Chapter 25
Jolee
The phone is ringing. My anxiety is rising. This should be a good thing, right? Why don’t I feel relieved?
My hands are shaking so badly that I have to put the phone on speaker. I tell them about the letters. About the signature. About Shelly Jones—SJ. About how she used to look and anything that might help find her.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Too long.
Finally, the officer says, “We actually just detained someone who may fit that description. We’ll need you to bring in the letter you received, and we may see if you can identify her.”
Shit. I really wish I weren’t alone right now, so that I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
My stomach twists. “You should talk to Clay Clemet. Didn’t he call earlier?” I blurt out. “He might know something—”
I stop. Something doesn’t feel right.
They don’t say anything.
Then, finally, the officer says, “He did call us a couple of days ago, but nothing since.”
The call ends shortly after, but the silence lingers. Something feels off. Wrong in a way I can’t name yet.
I check my phone. Nothing from Clay. Nothing from Grant.
Wow. This really sucks.
It’s not like we broke up—we were never even together—but it still hurts. More than it should. A small, stupid part of me hoped it meant more. That I meant more to them.
Damn it.
I don’t know how I went from despising Clay for not leaving me alone to missing him. Missing both of them. Thinking about them endlessly.
This is why you’re supposed to date for real, I tell myself. Start from scratch. Get-to-know-you conversations, then maybe lunch. I really don’t know how to date, but I do know I did this all wrong.
I flip on the TV for background noise and pour myself a cup of coffee. I need distractions. The morning news flickers on while I stare at the list I made yesterday.
Actions. Possibilities. Moving forward.
Nothing like the present to finally pick one.
Then I hear it, “…a hardware store—”
My head snaps up.
There’s only one hardware store in Whispering Waters. Grant’s.
They cut to footage, and my breath rushes from me. Smoke. Ash. Firefighters are moving through the wreckage. One corner of the building is gone. Collapsed. Demolished like it was never there at all.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “No. No, no, no.”
Tears blur the screen as pain blooms in my chest, not just for the destruction, but for them. I turn the volume up, my hands numb as I fall into my couch.
My heart fractures at the line I wasn’t ready for.
“There were two people injured. One sustained severe injuries and is currently hospitalized. We are awaiting an update.”
Grant went to open the shop.
And Clay was with him.
“It’s my fault,” I breathe. The words fall out before I can stop them.
Shelly’s last letter slams back into my mind. No more.
She wasn’t saying goodbye to me. She was warning me. Threatening me. She was trying to hurt them. She knew I’d been with them. How? Did she wait all this time? Until I finally let myself care about someone?
My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. I’m so confused and scared.
“They’re going to die,” I whisper, sobbing now. “It’s all my fault.”
And all I can think is that once again, the people closest to me are getting hurt. Dying.
The TV keeps talking, but I don’t hear the words anymore. Just the tone. Calm. Controlled. Like this is something that happens to other people.
My hands start to shake so badly that I set the coffee down before I drop it. My reflection stares back at me from the dark TV screen between clips; wide-eyed, pale, already guilty.
This is what she meant.
No more.
Not goodbye. Not closure. A promise.
Every moment. Every letter. Every decision not to involve the police. Regret pressing in on me. Years of regret. I should’ve dealt with this years ago.
If I’d taken it seriously from the first envelope, would they be in the hospital right now?
I should never have gotten close to them. That’s the truth my brain settles on. I should’ve known better. People around me get hurt. That’s the pattern.
Andy.
Sherry.
Now them.
I press my palms to my eyes, but the images come anyway. Fire, smoke, and red lights.
Shelly didn’t care about me. She cared about taking something from me. And I handed it to her the second I let myself feel something.
A laugh breaks out of my throat, sharp and ugly. “Of course,” I mutter. “Of course, this is how it ends.”
I replay every choice. Clay here. Staying with them. The wedding and everything I avoided. I try to pinpoint the exact second I sealed their fate.
If I hadn’t kissed Clay back.
If I hadn’t stayed in the hotel.
If I hadn’t stayed at their house.
If I’d been stronger.
The guilt is suffocating. It presses down on me until I’m folded in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my ribs as if I can physically hold the damage inside.
And now one of them is in a hospital bed because of someone who hates me for some unknown reason. Will this ever end? What if I’m wrong and it’s not her?
My phone sits beside me, silent. I don’t check it again. I’m afraid of what I’ll see. Afraid of what I deserve to hear.
“They’re going to die,” I whisper again, like saying it first will somehow soften the blow. “And when they do, it’ll be because of me.”
The house feels too quiet. The chill seeps back in. I curl forward, pressing my forehead to my knees, rocking slightly as the realization settles in with crushing weight.
I didn’t just bring danger into their lives.
I stayed long enough for it to find them.
And no matter what happens next—whether they live or not—I know one thing with terrifying certainty.
I will never forgive myself for this.
Never.