Chapter Three: Merry Christmas Caroline Caroline Chambers had become addicted to the glow of the red circle.She tightly held onto the comfort it offered, perhaps more than ever while sitting alone in a cold and unfamiliar room. The room was one she never could have imagined herself in, and still didn’t know why she occupied it now. Other than the chipped white walls, linoleum flooring, and uninviting table, there was nothing to look at except a door. A door she desperately hoped would open to reveal someone who could explain what was happening.The absence of clocks and windows made it impossible to tell time. She wasn’t even sure of the day. But about an hour earlier, Caroline’s own screams had brought her crashing back to reality. Between the ocean waves cascading around her and the distant shape of police officers rushing down the beach, the disorientated state she first awakened to had only deteriorated further. At some point during the chaos and confusion, she had found her way into a fresh set of clothes. Her long hair, almost dry, still smelled of salt and seaweed. Another scent lingered too, something slightly more ominous.Caroline nervously placed her hands on the table. The cold metallic surface sent goosebumps racing up her arms, which was less concerning than the handcuffs that bound her wrists. She had known they were there. She remembered the sound they made as the officer snapped on each cuff just tightly enough to be uncomfortable. She could even feel her bony wrists chaffing against the harsh steel. But seeing them now, attached to her, was almost like watching a movie starring someone else. Had she really done something so wrong?With her sense of isolation and confusion only deepening, Caroline drifted toward the red circle’s light that filled her mind’s eye. It was warm. It was home.Caroline was not a social butterfly, and though her general reluctance to interact with just about anyone—including her parents, teachers, and classmates—left her feeling alone, she had not been actively seeking a solution to this problem. Perhaps because she didn’t view it as a problem in need of solving. The depth of the emptiness growing inside of her had not become wholly apparent until that black pit had been replaced with something tangible. To her own astonishment, Caroline had made a real connection with another person. Someone special. Someone different. Someone who hadn’t grown up in Farrow Point like everyone else she knew.The red circle called to her again. Every minute she spent away from it—and from him—felt like lost time; like wasted potential or a promise unfulfilled. She never felt more alive than when its soft light filled her basement.Things changed for Caroline almost a year ago.Had it really been that long?On the Christmas morning of 1998, the birth of God’s son was far from her mind. Although it had been several years since she cared about receiving gifts—a childhood joy that sadly waned with the discovery that, like most things in life, the holiday was a big fat lie—this particular morning had been different. Because this year she had asked for something truly special.For the past few holidays, her younger brother Jack had served as the family’s alarm clock. Caroline was not an early riser, and that held true on Christmas without exception. The typical routine involved Jack bursting into her bedroom like an unshackled monster, bouncing off the walls and onto her bed. His adrenaline-fueled rampage would lead to him jumping up and down dangerously close to Caroline’s head until her eyelids bolted open.But last Christmas she’d slept an hour at most, eager to wake both her parents and brother before a sliver of sunlight had revealed itself. By early morning she had already snuck into the living room multiple times, attempting to verify the size of the box underneath the tree. It looked about right, but she couldn’t let her mind wonder another minute. Had her wish been granted?“Jack, you need to get up,” she had whispered loudly in her brother’s ear. With one hand she gently shook his shoulder and with the other turned on a lamp. He grumbled and whined at first, barely cognizant if not still asleep.“If you don’t get up Santa will come back and take your presents away,” she teased. The lighthearted threat didn’t belong to any established mythology about Santa Claus, but she was desperate. Caroline wasn’t even sure her brother still believed in the jolly gift-giver. At the very least he must have noticed their parents had the same taste in wrapping paper as Santa’s elves.“What do you want?” he grumbled.“It’s Christmas Jackie!”“Stop. Don’t call me that.” He looked at her with a face as stern as a nine-year-old could muster. She knew he was only pretending to be angry, and within seconds his unconvincing frown broke into a smile.“What time is it? Aren’t mom and dad gonna be mad?”“They’ll survive. Dad’s up earlier most days for work anyway.”On cue, faint beeps from the microwave rang out downstairs, indicating their father was already reheating a cup of coffee.