Chapter 1
MAEVE - PRESENT DAY
The first body was found in the forest, half-eaten by scavengers. The second? Headless, carved open like a high-school dissection project. Then the third? I don’t want to think about the third. But I still see it in my dreams.
They say the truth will set you free. But after six months of chasing ghosts, I feel more trapped than ever.
The weight of Thornhaven Orphanage lingers over me, a shadow I can’t outrun.
A gust of wind rattles the car, bringing with it the faintest scent of vanilla and orange blossoms.
I freeze.
Bethany always smelled like that. The cheap perfume she stole from Mrs. Harper’s desk.
“Borrowed,” she used to say with that teasing smile, like we were invincible.
I stare at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. For a second, she’s there. Bethany. Watching me, like she’s waiting for me to figure it all out.
“Silly, Maeve,” she’d whisper, tucking us under a blanket. “No-one can touch us here. It’s just us. You’re safe.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away. When I blink, she’s gone, lost into the fragments of the memories I try to ignore most of the time.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white against the dark leather as I stare at the name on my notepad sitting on the passenger seat.
Caleb Blackwood.
Another name on the list. This one is alive, at least.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself, but the hollowness in my chest only grows.
Six months. No answers. Just silence, fear, and bodies piling up.
What would Bethany think of me being back here, back in the town that haunts my nightmares and my waking hours? It hasn’t changed. Still lifeless. Devoid of anything good. A dark hole in the patchwork of society.
Would she tell me to run, to never look back?
I can’t, though. If anyone is going to get to the bottom of whatever is going on here, it’s going to be me.
I deserve answers.
And I’m willing to dig up skeletons to get them.
I pick at the skin around my thumb nail and continue to stare at the name.
Caleb Blackwood . . . it stands out like a splinter. Something about it doesn’t simply catch my attention. It claws at me. Wants me to remember something from long ago.
All I know about the man is we share a past torn from the book of hell.
And he’s a veterinarian.
I glance up at the building in front of me, the red brick characteristic of most old buildings in this town.
Thornhaven Veterinary Clinic.
Caleb didn’t scramble when the orphanage shut its doors all those years ago. It was luck that some of us even made it out at all.
So why did he stay?
The darkness living here clings to everything, seeps into the meat, the veins, of our existence, and turns even the most beautiful of experiences sour.
I rub my temples, exhaling, long and slow. The air in the car is suffocating with the things left ignored, and each breath is like sucking in exhaust fumes, putrid and thick.
I snatch up the notepad, giving the name one last glance.
Caleb Blackwood, the veterinarian. Why don’t I remember you?
I grab my handbag from the back seat of the car, and climb out, my knees weak beneath me. Sweat instantly beads on my skin, the heat from the sun an uncharacteristic feature in a town full of cold-blooded monsters.
Will Caleb even speak to me about his time in that hellhole? Maybe I should have brought Teddy along, you know, to break the ice. But what would I have said?
My dog’s fine, but can we discuss the torture you experienced at Thornhaven Orphanage?
No. I need to be smart about my approach. I can’t rush in and show my hand in the first five seconds. If Caleb is part of this mess, I have to find out how deep he’s buried in it. If he’s innocent, he might be my only chance for answers.
I push against the single glass door, the bell above it announcing my entrance, and dart into the air-conditioned space. The scent of disinfectant hits me, bringing with it a barrage of memories.
None of them good.
A young woman with blonde hair, and suspicious blue eyes glances up from behind the reception desk. “Good morning, how can I help you?” She peers over the desk and frowns.
I’m assuming she’s looking for the reason I’m standing in a veterinary clinic. A pet.
Clutching the strap of my handbag, I step up to the desk and clear my throat. “Maeve Lockhart,” I say, thrusting my hand towards her. “Sunhaven Times. I was hoping to speak with Cale—Dr. Blackwood?”
The woman—Sarah, by her name-tag—smiles at me as she takes my hand, then taps at her keyboard for a moment. I fidget with my handbag strap, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Right,” she says finally, gesturing to the many empty white plastic chairs behind me, “if you’ll take a seat, Dr. Blackwood has one more patient to see, then he’s free for fifteen minutes.”
“Great.” I nod my thanks, and take a seat in the waiting room.
The clinic is like others I’ve visited with Teddy. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with overpriced toys and diet food no pet wants to eat. But the air, sterile and cold, carries the faint, sickly-sweet scent of antiseptic.
My left leg bounces, and the woman with the dog smiles at me, her baby-blue eyes crinkling at the sides. I return one I’ve rehearsed countless times.
A fly buzzes against the fluorescent light, its tiny wings trapped in a futile battle.
