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Where did Dillion go? What finally drove him to leave?
And did he come back after a certain man’s death?
I typed in “Sam Dillion Hunter’s Crest.”
Most of us Bedlamites had a hard time getting too far. It was worth a shot.
Munching on my sandwich, I poked around the top articles. Two mentions of Sam Dillions, none were him.
My next try was the nearest town to the south, Beckerburg. I scrolled down and clicked the LinkedIn page for Samuel Noah Dillion.
I sat up straighter.
Clear under education was Bedlam University.
This is him.
I clicked out and typed in his full name and town. The top result was the Beckerburg Journal. I realized what it was before I clicked on the article. I opened it anyway.
Samuel Noah Dillion, age 25, passed away last Sunday. He is survived by his parents, Donna and Jerald, and his siblings.
I stopped reading there. Why go on? Samuel was not the Letter Man. My last hope hung on the chance the Letter Man was now the Letter Woman.
What was his girlfriend’s name again? Hannah? Hailey?
Stomach churning, I put in Scott Cavendish. The first thing a vulture reporter would’ve done was run to their house to interview the grieving girlfriend and ask why would anyone want to burn her man alive?
There was always the chance she was involved in this. I considered it when I was standing outside their house, watching the two pull into their driveway and move about through the windows. The more I learned about Cavendish, the more I let suspicions of her go.
He had a shady past and death connected to his name. She spent most of her time chatting animatedly on the phone in her living room and blasted music on her way home. It was too hard to see that happy, social person as the sad, sick man who sent me those letters.
Maybe I dismissed her too quickly. For all I know, they were a match made in heaven.
Heather.
The name came to me just like that. Heather Mitchell.
I typed in her name. My eyes widened at the top result.
Heather Mitchell Commits Suicide.
I stabbed the button, opening the article. Nestled in between her history, family and friends, was the story of losing her boyfriend and how she couldn’t recover from the shock. Last week, Friday morning, her body was found in the bathroom by her mother.
A chill set in my bones. I had no proof. There was less than nothing to go on. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t bad luck, depression, or coincidence that explained why people kept dying around Scott Cavendish.
Did the new Letter Man kill Scott’s girlfriend? Why would he do that?
Why would he ask me to kill an innocent? I am not dealing with a person who—
A shadow moved on the other side of the stacks.
I shot up, quickly clicking out of the window. “Who’s there? I’m warning you. Don’t fuck with me today.”
“Whoa. Easy, mama.” Jeremy’s smooth baritone floated through the books. “I just want to talk.”
Clutching my chest, I dropped back in my seat. The chances weren’t high the Letter Man would leap through the books and attack me in a brightly lit library with dozens of witnesses around, but you couldn’t blame me for being jumpy.
Everyone with the misfortune to know Scott Cavendish ended up dead or gone. Now his replacement had me in his sights.
My days of fooling around at the farm without a weapon or people knowing I’m there are over, I thought as Jeremy came around to face me. My days of going anywhere at all without a weapon or backup had to be over. The next obituary in the Bedlam Post would not be mine.
“I don’t know where your brother is,” I said.
“I didn’t think you did.”
“Then what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to ask you that.”
Jeremy slid in his seat, draping one arm behind the chair and adopting a casual air beautiful people make look effortless.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jeremy looked me up and down. “The girl who ran into me in the woods is not the same one shivering on a leash in the corner like a whipped dog.”
“You don’t know me, New Boy.”
“I know the Bedlam Boys chained you. I can set you free.”
I pushed aside my borrowed laptop. Jeremy had my full attention. “How exactly can you do that?”
“Tell me what you want,” he said. “Name it. It’s yours.”
“You can’t give me what I want.” I turned away, gathering my things. “And if you haven’t learned by now, here’s a tip: the Bedlam Boys have minions everywhere and they’re not above reporting your movements. Jacques told you what will happen if you talk to me,” I said. “I’d warn that those guys don’t bluff, but you figured that out by now.”
He grabbed my arm. Gentle, but firm. He towed me back in my seat.