“See! They’re up. Let’s go!”Despite her obvious excitement, Caroline could tell her brother was hesitant to embrace her enthusiasm. She was self-aware enough to understand that her behavior was unexpected, if not completely at odds with the moody teenager Jack had come to know and eventually accept in recent years. This Caroline resembled the big sister from the first half of his life—not only cheerful and jokey, but eager for the day ahead. Even she doubted it would last beyond the holiday break; her return to Farrow Point High School was only a week away.The establishment was highly regarded in an idyllic sort of way by both faculty and students, but Caroline equated the place to a devilish pit brimming with angst and drama. Feeling like an outcast was supposed to be normal for her age, or so she was told. But it didn’t help when everyone else at school acted like they had the next few decades of their lives already sorted.Jack was too young to fully grasp her chief complaints—that is on the rare day she’d feel like sharing. Her tales of woe often revolved around inconsequential interactions, like the time she received a judgmental glare from a cafeteria worker, or when a classmate told an off-color joke that went on to occupy too large a space in her mind long after it had been laughed off by everyone else. The incidents were small, but many, and they added up to cement one conclusion: she didn’t belong here. But she supposed figuring out where one didn’t belong was the easy part. Finding out where one did? No, that always required a bit of a journey.“Jack! Come on!” she called on her way out of the room. The slightly frustrated command threatened to reveal a shade of the new Caroline. It was enough to make him rise from bed.Caroline skipped down the stairs while Jack shambled behind her like a zombie trailing its prey. Any temporary anger caused by her brother’s slow pace was replaced with joy by the time she reached the living room.“Oh my god,” she said with compelling awe, keeping her nighttime trips to the living room a secret. “I didn’t actually believe this would happen.” She was standing in front of an oversized box covered in festive wrapping paper, its dimensions wide enough to prevent it from fitting under the tree’s decorated branches, so encumbered with ornaments that they sagged toward the carpet. Their father Paul, a nice but unremarkable man, was comfortably seated on the worn leather couch nearby. Caroline was almost too distracted to notice him, let alone his beaming smile.“Jack, you didn’t have to get up yet,” their mother Sylvia announced with concern after emerging from the kitchen.“Of course he did,” Paul declared. “We don’t open anything until the whole family’s awake.” “It’s fine,” Jack mumbled. “I’m awake now. So…what did Caroline get?”“Don’t worry Jack,” Paul reassured. “It looks like you have a pretty big pile this year.”“I’m not worried about that. I just wanna know what’s got her so excited.”“It’s what I’ve been waiting for. The only thing I’ve ever really wanted,” she explained dreamily.“Well, go on then pumpkin. We’re all here now,” said Sylvia.Caroline was routinely annoyed by her mother, but she couldn’t deny the woman was perfectly normal and loving. She just hated being called nicknames like pumpkin, and her mother knew it. Sylvia didn’t do so maliciously; it was just one of those habits formed during the early years of parenting that never went away. Despite the appropriateness of the nickname for a girl who was born in late October, Caroline had no affinity for pumpkins and certainly didn’t resemble one. She was pale and lanky, not orange and round. But on this morning, the allure of the box and what waited inside was so powerful she barely registered her mother’s words.“Go for it kids,” encouraged Paul. The man was equally as loving, if not more reserved. As she grew older, Caroline could tell he kept a lot inside. In that way they were very much alike. Caroline stared at the imperfectly wrapped box, praying to something or someone that the contents inside wouldn’t disappoint.The nervous excitement she felt while tearing that first piece of wrapping paper bubbled to the surface now as she waited in the interrogation room. Is that what this was? An interrogation room? Did she do something worthy of being interrogated?The room’s heavy door swung open, ripping away her memory like a used tablecloth after a nice dinner. In walked a man she recognized; the chief of police. But she knew him as David’s neighbor, not from any previous experience dealing with law enforcement—she had none.Wait. Wasn’t she with David last night? Was he here too, in the next room maybe? Her unanswered questions continued to accumulate.“Miss Chambers.” He settled into a chair on the other side of the table. “I’m Clarence Harlow. How are you feeling?” The question didn’t sound like a forced nicety; he truly seemed concerned.“I’m not sure why I’m here,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t remember what happened.”“I’ve heard. The good news is the doc said you don’t have a concussion or any other signs of injury.”Caroline had almost forgotten about the doctor’s brief examination half an hour earlier.