Page 19 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The voice ignored me. Smart machine. Conversation had never been my strongest skill anyway. The highway narrowed into a two-lane road that wound between thick forests and scattered farms. Mailboxes leaned at impossible angles beside gravel driveways. Rusted tractors sat abandoned in fields where weeds had long since claimed ownership.

Tourists would have described it as peaceful. I knew better. Evil rarely announced itself. It blended in, borrowed sugar from next door, waved at children and smiled for photographs. People always expected monsters to look like monsters. Life would've been a fucking lot of easier...

A battered pickup rumbled past in the opposite direction. The driver lifted two fingers from the steering wheel in greeting. I returned the gesture automatically. He disappeared into the rain without another glance. Friendly or curious. Sometimes there wasn't much difference.

The case files they gave me before I left rested on the passenger seat beside me, held together with a thick black binder clip. I hadn't opened them again since leaving headquarters. I didn't need to. Eight women. Eight disappearances. Eight families were still waiting for answers that weren't coming. People liked to ask why detectives never smiled. Truth was...We did. Just not after reading enough missing persons files.

A notification flashed across the dashboard.

SHERIFF WALKER

“ETA?”

I ignored it. If he wanted to know where I was, he could fucking wait. People had become far too fucking comfortable expecting immediate answers. I preferred delayed disappointment. The road narrowed into a winding two-lane stretch, pines crowding both sides until they swallowed the horizon. Dense enough to lose a person or hide one. A pair of headlights appeared around the bend before vanishing into the rain. Less traffic. Less distraction.

Blackridge emerged slowly through the drizzle. First the church steeple then the petrol station, a florist overflowing with colour, children splashed through puddles while their parents watched from front porches, coffee mugs warming their hands. A golden retriever trotted happily along the pavement, its owner waving to someone across the street.

It looked peaceful, too peaceful.

The town square rolled into view. Brick storefronts, fresh paint, a café advertising homemade pie, a bookstore, an antique shop. The sort of place people visited to escape the world and the sort of place the world forgot until something terrible happened.

Somewhere behind those smiling faces...

Someone knew why women were disappearing.

The police station sat at the end of the street. Small. Red brick. Three patrol vehicles lined the parking lot while flower beds framed the entrance. Someone cared enough to keep the place looking welcoming. I doubted the paperwork inside shared the sentiment.

I pulled into an empty parking space and shifted the SUV into park. Rain drummed softly against the roof as the engine ticked itself cool.

This was it. New town, new department but same fucking job just different ghosts.

I picked up my transfer papers, my gaze drifting to the unopened case files beside them. Eight women, no answers. Well not for long.

I killed the engine and stepped out into Blackridge.

The station greeted me with ordinary sounds. A television murmuring somewhere inside, a burst of laughter, a radio crackling with static, a dog barking somewhere in the distance.

Perfectly ordinary.

Yet…

Something about this place felt fucking of.

The rain had finally begun to ease, dwindling from a steady downpour to a light drizzle that left the air cool and heavy with the scent of wet pine and damp earth. Somewhere nearby, someone was grilling meat, the smoke drifting lazily through the neighbourhood, mixing with the lingering smell of rain.

I shut the SUV door, the solid thud echoing across the parking lot. A deputy standing near the station entrance looked up from the paper coffee cup cradled in his hands. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Fresh uniform. Fresh haircut. Boots that hadn't seen enough miles to lose their shine. He'd been wearing the badge long enough to stand a little straighter, but not long enough to stop looking over his shoulder.

"You must be Detective Reed."

His smile came easily. Mine didn't. I gave him a single nod.

"Evening."

He hesitated before extending his hand. "I'm Deputy Collins."

I looked at it for half a heartbeat before taking it. Firm grip. Slightly damp palm. Nervous. He'd heard stories.

People usually did.