Chapter Text
Augustus could barely register they were almost there.
As soon as they had crossed the state's border, Matt had gotten his hands on a map of California, akin to the one Edalyn had given him, and he had had his face buried in it since then, barely addressing Augustus as he scribbled away and muttered to himself. At last, he could have a little bit of peace. He tilted his head back to look at the late afternoon sky above their heads.
He could feel his eyelids slowly closing against his own will. Although the weather had gotten colder, and he had been grateful for the foresight of keeping his jacket with him before running away, he sighed in delight at the way the sunlight was directly hitting his face and warming up his skin. Matt's presence and warmth were too helping, especially since he was sitting so uncharacteristically close to him.
Every once in a while, he would steal a glance to find him in the same position, either following a road with the end of his pen or scribbling something on the back of the map when he ran out of space on the front. Augustus finally found the strength to look at literally anything else when he caught himself describing this sight as 'cute.' 'Cute' and 'Matt' did not belong in the same sentence, let alone the same language.
"So the good news is, we're not too far from Hipsdon," Matt said, tearing his eyes away from the map. "Now let's just pray we can actually talk to Evelyn."
"I mean, isn't that why you stole Hopkins' pass for?" Augustus reminded him, his voice much more bitter than he intended.
"Oh, just let it go already; it's not like he deserves to have a station in the first place."
True—very, very true, especially since Matt had made him sit through an hour of Hopkins' rambling on the radio just to emphasize how crazy he was. And, yes, the guy was his own brand of nuts, but that didn't mean Augustus felt any less guilty for stealing from him. If anything, the man seemed deranged and paranoid enough, and they were making his case worse by taking his property away from him.
Augustus lifted his eyes back up at the sky and groaned when a cloud passed by, obscuring the sun for a minute, before glancing back at Matt when he shifted next to him and gently elbowed him.
"You okay?"
"I guess?" Augustus answered with a sigh. "I'm just nervous we've done such a long drive for nothing. What if Evelyn has nothing to tell us about Wittebane? What if she passed away, or she's been transferred elsewhere, or—"
Before he could keep going, Matt slammed a hand over Augustus' mouth and glared at him.
"One more 'what if' and I'm knocking you out."
He rolled his eyes and chased Matt's hand away. The prospect of being passed out for a couple hours was more than tempting, but Augustus kept his mouth shut; he wasn't looking forward to the raging headache that would inevitably follow up.
"Am I the only one of us here thinking this through?"
"You're not thinking; you're overthinking," Matt responded with a flat voice. "Besides, this was your idea to talk to Evelyn. We're not backing out now."
This time, Augustus audibly wailed and threw his head back. "Of course it was my idea, and you were stupid enough to go along with it!"
"I was stupid enough to do so because I tr—"
Matt immediately interrupted himself, slamming his own mouth shut, and his eyes widened just a bit; it wouldn't have been noteworthy for anyone else, but after weeks of having no one else to chat face-to-face with but Matt, Augustus could notice the smallest of changes on his (distracting) face. He waited for the rest of the sentence, but it never came.
"Because you what?" No response; Augustus shook him by the shoulder. "Matt?"
"Forget about it," he grumbled.
He shouldn't have been surprised by this reaction, as Matt had the habit of putting a brutal end to a conversation the moment it didn't go his way, but Augustus struggled to ignore the small pang of disappointment in his chest.
When Matt got up from the ground and dusted off his clothes to shake the dirt and grass away, he turned to Augustus and flashed him his signature crooked smile, as if the last few seconds of their conversation had never happened. It showed off his missing tooth on the left side of his mouth, at which Augustus' face heated up.
"You ready to go?" he asked.
"Give me five more minutes," Augustus mumbled in response, sighing at the feeling of the sun peeking out from behind its cloud. At least he had an excuse for the blush dusting his cheeks.
Perry was used to tossing around over and over in bed at nighttime, yet it never stopped being irritating when his whole body was begging him for sleep but his eyes remained wide open and fixated on the bare ceiling above his head. This was one of the many reasons he had decided to move to the living room, hoping the sound of the television would lull him to sleep, but his thoughts would always drag him back to reality.
