Chapter 9
Jake, Ricky, and I sat around the fire like we were waiting for instructions that would never come.
Outside, the light had begun to thin, the sky stained that dull, colorless gray that came before night.
It wasn’t quite dark yet, but it was close enough to make everything feel unfinished.
The flames snapped and hissed in the fireplace, throwing shadows that moved too much, dancing across the walls.
They didn’t stay where they were supposed to.
Someone had poured drinks. I didn’t remember who.
I didn’t remember even agreeing to one. But there was a glass in my hand now, the rim cool against my fingers.
I took small, automatic sips, tasting almost nothing.
The act felt like muscle memory, something normal people did in normal situations.
It was easier than sitting with empty hands.
Noah emerged from the hallway, stopping just inside the living room as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to rejoin us. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face was subtly altered, as if grief had rearranged his features.
“You all right?” Ricky asked gently, the way you speak to someone you’re afraid might break if you choose the wrong word.
Noah didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted past us, toward the front door.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” he said, his voice raw, “leaving her outside.”
Something cinched tight beneath my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
They’d carried Maddie onto the porch together.
Noah hadn’t let go of her right away, even after they’d wrapped her in a sheet from the linen closet.
They’d placed her near the wall, shielding her from the worst of the wind.
She lay there now, just beyond the door, close enough that I could almost feel her presence through the wood.
“The cold will keep her body preserved,” Jake said, staring into his drink like the answer might be floating there.
Noah’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t talk about her like she’s just a body.”
Jake blinked. “Sorry. I mean, it’ll keep Maddie preserved.”
The correction didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse.
The fire filled the silence, loud and restless. It popped and shifted.
“So what do we do now?” Ricky asked.
It was a reasonable question. There just wasn’t a reasonable answer.
We’d tried the phones again and again. We’d held them up near the windows, stood on chairs, walked room to room as if the signal might be hiding just out of reach. But there was nothing, no bars or even a comforting lie of one appearing and vanishing again.
Outside, the snow still fell, but differently now. It was quieter, less aggressive. It drifted instead of attacking. The storm wasn’t over. It was just settling in, and the SUV was still stuck up the road, burying itself deeper by the minute.
“I just don’t understand how this happened,” Noah said, shaking his head. “We went to bed together. She was tipsy, but she was fine.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “She must’ve gone outside in the middle of the night and slipped and hit her head.”
He said the words like he’d practiced them.
“She wouldn’t have gone out barefoot,” Noah argued. “And she would have at least thrown a jacket on.”
“Maybe she heard something or saw something and she reacted too quickly,” Jake offered.
He had an answer for everything, and the way he was speaking, measured, almost clinical, felt wrong. It was as if he were discussing the plot of a thriller novel instead of talking about our friend lying dead on the porch.
“Noah’s right,” I said. “She would’ve put on shoes. A jacket. Something.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. A muscle jumped near his temple, but he didn’t respond.
Ricky stared into the fire, his face split by orange light and shadow. “Is there a chance someone did this to her?”
It was the theory no one had offered yet, but I’m sure it was in the back of all of our minds.
Noah frowned. “You think someone killed her?”
“. . . Maybe,” Ricky said.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was honest. And once it existed, it refused to leave. If she hadn’t wandered out there on her own, then someone must have put her there. Murder was a possibility.
“But who?” I asked.
Jake didn’t hesitate. “Bill.”
Noah stared at him. “He wasn’t even home.”
“The perfect alibi,” Jake shot back. “And might I remind you how he was looking at her?”
“That doesn’t mean he killed her,” I argued.
“We don’t know this area,” Ricky said. “We don’t know who all lives out here. It could’ve been anyone.”
Anyone. The word echoed in my head. Anyone meant everyone. That meant no one was safe enough to exclude. I glanced at Jake. He was watching the door again.
Then came the knock. Every muscle in my body locked. Suddenly, the cabin didn’t feel like shelter anymore. It felt like a room we’d been led into.