Just like the dog panting a few feet over from me, its tail tucked between its legs as the woman strokes its head, whispering in its ear of how everything is going to be okay.
Poor guy. I’d hug him if it was appropriate.
Caleb steps out into the waiting room, his focus on a folder in his hands.
The air in the room shifts, charged.
Caleb Blackwood isn’t a shadow. At least not the kind that Thornhaven spews out. He’s the kind of man whose presence drains the air from a room, leaving you breathless. The kind of man who could keep you safe, from your nightmares, from the shadows that lurk around corners.
The kind to make you fall to your knees.
My throat tightens, and I force myself to blink. Where did I go just now?
“Rufus?” His deep, raspy voice pulls me in as he glances up from the folder.
His eyes find mine like a lighthouse in a storm, and his eyebrows shoot up, creasing his forehead. He tilts his head, just a fraction, lips parting as though he’s looking for the right words.
Does he feel it too? That invisible string tugging at his chest?
The German Shepherd nudges Caleb’s hand. Finally he blinks, shaking his head with the smallest of movements.
“Mrs. Mason.” He clears his throat, forcing a smile for the old woman, and gestures for her to lead. “This way, please.”
He doesn’t glance back, only follows the woman and her dog down the hallway and disappears inside a room to the right.
What the hell was that?
My skin is still tingling and all he did was look at me.
Sarah eyes me over her computer. I plaster on a smile, smoothing my black knee-length skirt over my thighs.
My leg continues to bounce as I wait, and I glance at my phone every few minutes as if the simple act will somehow speed up time.
Ten minutes later, the German Shepherd and the old woman make their way back out into the waiting room, Caleb following close behind.
This time, he doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t stop me from staring at him, though. At the way he fills out those blue scrubs, and the slight smattering of dark chest hair visible above the V-neck of his shirt.
He exchanges pleasantries with Mrs. Mason and shows her and Rufus out. Sarah grins up at him on his approach to her desk, and he leans closer to her, whispering something unintelligible to my ears.
Sarah quickly glances at me, responds to Caleb, then shrugs.
Caleb nods, standing to his full height, his gaze flicking to me once again. “Miss Lockhart?” he says, his voice much more formal than his previous call for Rufus. “What can I do for you?”
I stand, rubbing my hands over my skirt. Get it together, Maeve. It’s just one conversation.
“Dr. Blackwood,” I say, thrusting my hand out towards him with a little too much enthusiasm. “Maeve Lockhart. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
He eyes my hand, as if touching me will somehow infect him. Finally, after a painstaking few seconds, he takes it, his handshake firm, his skin warm, inviting. But he pulls away too quickly.
“What is this about?” His tone is weary, rude even, as though I’m taking up precious time he can’t afford to lose.
Fifteen minutes. It’s all I’m allowed. So, I better make the most of it.
“Can we speak in private?” This isn’t really the audience for such a conversation.
Caleb glances at his watch and sighs. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” My facial muscles spasm as I keep up the pretence that I’m totally put together.
People not wanting to talk to me is a given in my line of work, but with Caleb, it’s different. If he refuses to speak with me once he knows why I’m here, well I’m back to square one.
I suppose I’ll just jump to the next name on my list.
Caleb nods and gestures for me to lead the way. “Last door on the right.”
I hurry past him and make my way into the vacant room. The sharp sting of antiseptic is stronger in here, searing my nostrils, the scent sterile and unnatural.
For a second, I’m back there. Thornhaven Orphanage. The same stifling smell in the hallways, the same artificial cleanliness meant to disguise the rot kept buried underneath.
My stomach somersaults, and I grip the strap of my handbag like it’s a lifeline, squeezing my eyes shut until the sound of the door closing behind me reminds me I’m not alone.
I’m safe.
This isn’t the orphanage. Ten years, and that place is still festering just beneath the surface of my psyche.
Turning, I relax my grip on the strap and face Caleb. He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me, Dr. Blackwood.”
“Caleb’s fine,” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studies me.
There’s no judgement, no annoyance. Just curiosity.
I nod. “Caleb. Of course.”
He glances at his watch. “You now have thirteen minutes.”
Okay, I see he’s not going to make this easy for me. It’s possible he’s on to me, and knows exactly why I’m here. Maybe he’s just humouring me, making me think I’m getting somewhere, when, in fact, he’s just another dead end.
“Right. Yes.” I dump my bag on the stainless-steel bench, and pull out a business card, followed by my small voice recorder. “Let me get to the point of my visit.” I thrust the card at Caleb. He narrows his eyes, but there’s no hesitation when he reaches forward and takes it. “I’m a journalist with the Sunhaven Times. Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
Caleb eyes the card. “I don’t suppose I have a choice?” The hint of a smile lifts the corners of his lips.
