Page 4 of Locke 2

Crossing his lean arms, Hal leaned against the wall. “Sounds like fun.”

I nodded. “I think so. It’s a great bunch of kids this year.”

He made a gross sound. “I don’t know how you do it. All that running around and screaming and just…so many kids.”

“I would rather that than be back in an office,” I muttered.

He raised a blond brow. “Are you sure? Because I could find you something to do at the news station, if you want.”

I made a gagging sound, and he chuckled. “No thanks, Hal.”

He moved off the wall. “Okay, well, I’m getting ready. Are you walking with me?”

I smiled down at Dahlia as she curled into a little ball. “Of course. Coffee run, and then I’ll drop your princess butt at the newsroom.”

He laughed loudly. “I’d be so lonely without you, Kari.”

I bit my lip, realising for the first time in a long time, that knee jerk desire to correct his use of Kari was absent. I was glad for it.

Kali was dead.

She needed to stay that way.

???

Hal got dressed in a nice office shirt and pants. My attire was more casual: mom jeans and a cropped sweater. I’d come far in life in my attempt at being “normal.” Even my nose piercing was flipped up. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d let anyone see it.

It was about a fifteen minute walk to downtown Georgewel, and it never got old. The town was charming: the storefront aged and aesthetic. It didn’t have the feel of a microcity, not the way Blackwater did. It kept its old-style stone architecture and some preserved sites were under repair and maintenance. We had some old rich dude by the name of Arthur to thank for that who blew into town a couple years ago with a mission to “save it.” Dude had a heart so big, he even dressed like Santa and donated presents to poor kids. I was fortunate enough to be present for that last Christmas.

I wished I had a Blackwater Santa to remember who did that because, unless he wanted to hand out meth to the kiddos, good old saint nick didn’t blow through Blackwater.

We grabbed our coffee and sipped it, taking in the cool breeze, a tease of autumn on the horizon. We took our time walking to the town’s news headquarters, which was inside a preserved stone building with wide entrance windows. I always loved to stop in front of it, raking my eyes over the news they plastered on it every morning. There were newspaper stands by the entrance, and it was thriving.

As we approached, I grabbed a newspaper off the stand and folded it, setting it under my armpit. Then we stopped at the window, next to the entrance doors and chatted. Hal was a talker. Born and raised in Georgewel, he was a sweet small town man, around my age. Journalism ran in his family. It was in his blood, he liked to say. I liked to keep him talking because it usually meant by the time it got around for me to talk, we had someplace to be.

“You’d think the mill wasn’t dying the way people flock to this town,” he grumbled suddenly, eyeing one of the stories on the window. I glanced at it; it was about the influx of residents coming to Georgewel. The most in over a decade.

“Are you worried about it?” I wondered.

He shook his head. “Not really. There’ll be more businesses, but…I don’t want to have chain stores springing up, you know what I mean?”

I nodded, vehemently adding, “Yeah, or like a rich, suited man to come swooping in to buy it all out.”

He made a thoughtful sound, glancing at me. I ignored his look, realising I’d let too much emotion in that line slip. I kept my eyes directed on the news, hoping he’d move on.

Then I caught it.

A headline that made me take a step closer, intrigued and…something else tugged at me, prompting me to look further into it.

Man Wrongly Convicted Of Murder Freed From Prison After 18 Years…

I squinted my eyes at the small print, and my insides cooled as I caught the first line.

Dominic Callaway is a former prisoner recently exonerated for the brutal slaying of Blackwater resident Jimmy Kites, a murder that police state is one of the worst the town has ever seen. Callaway’s case was reopened after Defense Attorney Max Locke presented new DNA evidence to the case that led to Callaway’s freedom.

Dots clouded my vision. My body wavered. I was aware Hal was speaking to me, but I couldn’t make out his words.

Somehow, I’d forgotten he was real.

---