And, of course, if his thoughts weren't about Augustus, they moved to Skara.
It was obvious she had lost most of her energetic nature over the last few days, and Perry had no idea what to do to bring it back. At least, unlike his son, she had opened up about it multiple times and shared what had been eating her up (it wasn't hard to guess, anyway,) but she refused any help Perry could possibly offer, as little as it was, and busied herself with her own work or the things that had to be done around the ranch.
This helplessness of his felt too familiar, and he hated it more than anything; he wished he could scream, cry, or beg, but his body felt oh so heavy, and his mind was clouded by all the responsibilities looming over his head. Yet another reason to keep him up at night, not that he needed one.
"Uncle Perry?"
Skara's unusually small voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head to see her standing near the hallway, looking down at her feet. She was still wearing her bonnet, slightly askew on her head, and her night gown seemed far too big for her, as if she had borrowed one straight from her father's closet. She looked so much smaller and more vulnerable than usual.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"I heard the TV and figured you wouldn't be sleeping either." Her eyes darted to the actors on the black-and-white screen. "Can I sit with you for a minute?"
"For sure. They're playing High Noon; feel free to join."
"A bit morbid to watch right now, isn't it?" Skara asked, although Perry thought he noticed a hint of amusement in her voice.
"It's easy to brush past it when you know the ending," he replied.
Perry had a feeling the so-called 'minute' would turn into 'the rest of the night,' but he happily obliged either way; he slept better with someone around. He patted the empty space next to him on the couch and offered his niece what he hoped was a comforting smile, and she was quick to join him.
For a moment, she remained quiet, her head against his shoulder and her breathing steady. Perry let her be and was content to simply provide a reassuring presence if this was all she needed. He had always made a point for her to rely on him during her times of need, no matter how old she was, and he was glad she was following through.
"I'm here," he whispered, as if anyone else were sleeping nearby. "What's on your mind?"
"What's not on my mind right now?" she scoffed.
Fair point—there was a reason they were both unable to find sleep, after all. Skara had never showed signs of restlessness until recently when she had heard about the supposed hostage situation.
On the television screen, Lloyd Bridges and Katy Jurado were arguing about Jurado's character, Helen, fleeing town and abandoning Harvey, Bridges' own role. Perry found himself mouthing along to the dialogues, as he had watched the movie a handful of times by now, drawn to the themes it touched upon. He had expected Skara to be bored out of her mind, but her eyes were glued on the screen, especially when Helen was at the center of a scene. She was a talented actress, after all—and a gorgeous woman, too.
"Do you really think we can trust this Matt guy?"
The question had come out of nowhere—except it hadn't, in a way; Perry knew this had been one of Skara's biggest concerns since she had been made aware of this whole mess. He struggled to take it at face value himself, although he wasn't sure if it was a gut feeling or pure and simple denial that his son might be in even more trouble than he thought.
"I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling there's more to it than a hostage situation," Perry admitted. "It's difficult to explain, but I know Augustus would have kept us up-to-date in any way if something strange was going on with Matt."
"Would he even be able to tell us if he was in danger?"
God, he refused to entertain the thought that Matt was keeping him from reaching out. He didn't want to be naive and put blind trust in a kid he barely knew, but he believed in his son; he had promised to open up about anything that troubled him.
"I'm sure he would. Don't understimate your cousin; he's grown a lot since you two last saw each other."
"Did he? I remember being a good four inches taller than him," she responded with a cackle.
Perry couldn't help but roll his eyes at this. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall to his left before turning back to his niece.
"I know it's late, but do you want to stay a bit longer? I can make us some tea."
Skara wordlessly nodded, and that was his cue to get up. Grabbing a throw blanket nearby, he carefully laid it across Skara's lap before getting up from his seat to make his way to the kitchen. He didn't want to think about it, but avoiding it gave him the same feeling as driving a car with his eyes closed; he knew the danger was right ahead, and turning a blind eye to it just made it worse. At least focusing on making tea was a nice distraction.