“She said I was medically fine.”“Medically fine,” he said with a grunt that might have been a laugh under different circumstances. “Aren’t we all?”Caroline didn’t understand the chief’s joke, if it was one. She wasn’t sure he did either.“Mr. Harlow,” she began with trepidation, “am I under arrest?”He didn’t answer immediately, instead shifting in his seat uncomfortably.“Did you do anything wrong last night?”“I don’t think so,” she answered, hoping the sincerity she felt carried through in her voice. “And if I did…I really don’t remember.”“I see.”“You don’t believe me.”The chief looked taken aback, even a little hurt. “Caroline, I have no reason not to believe you. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”She couldn’t fault him for that. Caroline wanted an explanation just as badly, probably even more so.While they talked, she massaged her bound wrists. The cuffs had made them sore, but the pain was no worse than a pebble in a shoe compared with the trauma dealt to her psyche.“Those were mostly for your protection,” Harlow said. “You were screaming and flailing around earlier, and we didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, yourself included.”“Anyone else?” she asked, beginning to dread what lay in wait alongside the dark road their conversation was traveling down.Harlow sighed heavily and reached for something in his pocket. He produced a key and motioned for Caroline to extend her arms across the table.“You’re not under arrest, Ms. Chambers,” he revealed while freeing her from the restrictive bonds. “But I do have questions.”The handcuffs fell away and clanged against the hard table. Gently he grabbed one of her hands and held it up closer to the light. There was dried blood lodged beneath her fingernails.“We had it tested.” He let go of her hand. “It’s your own. Doc said there were some scratches on your scalp. Self-inflicted.”“I…I don’t remember doing that. I wouldn’t do that.”Harlow didn’t respond. Instead, he set a green folder on the table, tepidly running a finger along the side of it.“What’s that?” she wondered aloud. She could have sworn tears were beginning to form in the chief’s eyes as he contemplated a response. He straightened back in the chair, took a deep breath, and any tears, if once there, dried up.“How do you know David Greene?”The words hit her harder than the ocean’s waves had earlier in the night; not only because Harlow’s voice carried with it a heavy sadness, but because she didn’t know exactly how to characterize her and David’s relationship.“He’s a friend,” she settled on. “A good friend.”“Were you two together last night?”That’s right. We were.“Yes,” she answered, relieved to have remembered at least one detail from the previous evening. “He came over after dinner, and…” she trailed off, searching for another tangible scrap of memory.“And what Caroline?”Another spark of remembrance ignited. “We were working on a school project until it was very late. And then…and then we went for a walk.” A vivid flash of details briefly illuminated her foggy mind. The night air was warm and soothing on her skin. They walked down a quiet street in between yards of fallen leaves. And there, over a hill, she could see it.“I think we were going to the lighthouse.” Her words now dripped with despair. “And I remember talking about Rufus,” she recalled suddenly.“Rufus? Who the hell is Rufus?”“I think Rufus was a bird.” The recollection puzzled her, and after that the memory fell apart completely, collapsing in on itself like a demolished building. “That’s the last thing I remember.”Harlow ran his fingers through the short beard sprouting beneath his chin. “Alright,” he said finally after they both had lingered in uncomfortable silence. “There’s something I need to show you.” Caroline thought he sounded regretful. Their conversation had traveled far down that dark road now, and the bad things, the ones that always seemed to lurk in the tall grass just beyond the gravel, well, they were ready to reveal themselves.Harlow opened the folder and plucked a pair of photographs from inside. Only the blank sides were visible as the chief studied them in his hands.“I knew David,” he said. He was almost beginning to sound a little angry.“What’s going on? Where is he?”“I’m sorry Caroline.” He dropped both photographs on the table. “I truly hope you had nothing to do with this.”Everyone in the station must have heard the scream that Caroline unleashed upon the world. It tore through her throat with agony and pain, and it was so unlike the one she had uttered on Christmas morning that her own parents wouldn’t have recognized it as belonging to her. Caroline shut her eyes, but the horror captured by the photographs didn’t fade from view. Once again she retreated to the small island of pleasant memories in her mind, hoping they would protect her from this new reality. Her scream on Christmas—a playful yelp that signaled impatient excitement—came after she had ripped away the gift’s wrapping paper and opened the box. It was completely empty, but of course she knew her parents couldn’t be that cruel.