Chapter 7: Walls Close In

After returning, we formally requested access to the orange-roofed house from the management unit, in the name of cooperation for the investigation.

It was routine—just paperwork and protocol. We’d done it a hundred times before. But this time, the reaction was anything but routine.

But unexpectedly, this routine procedure set off a bomb.

The response was immediate and intense—phone calls, emails, even a visit from the county administrator. Something about that house made people nervous in all the wrong ways.

Our team leader, Captain Evans, was summoned to a meeting. When he returned, he immediately called Jason and me into his office.

He was pale, jaw clenched. The door shut behind us with a soft click, sealing us off from the rest of the department.

He said, “You can keep investigating the case, but you must not touch that orange-roofed house again. Focus on finding the perpetrator.”

We stared at him, dumbfounded. Evans looked anywhere but at us. The message was clear: someone higher up wanted this door left closed.

We were stunned. Our clues pointed to the orange-roofed house—if we couldn’t investigate, and it really was involved, how could we possibly find the culprit?

Jason started to protest, but Evans cut him off. “That’s an order. Do your jobs, but leave the house alone.”

But Captain Evans couldn’t answer my question.

He just shook his head, the lines on his face deepening. “Let it go,” he said, softer this time. “Some things are above our pay grade.”

No matter what we tried, we couldn’t get any more information about the orange-roofed house.

Every inquiry hit a wall—paperwork lost, emails ignored, doors metaphorically slammed. I’d seen bureaucratic runarounds before, but never like this.

Our investigation in that direction was blocked—just as something even more serious happened.

The universe, it seemed, wasn’t done with us yet.

During the previous uproar over Ben Thompson, one person who should have shown up did not: Emily’s grandfather, Joe Carter.

It struck me as odd—Joe was the kind of man who’d never miss a chance to defend his family’s name. His absence spoke volumes.

While the whole town believed Ben Thompson was the monster who assaulted the children, Joe Carter took no action and wasn’t even present at the store. This was highly unusual.

Rumors started—some said he was sick, others claimed he’d left town. But the truth was stranger still.

The reason: he had another suspect in mind. But he didn’t tell us—he acted on his own.

When grief turns to suspicion, people take matters into their own hands. Joe was no different; his sense of justice, battered but unbroken, demanded answers.

This led to things spiraling out of control.

I got the call from the sheriff’s office late at night—Joe Carter, battered and bloody, waiting in the lobby with a story to tell.

When we next saw him, he was battered and bruised.

He had a shiner swelling one eye shut, his lip split. He winced with every movement, but he gripped the desk so hard his knuckles turned white.

He wept at the station, saying he’d been beaten by the man who killed Emily.

He clung to the edge of my desk, shoulders shaking, tears streaking the dust on his cheeks. “He did it,” Joe said, voice thick with grief. “He killed her. He killed my Emily.”

“It was David Carter. He… he’s not human…”

The name landed like a stone in a still pond—David Carter, the homeroom teacher, the distant cousin. The pieces started to click into place.

Joe Carter spoke through tears.

He described every moment—the confrontation, the argument, the violence. His words tumbled over each other, raw and desperate.

I quickly recalled the name: David Carter—the girls’ homeroom teacher, a sloppy middle-aged man.

I pictured him in my mind—rumpled, harried, always on the edges of things. Now, suddenly, he was at the center of a nightmare.

“Not just a teacher, not just… he’s also a distant relative. Emily respected him so much… I never thought, never thought he would…”

Joe’s voice broke. The betrayal cut deeper than anything else—family hurting family, trust shattered beyond repair.

So that was it.

The truth, finally spoken, hung heavy in the air. I felt a chill settle over me, colder than the Ohio wind.

Joe Carter went on to describe in detail how he confronted David Carter and was beaten up.

He told us about finding David at the school, the confrontation that escalated, the moment when words gave way to fists. Joe fought back as best he could, but David was younger, stronger, and fueled by a desperate kind of rage.