Chapter 4
Graham
My hands clenched so hard around the tray that my knuckles whitened. I stood outside her room, annoyed with my mother for refusing to let her stubborn guest go hungry. She had gone above and beyond tonight with dinner so the new arrival would feel welcome and at home.
And Quinn couldn’t even sit at the table to enjoy it for her.
I huffed. My arms started to ache from holding the over-stuffed tray for far too long. Her door loomed before me, but the last thing I wanted to do was knock on it.
After eating my portion of the homemade meal, Mom had asked me to bring up dinner to our guest. It wasn’t an unusual request. The tray was heavy, and in any other circumstance, I would’ve offered to bring it myself before even being asked.
But Quinn Carpenter had been the last person I’d expected to see in my parents’ house.
Mom had mentioned that she was here for an extended stay, and based on the timeline, it seemed like she would be here until Amos Anderson’s trial.
Which was interesting. I didn’t know that such an expensive defense lawyer went out of her way like that.
It seemed…quite inconvenient for her. I wondered where the other two lead attorneys were, or whether she was the only one staying in Ember Hollow.
I finally forced myself to knock.
There was a short pause before the lock clicked and Quinn peeked out into the hall. She paled when she saw me.
That was interesting, too.
I stared at her, trying to be cordial. I had a hard time placing the emotions that flickered across her face, which was always frustrating.
She had changed out of her professional skirt and blazer, replacing them with a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt.
Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot at the top of her head.
It surprised me, the sweats, though I wasn’t sure why. She had seemed so impervious in court today. The casual attire threw me off, like glimpsing a soldier without their armor.
She was still wearing that watch, though. There was no hiding that massive thing on her slender wrist.
When she didn’t say anything, I cleared my throat. “I have your dinner.”
She swallowed hard, looking ravenously at the tray.
“Right. Yes. Thank you.” She opened the door a little wider, reaching for the food.
I grimaced, stepping back. “It’s heavy.”
Her face hardened. “I can handle it.”
I wasn’t sure why I hesitated. She obviously wasn’t one to be helped, but I couldn’t stop studying her. She seemed smaller, somehow, without her sharp heels and crisp clothes. She looked more like the perplexed woman I’d found in the library and less like the lawyer who had me on the stand.
Her freshly cut bangs were parted slightly, showing some of the bandage on her forehead.
“How’s your head?” The words were out before I could stop them.
A flush of pink crept up her neck. I couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or anger, but there was something else there too. Something that eluded me before I could pluck it out and examine it.
“Concerned, Doctor?” she asked, almost mocking. “Be careful, you wouldn’t want anyone knowing that. It seems I’m quite the pariah around town already.”
Her lip curled in an attempt at a smile, but the tension rolling off her gave her away. The bravado fell flat.
My eyes narrowed, and she stiffened.
It wasn’t surprising that rumors were being spread about the defense, but Quinn had been in town less than a day. Even for Ember Hollow, that was fast.
What had happened that made her so convinced she was already an outcast?
A pressure bloomed inside my chest, but I ignored it. It wasn’t my business.
“That man has terrorized this town for far too long,” I said, voice low. “It’s not about you, really. It’s about him.”
She held my gaze a beat, but then looked away. “I’m tired.”
I hesitated once more at the sudden sadness in her tone. Questions brewed inside my mind, but I didn’t ask them. I shouldn’t want to.
It was time for me to go.
“Enjoy your dinner.” I pushed the tray into her arms.
I made sure she had a good hold on it before letting go, but then I turned quickly.
I was almost to the stairs when her door slammed behind me, and the flip of the lock echoed through the hall.
The room hummed with unease before anyone even spoke. Every Tuesday, for the past two years, I had volunteered for a local support group for survivors of trauma. This town had seen its fair share of it throughout the years.
We met in the basement of the local library, but it felt different tonight.
The place was cozy enough—string lights hung along the walls, a pot of coffee filled the air with a roasted, sweet aroma, and a steady electric hum came from the fake fireplace in the corner.
Normally, the atmosphere helped the members feel safe and secure.
