Page 65 of Whispers in the Dark
V. Ellis
You won't find all of them. Some may still be breathing. Some are living. I kept the rules. To the program. But the others? They don’t have my discipline.
So, here’s your warning: I was never the worst one. Just the one you caught. They’re still out there. And the program has changed. Now they know you're looking. Good luck.
When she reached the end, her voice caught. Her brows drew in. She scanned the names again.
“Graham,” she said. “Byron’s not on the list.”
Graham looked up. “You sure?”
“Positive. Ward mentioned him. We both heard it. Said his name just before he died. But he’s not here.”
They stood in silence, surrounded by the echo of Ward’s words. Then Charlotte added, “He was left dying. On my back porch. Less than forty-eight hours ago.”
“He was a victim.”
“Yes.”
Graham folded his arms. “Then who had him?”
Charlotte stared up at the slats again, the message that was never meant for anyone except her. “Ward’s been in prison thirty years,” she said. “He may have started this. But someone else picked up where he left off. Took his methods. His system. His logic.”
“Someone carried it forward.”
She nodded. “And whoever had Henry Byron… they’re not done.”
The writing above them didn’t just speak of the past.
It was pointing at the present.
Twenty-Two
The driveback to the diner was quiet at first, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you when words didn’t help. Graham stared out the passenger window, arms folded, jaw set. Charlotte gripped the wheel a little too tightly.
They’d both read the same words. They both felt the same weight. But neither of them said much. Every now and then, one of them would start a sentence. “If Ward…” or “Do you think whoever…” But the rest would hang in the air, unfinished, unanswered. The closer they got to town, the quieter they became.
Finally, as the neon lights of the roadside diner came into view, Charlotte spoke. “I need to talk to Alex.”
Graham glanced over at her. “You want me to come with you?”
She shook her head, pulling into the gravel lot. “No. This one’s on me.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She parked beside his car. He gave her a look, half concern, half warning, but said nothing. He got out, and she watched himdrive off before pulling out her phone. Alex answered on the second ring.
“I need to see you,” she said. “Can you meet me at the house?”
There was a pause. “I’m already here.”
Her headlights cut across the driveway. Sure enough, Alex was sitting on the front porch, elbows on his knees, coat unzipped like he’d been there a while. She climbed out of the car, heart already racing, and met him at the steps.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, standing.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
