Chapter 9 – The Guilty Ones

The fog thickened as Alex pushed down the overgrown path to the park. His breath came pale clouds into the chill night air. Somewhere out of sight, metal rang on earth, steady and measured.

As he drew closer, the figure came into view, Mayor Bartlett, who was hunched over and digging with all fury. His spade plunged into the soil with force, every motion more desperate than the last. His immaculate suit was smeared with dirt, and his face, barely visible in the faint moonlight, was twisted up in an intensity Alex had never seen.

Alex approached slowly, keeping back. "Mayor Bartlett? You're still here?"

The mayor didn't cease his work, he didn't even bother to look up. He only muttered something barely audible. Alex frowned, watching the man work at a new grave.

Mayor?" Alex called again. "Mayor Bartlett?"

Finally, Bartlett stopped digging, but before anything could be said between them, he put one hand into his coat pocket and brought out a silver flask. From which he took a long drink of whiskey. The reek of alcohol was heavy as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and went back to digging.

Alex stared down at the grave, a dark pit, though nowhere near deep enough. Wasn't Joey supposed to be Joshua's friend? The memory was hazy, but that name stuck in his head. Adam had spoken of one of Joshua's friends. Could it have been Joey? Perhaps if Joey was missing Bartlett was trying to dig up some clue or, no, that can't be it.

"Mayor," Alex tried again. "Joey was friends with my brother, Joshua, right? Is he one of the missing? Maybe I can help you."

To that, Bartlett stopped for a moment. He slowly straightened up, shoulders tense, and for the first time, he turned to look at Alex. His eyes were bloodshot, face was marked by stress and sleepless nights.

"Mind your own damn business, Alex," Bartlett slurred. His hand tightened further around the shovel. "You've no idea, No idea what's going on here."

Alex didn't back down. "If Joey's missing, then maybe I can help you find him."

Bartlett's eyes flashed, his face filled with rage. "Help?" he spat. "Help? You couldn't even help your own family. You just left. Left us all to deal with the mess. So don't you dare come here, acting like you care."

The words stung, but he wasn't here to. Bartlett was quite clearly beyond reason. He looked down at the grave again, the dirt building up beside it. Something about all of this felt wrong, Bartlett's digging, and digging and digging, his refusal to answer questions, and a feeling of guilt in every word he spoke.

Bartlett turned away, taking another swig of the whiskey before setting the flask down by the gravestone. "Just leave," he muttered "This isn't your business, Alex. It never was. Just go."

The older man went back to his digging as if Alex wasn't even there. He felt a moment of frustration and pity. Bartlett was lost, and he had nothing to say. He didn't have time to dig through Bartlett when Elle was still out there, waiting for him.

"Just be careful, Bartlett," Alex finally said. He knew the words wouldn't get to the man, but it was the best he could do.

Without another word, Alex turned around and headed back. As he was leaving the cemetery, Alex had a feeling there was just something out there starting with Shepherd's Glen/

The graveyard was silent once more around Mayor Bartlett as Alex disappeared into the fog. His hands shook just a little as he clutched the shovel, his eyes fixated on the ground beneath him. The only thing he cared about was dirt falling away with every thrust of the blade. With every clump he turned over, he felt an inch closer to, something. Redemption? Forgiveness? He wasn't so sure anymore.

He paused, breathing heavily, and reached for the flask once more. The whiskey was burning its way down his throat, but it wasn't enough to numb the heartache. Bartlett rubbed his eyes with his dirty sleeve, almost without care that his cheeks were streaked with tears. He sagged with guilt and exhaustion. He exhaled a breath, and as his gaze fell upon the grave, the words came pouring from his mouth. He could no longer restrain his anguish.

"Why didn't I stop her?" he muttered. His hands quivered, as he raised the flask to his lips. "Why didn't I stand up to Holloway? I could've. I should've done something."

The whiskey didn't wash the shame or guilt away. Bartlett tightened his hold on the flask. Margaret, no, Judge Holloway, had always been so strong, so sure of her vision for the town. And Adam. Adam had been the only one brave enough out of the four families to question her. The only one with the guts to oppose her. Bartlett closed his eyes as if forcing himself back into those moments. Maybe, just maybe, if he had the guts Adam did, things might have turned out differently, and his little Joey would still be alive.

A painful sob burst from him as he fell to his knees. "If only I had been stronger," his voice cracking. The cemetery was deserted, quiet except for the sound of his voice. "Adam... he stood up to her. He fought. And what did I do? Nothing."

The cold and calculating eyes of Holloway flashed in his mind. Her promises, her reassurances that everything they were doing was for "the greater good of Shepherd's Glen". He had trusted her, hadn't he? Had let her control things because it was easier than standing up to her. But Adam. Adam had known better. Adam had seen through her lies and tried to stop her. It was Bartlett who had seen it, too, but deep down, he knew he wasn't brave enough to follow Adam's lead.

