Chapter 46 Ellie
FORTY-SIX
Ellie
Ben didn’t say much on the drive from the airport to my house, and I was grateful for the quiet. My nerves were loud enough on their own.
The city blurred past the windows, familiar streets soaked in memories. I performed that song last night and hadn’t heard from him. I tried not to overthink it, but I definitely wasn’t doing so hot.
Once we arrived, Ben and I parted ways, and I went to the one thing I knew would distract me.
I opened the journal to the next page and started reading.
I can’t stop hearing him. Even when he’s quiet, the house is full of him—his footsteps, his breathing, the way he leans on walls like the world owes him something. I can feel it in my chest, tightening with every second.
I’ve packed a bag. I told him we might visit family. He smiled and nodded. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Every room feels smaller. Every silence presses down on me. I know I can’t let him see me scared, but inside, I am.
I’ll do whatever I have to. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I won’t let him take him.
I love him. I always have. He is the only thing that ties me to the real man I love and the only thing keeping me from breaking entirely. If I need to stand in the dark and face everything, I will. I have to.
My eyes welled up. I knew what happened there—at least the final result. All her fears of losing her son were valid because, in the end, that was what happened.
I needed answers. Maybe the real dad showed up when it happened. Maybe he was interviewed, or there was information about who he was in the file. I pulled out my phone and hit the number I probably wasn’t supposed to use for this purpose.
She answered on the second ring. “Detective Dodge.”
“Lilah, it’s Ellie.”
“Should I be worried?”
I groaned. “Probably.”
“What’s going on?”
“I need a favor.”
“Ellie…” she said knowingly. “You’re not supposed to be digging. I told you to let it go.”
“I know. I just… I found something in the journal, and I need to know what really happened. I think someone must have shown up on the day of the incident. I was thinking maybe…maybe you could…”
She sighed. “Spit it out.”
“There was the shooting, but I need to know who responded. If anyone else was there or showed up, anything else you can give me.”
“Ellie…no.”
“I know, I know. I promise, if it’s nothing, I will let it go. There’s nothing left to read. But I need some kind of closure, even if it just ends up being an accident like the article says.”
“This isn’t easy shit to look at. That file will tell the cold, hard truth of how that little boy and his father died. You may not want to see all of that.”
“I need to,” I whispered. “I need the details so I can move on.”
“On one condition.”
“Anything. Name it.”
“You truly let it go after this. Don’t let it haunt you forever,” she said, and it seemed like she wasn’t just giving advice—she knew what it cost to hold on.
“Okay,” I sighed.
“I’ll look and send you the information, but I didn’t do this for you. This will not trace back to me, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up, and an hour later, my phone dinged with an email notification. I swiped it open, the subject line blinking back at me.
From: Lilah Dodge
Subject: Case Report — Hutchinson Incident
Ellie,
Here you go. It’s not everything, but it’s enough. Now let it go.
Lilah
My fingers trembled as I stared at the attachment, my heart thudding in my chest like a warning drum. It was a folder full of cold, official documents—pages stamped and signed, marked with dates I knew too well.
I landed on the section I’d been dreading—the cause of death.
Patrick Hutchinson. Gunshot wound to the chest.
Lower on the page, the boy’s details caught my eye.
Cause of death: strangulation.
I blinked, rereading the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less brutal, but no.
Strangulation. The word was a blow to the stomach. I whispered it aloud, as if saying it might make it less real, but it didn’t. It echoed in the empty room.
It made no sense. The boy accidentally fired the gun. It was a tragic accident born from fear.
But strangulation? That wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.
The questions came rushing in, too fast to catch. If the boy had been strangled, who did it? Did the husband do it before he was shot? Did he manage to get the gun in an attempt to save himself?
Or was there something deeper buried in this silence?
My chest tightened as I sank back onto the couch. My mind spun in a thousand directions, piecing together fragments that no longer fit.
I scanned through the report further, but half of it was missing—there were notes about the scene, the paramedics’ statements, and police observations, but no mention of a child fumbling with a gun.
Just cold, unemotional facts that clashed violently with the story the article painted.
I swallowed hard and closed my laptop. The room was too quiet, too small. The story I’d been told unraveled beneath me, and I was standing on the edge of something darker than I’d imagined. The truth was still out there, hiding in plain sight.
And I was nowhere close to finding it. Even as I said it all aloud, none of it made sense.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I walked over to grab it.
SAWYER
Hey, are you still planning to come tomorrow? I got your ticket if you do.
I’ll be there.
Okay, see you there.