The moment he walked back in the living room with two mugs in hands, he noticed Skara was sitting in a different position; curled up at the end of the sofa with her head against the armrest, she had dragged the blanket over her own shoulders and had fallen into slumber as quickly as it had taken him to make the drinks. He could hear her soft snoring and chuckled to himself at how her bonnet had somehow slipped even more, now covering her eyebrows and obscuring her eyes.
Perry sat back next to her and left her mug on the coffee table before taking a sip of his own drink and focusing on the television screen in front of him.
Keep an eye open.
Matt hadn't lied; Hipsdon had been much closer than what Augustus had expected—barely an hour away from where they had stopped—and ironically enough, he had sighed in relief at the sight of the prison in the distance. It stood proudly at the outskirt of town, its size and the numerous guards patrolling around intimidating if one just happened to walk by. But Augustus was more determined than ever to get answers despite the doubts at the back of his head.
He didn't think Matt's flimsy plan would work, but he was baffled by the way the two men at the gate let them drive past with a polite nod the moment Matt showed them Hopkins' pass. Matt flashed him a cocky smirk as he went ahead and parked. Surely this had to be a trap; Wittebane must had warned the prison guards about who they were and to play along to arrest them when they least expected it, right? They couldn't be that incompetent or trusting.
As they got out of the car and walked to the front desk, he noted a good amount of people walking back and forth or in and out of corridors, except for one man sitting at the desk who immediately noticed their presence; as soon as he stood up, Augustus felt smaller than minuscule. He had always been somewhat of a short guy (although Matt had appeased this worry,) but that man was huge. A 'could easily touch the ceiling if he raised his arm' kind of huge, accompanied by broad shoulders, tan skin, and a beer belly. He seemed way too old to be working there, as the few hairs left on his head and his generous beard had turned grey a long time ago. A scar was running across the right side of his wrinkle-covered face as well, giving him a tough look despite the patience and kindness in his eyes.
"May I help you?" He asked with a polite smile.
"Jacob Hopkins, I'm here to interview Evelyn Wittebane," Matt explained matter-of-factly, lying to the guard as easily as he breathed air. Not that Augustus should have been surprised.
Arching an eyebrow, the tall man walked around the desk to approach them, and Augustus wished he could have turned into a fly and buzz out of there. He took a step back as a reflex despite the fact the stranger left enough distance between the three of them.
"I don't remember you calling for an interview," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "Are you sure this was programmed for today?"
"I'm certain, but I understand if you're busy. I can seek myself out and schedule for another day."
"Please, there's no need; it's not like Mrs. Wittebane has people lining up to talk to her, anyway. I'll see what I can do." He then nodded. "Could you just show me your pass? Sorry, but it's security procedure."
From where he was now standing, Augustus couldn't quite see Matt's face, but he could already imagine his smug smirk and repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn't looking forward to listening to him brag about how stealing from Hopkins had been such a good idea.
The man squinted and bent over to look closely at Hopkins' pass; his eyes clearly didn't work as well as they used to, and it took him a few seconds to read the information on the paper. He then looked up, one eyebrow raised.
"Wait a minute; you’re the Jacob Hopkins?"
Augustus and Matt shared a quick glance, concern flashing in their eyes, before Matt straightened up and cleared his throat, quick to put the pass away before the guard asked to take a closer look.
"Yeah. Is there a problem with that?"
"Not at all, but watch out for my coworker over there," he said, pointing at another man standing next to the desk, smaller and older than him, chatting with a lady. "He’s a big fan of your station—and I mean, a big fan. It's surprising that he didn't recognize you right off the bat."
"...Great," Matt eventually answered, forcing an unconvincing smile on his face.
"I know, they’re called ‘fanatics’ for a reason," the man laughed. "Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he leaves you alone." He then turned to Augustus, an eyebrow raised. "And you are…?"
"He's my assistant; his name's, uh… his name's Chuck," Matt chimed in, trying to cut it short. "He's just here to watch and learn; don't pay attention to him."
Willing to play along and keep a low profile, Augustus quietly nodded as he offered the guard a tight smile that he hoped he would mistake for shyness. He didn't seem to point it out.