“Caroline, why did you ask Santa for an empty box you weirdo,” joked her brother. Even he must have known this was one of their father’s pranks.“I thought I saw some reindeer tracks headed down the basement steps,” Paul said.“Dad, the reindeer don’t come inside,” Jack said, proudly correcting his father on the intricacies of Santa’s operation.“The basement!” Caroline shouted, ignoring them both. She knew what was waiting beneath her feet, and she couldn’t have been happier. Brushing past her mother, Caroline raced down the stairs, nimbly avoiding the loose steps that might have sent her flying forward into a wall. Reaching the bottom, she peered across the half-finished basement and finally saw it in all its glory. The thing she wanted more than anything else in the world. The thing she couldn’t have imagined owning just a few months earlier. She walked toward it ceremoniously, savoring the moment with each step. The stairs creaked behind her; the rest of the family had come to witness Caroline’s reaction.The computer tower and monitor had already been set up—no doubt by her father. Paul was a technologically savvy man, and he had a machine just like it upstairs. Caroline had spent countless hours in his home office, sitting and watching as he played games, surfed the web, sent e-mails, organized files, and did all the other perfectly boring things one did on a computer. Caroline was enthralled by it all. From the moment he had first brought the machine into their home and turned it on, she wanted one of her own. Her parents had finally given in. Maybe only because her dad was sick of sharing, but she didn’t care about the reason. She had her own computer now, and nothing else mattered.“Are you happy pumpkin?” her mother called from the stairs. Caroline simply nodded.She knelt before the computer almost reverently, as if preparing a prayer for some circuit board-laden god. Unwilling to wait a moment longer, she pressed a finger firmly against the machine’s round power button. A circle of red light appeared around it, bringing the computer to life and delivering Caroline to a whole new world of possibilities.

Chapter Two: First Impressions Sarah Matthews sat opposite Clarence Harlow in a cramped booth at the Sirenia Diner. They were an odd pair with more years between them than there were inches across the thin red table. A stranger might have mistaken them for father and daughter, but there were no strangers in Farrow Point, and everyone knew Clarence Harlow had no children. The diner’s most notable feature was an extensive menu that included just about anything other than seafood. The owner—a friendly enough man named Watty Friedman—allegedly had a strong disdain for food that originated in the ocean. His personal preference wasn’t remarkably unique, but he did own a restaurant in a fishing community; hell, the ocean was visible from the front windows. Sarah supposed it was part of the eatery’s unique charm.With no fish on the menu to choose from, Harlow had ordered a burger. When the towering plate of meat and grease arrived, he noted the monstrosity was not something his doctor or wife would be happy to see him devour. But it was the kind of benign secret he didn’t have to ask his company to keep. As the chief said before his first bite, “Do I really need to be around an extra five years if I can’t enjoy a damn hamburger?” Sarah supposed not. Even the few vegetables he might have received from this meal were currently sliding out of the bun. He didn’t purposefully remove the lettuce and tomatoes, but she noticed he made no real effort to keep them contained within the assemblage of oozing cheese and charred bacon. A dangling piece of meat missed his mouth as he took another bite, landing somewhere in his lap.Sarah stifled a laugh.“You know,” Harlow began, “if I wouldn’t be run out of town, I’d be tempted to eat this thing with a fork and knife.”“I won’t tell anyone,” Sarah promised. “When I worked in Jersey City, I’d go into Manhattan a few times a month. I saw people eat all sorts of food with utensils there. Pizza, even tacos.”“Well, I don’t know if you’ve looked out the window recently, but we ain’t exactly sitting across the street from the damn Stock Exchange.”The diner was instead nestled between an empty beach and a sparse boardwalk with shops and restaurants numbering less than the average person had fingers. Bored walk was more like it, Sarah thought to herself, deciding the joke was too lame to share, if not a little insulting to the town she only recently came to call home.“Eating pizza with a fork…” Harlow trailed off. “Around here a sight like that’d be nigh blasphemous.”“Didn’t realize you were a religious man chief,” she said, playing along.“Thou shalt not eat with utensils when it is perfectly acceptable to eat with thine hands,” he said in a booming godlike voice.“Don’t remember that one. Guess it’s been a while now since I’ve gone to mass.”“And here I was worried we wouldn’t have anything in common.” Harlow smiled and set down the remainder of his burger, eyeing his unused fork thoughtfully. “Maybe next time. If no one’s watching.”