Chapter 2
771words
Morning light filtered through dusty blinds as I surveyed my father's study more carefully. The walls were covered with maps of Ravenwood, red pins marking locations throughout the forest. News clippings about "animal attacks" dating back decades were meticulously organized in binders. My father, the town's wildlife expert, had been obsessed with these incidents—especially after my mother became one of the victims.
I ran my fingers over a framed photo of her—beautiful, laughing, with the same green eyes I saw in the mirror. She'd died when I was seven, allegedly mauled by a bear while hiking. But Ravenwood didn't have bears. It never had.
My phone rang—my editor again.
"Please tell me you're finding inspiration in that backwater town," she said without preamble.
"Hello to you too, Diane," I replied, flipping through one of Dad's journals. "And yes, I think I've found my next bestseller."
"Supernatural thriller again?"
I paused at a page where my father had sketched what looked like claw marks. Too large for any normal predator.
"Something like that. But more... personal this time."
"Just make sure it's bloody. Your readers expect a body count."
After hanging up, I decided to visit the police station. If I was going to write about local cold cases, I needed access to official records—and another look at a certain amber-eyed sheriff.
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"So you're THE E.L. Hunter?" the elderly desk sergeant asked for the third time, eyes twinkling. "My wife reads your books before bed!"
"That's me," I confirmed, trying to maintain patience. "I had an appointment with Sheriff Shaw? About research for my new book?"
"Davis, let her through."
Kieran's voice came from down the hall, deep and commanding. He was in full armor today—uniform pressed to perfection, gun at his hip, expression as serious as a funeral.
I followed him into his office, a space smaller than my walk-in closet, with photos of the mayor and governor hanging on the wall. He closed the door, and the air immediately thinned.
"Coffee?" he asked stiffly.
"If it's actual coffee and not police station swill."
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Still the same. Mouth faster than your brain."
"And you're still the same," I countered. "Mysteriously mysterious."
He poured two cups of coffee, black with no sugar—he remembered how I took it. This small detail made my chest tighten.
"So," he sat behind his desk. "Your new book."
"Right," I pulled out my notebook. "I want to know about all the 'animal attack' cases from 1995 to 2010, especially my mother's. Public records say they were all 'bear attacks,' but—"
"Why these cases?" he interrupted. "Why now?"
I met his eyes directly. "Because they're fake."
His expression didn't change, but his knuckles whitened against the desk. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, Kieran," I leaned forward. "We both know Ravenwood doesn't have bears. Never has. These 'bear attacks' happen once a month, always around the full moon. Either it's a serial killer with a calendar fetish, or..."
"Or what?" his voice dangerously low.
I shrugged. "Or something else. That's what my book will explore."
Outside, thunder rumbled. We both looked up at the rapidly darkening sky.
"Storm warning," he said, clearly wanting to change the subject. "You should head home before dark."
"What are you afraid of, Kieran?" I asked directly. "Is it my book, or the truth I might uncover?"
He stood up, suddenly looming over me, his presence so powerful I stepped back. "This isn't a game, El. There are things you don't understand."
"Then help me understand," I met his gaze. "Eighteen years ago, your family suddenly left without a goodbye. Now I come back to write a book, and you're as tense as a wolf with its tail stepped on. What should I know?"
His breathing quickened, his amber eyes almost glowing in the dim office light.
"You should leave Ravenwood," he said quietly, his voice rough. "Finish your book and never come back."
The air between us seemed electrified, charged with anger and something else. Eighteen years of questions, pain, and unspoken words swirled between us.
Outside, rain suddenly poured down, drops hammering against the windows like nature itself felt our tension.
"Looks like I'm not going anywhere," I said, pointing to the downpour. "So either you tell me the truth, or we can continue this staring contest until I win."
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "You were always stubborn."
"And you were always mysterious."
Our standoff was interrupted by a knock.
"Sheriff!" Davis pushed the door open frantically. "Miller Road is flooding! The Johnsons' basement is already underwater!"