"Good, good. Sorry about all the formalities, but again, it's just security procedures. We've had a handful of creeps trying to get in before." The man then cleared his throat. "My name's Tarak; I'll be supervising the visit. This way, please."
With that, Tarak motioned for them to follow him. Leaving the front desk, they walked through a long corridor surrounded by many cells, some of them empty, others already taken by women either staring at them with curiosity or busying themselves without paying much attention to their surroundings. Augustus kept his head down and tried not to look at any of them, surprisingly intimidated by their presence despite the bars separating them.
They ended up in quite a spacious room littered with tables and chairs, some taken by prisoners catching up with friends or family visiting them. At the other end of the room was a couch and a TV occupied by another prisoner with a little girl sitting on her knees and laughing at the cartoons playing on screen. Augustus couldn't help but smile at this sight. They sat on an unused table in the far-left corner of the room next to a window offering a view of the prisoners' courtyard.
"I'll be right back with Mrs. Wittebane," Tarak told them as he exited the room.
As soon as he left to get Evelyn, Matt leaned closer to Augustus and winked at him. Augustus hated the way it sent a shiver down his spine.
"See? This is working," Matt whispered.
"Yeah, but for how long?" Augustus hissed back. "Your cover won't last, especially since you have a fan roaming around!"
"It's fine; he didn't notice me!"
"Yeah, until the word goes out that Mr. Jacob Hopkins himself is visiting!"
When Matt rolled his eyes like the bratty child he enjoyed acting like, it took Augustus a lot of restraint not to punch him right then and there and, ironically enough, blow their cover. Instead, he grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket to drag him closer, tearing a quiet yelp out of him.
"Won't you take me seriously!?" Augustus whispered-yelled. "This is not going to work!"
"Yeah, it won't if you assault me in front of everybody! Let go of—"
When the doors opened again, Augustus quickly withdrew his hands and looked up to see Tarak accompanied by a woman much smaller and younger than him, her wrists bound by handcuffs and held by the arm to make sure she wouldn't try to run for it, although she looked like she had no strength left to spare. Her wild, thick grey hair was grossly tied up in a low ponytail, looking like it hadn't been brushed in months.
He watched her glance at the both of them, an eyebrow arched, before turning back to the guard and gesturing, although he couldn't hear what she was saying. Tarak just shrugged and removed her handcuffs, motioning for her to go sit down with them.
Seemingly hesitant, she slowly made her way to their table and sat in front of them before slouching in her chair and crossing her arms like a petulant teenager, a shocking contrast with the wrinkles adorning her face and the dark circles under her eyes. She quietly stared straight at them for a second, not breaking eye contact, to the point Augustus had to look away from how comfortable she was making him feel.
"So… you guys are reporters, huh? Don’t you have notes to take, kid?" she asked, nodding in Matt's direction. Her voice sounded raspier than what Augustus expected, as if she had been smoking cigarettes since she was born.
"It’s all in there," Matt claimed as he pointed at his own head.
Evelyn’s gaze shifted to another prison guard standing in the corner of the room, monitoring the visits, then back to them with a mocking smirk.
"Right… reporters. Professionals, at that. Ask away, then."
Great start. Not only did she look like she would have preferred to be publicly hung than be talking to them, but she had already figured out they were sketchy. At least she was somewhat cooperative and smarter than the prison guards. Matt, seemingly taken aback, cleared his throat before proceeding.
"We just wanted to have your side of the story on… y’know…"
"My husband’s death?" She finished, letting out a humorless chuckle. "It’s fine; I’ve had twenty years to make peace with it. You can say the word. How much do you know about it?"
"Don't worry about that; just tell us what happened straight from the beginning, and we'll take it from there."
Despite the circumstances, Augustus almost laughed at Matt's serious tone, and Evelyn seemed to struggle concealing her own amusement, whistling 'impressively,' which Augustus was sure was just yet another way to poke fun at him.
"Okay, big boy. I'm assuming you're the one in charge." She nodded in Augustus' direction. "What about you? You mute or something?"
"I'm just here to listen," he quietly answered.
She blankly stared at him for longer than necessary before she turned back to Matt.
"Alright. I'll try and make it short."