“I would think someone’s always watching the chief of police in a town this size. If only to make sure the chief isn’t watching them back.”His smile faded a bit. “You really think I’m that intimidating?”“Considering you’re my boss, I’m not exactly sure how to answer that question,” she admitted.“Considering I’m your boss, you should answer it honestly.”“Well, I’ve only known you for a month, but so far no, not really. I mean, you’re tough when you need to be, and you make sure we do things right—even when it comes to the small stuff. But I think that’s important if we have any hope of getting the big things right.”Harlow picked up a crisp fry and pointed it at Sarah. “Finally,” he said, a grin returning to his face. “Someone who knows how to suck up to me, and not just because they want something. You don’t want something, do you?”“No, I think it’s a little too soon to be angling for a raise. Just trying to make a good first impression. I don’t want anything other than to learn how things work around here.”There were other things she wanted too, of course, none of which would be appropriate to bring up given the current conversation or company. Sarah looked down at her own plate. She was in the middle of a BLT, fries, and her third cup of coffee. Glancing at the counter she quietly wished Watty served something a little stronger. Maybe some Irish Whiskey to go with the cream and sugar. That’d be frowned upon while on duty—though that hadn’t stopped her before. But she was trying to be better, and alcohol certainly wouldn’t keep her awake at this hour.The newest member of the Farrow Point Police Department was up even earlier than usual. On any other morning, she’d have been shadowing Bennie Wilson, the department’s senior detective who served as a reluctant mentor to the recent transfer from Jersey City. The pairing had so far produced mixed results; Sarah was willing to learn more than Detective Wilson cared to teach. But on this morning, she’d been spared from Wilson’s usual complaints delivered via cigarette-scented breath. Chief Harlow had picked her up for an early morning meal at Watty’s place, a tradition he shared with every new hire.“Speaking of first impressions, how do you like the place?” Harlow asked after taking another pause from his quickly vanishing burger.“Oh, the food’s great,” she said honestly. “I love diners like this.”“Not the restaurant.” He chuckled and slicked back a few strands of the long white hair that hung loosely around his eyes. “And just because Watty’s still here doesn’t mean you have to flatter him,” he said in a raised voice before turning awkwardly to look at the restaurant owner.Watty was slumped by the cash register, scribbling something on a stained notepad. He was short, overweight, and wore an apron that at one point must have been white but was now a used canvas of ketchup and sweat stains.“What’s that chief?” Watty called without looking up.“Nothing,” yelled Harlow. “Get back to work, kid.” Harlow’s command was in jest. He was older than Watty by months, not years.“I give Watty a lot of shit,” he said, turning back to Sarah. “But he’s one of the hardest workers I know. Behind the kitchen there’s an office—well, truth be told I’ve got bigger closets. But I’ve heard people speculate he works all day and maybe nods off in that office a few hours a night. But back to my question. I’m glad you’re enjoying the meal, but I wasn’t askin’ about the diner. The town, Sarah. What do you think of Farrow Point?”Another inquiry she wasn’t exactly prepared to answer. Most of her time and energy over the past few weeks had been spent learning how to navigate department politics. The broad strokes of the job were similar enough to the one in Jersey City, but everything here felt more personal. More intimate. She supposed that was inevitable in a small town where everybody knew everything about everyone. It was a double-edged sword that Sarah was all too familiar with; she just hoped this town’s blade cut a little less deep than the one she grew up in. She was ready for a little peace and quiet.“It’s better than home,” she said, voicing out loud what began as a private thought.“That’s Tennessee, right?” he asked. She nodded and he seemed pleased that his memory hadn’t failed him.“A little town you’ve never heard of. I lived within spitting distance of it my entire life before moving to Jersey a few years ago.”“And why is here better?”She broke eye contact. “I like being by the water. The sound of the waves—especially at night—it calms my mind. I only saw the ocean once when I was a kid. Otherwise, I’ve been surrounded by fields and mountains my whole life.”Harlow smiled softly. “Nothing wrong with fields and mountains.”A palpable lull in conversation followed. She could tell he was hoping for a little more.“And the people,” she decided to continue, “the people here give a shit.”“Oh yeah?” he laughed.“Yeah. I can tell they actually care about this place and each other.”