The door closes behind her with a soft, final click.
I don’t move for a long time.
Then I reach for my phone.
Who else did you send it to?I think.
And how many fires can burn at once before even I can’t control the heat?
Chapter Forty
Evelyn
The cut hums in front of me—thirty-eight minutes of faux grace. Shae passing soup bowls. Shae with toddlers on her lap. Shae’s hands folded like the world’s most photogenic saint. I’ve shaded the light cooler, her skin warmer, the background softer. A martyr in 4K.
The cursor blinks. So does my phone.
One text from Blake. No words—just a link.
I click.
Local paper: BODY FOUND IN CASTAIC LAKE. WEIGHTED BARREL. NO TEETH, NO FINGERS.
The headline hisses like a fuse. My throat tastes like iron. I know before I read the second paragraph it’s bad for optics. Barrel. Weighted. Deliberate. Someone meant forever, and forever floated up anyway.
I scroll. Northern Los Angeles County. A fisherman’s hook snagging metal. The medical examiner says ID is “complicated.”
Blake’s timing is surgical. He knew I’d be in the bay alone—caffeine and Shae’s grin, my only companions. He knew this would slice straight through the spell.
I start to type:Do we know if it’s connected?
Another ping.
An email. Anonymous sender. Subject line:for your documentary.
I hover, then open.
Attachments. PDFs. A text file. Transcripts. One line in the body:Posthumous from The Watcher? He wanted this heard. Now it’s yours.
I drag the files onto my desktop, heartbeat punching at my collar. The first document opens.
TRANSCRIPT: Conversation with Dean (ex-husband of Shae Halston).
He isn’t the blustering caricature Shae paints. His words ache with something like shame. He talks about her meds—skipped doses, rages sharpening after. Therapy with Kelly: Shae confessing violence in metaphors, then acting them out. Door locked at night. Nights he didn’t think he’d wake up.
I scroll. More.
Sessions. Actual transcripts. Kelly’s notes from decades ago: Shae in her twenties, detailing fantasies of control. Watching light die in people’s eyes. Practicing lies in the mirror. Fixating on revenge against “girls who laughed too loud.”
It’s damning—neat, time-stamped, typed like evidence wants to be believed.
The final file is a plain text document:WatcherNotes.txt.
She fooled you. She fooled everyone. Here’s the nail: She told Kelly while they were in Pismo that Brianna’s disappearance was the first time she felt in control. It’s circumstantial, but relevant. Find the CCTV from Carmel—they exist. She went out as Kelly, came back as Shae. Masks within masks. Don’t let her bury this.
I sit back. On the monitor, Shae hugs a widower at Hearth & Hands, tears glittering in both their eyes. My headphones whisper her laugh, soft as a hymn.
And my inbox screams: liar, murderer, monster.
