Chapter 3: Family Ties and Family Lies

Kevin said his parents had hounded him until he finally gave in and came home.

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was that relentless, guilt-tripping kind of pressure only family can dish out, letters and phone calls piling up until he cracked.

Bringing Emily was his parents’ idea, too.

His mom called it a “proper introduction,” but Kevin knew it was more like a final exam: pass, and you’re still family. Fail, and you’re out.

Because after graduation, Kevin planned to work in the city with Emily—there was no way he was coming back for good.

He’d lined up interviews, and Emily had options too. Their future was mapped out in daydreams far from these mountains.

That’s why he brought Emily home now. It might be their last chance.

He knew deep down it was goodbye, even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

But then, disaster struck.

There was no way he could’ve guessed what would happen under his parents’ roof. Not after all those Sunday dinners and Fourth of July barbecues.

When they got back, his parents pulled out all the stops for dinner—Harold carved up a smoked ham from the county fair, and Martha’s sweet potato pie sat cooling on the windowsill. They even uncorked wine they’d saved for years.

Emily didn’t drink, so Kevin had to match his dad glass for glass.

Kevin sipped, but his dad kept pouring, laughter booming, pushing him to keep up. It was the same old game from high school graduation and Jason’s failed engagement.

But as a young man, Kevin couldn’t keep up. Soon the room spun, his vision blurred, and the kitchen lights faded into nothing.

He only found out the next day what a terrible thing had happened—

He woke up in a world that didn’t make sense anymore. Everything after that came in broken pieces—whispered, denied, then confirmed by the look in his parents’ eyes.

Emily had been thrown by his parents into his older brother Jason’s room.

There was no mistaking it. His mother’s shaking hands and his father’s stone face said it all. Jason’s door, usually open, was locked from the outside.

Jason had always been trouble—never finished school, stuck on the farm.

He was the kind of guy people pitied and avoided—quick to anger, slow to understand, always hanging around the feed store.

At almost thirty, he still hadn’t started a family.

Rumors about him swirled like dust after a dry summer.

When Kevin sobered up, he nearly lost his mind, trying to fight his parents.

His rage was wild and wordless, fists flying, voice raw with betrayal. He’d never felt so helpless.

But his father, Harold, still strong from years on the farm, pinned Kevin in a heartbeat.

Harold didn’t even break a sweat—just held Kevin down like a calf on branding day.

As Kevin thrashed, his mother pleaded:

“Just pity your brother. He’ll never marry, not like you. You’re different—you’re a college boy. When you leave, you can marry anyone you want.”

She twisted her apron, voice shaking, like she was begging for forgiveness from above.

Of course, Kevin couldn’t accept any of it.

Everything in him screamed this was wrong—unforgivable, something you could never come back from.

So his father threw him in the storage shed and locked the door, bringing food each day.

The storage room was just an old toolshed—bare bulb, dust everywhere. Each day, a plate of cold cornbread or canned beans slid under the door.

Until two days ago, when the food stopped coming.

He realized something was wrong as his stomach growled louder each night. No voices, no footsteps—just coyotes howling out back.

He went hungry for two days before we found him…

By the time we got there, Kevin was barely hanging on—skin pale, lips cracked, mumbling Emily’s name over and over.

So when we told him about his family’s murder, he stared at the floor, jaw clenched, as if daring anyone to ask if he was okay.

There was nothing left in him for grief—just a hollow kind of relief, and a bone-deep exhaustion.

Because the killer really did have a reason.

Everyone in the office felt that realization hit, heavy as a stone.

So the question was:

Could Emily really have killed all three?

The thought of Emily—a quiet, bookish girl—taking out three grown adults didn’t sit right with anyone.

How could a gentle college kid murder three strong farmers?

We kicked that question around over coffee and cold pizza at the outpost, passing it back and forth like a riddle nobody could solve.