Chapter 4
The next morning, Nathan stood outside the Hollow Creek courthouse, coffee in hand, staring up at the cracked stone columns like they might crumble under their own secrets.
The last time he’d stepped foot here, he was nineteen, wearing his brother’s too-large blazer, trying to defend a boy who couldn’t afford a real lawyer. The case was lost before it began.
And now he was back. Again.
And the smell of smoke still clung to the town like old sin.
He tossed the empty cup and pushed through the courthouse doors.
Inside, everything looked the same. Same wood-paneled walls, same worn tile floors, same front desk clerk—Lucille—who blinked twice when she saw him.
“Well, well,” she muttered. “If it isn’t the prodigal Rourke.”
“Still keeping that desk warm, Lucille?”
She smirked. “Still stirring the pot, I see.”
“Wouldn’t be Hollow Creek if I didn’t.”
She leaned in. “You here for the arson case?”
“Jace Carter? Yeah. Just started looking into it.”
Lucille’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You might want to peek at docket five.”
“Why?”
“There’s another boy. Elijah Moore. They say he killed his father. Garden shears. Real messy.”
Nathan blinked. “Elijah Moore. As in—”
“Yup. That Moore. The estate on Blackberry Hill.”
“That’s two major cases in three days.”
“Welcome home,” she said.
Nathan’s phone buzzed. Unknown number. He let it go to voicemail.
Then Lucille added, “His mom asked if you were in town.”
That stopped him.
He turned slowly. “What?”
“She was here yesterday. Wanted to know if you were still a lawyer.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Anna Moore?”
Lucille nodded. “She looked real shaken. Said she wanted someone from the outside. Said she didn’t trust local counsel.”
Nathan didn’t say anything.
Just walked out the door.
The Moore estate still stood like a memory that refused to fade—tall iron gates, white columns, and windows that never opened. Nathan remembered sneaking up the drive as a teenager, heart pounding, Anna waiting on the porch with a laugh and a cigarette.
He parked just outside the gate. It opened slowly with a mechanical groan, like the place resented visitors.
Anna met him at the front door.
Time had softened nothing.
Her hair was still jet black, though the streak of silver at her temples made her look even sharper. Her eyes hadn’t changed. Still green. Still sad.
“Nathan,” she said, voice low.
“Anna.”
“You look terrible,” she said.
“You look rich,” he replied.
She cracked a hollow smile and stepped aside.
The inside of the house was cold. Clean. Empty in that way money made things.
Nathan followed her to the study.
A fire crackled in the hearth, untouched.
“Elijah’s upstairs,” she said. “They’ve released him pending a hearing.”
“And your husband?” Nathan asked.
“Dead. In the greenhouse.”
“Garden shears?”
Anna sat slowly on the edge of a velvet couch. “I found him. The morning after.”
Nathan leaned against the doorframe. “Why would Elijah do that?”
“That’s the thing,” she whispered. “I don’t think he did.”
Nathan didn’t respond. Just watched her.
Anna looked up. “You remember how smart he was? Always drawing, always building things. But something changed a few months ago. He stopped talking. He stopped... looking at me.”
“Depression?”
“Maybe. But it felt like something else. Like he was waiting for something to happen.”
“What about his father?”
Her mouth tightened. “Charles was... strict.”
“You mean violent?”
She hesitated. “Not with his hands. With his rules. With his words.”
Nathan nodded. “And the night he died?”
“I was in bed. Elijah was supposed to be at a friend’s house. Came home late. Went straight to his room. The next morning, I found Charles in the greenhouse. Throat open. Blood everywhere. Shears on the ground.”
“Did Elijah say anything?”
“Nothing. Not at first. Then he told the police that he didn’t remember coming home.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s not like him,” she said softly. “And there’s something else...”
“What?”
Anna looked away. “The shears weren’t ours.”
Nathan blinked. “Excuse me?”
“They weren’t from our shed. I’ve catalogued every tool on this property. Those weren’t ours.”
“So someone brought them in.”
She nodded. “And left them behind.”
Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “Have they done a print analysis?”
Anna scoffed. “This is Hollow Creek. They said it was ‘open and shut.’”
“And the cops believe Elijah?”
“They wanted to.”
He sat down across from her.
“I saw the fire last night,” he said.
“I heard.” She looked down. “It’s starting again, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
Anna’s eyes lifted to his. “The rot. The town’s curse. Whatever it is that makes good people go quiet and guilty ones go free.”
Nathan leaned forward. “You think the cases are connected?”
“I think nothing happens in this town without a reason,” she said. “And I think you were meant to come back.”
He shook his head. “Don’t put that on me.”
She stood and crossed the room.
“Talk to Elijah,” she said. “Please. He listens to no one. Not even me. But maybe... maybe he’ll talk to you.”
Nathan sighed. “I’m not a miracle worker, Anna.”
“No. But you’re not afraid of this town. That’s more than most.”
He stood. “Alright. I’ll talk to him.”
Anna touched his arm. “Thank you.”
He pulled away gently. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Elijah Moore sat on the floor of his bedroom, legs crossed, back against the wall. The curtains were drawn. Light barely touched his face.
He was seventeen, tall and pale with jet-black hair and skin too clear to belong to someone who slept. He looked like a statue no one dared clean.
“You must be the lawyer,” he said without looking up.
“Depends,” Nathan replied. “You planning on telling me the truth?”
Elijah shrugged. “Truth doesn’t matter here.”
Nathan sat in the desk chair. “Tell me anyway.”
Elijah looked up, eyes glassy. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see anything?”
“I saw him yell at something.”
“Something?”
“Something in the greenhouse. I heard him scream. Then silence.”
Nathan leaned forward. “Did you go outside?”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Elijah tilted his head. “Do you believe in watchers?”
Nathan paused. “What kind of watchers?”
“The ones in the trees. The ones who whisper. Same ones Jace saw.”
Nathan froze. “You know Jace Carter?”
“Not really. Just heard things.”
“What kind of things?”
“They say he sees the same symbols. Draws them. In dirt. In the corners of his room.”
Nathan’s pulse spiked. “What symbols?”
Elijah looked him dead in the eye.
“You’ll see them soon enough.”