Page 59 of In Her Path

They reached the porch steps, weathered wood that creaked softly under their weight. The front door stood slightly ajar—not open enough to see inside, but enough to suggest someone might have entered recently.

“I’ll go first,” Jake said. “Frank, you and Piper wait here until—“

But Frank had turned, his attention caught by something behind them. “Piper,” he called, his voice urgent. “Wait!”

Jenna whirled around. Piper had broken away from the group and was walking steadily toward the back of the property, as if following an invisible trail.

“Piper!” Jenna called after her. “Where are you going?”

Her sister didn’t answer, didn’t even turn. She just kept walking, her steps taking her around the side of the house and out of sight.

“Go,” Jenna said to Jake. “Check the house. I’ll follow her.”

They split—Jake moving quickly up the porch steps and through the front door, Frank and Jenna breaking into a run after Piper. They rounded the corner of the house and spotted her thirty yards ahead, moving with that same strange certainty across the overgrown back yard.

“Piper!” Jenna called again. “Stop!”

This time, Piper paused and turned. “They’re here,” she said. “Somewhere out this way. The voices say to hurry.” She turned and continued walking, leading them toward trees at the back of the property.

Jenna exchanged a glance with Frank. His face was set with determination, but his eyes showed the same uncertainty she felt. They followed Piper as she picked her way through the tall grass and scattered trees, heading for what looked like a small mound of earth partially hidden by undergrowth.

As they drew closer, the mound resolved into an entrance of some kind. A weathered door hung open, revealing stone steps that descended into shadow.

“That must be a storm cellar,” Frank said. “Built for a family to shelter in during tornados.”

“There,” Piper said, pointing. “Down there.”

“Stay with Piper,” Jenna told Frank as she approached the doors cautiously, weapon ready. “Keep her up here.”

She was about to start down the steps when a voice came from below—calm and chillingly familiar.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Meredith Soll called. “Come down and join us.”

Jenna glanced back at Frank, who had moved to stand beside Piper, one hand on her arm as if to keep her from approaching.

“Stay here,” Jenna told them both. “Don’t come any closer.” Then, louder, addressing the voice from below: “Meredith. This is Sheriff Graves. I’m coming down. Claire, if you can hear me, we’re here to help you.”

Jenna took the first step, then the second, moving slowly with her weapon extended. The light beyond the stairs was dim, coming from what must be a lantern somewhere inside.

The voice came again, closer now. “No sudden moves, Sheriff. And no heroes. One wrong step, and Claire dies right away.”

Jenna continued down, the stone cool beneath her boots. The air grew damper, the smell of earth and mildew filling her nostrils. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she could see the whole cellar, a single open room.

Claire Simmons stood on a wooden stool, a noose around her neck. The rope stretched upward to a heavy beam. Meredith Soll stood right next to Claire, one foot hooked casually around a leg of the stool. Jenna didn’t dare fire her weapon. A single jerk of Meredith’s foot, even by accident, would be all it would take to end Claire’s life.

But it was Meredith’s face that froze Jenna in place. She looked utterly composed—no anger, no desperation, just a quiet certainty that made Jenna’s skin crawl.

“Close enough,” Meredith said, stopping Jenna with a raised hand. “Now stay right there while we finish our conversation.”

Behind Jenna, she heard the soft sound of footsteps—Frank and Piper coming down the stairs despite her warning. She wanted to turn, to order them back, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Meredith.

“Sorry,” Frank murmured as he reached the bottom step. “Couldn’t leave you down here alone.”

And then Piper was beside Jenna, her eyes fixed on Meredith with that same unsettling focus.

Meredith’s gaze flicked to the newcomers, then back to Jenna. “The more the merrier,” she said. “Claire wants to tell her story—the same story she just admitted to me. Don’t you, Claire?”

The Mayor’s face was pale, streaked with tear tracks, but her jaw was set with defiance. She said nothing.