Chapter 6: The Town’s Shadow

Figuring out why the Browns were killed was crucial.

The whole case hinged on that question. If we missed it, more blood might spill.

There was a feeling—shared by every deputy and trooper—that the ground might give way beneath us any minute.

If the Browns could be killed, who was safe?

Nobody slept much that night. The coffee pot never emptied, and the sheriff’s office porch lights burned late.

We took turns patrolling, windows down, radios tuned to local chatter, looking for anything strange.

After the Browns’ bodies went for autopsy, Captain Lucas led us to set up in the town’s police outpost.

The air reeked of stale coffee and old fried chicken, the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes.

The old outpost was just a double-wide trailer, but it gave us a base. We pinned up photos, drank burnt coffee, and waited for the phone to ring.

This town was far from the county seat—the mountain road alone took nearly an hour by truck.

Every morning was a test of brakes and nerves—sharp turns, loose gravel, the occasional deer darting out of nowhere.

Only our department’s pickup could make it—cars would stall on the roughest stretches.

We joked about buying an ATV, but nobody really laughed.

That’s why, after the Mitchell murders, we spent most of a day just on the road—hardly any progress.

So moving into town was our best bet.

People watched us with sideways glances, bringing casseroles and thermoses of coffee. Some wanted to help; others just wanted to know what we’d found.

First, it made searching for Emily easier. Second, it might scare off the killer and stop more deaths.

A visible police presence calmed nerves—at least for a while.

Captain Lucas kept warning us: this mountain town was strange.

He said it over and over, as if saying it could keep trouble away. “There’s things here you won’t find in the reports,” he’d mutter, eyes on the woods.

Because of the rough roads, the town was isolated; we couldn’t trust anyone.

“Watch your back,” he’d say. “Everyone here’s got secrets.”

At the time, I figured he was just jumpy, or maybe he’d seen too much.

We started knocking on doors, one by one.

You have to understand, this was a hillside town—houses were packed close or scattered far, some hidden in odd places.

Sometimes you’d spot a trailer perched on a ridge, its windows glowing orange with kerosene light, miles from the next neighbor.

Captain Lucas got the town council president to help, and he found someone to guide us around.

The council president—old Mr. Jenkins—knew every shortcut, every family secret, his cane tapping a steady beat on the dirt.

By chance, I was assigned to follow Captain Lucas, with the council president leading us.

It was my first real field case, and the pressure felt like an extra coat on my back.

At one house, we found something strange.

Even Jenkins paused at the gate, fingers drumming on the mailbox.

This family had a madwoman.

You could hear her before you saw her—a thin, high voice drifting from the window.

She said some odd things, but they made us think of Emily.

I couldn’t shake the feeling she was trying to tell us something important, even if her words slipped away as soon as she said them.