My breath catches in my throat. I’d hate to see what he can achieve with a full smile.
“It would make things easier,” I say, waving the recorder around like an idiot.
Bloody hell. Being in Caleb’s presence is turning me into a bumbling mess.
“Fine.” Exhaling, Caleb lifts a shoulder, crossing his legs at the ankles, the movement casual. “As long as you aren’t here to ask about my last test results from university, then I’m all yours.”
I tilt my head. “Sorry?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Inside joke, I guess.” Sighing, he scrubs at the dark stubble along his jaw.
“Let’s get to it then.” I press the red button on the recorder and set it on the stainless bench. “You ready?” I say, snatching a pen and a small notepad from my bag.
Caleb nods, and my heart rate speeds up at the way his eyes hold me hostage. I know them, looked into them before, yet I can’t place the memory.
Children came and went like the seasons, but eight years we spent living in confinement together, and yet neither of us are brave enough to ask that one question.
Why don’t I remember you?
Caleb clears his throat. “Miss Lockhart. Time is ticking.”
Oh god, he’s ruining everything. This isn’t my usual approach. I’m organised, punctual, and definitely not this lost for words.
“Sorry, yes.” Notepad in hand, I take a deep breath. “I’m sure you’re aware of the recent murders in Thornhaven?”
Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up, and the smile from moments ago is now a distant memory. “I’m aware. I’m not sure what they have to do with me, though.”
“They’re all connected to Thornhaven Orphanage,” I say, frowning. “Don’t you find that strange?”
Caleb stiffens, the muscles in his jaw twitching, just a fraction, his hands clenching into fists. “What do you know about that place?”
Only the most intimate parts of it.
“Please just answer the question,” I say, keeping my voice level.
He exhales through his nose, flicking the business card onto the desk beside him like it’s suddenly burning his fingertips.
His eyes don’t meet mine. “Why should I care? It’s not like I’m the one sneaking into their homes and murdering them.”
I scoff. “Of course not. That would be . . .” I wave a hand dismissively—sometimes I wonder if I’d have the courage to kill someone. “I’m not here for that, well . . . not really. I wanted to ask you about your time at the orphanage. Those being targeted seem to be the perpetrators who worked there.”
“Perpetrators?” He raises an eyebrow. “Of what, exactly?”
“The abuse, of course. Surely you remember?—”
“The abuse?” Caleb laughs, but the sound is hollow, forced. “You must have me confused with someone else. I suffered no abuse during my time there.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve read your file.” Or at least the sections I could find going back to his arrival at the orphanage when he was ten. It’s like putting a patchwork together, pieces missing. “There were numerous doctors’ reports detailing the extent of your injuries.” They were blamed on self-infliction, but I know that’s not true.
He doesn’t even blink, just lifts a shoulder.
What is he hiding? Or . . . who is he protecting?
Pen tapping against my notepad, I narrow my eyes to . . . I don’t know, see into his mind. Maybe I should consider a different approach.
“Okay,” I say, pressing my hip against the stainless table. “What do you remember from your time there? You were there eight years, surely you can tell me something.”
He purses his lips, tapping a finger to his chin. “I’m not sure what you want from me Miss Lockhart.”
“Maeve. Please.”
“Well, Maeve ,” he says, exaggerating my name. “My time at the orphanage isn’t something I often care to think about. Kids came and went like bad smells. No-one wanted to adopt a ten-year-old whose parents died in a murder-suicide. If I recall anything from my time there, it was that I became well acquainted with loneliness.”
A tightness tugs at my chest, not sharp, but dull. A phantom pain that has lived there for years, growing heavier and heavier with every secret left hidden in the shadows.
Because I know what he’s referring to. And the weight of it settles deep in my bones, cold and heavy, like grief that never fades.
At least I had Bethany. Those in the West Ward were kept isolated most of the time.
“Is that why you became a veterinarian?” I say, scribbling two words on my notepad—I’m sorry.
He huffs out another strained laugh, and pushes off from the wall, rubbing his eyes as he takes the stool in front of the computer desk. “Helping animals is my way of doing good in the world. God knows this town sucks all the good out of everything.”
“Surely there’s more to it than that?” I tilt my head, studying his reaction to my question. “Something kept you here . . . after everything.”
He smiles, but it’s as fake as the one I’m so practised at. There’s an emptiness dancing in those hazel eyes of his, a sadness that seems to hold him captive.
