The tilted trailer groaned with every movement, as if it wanted to remind the Matthews family that this improvised refuge was living on borrowed time. The sound came from the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
A constant metallic lament that reacted to the weight of the people inside, like a wounded animal that could no longer stay on its feet.
Tabitha opened and closed drawers with almost clinical precision, separating the essential from the disposable. Clothes in one pile. Medicine in another. Documents aligned with excessive care, as if she still believed that organization could mean control.
Her fingers smoothed the folded fabric more than once, not out of necessity, but nervousness.
Jim checked the overhead compartments, stretching up on the tips of his feet. Each door that closed produced a dry snap, echoing too loudly in the cramped space.
His clenched jaw betrayed that his mind was elsewhere. He performed simple tasks like someone clinging to something concrete to avoid thinking too much.
The silence inside the trailer was too heavy to be comfortable.
Ethan stacked books on the floor. Tongue sticking out. Total concentration. Each volume was a treasure he could not leave behind.
Julie folded clothes beside her mother, but her movements were automatic. Her gaze remained fixed on an undefined point on the wall. Her mind was trapped in the previous night.
On smiles stretched too wide. On the gunshot echoing down the street. On the freezing sensation when fear took hold of her. And on the firm hand that pulled her back inside.
Tabitha was the first to break the silence.
"Julie."
Her voice was low, but firm. She folded a T-shirt meticulously, smoothing the fabric repeatedly without realizing it. "Do you see now why I told you to stay away from him?"
The air inside the trailer seemed to grow denser.
Julie stopped what she was doing. Her hands remained on the folded clothes, motionless.
"Seriously, Mom?" The reply came controlled, but heavy with disbelief. "Just because he smokes weed?"
Jim answered before Tabitha could.
"He smokes weed, Julie." His tone came out harsher than he intended. "In front of everyone. Without caring who's around. He offered it to the mechanic like it was gum."
"So what?" Julie crossed her arms, her body instinctively closing in on itself.
"So that shows who he is," Jim ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "Someone who doesn't care about rules. Someone who lives on the edge. That kind of person... they're exciting, I get it. But they're also the first to make stupid mistakes that hurt the people around them."
"I know how to take care of myself." The words burst out impulsively, more a challenge than a conviction.
"You think you do." Jim took a deep breath, trying to keep control. "But courage without limits turns into recklessness. And recklessness is expensive."
Before Julie could respond, Ethan's voice cut through the air.
"He's brave."
Everyone turned to the boy. Ethan was standing now, a book pressed to his chest like a shield. His eyes shone with unshakable, childlike conviction.
"He ran all the way to town to get help." His voice was high, but firm. "He calmed me down when I was scared. He stayed with me. He's nice."
The silence that followed was short, but intense.
Julie felt her chest tighten. She seized the opening.
"Ethan's right." She took a deep breath before continuing. "He helped me too. When I froze last night." Her voice faltered slightly. "If it weren't for him... I might not even be here."
Jim closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, less defensive.
"You're our children." He looked at Julie. "We just want to protect you."
"Dad..." Julie opened her arms, unsure where to point them. "We're stuck here. With things that know our names."
She swallowed hard. "The trailer is destroyed. We almost died last night."
The last part came out broken. "And you're fighting over this."
The words landed inside the cramped vehicle like a grenade without a pin.
Jim opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. His daughter's brutal logic was irrefutable. Faced with night-time killers, moralizing about herbs seemed ridiculous.
Tabitha sighed, the sound of someone carrying the weight of the world on her back, and sat down on the sofa-bed beside Ethan. She pulled her son close, kissing the top of his head, breathing in the scent of shampoo and childish sweat.
"We just want you to be safe," she whispered.
"I know," Julie softened her tone, anger giving way to deep exhaustion. "I know, Mom. But... you can't protect us from everything. Not here."
The silence returned, but its texture had changed. It was no longer hostile, just sad. Laden with truths no one wanted to admit.
Jim sat down on a chair, shoulders slumped, defeated by reality. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Emotionally. Physically. In any way."