Evelyn smiled at the way Caleb tried to get Hunter's attention, only for the baby to keep his focus on the wooden cubes he was playing with. She noticed a stain from the mush he had been fed earlier on his red bodysuit and tried to wipe it off with her thumb, but to no avail. She hoped it would come off when she washed it.
Someone rang the doorbell a couple times, much to the couple's surprise considering they weren't waiting for anyone, especially not so late in the evening.
"I'll get it," Caleb hummed, getting up from his seat. "Keep an eye on him, yeah?"
As if she needed an excuse to look after their beautiful son. Still, she nodded, grinning from ear to ear, before turning back to Hunter busying himself with the toys in his small hands.
"It's almost bedtime, baby," she cooed, holding out her pinkie for him to grab on instead as he dropped the rag doll he was playing with mere seconds ago. "Are we tired yet?"
Hunter answered with an incoherent babble, to which she snickered. From where she was sitting, she could see Caleb standing by the now-open entrance and chatting with someone outside, obscured by the open door. His conversation partner's voice sounded like it came from a mile away, barely recognizable.
After a while, Caleb turned back to her and mouthed 'I'll be right back' before exiting the house. Whoever was asking for him, it was probably none of her concern.
Grabbing her kid, Evelyn made her way to their bedroom and carried him to his crib, where she made him lie down. He seemed unfazed by the change of location as he tried to bat at one of the birds attached to the merry-go-round above his head, his big eyes filled with wonder. She cackled, rubbing at the stain on his yellow shirt one last time.
Suddenly, Evelyn's world faded to black, only to be woken up by her head pounding and the smell of something she couldn't recognize.
She struggled to lift her face off her pillow (when did she even go to sleep?) to look at her blurry surroundings; the house was bathing in the glow of early morning sunrise and sounded too quiet. At this hour, Caleb should have either been outside chopping wood or feeding their baby if she hadn't been doing either of those already.
But instead of being in the middle of his morning routine, Caleb was lying next to her in bed, still wearing the clothes he had when he answered the door, his body facing the other direction and his hair messier than usual. Something about the way he was lying down felt… wrong.
With a trembling hand, she reached for his shoulder to shake him, but to no avail; he seemed in the deepest of slumbers when he usually was one hell of a light sleeper. She sighed, shaking him again.
"Caleb," she called him with a raspy voice. "Caleb? I feel str—"
Evelyn groaned when her head throbbed in pain, and she buried her head against her husband's back for comfort. However, the reassurance his presence provided was quickly overwhelmed by one thing she realized:
Caleb was cold. Unnaturally so.
Still holding onto his shoulder with a weak grip, she struggled to yank him to make him lie down on his back, and she immediately regretted doing so when she saw the amount of blood on him. His face was beyond recognition, littered with cuts, and his stomach was nearly sliced open. That was when she noticed the same blood was covering her hands.
She recoiled with a scream and fell off the bed, and the commotion was enough to make Hunter start crying in his crib, alerted by his mother's panic.
Finally looking away from Caleb, she got back on her feet and scrambled to Hunter on wobbly legs; she reached out to him, lifting him off his bed and holding him close to her chest. He was moving, crying, and breathing, and she let out a broken sob of relief. She peppered his tiny face with kisses, hushing him and pleading him to please stop crying. It took him far too long to grow quiet, which didn't help Evelyn's throbbing headache.
As she turned back to the bed where Caleb still lied down, motionless, she repressed the urge to throw up. She made sure Hunter was looking at anywhere but his father's dead body, stepping back from the bed for good measure. But just as she did so, she noticed the faint glow of something silver among the sheets, reflecting the sun rays peeking through the windows. Once Hunter was calm, she put him back down in his crib before approaching the bed.
For a while, all she did was stare at Caleb's lifeless body, still sprawled up on the mattress, unable to do anything else. His glassy, half-closed eyes (the only recognizable part of his face) were staring up at the ceiling, as if silently begging to be taken to heaven. His jaw, seemingly dislocated, was wide open in such a grotesque way, like he had been calling for her help. The thought made her stomach turn upside down.
