The Homecoming

Chapter 3

The next morning arrived like a fogged window — blurred and hushed. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting angled shadows across the hardwood floor. Cal sat on the edge of his bed, still shirtless, absently tracing the fading red line across his chest. The cut was shallow. Precise. Intentional.

He'd been marked.

He turned the band-aid over in his fingers again, examining the inside. Clean. No blood. No message. Just sterile, plain cotton. But it wasn't about the wound — it was about what it meant.

Control.

He rose and crossed the room, footsteps silent over the floor. The knife lay exactly where it had been the night before — under the same red light, now dulled in daylight. The lamp, which he never used, flickered once, then went dark.

Of course it did.

He grabbed the knife and washed it thoroughly in the sink, fingers flexing over the handle. His grip wasn't as steady as usual. He was rattled. He hated being rattled.

As he dried it, his phone buzzed on the counter.

Unknown Number

Cal hesitated. Then answered.

No one spoke.

Just static. Then a click.

He stared at the screen, jaw clenched. No voicemail. No trace.

"Right," he muttered, setting the phone down. "We're playing that game now."

<><><><>

It was late afternoon when he reached the edge of downtown Riverton, the sun casting golden hues over the rusted signage of the old district. He pulled up outside The Paper Lantern Café, a place that had once been the favorite haunt of every angsty high schooler pretending to like bitter coffee. The door creaked open as he entered, the familiar scent of cinnamon, ink, and roasted beans washing over him.

She was already there.

Alexis Sawyer sat by the window, long fingers curled around a chipped mug, her eyes scanning something on her tablet. She hadn't changed much — not in the ways that mattered. Still composed, still sharp-eyed, still favoring dark jeans and a loose button-down that made her look accidentally flawless.

Cal approached quietly. "Didn't think you'd actually show."

She looked up, expression unreadable. "Didn't think you'd remember how to text."

He raised a brow but didn't comment. She gestured to the seat across from her, and he slid into it.

A pause.

"You look like hell," she said finally, studying him.

"I feel worse."

She didn't smile, but her eyes flickered — something like amusement, or concern. Maybe both. She tapped her tablet.

"You heard about the Franklin case?"

Cal shook his head.

"Dead two nights ago. Young woman. 24. Works at the county library. Found in the river — wrists tied, 'P' carved under her collarbone."

Cal stilled. "...That's the fourth."

Alexis nodded. "And all connected. Same age range. Same MO. Same style of kill. But the press isn't linking them. Cops are downplaying it. You think it's random?"

He leaned back, drumming fingers once against the table. "It's not random."

"I know." Her voice was quiet. "I think it started years ago."

Cal's eyes narrowed. "How far back?"

Alexis held his gaze. "Noah Emmer."

The name hit him like a slap.

His best friend.

The one whose death they'd called a suicide. The one whose death pulled Cal out of Riverton.

"You think—"

"I think he was the first," she said. "And I think whoever did this... knew both of you."

Silence fell like snowfall — soft, heavy, suffocating.

Cal stood abruptly. His head spun from the movement, but he steadied himself.

"We need to go," he said.

"Where?"

"Somewhere no one listens, and no one talks. I'll explain everything."

Alexis grabbed her bag, following without question.

She always had.

<><><><>

The drive was silent, save for the wind slipping in through a half-open window. Cal didn't say anything until they reached the riverbank on the far edge of town, the place where Noah's body had been found six years ago.

The sun was setting, burning the sky orange and violet.

Cal stood near the edge, staring at the water.

"He didn't jump," he said. "I knew it then, and I know it now. He was scared. He called me that night. Left a message. He said he found something. Something bad. Said he didn't know who to trust. Said he was being watched."

Alexis stood beside him, arms crossed. "You still have it?"

Cal nodded. "I kept everything. Voice message. His notebook. Every photo. Every fucking paper."

"And you never showed it to the police?"

Cal looked at her then, something hollow and furious in his eyes. "They were part of the system that buried him."

She didn't argue. She just looked out over the water, her voice soft.

"Then we dig it up."

And behind them, in the shadows of the trees, someone watched.

Unseen.

Unheard.

Waiting.