“I don’t disagree.” Harlow paused to take another bite. “I do not disagree,” he repeated. “The fact that you’ve picked up on that in just a month is a good sign in my book. Hell, Watty’s a fine example of that very quality. Maybe the finest.” He was almost whispering now. “We graduated from high school together, Watty and I—more years ago than I’m inclined to specify. He’d been accepted to a university in California, a real prestigious one, and God bless him he made it out there. Didn’t really believe it until I got a postcard. Well, couple months after he moved, his parents were in a car accident. A real horrible one, if you can even quantify that sort of thing. Mother was gone just like that. Father a few weeks later. He came right back of course, and with no one left to run the family diner, he stuck around to make sure it was managed properly.” Harlow seemed to be thinking over the story now, as if he’d just heard it for the first time. “What I’m trying to say is…people who live here tend to stick around. I guess that could be good or bad depending on how you see things.”Sarah pondered the sad tale and Harlow’s analysis. “And how do you see things chief?”“Well, I’m the eternal optimist of course,” he said cheekily. “And you?”“I’m still trying to figure that out.” Her response was sincere, though she tended to lean in the opposite direction.“You’re gonna like it here. I just know it. The job can be hard, but you’ll find we only play a small role in keeping the peace. We’ll be lucky if you’re not bored to death by the end of the year—not to shatter your dreams of car chases and shootouts.”She placed her coffee down and laughed. “Those are no dreams of mine. I just want to help people.”“Good. I’m not worried about you at all.” He seemed impressed.Sarah smiled, happy that she’d been able to answer Harlow’s questions to his liking. She supposed it was useful to start realizing why she was thankful for this place and the job that brought her here. Moving almost halfway across the country was a terrifying prospect a few years ago, but she was making do. Not that it was a difficult choice when the thought of remaining in Tennessee for another day was even scarier. She could have a life here. A fresh start. Everything was going to be okay. Her mother wasn’t around. She could hide from what came before. Things could be different. Maybe she didn’t need to hide? No. A rush of thoughts. A flood of fear and shame. Drowning. Too much at once. She couldn’t breathe.“Everything okay?”The sound of Harlow’s voice sent her panicked mind hurling back into her body. Her feet were on the ground. She could breathe again.“Sarah, what’s wrong?”“Oh, no, nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about family stuff for some reason.”“Anyone nearby?” he asked.“They’re all back in Tennessee. Bit of a walk.” She offered a false laugh.“Have ‘em come out sometime! I’m sure they’d love to spend time by the ocean too.”“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m sure they would.”The lines on Harlow’s face deepened as he squinted slightly. “You sure everything’s okay?”Of course everything’s not fucking okay.Sarah was spared from answering when the crackle of Harlow’s radio interrupted their conversation. “Hold on just a damned second,” he instructed to the distressed voice on the other end. Between Watty arguing with the diner’s only other patron about some TV show and the music playing on an old-fashioned jukebox, Sarah could barely hear the man’s voice coming through the walkie. Harlow hurriedly used a napkin to wipe the burger residue from his hands and squeezed himself out of the tight booth. He shuffled outside and Sarah watched him through the window. The chief ran a panicked hand through his hair while shouting into the walkie. Before long he caught Sarah’s eye and waved frantically, motioning for her to join him in the parking lot. On her way out the door, she produced a slim wad of cash and offered it to Watty. He didn’t accept it and kindly told her to get the hell out of his diner. She gave one last longing look to the coffee and sandwich she would never finish and entered the chaos outside.“What’s going on?” she called to Harlow, catching up to him as he opened the door of his patrol car. His urgency worried her a bit, not that he was an exceedingly lethargic man despite his age and size. She’d just never seen anyone in Farrow Point move so deliberately.“Not sure exactly,” he said as they both entered the vehicle.“Something bad?”“Something bad,” he agreed solemnly. He flipped on the sirens and they were going over eighty down Main Street within seconds.“Where are we going?”He glanced at her. “You been out to the lighthouse yet?”# # # # #When they arrived, the red and blue lights from three patrol cars were already dancing nimbly against the hedges that lined the parking lot. Harlow whipped into a spot between two of them.“Time to work for a living,” Harlow sighed to himself before getting out of the car. Sarah joined him outside and quickly scanned the scene. She spotted Detective Wilson, James Park, Catherine Wells, and two other officers whose names she couldn’t quite remember. “Chief!” Officer Park called out as he rushed toward them. He was tall, young, and didn’t have a single hair on his head.