"We know, Dad." Julie approached hesitantly and sat beside him. The anger dissolved, leaving only shared fear. "But Daniel... he's not the enemy. He's stuck here just like us."
Jim let the air out slowly, his shoulders sagging.
"I know."
"So just..." Julie stopped mid-sentence, too tired to finish. She rested her head on her father's shoulder. "Just stop."
Tabitha watched the scene in silence, torn between roles that never stopped colliding. Mother. Wife. Protector.
"We'll try," she said at last. "But you also need to be careful." She looked directly at Julie. "He can be a good person. And still be dangerous. Both things can be true."
Julie nodded slowly. It wasn't full agreement, but it was the most she could manage right now.
"I trust him," Ethan murmured, his voice muffled against his mother's shirt. "He's my friend."
Despite everything, that drew a tired smile from Jim. "I know, son. I know."
Outside, the sound of an engine approached.
Julie stood up immediately and went to the window. The mechanic's pickup appeared on the road, followed by the armored motorhome like a fortress on wheels.
Tabitha and Jim exchanged one last look. The conversation was over, but the tension... that was just shifting focus.
Daniel had returned.
He parked the vehicle with a soft hiss of air brakes. The side door opened and he stepped down, the metal stairs clanking under his boots.
The Matthews family stepped out of the trailer to meet them. Mike, the mechanic, climbed down from the pickup right after, wearing a smile of a job well done. But Jim's eyes weren't on the repaired vehicle.
They were on Daniel's waist.
There, in the inner holster revealed by the wind lifting his shirt slightly, was the black, matte grip of a Glock. The metal contrasted with the white shirt, a visual reminder of violence in an already violent setting.
Jim froze. His eyes locked on the black metal. "You're armed." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
"I am," Daniel said without backing down. "I have a legal permit."
The silence was absolute.
Tabitha instinctively pulled Ethan back. The boy protested, but she held him firmly.
"Mom, he won't—"
"Ethan. Quiet."
Julie looked from Daniel to her father, torn. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come.
Jim took a deep breath. Once. Twice. Finally, he said, "Keep it away from my children."
"It wasn't my intention—"
"Away. From. My. Children."
Daniel held his gaze for three seconds.
"Deal."
Jim turned his back and went into the trailer. Tabitha followed with Ethan.
Julie hesitated at the door. She looked at Daniel once before going inside.
Her expression was hard to read. Fear? Disappointment? Confusion?
The silence that followed was cutting.
Daniel stayed where he was, watching the trailer door close.
Mike let out a low whistle beside him. "Man... that was tense."
"Yeah." Daniel ran a hand over his face. "It was."
The mechanic gave him a light pat on the shoulder before heading back to the pickup. "Good luck with that."
Daniel returned to the motorhome. He analyzed the situation coldly.
[Jim already hated you. Now he's got the perfect excuse.]
I didn't think he'd react like that... Legal carry. License. Everything in order. And still, the guy practically growled.
[And you think that matters? To him, you're the armed bad boy hanging around his teenage daughter. You could have a Harvard doctorate and it wouldn't make a difference.]
"Fair point," Daniel muttered.
Half an hour later, they were back on the road. The motorhome followed behind the pickup.
Daniel adjusted the rearview mirror. Not that he could see the crow. But knowing it was there, always there, made the back of his neck itch. An invisible watcher reporting every move.
Great.
---
In town, the tension had a different flavor.
At the diner, Kenny pushed a plate of scrambled eggs toward Jade, who stared at the food as if it were an alien object.
"Eat," Kenny insisted, his voice low.
Jade picked up the fork. Chewed without taste. Swallowed without feeling.
"I'm going to find out who did this," he murmured between bites, his voice hoarse. "I'll find out and—"
"And what?" Kenny cut in, harsher than he intended. "What exactly are you going to do?"
Jade didn't answer. He just kept chewing, his eyes fixed on the plate.
"Jade. There's a process here. Boyd will find out who did it. And that person will answer for it."
"How?" His voice came out rough. "Like Frank?"
