Page 35 of In the Dark of the Past

“This is a hell of a start,” he said finally. “You guys are doing real work here.”

“It’s not nearly enough yet.” I hesitated. “But we’re getting closer.”

He gestured to the couch. “Sit?”

I nodded and lowered myself onto the edge. The hum of the overhead fan and the police scanner filled the silence with white noise.

Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I need to ask you something, and I want the truth,” he said, voice low and even. “Why did you really come back?”

I blinked at the abruptness. “You mean besides the fact that I didn’t really have any other options?”

He didn’t react. Just waited. So, I let out a breath and told him. “After Asheville, I needed something—anything—that felt like solid ground. The house was here. I knew I could set up my practice here. I could...function.” I swallowed. “At least until I figured out my next steps. And yeah, maybe I needed to come back to look some things in the eye, too. My dad’s name. The rumors. All the silence.”

“You never believed he was guilty.”

“No. You know I didn’t. But not believing and not knowing are two different things.” I picked at a loose thread on my shirt sleeve. “I think I wanted closure. I still want it. Maybe even some warped version of redemption. But not just for him. For me. For what I didn’t say. For what I couldn’t stop.”

Finn was quiet for a long beat. “You were still young. And you weren’t in control of any of it.”

I shook my head. “But I was there. I saw things and ignored them. Explained them away. I heard my mom crying through closed doors and never pushed her to talk. I heard my dad whispering on the phone and never asked him what it was about. I told myself it wasn’t my business. And when you came to me with what you’d found, I slammed the door in your face. If I hadn’t tried to pretend like it didn’t exist, maybe I could have found the truth. Done something.” My voice wavered. “Before it was too late.”

He stared at me, something flickering behind his eyes. Not judgment. But not forgiveness, either. “When Eleanor disappeared, I was still a newbie,” he said quietly. “When I was told to look away, I did. Figured someone else would handle it. But that and other cases like that have never stopped eating at me. And then when your dad—” His jaw locked. He exhaled through his nose, the shape of a hundred regrets tightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a lot of choices I’d undo if I could.”

I nodded slowly. “So have I.”

We didn’t touch. Didn’t reach across the space or say something pretty to smooth it over. We just sat in that suspended ache, where grief and guilt folded together into something almost comforting in its honesty.

It wasn’t healing. Not yet.

But it was real.

The quiet between us didn’t last long. Just as I was about to stand and thank him for not pushing, the police scanner let out a burst of static—someone reporting a disturbance near the highway. Finn glanced toward it but didn’t move.

“You hungry?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Too wired.”

He nodded like he understood and rose to his feet, stretching his shoulders before picking up the folder again. “Mind if I hang onto this?”

“Of course not.”

I reached for my purse, but something caught my eye—a worn manila envelope half-tucked under the couch. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

Finn crouched to pick it up. “Not sure.” He flipped it open and pulled out a stack of photos. Black-and-white. A little grainy. And disturbing. Each showed a boarded-up building. Some I recognized from around Maple Ridge—old county-maintained sheds, abandoned storefronts, graffiti-scarred walls others had written off as “just kids being idiots.” Others I didn’t. But it wasn’t the structures themselves that made my skin crawl. It was the red paint scrawled across the boards in every image. That crudely drawn eye, sometimes with a slash through it. Other times with the number seven beneath.

“Where the hell did this come from?” I whispered.

Finn didn’t answer at first, just sifted through more. “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure this couch hasn’t been moved since before I took office.” He shuffled some more, then squinted in concentration. “This is the back lot behind the old hardware store.” He pointed to one. “And this one’s the maintenance shed out by Elk Creek Park.”

I felt a cold ripple move down my spine. “Do you think this is connected to the stuff we’ve been uncovering? There’s that damn eye again.”

He didn’t answer right away, merely kept looking. Then he paused and held up a photo. “This one’s more recent,” he said, flipping it over. “And there’s a timestamp.”

I leaned in closer. “Where is that?”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “The old Lodge Hall. On the south side of town.”

I swallowed. “That place is barely standing.”