Page 73 of Whispers in the Dark
She paused, eyes scanning the table but not seeing it. Just replaying the moment.
“His last cellmate, Harvell, didn’t want to talk at first. Not while Ward was alive. But once we told him Ward was dead, he loosened up. Said Ward barely spoke to him. Said he talked in his sleep. Always the same name—Rook. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he laughed.”
Noah furrowed his brow. “That wasn’t in your written report.”
Charlotte gave a tight, humorless smile. “Didn’t think anyone would believe it. I barely believe it.”
Noah nodded slowly. “Victor Graves. What do we know?”
Graham flipped another page. “Which one? The one who was injured twenty-six years ago, or the one who was his youthful cellmate up until one year ago?” His handwriting there was messier—quicker. “We pulled old records. Ward and Graves were cellmates until a year ago. Official transfer for ‘health reasons.’ But in the warden’s logs? There’s a note, said Graves had a ‘dangerous psychological dependency’ on Ward. That the two were ‘co-escalating.’”
Noah looked up. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it wasn’t a predator and a victim. It was mutual. They were feeding off each other. Escalating together. There’s a report that they carved symbols into their cell wall. One guard said it looked like they were building something. Not just drawings. Beliefs. A system. Maybe even rules.”
Noah leaned back, unsettled. “A shared delusion.”
“Or a shared plan,” Graham said quietly.
Charlotte nodded. “Here’s the other thing: we got the prison file. The photo of Victor Graves during his time with Ward. But it doesn’t match any Victor Graves in the federal database. Age is off. Physical description doesn’t line up.”
Noah sat forward. “So who was in that cell with Ward? We need to run facial recognition. Maybe we will get a hit.”
“We don’t know,” she said. “But whoever he was, he was released after the transfer. Two weeks later, just… gone. Last known address in South Ridge. No follow-up. No confirmation of identity. Just a signature and a file that says, ‘Release granted. Time served completed.’”
Graham exhaled. “We need to check that address. Today.”
Charlotte nodded. “My gut says he’s in the wind. But it’s a start.”
She pushed the rest of the files toward the center of the table. The room went quiet again. Not from lack of things to say—but from knowing what came next wouldn’t be easy. She was already flipping through pages, shifting back into the rhythm of the work. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still watching Alex walk out that door.
They had unfinished business. You want me on this, you loop me in. Every step. She knew his words meant more than the case. And she didn’t know if she could.
Charlotte’s eyes darted to Ethan the moment his phone pinged. The sharp chime sliced through the hum of quiet conversation like a blade. When he glanced at the screen, his expression changed.
Gone was the calm, measured Ethan she knew. In his place: something feral. His lips curled back just slightly, the glint in his eye cold and sharp. He stood so fast, his chair toppled backward with a clatter. “Everyone in this room,” he said, voice low but dangerous, “will put their unlocked cell phones on this desk. Now.”
Conversations halted. A cold stillness swept the conference room.
Ethan’s gaze landed on Charlotte and Graham. “Over here.”
When they hesitated, he slapped his palm on the fake wood—hard. The sound made her flinch. “I’m not asking,” he said, hand outstretched, waiting.
They approached. One by one, their phones clacked against the wood. Ethan didn’t speak. He tapped the screen on his tablet, then turned it so everyone could see. The email was short. Blunt.
Subject: Gideon Ward is dead. Body: Serial killer Gideon Ward is dead. Dream team reunites. Everhart and Cullen at it again. Are there more victims—or did they get it wrong?
Attached was a picture of Charlotte and Graham in a tight embrace, taken the day Ward was convicted.
The room felt colder now. The silence wasn’t confusion—it was fury. “Someone in here,” Ethan said slowly, “spoke to the press.”
His eyes scanned the room like a wolf sizing up prey. “Confess now before I find out. And I will find out.”
The airinside the acute care unit at Blackwell was heavy—too still, like the building itself was holding its breath. Alex and Brad walked through the double doors without speaking, boots clicking quietly on the floor. It smelled like antiseptic, eucalyptus and quiet despair.
Sophie Everhart was waiting for them just beyond the nurses' station, her arms crossed over a worn cardigan that didn’t quite hide the tightness in her posture. She greeted them with a small nod, her smile not reaching her eyes.
“She’s in her room,” she said softly. “Still the same, mostly. She can hear—we’ve confirmed that. And when instructed, she can do things. That’s a big improvement. We believe it’s because her nutrition status has changed. Upon arrival, she was dangerously malnourished. From the bloodwork, we believe she only received enough nutrition to keep her organs alive. We’re waiting for the toxicological screen on her blood. We sent it to the state crime lab, looking for things that don’t appear in the normal screen. She eats, uses the bathroom, walks to the bed— all when told. But… it’s all mechanical. No awareness. No emotion. She’s still a blank slate.”