Eventually, Evelyn gathered the courage to grab the object still lost in the blankets and yelped when her fingers curled around the blade of a knife. As she lifted it to get a better look, it was coated in the same blood that had been covering her hands and her husband. But the worst part was, holding it by the blade didn't hurt; it was so dull and dented it could barely cut through anything anymore, as if its previous owner had used it with such force that they had damaged it.
This time, she threw up for good.
Then the last few years of her life had been a blur; all she had known since then was the hatred-filled stares of all the people who held Caleb close to their hearts and the bars of her cells separating her from the rest of the world. She hadn't seen Hunter since then or even heard from him, but her words implied she wasn't surprised at all. 'Who would willingly visit the person who killed their father?'
By the time she was done retelling the story, both Augustus and Matt remained speechless and wide-eyed. Her voice carried the slightest hint of quaver, but her appearance betrayed her. She looked so much different than when she had first sat down; what had been cockiness and suspicion painted over her face had been traded for sorrow and melancholy, her hands folded on the table, and Augustus understood her all too well. He noticed how she kept mindlessly stroking the ring on her left hand with her right thumb.
"My condolences, Evelyn," he eventually said.
"It's okay. If I'm guilty, this is probably what I deserve," she sighed. "No wonder I don’t get any visits—well, aside from you two, I guess. Lucky me."
"Do you really think you did it?"
At this question, she looked back up at him with an eyebrow raised, as if his question didn't make sense, but Augustus could tell there was a slight hint of doubt in her eyes.
"Who else? I had the murder weapon with me, and—and Caleb was very much next to me in bed. There was no one else around. Aside from Hunter, of course, but you know what I mean." Evelyn bowed her head down. "I can’t tell you how it happened or why I did that. But I know for damn sure I’m responsible."
But something was bothering Augustus about this story. From what she had told them, she seemed to love her husband to death (ironically enough); why on Earth would she do such a thing?
"What about Caleb's brother? Does he never visit you either?" Matt asked.
"Are you kidding? Philip won’t talk to me anymore," she scoffed. "Hasn’t had for nearly twenty years. I’ve never liked him, but I can’t blame him either. What would you do in his position? He has to deal with his brother’s loss and was forced to raise my kid."
Augustus opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to add to it. That was a good question; what would he have done in Wittebane's place? Sure, he had a lot of sympathy for Evelyn right now, but would he have had the same behavior if she had been accused of the murder of his loved one? Would he be just as calm and empathetic if he were sitting in front of the person who had allegedly murdered his mom?
"He and Caleb have had disagreements in the past, and there was a time they had stopped talking to each other altogether. But I know they cared deeply about each other—they were brothers, for God’s sake, and I… I took that away from him." She shook her head. "It’s just… the last time I saw Philip, he looked so satisfied. It was as if he were more interested in me getting a life sentence than finding out who had killed his brother." Her shoulders dropped. "We never got along, but I was always civil with him."
Matt had grown dead silent by then, and Augustus glanced at him. On the surface, he seemed to be blankly staring at Evelyn, but he noticed the slight frown in his eyebrows and the way he seemed a bit more tense, as if on edge. Augustus gently nudged his foot with his to bring him back down to Earth, and he was spared a quick questioning glance.
"It’s funny, in a way. After twenty years of rotting in this place, I thought I was used to this. But talking about it with someone else, it's—" She interrupted herself and closed her eyes, visibly holding back tears. "You two should leave. You don’t wanna see me cry like a baby."
He couldn't help it; even entertaining the thought she was guilty (which he was starting to doubt more and more,) seeing her like this broke his heart. He hesitantly reached out to hold her hand and nearly recoiled at how cold it was.
"I’m sorry about everything, Evelyn," he muttered. "I know what it's like to lose someone this way. May Caleb find peace in the afterlife."
Evelyn's eyes widened, as if she had never heard someone speak such gentle words to her, and she stared at him quietly for a minute.
"You’re too nice to me, kid." She squeezed his hand back before withdrawing. "C’mon, get outta here. I need some time alone."
As if on cue, Tarak walked back into the room, and she got up from her seat to join him half-way. He arched an eyebrow, but she simply motioned for him to walk her back to her cell, which he did right away.