But the tension was almost measurable tonight, despite it all. I recognized the tight shoulders, shallow breathing, and restless hands. Fear had a way of settling into people’s bodies long before it reached their words.
I counted seven people in the circle, excluding myself. Regulars, all of them. Some clutched Styrofoam cups, steam wafting from the top. Others kept their arms folded tight across their chests.
For weeks now, the trial date had loomed ahead of us, but now it felt more like a countdown.
The date on the calendar was starting to look less like a mark in time and more like an ending.
People had come tonight because they were unraveling, and I was here because unraveling people still needed order.
“This week’s been rough,” I said, giving them the neutral opening they expected. I wasn’t here as their therapist or counselor—just as a facilitator. A volunteer.
“Does anyone want to start?”
Jenna spoke first. She always did. Her fingers shredded a tissue into a pile of fluff on her lap as she talked about being subpoenaed—about the thought of sitting across from the man who had killed her cousin. Her gaze darted from person to person, looking for something she couldn’t seem to find.
“That’s understandable,” I said when she trailed off. “It’s retraumatizing to revisit the same events under new conditions. Being asked to relive it doesn’t feel fair.”
She nodded, though I could tell she didn’t believe me. Fairness was a conceptual comfort, not an emotional one.
Before I could redirect, a low voice cut in. “Fair would be putting him in the ground.”
I didn’t have to look to find out who it was. Jake Hawthorn leaned forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders coiled tight. His posture was nothing but self-protection masquerading as aggression.
Jake was the older brother of Emersyn Hawthorn, who just happened to be my brother’s wife.
They’d gotten married over six months ago.
The Hawthorns had lost their sister in the same tragedy that had taken mine.
Years ago, Jake had fallen into drug abuse, succumbing to years of trauma that culminated in his sister’s murder.
But he had been doing better for a couple of years now.
He’d been a normal fixture in this group—someone I’d been extremely proud of, and still was.
But the last few months had been hard on him. His control was cracking. I saw it in the micro tremors of his right hand, the dilation of his pupils, the way his jaw worked without sound. The looming trial was taking a toll on all of us.
“He’s still refusing to take a plea,” Jake spat. “Still trying to play the system. And those lawyers—” His voice hardened as he shook his head. “Did you hear one of them is staying in town until the trial?”
I didn’t respond fast enough, and the silence gave him room to build momentum.
“She’s staying here. Right here. Representing that psycho, then acting like she can just walk our streets. What kind of person does that?”
Murmurs started immediately. They spread like a spark on dry grass. The emotion was contagious. Fear looking for an easy conversion to anger.
“Jake,” I said softly, trying to slow it down. The rumors were obviously spreading through town about her, but his rage had a tang of volatility in it that I didn’t like.
Jake looked at me, sharply. “Don’t. You of all people should get it.”
Every pair of eyes swung toward me.
“You lost your sister too,” he continued.
For a heartbeat, I didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t even take a breath. Then my training took over.
“The man on trial didn’t kill her,” I said evenly.
Jake flinched. “No. But maybe she would still be alive if it wasn’t for him.”
The man who had killed both of our sisters had blamed it on Amos Anderson, the Shadow Stalker—tried to copy him to get away with it. And he had for a very long time. That man had died a couple of years ago, but there was still a sense of injustice to it. He never had to stand trial for what he did.
So, I understood Jake’s perspective. He needed to turn his anger on someone who was still here. Someone tangible and still breathing. Someone who could see justice be done.
“We have to let the system work.”
Jake stood, the metal chair legs screeching against the tile. “You think this is about justice? This is about people like her—like that goddamn lawyer in our town—giving monsters like him a voice he doesn’t deserve!”
I tilted my head, trying not to let my concern and weariness show. As much as I didn’t particularly like that Quinn was staying in town, she shouldn’t be threatened.
“She’s not the one who hurt your sister, Jake.”
He barked out a laugh that had no humor in it. “No. But she helps monsters just like the man who did.”
He took a step closer, and for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure how to read him. His eyes were glassy, almost unfocused. A warning bell went off in my mind.
