Ben found Sheriff Daley in the station's evidence room.
Not the hidden chamber below—but the official one, bathed in sterile fluorescent light. Daley stood with his back to the door, sleeves rolled up, carefully placing a vintage Edison phonograph on a steel table. Beside it sat a fresh wax cylinder, blank and gleaming.
"Evening, Ben," Daley said without turning. His voice was calm. Resigned. "I wondered when you'd come."
Ben stepped inside, hand resting near his sidearm—not drawing it, but ready. "You're not really going through with this."
Daley finally turned. His face was gaunt, eyes shadowed, but his posture was steady. In his hand, he held a small digital recorder—the kind used for confessions.
"I have to," he said. "The chorus is growing unstable. It's not just taking voices anymore—it's rewriting them. Turning memories into lies." He tapped the recorder. "I heard my wife call me 'darling' this morning. But she hasn't spoken to me in ten years. Not since the accident."
Ben's jaw tightened. "That's not her. It's the thing wearing her voice."
"Does it matter?" Daley asked softly. "If it sounds like her… if it feels like her… isn't that enough for the hollow to be full?"
He walked to a filing cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder. "Your grandfather started this. Your mother continued it. I'm just the last link in a chain that's held this town together for over a century." He opened the folder—inside were photos of every sheriff since 1893, each with a notation: Voice Donated. Chorus Stabilized.
"And Elena?" Ben asked, voice low. "She's not part of your chain."
Daley's expression darkened. "She's worse. She's breaking it. Her silence is starving the entity. And a starving god doesn't just take—it consumes. Whole towns. Whole histories." He met Ben's eyes. "If I don't offer my voice tonight, by dawn there won't be anyone left to remember Blackwater Falls ever existed."
Ben stepped forward. "Maya believed Elena could end it. Not feed it. End it."
"Maya was desperate," Daley snapped. "Grieving. She thought love could starve a hunger that feeds on love itself." He shook his head. "You know better, Ben. You've seen what it does. You heard your father's voice in that basement. You wanted to answer."
Ben flinched.
Daley pressed the point. "You're protecting her because you still see the girl who crawled through your window after her mom died. But she's not that girl anymore. She's the silence between screams. And silence… is contagious."
He picked up the phonograph needle. "Once I record my voice, the chorus will stabilize. The Hollow Men will return to their homes. And Elena… she'll be free to leave. No one will remember her role in this."
"Free?" Ben laughed bitterly. "Or erased?"
Daley didn't answer.
Instead, he placed the blank cylinder on the machine, turned the crank, and lowered the needle.
A soft hiss filled the room.
Then, in a clear, steady voice, he began to speak:
"My name is Robert Daley. I am Sheriff of Blackwater Falls. I offer my voice freely, so that others may keep theirs."
Ben moved.
Fast.
He lunged, knocking the phonograph sideways. The cylinder clattered to the floor, cracking along its length.
Daley stumbled back, eyes wide. "Ben—"
"You don't get to decide who gets sacrificed!" Ben shouted, breathing hard. "Not Elena. Not you. Not anymore."
Daley's face crumpled. "Then what do we do?"
Ben pulled the Maya Vance cassette from his coat. "We stop feeding it. We help her finish what she started."
Daley stared at the broken cylinder on the floor. Then at Ben. "You really believe she can kill it?"
"I believe she's the only one who's ever tried to free it," Ben said quietly.
For a long moment, the two men stood in silence.
Then Daley slowly nodded. He picked up the broken cylinder and dropped it into the trash.
"I'll hold the line here," he said. "Keep the council from marching on the woods. But Ben…" He met his eyes. "If she fails… I'll record my voice anyway. Even if it's the last sound this town ever hears."
Ben gave a single nod. "Fair enough."
He turned to leave.
"Ben," Daley called after him. "If you see her… tell her I'm sorry. For doubting her."
Ben paused at the door. "She already knows."
Then he stepped into the night.
But as he reached his cruiser, his radio—long dead—crackled to life.
Not with static.
With a child's voice.
Lillian Thorne's.
"He's lying."
Ben froze.
"The sheriff's voice is already ours. He spoke it in his sleep last week. The recording was just for show."
The voice grew colder.
"They all lie. Even the ones who love you."
Ben stared at the radio, heart pounding.
Was it true?
Or was the Whisperer trying to turn him against his last ally?
He didn't know.
And that uncertainty—that tiny crack in his trust—was all the entity needed.
Because as he drove toward the woods, he realized something terrible:
He hadn't told Daley where Elena was.
But the Hollow Men were already moving toward the stone circle.
Faster than before.
As if they'd been led there.
End of Chapter 22