They tried to shorten their stay as much as possible now that they were done; Matt signed a paper Tarak handed him under Hopkins' name before busting out of there and speed-walking to the car. Again, Matt insisted on getting back behind the wheel, and Augustus didn't have the strength to fight about it.
As soon as they sat in their seats, Augustus turned to Matt with a frown.
"I don’t think she did it."
"Of course you don’t," Matt scoffed. "You know I usually appreciate you looking at all possibilities, even the most unlikely ones, but it’s pretty obvious she’s guilty. A kid could have solved this case."
"That’s the thing, it’s too obvious!" Augustus said. "Isn’t that weird how she had no memories of the day before the murder? It sounds like she just lost consciousness out of nowhere!"
"Maybe she blacked out because it was too intense? Like the remorse was so strong she could have locked that memory away to protect herself."
"And it hasn't come back up in twenty years?"
"Maybe," Matt shrugged. "I mean—I'm no doctor, but it’s not impossible, right?"
"She loved him! She had no reason to do that!"
Matt slightly recoiled at the sudden raise in volume, and Augustus sank back in his seat.
"I feel like there’s something bigger we’re not seeing, and… maybe Philip had a hand in it." Augustus cleared his throat. "I’m not saying he killed Caleb, but… maybe he’s protecting the real murderer or something. He’s too sketchy, and the way Evelyn found Caleb’s body feels like a setup to frame her."
He was sure there were many other things about the Sheriff that they could have worked with to put shame to his name, but there was something odd about this case that Augustus needed to find out. Perhaps he had read too many crime novels; perhaps he was, once again, being far too gullible; perhaps Evelyn had touched him when he saw the life leaving her eyes as soon as she opened up to them.
Or perhaps her case hit close to home, and he was taking it too personally.
"Look, you know how I feel about your gut feelings, but if you really wanna keep digging, we could always ask Philip’s right-hand man. He’s his nephew, after all."
"It’s worth a shot, but he’s very keen on rules. I don’t know if we could reach out to him without getting handed straight to the Sheriff," Augustus admitted, biting his bottom lip.
"You can try. Most people think you’re my hostage, so we can work with that." Matt grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing them just a little too hard. "Look, I really don’t wanna go back to Bonesborough either, but we’re running out of options if we wanna get to the bottom of this. If you think Wittebane had a role in Caleb’s murder, I’ll trust you."
Somehow, the words made Augustus' heart flutter, and he had to hide his embarrassment under thirteen different layers of nonchalance, mirroring Matt's usual behavior.
"You trust me?" Augustus repeated with a hint of amusement in his voice.
At this, Matt blinked, and he immediately let go of Augustus, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact.
"It’s not like I have any choice, right? We’re still stuck together."
He said that like it was a chore—and on some days, it was—but to Augustus, it was really more of a blessing at times. Without any more words exchanged, they drove off.
Back at the front desk of the prison, Tarak hummed to himself as he filled out the rest of the paper he had made Mr. Hopkins sign—more formalities, but they could never be too careful. This guy had been a treat to talk to, miles away from what he usually sounded like on the radio. His station was always a chore to listen to, and there was nothing else that Bill liked to play all day.
Speaking of the devil, Bill walked by his desk, limping and groaning about his hip hurting, and Tarak called him to get his attention.
"I can tell you now that he’s gone, but Jacob Hopkins was there!"
"Really? I didn’t see him," his coworker scoffed in response.
"Yeah, he was there with his press pass and some other dude he said was his assistant. He was, like—short and frowny-looking with wild hair. Looks like he hasn't seen a bed in days, too. Or a shower. Really nice, though."
"That’s not what Hopkins looks like, and he always works alone. Stop fucking with me."
"But it was him!"
Bill paused, staring blankly at Tarak for what felt like an eternity. "Are you sure it was the right guy?"
Tarak opened his mouth, ready to respond, only to find out he had, in fact, no idea if the guy was legit. Bill, the big fan that he was, would have probably spotted him from miles away or even heard about him dropping by to talk to Mrs. Wittebane before anyone else did.
