Chapter 7
The silence that followed the sheriff's words felt heavy and suffocating in the brightly lit kitchen. Mark lowered the phone slightly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the device. Sarah stopped pacing, her eyes darting between her husband and the phone, holding her breath.
"What do you mean by that, Sheriff?" Mark asked, his voice dangerously low, dripping with a restrained fury that filled the room. "A stranger just broke into my home and threatened my family. That has nothing to do with the mill."
"Everything in Oak Grove leads back to the mill, Mark, and you know it," the sheriff replied, his tone laced with a weary, knowing resignation. "Your old man drove half the town crazy before he died, chasing shadows and accusing respectable people of arson. If you're digging up his old notes, you're painting a massive target on your back. Stay out of the woods, Mark. I'm not sending a cruiser out there just because someone rattled your windows."
Before Mark could fire back a retort, the line went dead with a sharp click.
Mark lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. He didn't look at Sarah or Leo, but the tension radiating off him made it clear that the police were not going to protect them. They were entirely on their own.
"Who was that?" Leo asked, holding Maya close as she finally calmed down into quiet sniffles. "Was that the sheriff? Why wouldn't he help us?"
"Because the town has been covering up what happened twenty years ago, and the sheriff is part of it," Mark said, his voice hard as iron. He walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. "Your grandfather trusted the police once. They told him the fire was an accident. When he refused to drop it, they made sure nobody in Oak Grove would listen to him anymore."
Sarah walked over, placing a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "We can't stay here, Mark. If they can get into the house tonight, what happens tomorrow when Leo and Maya are outside?"
"We aren't running," Leo interjected firmly, standing up and setting Maya down gently by the kitchen island, handing her a small toy to keep her occupied. "Grandfather left those coordinates for a reason. If we run, whoever is after us will just follow. The only way this stops is if we find the evidence first."
Mark looked up at his son, seeing a reflection of his own stubborn determination staring back at him in the hazel eyes. It was a look he recognized all too well—the same look his father had worn every single day leading up to the fire.
"You don't understand the danger, Leo," Mark warned quietly. "That parchment points to the old mill floorboards. It's flooded, unstable, and heavily guarded by people who don't want the past uncovered."
"Then let's go tonight," Leo urged, leaning against the table, his voice full of resolve. "Before they expect us to make a move."
May you like
Mark stared at his son for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the immense risk against the terrifying reality of their current situation. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the folded yellowed parchment, and flattened it out on the table under the harsh kitchen light.
"Grab your flashers and the heavy boots from the garage," Mark finally said, a grim edge to his voice. "We leave in ten minutes."