“James,” Harlow said. “What the hell’s going on?”Park began going over the scene, pointing out the small office beside the lighthouse and its shattered window. Sitting in the grass nearby was an older black man. He was wrapped in a blanket and speaking with Wilson and another officer. Evans maybe?“That’s Dean Orwell,” Park announced.“We all know Dean,” Harlow said, cutting him off with an air of agitation before looking at Sarah sympathetically. “Sorry, you wouldn’t. Dean runs the tours at the lighthouse.”She nodded but remained silent, not wanting her lack of knowledge about local residents to slow down the process.“Well, Dean came into work early this morning,” continued Park, “and found the ticket office broken into. After getting inside, he didn’t see anything else out of place besides a missing set of keys.” Park gestured for them to follow him across the lot. She could hear Detective Wilson talking to Dean as they walked by. “It’s okay Mr. Orwell. We’re going to sort this all out.” Sarah happened to make eye contact with the lighthouse keeper and nodded in agreement with Wilson’s promise. The old man just stared ahead, an expression of disbelief painted on his face. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.They reached the lighthouse entrance, a small boxlike structure jutting out from the side of the tower itself. The door had been propped open with a pumpkin-sized rock. Just inside the entrance, golden rays from the early morning sun glistened off a puddle of syrupy blood.“Mr. Orwell claims he didn’t go up the stairs,” Park said, pointing inside the open structure. “He called us from the office phone after noticing the blood.”“Then who found the boy?” Harlow asked.“I did,” Park said, his once firm voice softening. Harlow stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for some additional details. “I’m sorry sir. I’m at a loss for words.”“It’s alright son. And you’re sure it’s him?”“Detective Wilson identified him. I didn’t know the kid, and even if I did…I’m not sure I would have recognized him like that.”“Best I just take a look for myself,” Harlow declared.Park nodded and walked away. Sarah, unsure of what to do, remained standing beside the chief. Though she had only known the man for a month, Sarah had never seen him so shaken. But it was easy to understand why; this call was far from the typical crime scene in Farrow Point. From the brief explanation Harlow offered on the ride over and Park’s sparse summary, Sarah knew they were dealing with a body. Someone was dead. But how and why? Any further details were still a mystery, but in an oddly reassuring way everyone else seemed to be just as confused. “Let me go in alone,” Harlow said. The command wasn’t one barked by a boss to his subordinate; it sounded more like a heartbroken plea from a man trying to spare a friend from witnessing something horrific.“I’m not afraid,” Sarah said, unsure if she believed her own words.“I know you’re not. It’s just—the boy they say is up there—I knew him. His family lives down the street from me. They’re good people. Hell, I’d consider ‘em friends. I just need to do this alone.”She glanced at the defeated man beside her, the strong yet jovial police chief who had been enjoying a meal only minutes earlier. She felt sad for him, and perhaps selfishly for herself too. Sarah had foolishly entertained the notion that this place could actually become a home, one unlike any she’d ever really had. But now standing there in the lighthouse parking lot, confronted with the death of a boy she would never know, Sarah never felt more like a stranger in a strange land. It would have made more sense for her to be standing almost anywhere else in the world.“I understand sir,” she said. “I’m going to check in with everyone else. See where I’m needed.”“Thank you, Detective Matthews,” he said without turning to face her. He cleared his throat and disappeared inside the lighthouse. Sarah walked away after hearing his boots meet the blood-splattered staircase. In that moment she was grateful she had only finished half her dinner.The flashing lights and flurry of activity unfolding around the lighthouse dazzled Sarah. Her most exciting case in Farrow Point so far had involved a woman whose goat had destroyed a good bit of her neighbor’s property. She had seen violence and even murder in Jersey City, but she didn’t expect it here—especially not so soon after arriving. Did she bring this with her?Sarah discarded the silly thought and refocused on her surroundings, trying to identify where she might be most useful. Near the lot’s entrance, Park was struggling to put up a bit of police tape. Not the most critical task but a bit of company might do them both good.“Need some help?” she asked, unintentionally startling him.