Prologue
The Woodstone FallsTribune
Four-Year-Old Boy and Father Dead in Tragic Household Accident
A devastating accident on Maplewood Lane near Shadow Ridge on Monday night claimed the lives of a four-year-old boy and his father.
Police responded shortly before midnight after receiving a 911 call reporting an emergency at the Hutchinson residence. Upon arrival, officers found thirty-two-year-old Patrick Hutchinson, son of Congressman David Hutchinson, suffering from a gunshot wound. Despite efforts to save him, Hutchinson was pronounced dead at the scene. The boy was rushed to a nearby hospital but later succumbed to his injuries.
Preliminary investigations suggest the four-year-old may have accidentally discharged a firearm inside the home, resulting in the tragic deaths.
Police Chief Rogers expressed his condolences Tuesday morning. “This heartbreaking tragedy is deeply feltby our community. Our department is conducting an investigation, but at this time, all signs point to this being a tragic accident.”
Neighbors remember Hutchinson as a devoted father. The community is mourning the loss, and a candlelight vigil is scheduled for Thursday evening to honor them.
ONE
Sawyer
When I wokeup this morning, I thought the plan was simple: check out a house I might move into after the season, politely nod at some crown molding, and catch a flight tonight for tomorrow’s game.
What I didn’t expect? Maybe for the body camera footage of me kissing Ellie Miles to be blowing up my phone while I stood in a musty living room.
Yeah.ThatEllie Miles, the pop star with more number one hits than I could count, who got caught in some absolute shit show when a psycho decided to take her and my brother hostage. And somehow, I was the idiot who thought kissing her would help save them.
I'd had a pathetic crush on her for years. Nothing serious—background noise in my brain, really. I was sure she didn’t even know I existed, let alone know my name, so kissing her? Yeah, not exactly how I pictured making a first impression.
But there I was, watching as the video played on a loop, trailing behind my realtor, Suzanne. She was seventy-something with pure white hair, sweet as hell, and probably guarding a banana pudding recipe so good, it could bring world peace.Around us, the place smelled like mothballs, the wallpaper barely hanging on, the bathroom a shrine to mint-green tile horror—but all I could focus on was Ellie on that damn screen.
In the footage, I guided her behind me and stepped forward like some half assed bodyguard.
And then, I kissed her. I still don’t know if it was tactical genius or pure idiocy. All I know is, it worked. The guy froze, caught off guard, and they finally got him.
In my head, it had been this desperate move—kiss the girl, distract the serial killer, save my brother. But on camera? She'd gone completely still for a heartbeat, and then her hands had fisted in my shirt. When her eyes fluttered shut, it wasn't the look of someone just playing along.
Was she just following my lead to sell the distraction? Or had she kissed me back? Like—reallykissed me back?
I couldn’t decide. So, what did I do? I watched it again. And again. And a-fucking-gain.
“Mr. James?”
I jerked my head up and dropped my phone to my side.
Suzanne stood in the living room, looking at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “What do you think of the fireplace? Beautiful, right?”
“Sorry.” I stuffed my phone in my pocket and stepped farther inside. “Yeah. It’s…great.”
And it was. It wasn’t shiny or new; it was worn-in, real, as if it had seen a hell of a lot and wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. There was dust thick enough to write my name in it, but underneath all that, this place had character and a hell of a lot of charm.
I wasn’t exactly looking for a fixer-upper, but if I found one, I could call in the Dotty cavalry. My sister would eat this kind of project for breakfast—lining up contractors, micromanaging tile samples while I finished out the season. Easy enough.
I took a few more steps, and a loose floorboard shifted under my boot with a loud clack. “What the hell?”
“Old house.” Suzanne shrugged. “Needs a little work.”
No kidding.
I crouched, tugging at the board. It creaked as it moved, revealing a hollow pocket beneath. When I peered in, something caught my eye—a small, worn, leather-bound book. I pulled it out and brushed off the dust. It had no title, just a single letter pressed into the cover.