“I’m not that deep, I’m afraid, Maeve,” he says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “If you came here looking for a piece to your puzzle, I’m not your guy. That place sucked in the dregs of the world, and spat them back out no less traumatised from when they went in. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”
Damn it. He’s stonewalling. And I’m running out of time. Fast.
“What can you tell me about the therapy sessions you attended?” I’m grasping now.
Adjustment Therapy, they called it.
Bethany attended Adjustment Therapy.
They had to have known each other.
His jaw tightens, and for a split second, he grips the edge of the stool. Then, just as quickly, he relaxes his posture and leans back with an easy shrug. “Have you ever attended therapy, Maeve? I’m sure you can paint the picture yourself.”
I swallow, keeping my posture composed. My job is my therapy. “Records show you were in the West Ward, Caleb. That wasn’t just for anyone. They sent the most damaged kids there.”
He doesn’t look damaged to me. If anything, he seems more put together than I am, and I didn’t spend eight years of my life isolated.
He narrows his eyes as though he’s contemplating my words. “You’ve done your homework,” he says, his voice tight. “I’m impressed. Seems my attempt at a quiet life isn’t working after all. But I’m sure you know those records don’t tell the entire story.”
“Then tell me your story, Caleb. I want to help you, expose Thornhaven Orphanage for what it really was.” I’m almost begging at this point.
“Help?” He shakes his head. “You really are barking up the wrong tree.” He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Get it? Barking. Wrong tree. I’m a veterinarian.”
I stare at him. Seriously? He’s making jokes now.
He exhales, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not funny. Noted.”
It’s more of a defensive move, as though he’s keeping whatever’s inside him locked up tight.
Would he change his mind if I told him it’s not just research into the orphanage I’ve done? It’s time as well. Time spent in that hellhole I’ll never get back. Time none of us will get back.
Maybe if I tell him I know what he went through, he’ll open up to me. But what good would that do?
The names on my list are slowly being crossed out, each one coming with an expiry date. Am I signing his death warrant by being here?
I step closer, my heart a solid thud, thud, thud in my chest. “Bethany,” I say, my voice barely audible above the blood rushing through my ears, “she was in your therapy group. You must have known her.”
Caleb goes rigid. Too still. He doesn’t even blink. Then his gaze flicks toward the door. A fraction of a second, barely anything, but my stomach twists all the same.
“Can’t say I know the name,” he says, his voice too even, too careful. “If you want to know what I do remember about those therapy sessions, I’ll tell you. The shrink asked questions I didn’t want to answer, so we sat in silence for hours until I was dismissed.”
He’s lying.
“And what questions were you avoiding?”
Time slows as Caleb and I stare at each other, both of us swallowing exactly what it is we want to say.
I’ve had no one to talk to about what I experienced at the orphanage, and Caleb is the closest person I’ve come across who would understand the torment that still haunts me to this day.
He’s going to give me something. Something profound.
He must.
Instead, he glances at his watch and stands abruptly. “I’m afraid our time is up, Miss Lockhart. Let me show you out.” He strides to the door, pushing it open and waits.
The finality of his movements tells me there’s no arguing my way out of it. He’s done talking. Even though his words told me nothing.
It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome.
My hand clenches around the notepad. This is fine. I’ll just find someone else.
But who? Everyone keeps dying on me.
I gather my things in defeated silence while Caleb shifts on his feet by the open doorway, avoiding all eye contact.
The need to scream at him, shake him, so he’ll give me something is overwhelming, so I dart past him, and practically run into the waiting room.
Caleb follows me to the front door, pushing it open for me. At least he’s chivalrous enough not to shove me out.
I pause at the threshold, my breath coming out too fast, too shallow, my vision blurring. My nails stab into my palms as I turn back to face him.
“I’m not your enemy, Caleb,” I say, swallowing down the burn in my throat. “The ghosts of Thornhaven Orphanage still haunt this town, and until someone does something about it, we’ll all just be trapped in it, drowning in it.” I exhale. “Is that what you want?”
Well . . . it’s too late to take those words back. I’ve given him a piece of me, shown my cards.
Six months, three murders, and the killer is still out there. Another name on the list, another nail in Bethany’s coffin.
Caleb’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of help to you.” He looks past me, lost in thought, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “The past doesn’t just haunt us, Maeve.” His voice drops lower, these words just for me. “It changes us. And not always for the better. Be careful what you dig up. You might not like what you find.”
The hairs on my arms rise. His breath is steady, but his fingers twitch around the edge of the door.
“Caleb—”
“Goodbye, Miss Lockhart.” He steps back into the clinic.
The door clicks shut, as if I was never here at all.
Conversation over.