"You moron!" Bill exploded. "You let a guy in without checking his ID!?"
"His press pass looked legit; how was I supposed to know!?"
Bill rolled his eyes and motioned for Tarak to follow him outside, only to discover the car "Hopkins" had come in was nowhere to be found. The two men sighed.
"You should have retired years ago," Bill muttered.
"Says you?"
Bria had been nothing but a fool.
A fool for burdening herself with her former partners, an even bigger fool for getting herself caught, and the biggest of fools for believing Wittebane's lies. She should have been better than this—she should have managed to escape, somehow, or outsmart the Sheriff, but she had been exhausted.
So, when she recognized two familiar faces, one of which she had dreamed of turning into a bloody pulp every night since her arrest, a smile made its way onto her face for the first time in weeks. Matt and Gus rushed past her cell toward the exit, not even noticing her, and she lunged at the bars before she could even stop herself. She thought she had seen them walk by a first time but had blamed that on fatigue.
But, no, these idiots were right there—she could have been quick and grabbed Matt, wrapped her hands around his throat, and strangled him right then and there, just to feel the life leaving his body right under her fingers. To hell with her sentence, Wittebane had already fucked her over anyway.
She had watched them rush towards the exit, embraced by the sweet morning sunlight while she remained in the darkness of her cell, stuck for the many years she had left. She would rather not think too long about her sentence.
"These two got your motor running, of all people?" Said a mocking voice behind her.
She turned around to face her cellmate sitting cross-legged on her bed with a shit-eating grin. Her ginger hair was pulled into a bun, although a few strands were falling on both sides of her face, and her eyes had a glimpse of amusement at the sight of Bria acting like a rabid dog frothing at the mouth and itching to bite. Somehow, the nasty scar across her forehead appeared more prominent in the dark.
What was this bitch's name again? Boscha? She had done nothing but poke fun at her like a one-dimensional bully since her arrival, and, well, there was nowhere to escape to when Bria was confined between the walls of this cell.
"Who the hell asked for your opinion?" Bria spat out.
"I'm just saying! Even as a prisoner, you could aim higher," she whistled.
"Mind your business."
Turning back to where Gus and Matt were walking minutes ago, she tightened her hands around the bars of her cell, imagining how good it would have felt to finally get her revenge after being left behind; how good it would have felt to see the terror flash in Matt's eyes as he understood he had nowhere left to run, and—
"Seriously, what's going on with you?" Boscha groaned behind her, interrupting her daydreaming. "You've been lethargic since you ended up in my cell, and now you're doing this? This is embarrassing."
"I need him dead."
A stunned silence followed her sudden confession, and she could hear the ruffling of the sheets before footsteps came closer to her. Boscha appeared in her field of view, still wearing that annoying smirk, her arms crossed as she leaned against the bars.
"Who?"
"One of the guys who just walked by. The small, ugly one."
"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific," Boscha cackled.
"The one with the—the stupid fucking hair!" She roared. "And his face, like—he thinks he's better than everyone else! This cocky son of a bitch!"
She kicked the bars of the cell with rage, a part of her hoping it would have been enough to break them. One of the guards patrolling the hallways barked at her to shut up and settle down, and Bria had learned the hard way they weren't playing around nor would they bother repeating themselves. She retreated further into her cell, dejected.
Seeing Boscha still with that satisfied expression made Bria's blood boil again—her temper kept shortening since she had been imprisoned, to the point she could barely recognize herself. She used to be smart, calculated, good at saying exactly what people wanted to hear, and making them do what she needed. But now, she was no better than a starving lion walking in circles in its cage, like a shadow of her former self. She was enraged and ready to explode.
"He fucked me over—everybody did," Bria muttered. "But I'm not going to let anyone walk all over me again."
"Now I'm really invested," Boscha said. "Got a couple hours ahead of you? I need to know everything about you."
Bria was baffled. Where she used to strike terror in her former partners, now there was nothing but mockery on her cellmate's freckled face and a slight hint of curiosity in her eyes. She sat back on her own bed, patting the empty space next to her.
Fine. Maybe she could play along.