“Oh, sure,” he said, returning to the work after offering a false smile.She picked up the tape, extending it along the entryway and tying it to a gate at the opposite end. In the off chance the news of what happened here hadn’t spread to the whole town already, this would hopefully dissuade any clueless visitors who were planning to tour the lighthouse. She guessed there’d be no tours for a while.Returning to Park’s side of the entrance, Sarah hoped to ask him if he knew more about what happened. About how a high school boy had ended up dead at the top of a lighthouse. About what exactly he found up there that had left him so unnerved. She peered over her shoulder, stealing another look at the solemn lighthouse keeper still slumped on the ground. The man’s face was now buried in his hands.“Do you think Detective Wilson suspects him?” Sarah asked bluntly.“Mr. Orwell?” Park asked. Sarah nodded and he answered slowly, as if contemplating the possibility for the first time. “I guess it’s too early to rule out anyone, but Dean Orwell’s basically a local celebrity. He’s worked at this lighthouse since I was a kid, and I’ve never heard a bad word said about him.”“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like a killer.” She felt almost guilty for questioning the innocence of one of Farrow Point’s supposed model citizens.“Still,” Park continued, “he’s been saying some odd things.”“Like what?”“Wilson said he mumbled something about seeing a person in the sky.”Their conversation was cut short by a scream echoing from the beach just beyond the lighthouse.Instinctively Sarah ran toward the sound without checking to see if anyone else was following. In her frenzied rush to reach the disturbance she stumbled at the top of a hill, failing to notice a pile of jagged rocks where the grassy ridge transitioned into sand. She fell forward and held her arms out, slicing open her left hand as it landed on a partially submerged seashell. The pain didn’t register; neither did the sight of blood emanating from her skin. Sarah regained her footing and continued on toward the source of the cries, now visible where the ocean met the shore.A girl laid in the sand at the water’s edge, her shrieks barely muted by the crashing waves that occasionally jostled her body. The shallow water obscured part of her legs, but as Sarah made her way across the beach, she could tell the girl was wearing jeans and a t-shirt advertising some unfamiliar band. The girl’s hair, long and black, was wet and plastered to her ghostly skin in messy strands. She continued to scream, either unaware of or indifferent to Sarah’s presence.“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Sarah called out. A quick glance didn’t reveal any outward trauma, but that didn’t mean much; the girl was obviously distressed. She looked up at Sarah and they locked eyes as her screams slowly gave way to long, haunting sobs. The ocean water splashing against the girl’s face only partially hid the streams of tears on her cheeks.Sarah wanted to hug and comfort the girl, but she knew that wasn’t exactly her role. There was still a body in the tower behind her, and the odds this girl had no connection to it were slim.“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Sarah said. The girl was still sobbing, albeit more softly, and the chill of the water mixed with the brisk October air was making her shiver. Seconds before Sarah might have taken the girl into her arms Park arrived with a blanket. He wrapped it around her like a cloak and they both helped her rise above the frigid brine. As the trio began walking up the beach, Park patted her down discreetly.The girl seemed able to walk alright, reaffirming Sarah’s initial assessment that she was at least physically unharmed. But something was blatantly wrong; her sobs came so consistently that they were beginning to sound unnatural.The three of them continued up the path leading to the lighthouse, carefully avoiding rocks and broken shells. Sarah had long forgotten about her aching hand until she noticed a patch of blood smeared across the towel. Parked seemed to notice too.“That’s mine,” Sarah assured him. “I fell.”“You okay?”“Don’t worry about me right now.” She looked from him to the distraught teenager. He nodded in agreement.The lighthouse loomed above them like a watchful colossus unable to reveal the slaughter it had witnessed inside its own body. This was Sarah’s first time visiting the landmark, but it was visible from the deck attached to her third-floor apartment. What used to be a calming, almost majestic presence on the horizon now appeared more sinister—as if a haunted spire from a fantasy story had materialized into existence by some dark magic.“No!” the girl suddenly screamed as she collapsed into the parking lot. “Not the lighthouse!”Most of Sarah’s colleagues ran over to meet them, careful to keep a reasonable distance. Dean Orwell slowly walked over with Officer Evans. Yes, that was his name, Sarah thought, before noting the detail’s irrelevance in the moment.“Everything’s okay,” Sarah said, an obvious lie. She helped the girl stand up again. “Can you tell us your name? What happened here?”Her screams and sobs gradually abated. After a moment she turned and whispered something to Sarah.“What did she say?” called out one of the officers. Sarah looked out at the small crowd gathered around them.“She said she had a bad dream.”The officers stood in silence while Dean Orwell recoiled with a look of sympathetic horror.