not to betray the chaos that churned beneath her composed exterior.

A flash of her best friend lying in her own pool of blood materialized in Brook’s mind.

Just as quickly, the image morphed into Jacob standing next to Sally Pearson’s body, holding a knife with her blood dripping from the tip of the blade.

It had eventually fallen, absorbed into the soil as if it were desperate for any kind of precipitation.

Brook suddenly couldn’t breathe.

She hastily dropped her shirt and made her way to the bay window, each step an effort, as if she were wading through some type of invisible mud.

She sank down onto the bench, lifting her face to the sun and doing her best to drag some oxygen into her lungs.

Unfortunately, the warmth did nothing to diminish the cold that had set up residence in her bones.

Something pinched her leg, causing her to glance down at the white, wooden bench seat.

She’d forgotten about the manila envelope containing the signed legal document that changed her surname from Walsh to Sloane.

She hadn't told her parents yet. That conversation loomed ahead like an approaching storm, inevitable and potentially destructive.

Then again, they might not have the energy to care.

She had hoped the name change would be some type of severance.

To the family that had been fractured beyond repair.

To the whispers that followed her through the grocery store.

To the sidelong glances at the post office.

She’d soon come to realize that none of that would stop until she left Morton for good.

The music on the radio shifted to an upbeat track that was obscenely cheerful against the backdrop of life inside the Walsh residence. In the effort to turn the volume down, she caught sight of a familiar car on the side street just through the branches of the old oak tree.

Given that the bay window overlooked the backyard, she needed to lean in closer to the glass and peer between the leaves to get a better view. Sure enough, a refurbished Camaro was parked against the curb, and leaning against the driver’s side of the midnight blue paint job was Scotty Nevin.

Her chest tightened, though she couldn’t label which emotion caused the reaction.

Maybe something between relief and dread.

She leaned out the window and called his name a couple of times, hoping he would notice her.

He finally lifted a hand in greeting and gave her one of his infamous crooked grins.

She then held up one finger, signaling him to wait.

She quickly slipped on some sandals before making her way into the hallway. Instinctively glancing to her left, she wasn’t surprised when she found her parents’ bedroom door shut tight. She paused, listening for any sign of her mother, but heard only silence.

Brook descended the staircase to find her father sitting in his recliner. He still had that vacant stare that had become his default expression. He didn't even acknowledge her presence as she headed toward the front door.

She’d become a ghost in her own home.

A painful reminder of the son they had lost—not to death, but to something far worse.

She opened the front door with a soft click, stepping outside into the August heat.

The only time she left the house was to run the errands that her parents couldn’t…

wouldn’t…do on their own. That didn’t mean she wasn’t self-conscious about her new role in the community.

Fortunately, none of her neighbors seemed to be out and about.

Scotty pushed himself away from his car when she cut through the side yard. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her when she was close enough, and she fought against the sudden pressure building behind her eyes.

She lost.

His embrace was the first real human contact she'd had in two months, and it threatened to unravel the tight control she had managed to maintain over her emotions. When he pulled away, Brook awkwardly swiped at her cheeks, annoyed at the betrayal of tears she hadn't permitted to fall until now.

Scotty parted his lips, then closed them again, searching for words that wouldn't come.

“It's okay,” Brook said quietly, her voice steadier than she thought it would be. “No one ever seems to know what to say, not that they come near me if they can avoid it.”

“I just...I was in town, visiting my parents.” Scotty hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to see how you were doing, but I couldn’t bring myself to ring the doorbell.”

Around them, the neighborhood carried on its summer routine with deliberate normalcy.

Sprinklers rotated over meticulously maintained lawns, and children's bikes lay abandoned in driveways.

But the curtains of the houses facing the Walsh residence remained drawn, as if Jacob's evil might somehow seep through the glass and contaminate those inside.

The weight of judgment hung in the air as tangibly as the summer humidity.

It pressed against her skin, the collective gaze of a community that couldn't separate her from her brother's crimes.

In the six weeks since Jacob's arrest, not a single neighbor had knocked on their door or called to check on them.

And really, should she be exonerated?

She’d known something was wrong with Jacob for a very long time. She just couldn’t admit to herself the extent of his cruelty.

“How are your folks holding up?” Scotty asked, his gaze darting toward the house, which had now become somewhat of a prison cell.

“They're not,” Brook replied as she crossed her arms. Not even the humidity was enough to warm her skin. “Mom barely leaves their room. Dad just...sits. It's like they've both stopped existing.”

Scotty didn’t seem to know what else to say, so she continued to speak, not wanting him to leave just yet. It was nice to have someone who understood the dynamics of what had taken place.

"We don't talk about it. We don't talk about anything,” Brook admitted before scanning the street. “Walk with me? I’ve been packing all morning, and I could use some fresh air.”

“I still can't wrap my mind around it,” Scotty admitted, falling into step beside her. “Mom called me with the news when it happened, and it just doesn't seem real, you know? What actually happened that day, Brook? I've heard so many different versions.”

She fixed her gaze on the sidewalk ahead, counting the concrete squares passing beneath her feet. When she finally spoke, she did her best to remain detached, as if she were recounting events from a documentary rather than the most traumatic day of her life.

“I was running late for Aaron Herring's graduation party. As I drove past the backside of the cornfield used for the maze this year, I thought I saw Jacob disappear through the stalks. Only Sally was with him. I turned around, parked the car on the side of the road, and went looking for them. I mean, Sally didn’t even like Jacob. It didn’t make sense that they were together that day. ”

The cicadas buzzed in the trees lining the street, their incessant drone creating a surreal soundtrack to her narrative. Brook continued, her pace steady, her eyes forward.

“I walked pretty far into the cornfield, but I couldn’t find them.

I almost gave up and went back to the car, but I thought I heard someone.

I just knew something was wrong. When I finally found them, Sally was already on the ground.

” Brook struggled to swallow. “I remember staring at her blue sandals. She wore them that day because they matched her shirt. She was so happy, Scotty, and he just…”

Brook’s throat closed, and she had to stop talking for most of the walk until they were on the other side of the block. Once she’d collected herself and could breathe a little easier, she was able to finish.