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"Scary how?"
"Yelling into the night, punching shadows, cursing something fierce."
"Keep talking," Rachel urged.
"Chey got scared, too," he whispered, his voice a ghost's lament. "She'd clutch at me after his fits, whispering prayers to saints she didn't believe in."
Rachel studied the young man. She'd heard stories before from people in this situation. The best way to deflect blame was to find a scapegoat. "Were things between you and Chey going well?"
"Er, yeah... yeah, really well." He frowned at her, then glared as if suddenly realizing why she was asking. "You don't think I had something to do with it, do you?"
"Just asking the questions."
"Me and Chey were tight. Look, see?" He pulled out his phone, turning it towards them. It was an older model with a cracked screen, but
still functional. On the screen, Rachel saw a picture of Tommy and Chey, their smiles bright and genuine, their arms intertwined. There was an undeniable warmth in their embrace.
Rachel's gaze softened as she studied the photo.
She glanced at Tommy and realized he was holding back tears. Either he was an excellent actor, or he was struggling to hold it all together.
"I believe you," Rachel said, her voice softened with sympathy. "But we need to understand everything that happened. Can you tell us more about Jack and this prospecting?"
Tommy sighed and wiped away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. "Yeah, okay. Jack... he believed there was something valuable down here in these tunnels. Something worth risking our lives for. He led us deep into the abandoned mines, always searching for that elusive treasure."
Rachel exchanged a glance with Ethan. The mention of abandoned mines sent a chill down her spine.
Dampness clung to the walls of the tunnel, a chill seeping from the stone into Rachel's bones. Tommy huddled against the curve of the cold passage, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. In the dim light, his eyes were wide pools of fear.
"Jack," Rachel prompted, her voice firm despite the echo that carried it away into darkness. "What would set him off when he had those spells of anger?"
"Anything. Nothing." Tommy shivered, as if memory itself reached out with icy fingers. "Sometimes, just the wind howling wrong through the camp."
"Describe those moments," she pushed, her mind ticking over each word like a lockpicker feeling for tumblers.
"Like he was fighting demons. Invisible ones." Tommy's gaze skittered to the shadows behind them, and he flinched. "Demons only he could see."
Her pulse spiked, but Rachel kept her face impassive.
"Tell me what he looks like."
"Big guy, broad shoulders." Tommy's description unfolded haltingly. "Beard... always a bit wild. Eyes that... they're—"
"Go on," Rachel pressed, though her stomach knotted at the edges of his stilted speech.
"Hard," he finished. "Like marbles. Cold."
"Anything else?"
"Can't. He's just Jack."
She paused, straightening and glancing at Ethan. Tommy still lay on the ground, motionless and tired, his back to the wall. He grimaced as he shifted uncomfortably.
A shiver of intuition crawled up Rachel's spine as she rifled through the mental files of her investigation. The air around them was thick with damp and the stench of old earth as they stood in the tunnel's oppressive silence.
"Silas," she murmured, the name tasting like a clue on her tongue. Her mind's eye darted to an image seared into memory: boots with intricate silver designs, unique as a fingerprint.
"Mad Jack," she whispered, realization dawning. "