Kenny nodded slowly. "Like Frank."
Sara, who was cleaning tables, heard the whole conversation and went rigid for a moment. Her movement stopped.
Tian-Chen watched for a moment, drying her hands on her apron.
"Did you sleep well?"
Sara froze, gripping the cloth too tightly.
"I slept."
"Are you sure? You look tired."
"I'm fine." She tried to smile, but the corner of her mouth trembled, betraying the effort she was making to look normal.
Tian-Chen returned to the kitchen, but the concern lingered.
Nearby, at the sheriff's station, Boyd stared at the Box through dusty glass.
He wanted to keep what happened the night before quiet. He knew people would grow suspicious of one another once they found out. It could even spark violent conflicts, the kind they couldn't afford.
But in a place this small, nothing that happened so openly could be hidden. Impossible.
So he gave in to the inevitable.
He called the residents closest to the station and asked them to help spread the word: meeting at the diner in two hours. More than enough time to notify everyone.
Father Khatri appeared shortly after, stopping in the doorway without entering right away. He watched Boyd for a moment, as if weighing whether it was a good time to speak. It almost never was.
"I left them at the garage," Khatri said, making conversation because silence wasn't helping. "Mike said he'd see what could be done."
The sheriff nodded. "Thank you."
"I heard the buzz in the street," the priest continued, his voice calm. "There's going to be a meeting at the diner. People are asking if it's about the investigation into Gina's death."
"That too," Boyd replied curtly.
"People are terrified, Boyd. They're coming up with theories about how those things got into the clinic last night. Talking about ghosts, failures in the talismans..."
"Of course they are." The sheriff let out a sigh that seemed to empty his lungs. The exhaustion weighed on his shoulders like a pack of stones. "That's why the meeting. Better I control the narrative before it turns into mass hysteria."
"Did you find anything concrete?" Khatri stepped closer, instinctively lowering his voice.
Boyd finally turned, facing the priest. His eyes were red from lack of sleep.
He let out a long, weary breath through his mouth. "It was a person. A woman, wearing a dress. Two residents saw someone running from the direction of the clinic after the glass broke."
The priest fell silent for a long moment. The ticking of a clock on the wall seemed to grow louder. Tick. Tock.
"One of us," Khatri repeated quietly.
The silence stretched on. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He rubbed his temples, as if he could massage the weight of the news away.
"This has never happened before."
"Looks like it has now." Boyd's voice was bitter. "Someone threw a stone through the window. Opened the way. Gina and the boy died because of it."
"My God..." Khatri closed his eyes, his hand going to his chest in an automatic gesture, seeking comfort.
"Are you going to tell them this at the meeting?"
"I am." Boyd straightened his shoulders, donning the armor of authority the town demanded of him. "I'll say it was a human action. That we're investigating. And I'll make it clear that whoever did this will be held accountable."
"And if you don't find out who it was?"
"I will." The answer sounded like a dark promise. "Even if I have to tear through every house, every drawer, and every lie in this town."
"If I'm there," Khatri said slowly, "maybe they'll listen before doing something stupid."
"I need them to stay calm. To trust that I'm doing my job." Boyd looked straight into the priest's eyes. "Can you do that?"
"I can try," Khatri gave a tired smile. "But you know how it is. Fear turns sheep into wolves very quickly."
"I know. That's why I need to act fast. Before fear turns into a lynching."
"Two hours, then?"
"Two hours," the sheriff confirmed. "And pray that I can keep control."
"I always pray, Boyd."
The priest left, the door closing softly behind him.
Boyd remained alone, watching the town. Outside, people walked, lived their interrupted lives, trying to pretend at normalcy. But somewhere among those familiar faces, there was a killer walking free.
I'll find you, Boyd thought, fists clenched. No matter how long it takes.
The clock on the wall continued its mechanical countdown. Two hours until the meeting. Two hours until everything, inevitably, got worse.
========================================
If you want to support the continuation of the story and read chapters in advance, you can become a supporter for just $5 and get access to 5 early chapters.
patreon.com/Northmann