I stared at him, trying to decide whether he could possibly be using again. That would devastate Emersyn. I hoped it wasn’t true. I had never seen Jake as someone actually violent, but I always second-guessed myself. People were capable of anything, even if you never thought they were.
“You’re angry, Jake. That’s valid.” I rose halfway from my chair, palms open and voice measured. “But turning someone you don’t even know into an enemy isn’t going to—”
“Don’t tell me what’s valid.” Jake cut me off, his voice cracking. “You think you understand, but you don’t. You sit there with your degrees and your calm voice, but you don’t feel a damn thing!”
Those last words hit harder than I expected—a sting that vibrated my ribs.
Jake stood there, breathing hard like every inhale was a fight. He was thinner than last week. The scruff on his jaw had grown out more.
Before I could say another word, he shook his head in disgust. Lip curled, he turned away from the circle and walked out. His stomping footfalls were audible all the way up the stairs as he climbed to the main floor of the library.
No one in the group spoke for a long moment. The sound of the electric fireplace filled the space, as if its warmth could soothe away the tension.
Mara Ellison broke the heavy silence. Her voice was soft and quiet. She helped run the library with her grandmother.
“He’s scared.” She tucked a long, dark lock of hair behind her ear. “This has been hard for all of us, but the best we can do is not let it control us. We have the power to choose how we react to the hard things.”
The simple truth of it loosened the knot in the room. People exhaled. A few nodded. I caught Mara’s eye and gave a wan smile.
I kept the session going another twenty minutes, but no one’s heart was in it after that. Words came out flat, as if everyone had used up their energy.
Later, when the chairs were stacked and most had left, Mara lingered to help me wipe tables and clean the coffee machine.
She smiled faintly. “Well, that was an interesting session.”
“I shouldn’t have let Jake go on like that.” I shook my head.
Mara shrugged a thin shoulder. “It could have gone worse.”
I studied her. Mara was probably one of my closest friends, besides my brothers.
With all the time I spent in the library, she was someone who was easy to talk to.
It had been her idea to start the survivors group.
After everything she had been through in her life, she was a true testament of strength.
“Thank you for your help.” I took the cleaning spray and rags from her. “And thanks for letting us use this space.”
She tilted her head at me. “Is everything okay?”
I gave her a look, and she sighed. “I mean, besides the whole Jake situation.”
I took my time putting away the cleaning supplies, thinking about her question. My initial reaction was to say that I was fine. Of course I was fine. I had to be, didn’t I?
But I wasn’t sure that was true. I felt…off. I had known it was likely my work in Amos Anderson’s case would get thrown out. The prosecution had planned for that possibility, but it still felt like I had failed in some way.
I didn’t say any of that to Mara, though. She waited, patient as ever, her big, amber-brown eyes full of concern. She shouldn’t be worried about me. She’d had enough worry for a lifetime.
Putting on my most convincing grin, I nodded. “I’m good, Mara. It’s just the heaviness around town, lately. But it will pass.”
She considered me, and for a moment I thought she’d seen through my lie, but then she gave a small nod. “Okay, but you need to take care of yourself, all right?”
I nudged her shoulder with mine. “You, too.”
A small smile curled her lips, and together we walked up the stairs, turning off the lights in the basement behind us.
After Mara walked me out and locked the doors of the library behind me, I breathed in the cool, clean night air.
I leaned against my car parked in the tiny parking lot, trying to clear my head, cataloging the evening as if it were a case study: Group anxiety elevated.
Individual escalation triggered by proximity to trial.
Facilitator response insufficiently neutral.
The last note made me huff a laugh under my breath. Clinical detachment. I was the best at it.
But when I turned to my car and got inside, I found myself not going straight home. It was late. Dinner had long passed, so I had no reason to stop by my parents’ house.
Still, I slowed as I neared the bed-and-breakfast. I didn’t stop, but glanced toward a window on the second floor—the only one where the light was still on.
I told myself I was making sure everything looked safe there, after everything Jake had said.
But the longer I stared, slowing even more, I wondered whether that was the truth, or whether I was lying to myself.