"If I'd just…. If I'd just joined him." Bartlett's voice choked. "Maybe Joey would still be here, just like Alex. Alive." His hands were shaking again as he picked up the flask once more, downing the last of the whiskey in a desperate attempt to dull his guilt.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

And then there was Joey, his bright smile. His son had been full of life, just like Joshua. The kid was a talented gardener. Now Joey was gone, swallowed into the earth, another victim of those twisted rituals they were all complicit in. And Bartlett had done nothing to stop it.

"Goddammit!" he swore, slamming the empty flask into the ground beside him. "I... I have to find him. Maybe, just maybe I can save him."

He reached for the shovel again using the wooden handle to help pull himself to his feet. His mind was racing with the hope that somehow if he could dig deep enough, he could pull Joey out of the ground that had swallowed him up.

Bartlett grunted as he plunged the shovel again, into the dirt. He dug like a man possessed, frantic in every move, trying to find something, anything, that would return Joey. The sweat dripping from his brow mingled with the tears streaming down his face as he dug deeper.

Maybe, just maybe, if he kept right at it, Joey would be saved.

But deep inside, Bartlett knew better. He knew no amount of digging would return Joey to him, any more than it could rewrite the choices he'd made or the cowardice that had kept him silent. The knowledge dug into him, twisting like a knife in his chest.

Yet, Bartlett persisted, it was all he had left.

At the office of Dr. Martin Fitch held the faint scent of antiseptic. What once had been a sterile room was now clotted with old equipment, broken instruments, and torn papers. In the middle of it all sat Dr. Fitch, hunched over his desk.

His fingers trembled as they outlined the edges of a worn, tattered photograph, a picture of Scarlett, his beloved daughter. The memory of her stared out at him with an innocent smile, a smile frozen in time. It was worn because he had held it, touched it, and begged it to forgive him. But no amount of staring at her photo, no amount of whispers to the dead, calling out her name could chase the guilt away that gnawed at his soul.

He had failed her. He had failed Scarlett.

His eyes welled with tears, and his lips moved silently, his voice hoarse from speaking for days to none but her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scarlett. Daddy didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

Fitch's hands shook as he reached for a scalpel left on the desk. It wasn't the first time he had used it. His hands, once so clean, were now scarred and bloody from all the cuts he had inflicted on his own body, an attempt at atonement. Each cut, each ritual, had been performed with the idea of appeasing, his guilt, and her.

He laid the scalpel down and His gaze wandered to the corner of the room, where Scarlett's doll sat, immobile and perfect, much like the daughter he had once held in his arms. The pale porcelain face was immaculate, its limbs stiff. He had fashioned the doll himself to preserve some part of her, some piece of what he'd lost.

"I'm trying, Scarlett," he sobbed. "I'm doing all I can."

But no amount of pain, no amount of self-inflicted cutting, would bring her back. Nothing would. Nothing would clear him of the responsibility and guilt he carried for her death. Still, he could hear her laughter, echoing in his office, mocking him. He saw her every time he closed his eyes, her small hand reaching out for him, pleading for help he hadn't been able to give.

His eyes darted, from the doll to the pieces of paper that littered his desk, symbols, and sketched diagrams of rituals. He had searched through every book, every ancient text of the Order, in search of something, anything that could tell him how to atone, how to bring her back. Some ancient rite, some forgotten incantations that could reverse her fate.

He had nothing to show for it: nothing but bloodied hands.

Then, he sobbed, and Dr. Fitch slammed onto the desk, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Scarlett. I'm so sorry. I can't fix this. I. I can't fix anything." The words felt bitter on his tongue. He had been a doctor, a healer, and yet he could not heal that one person who had mattered most to him.

He barely ever left his office anymore barely acknowledged the existence of Shepherd's Glen or those people in it. All that mattered now was Scarlett, and finding some way to make amends.

Slowly, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His gaze on the doll again, that eerie, lifeless figure haunting him. It was all he had left of her.

He reached for the scalpel again. "One more," he muttered. "One more offering. One more and maybe, Maybe I can make it right."

The edge of the blade pressed into his skin, and a line of blood welled up from the cut. A sharp pain shot through. Yet it was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.

As the blood fell to the floor, onto the papers and the candles around him, Fitch stared into the doll, his obsession, his grief, had swallowed him whole.

And still, a part of him continued to hope that with enough pain, enough sacrifice, he could somehow set things right and bring Scarlett back. But Dr. Fitch knew better than that. There could never be redemption for him, no forgiveness, and only endless guilt.

"I tried, Scarlett," he whispered. "I tried to make it painless, I swear."

He recalled that scene that night, with clarity. His hands, the cold instruments, Scarlett's innocent, trusting face, blind towards what loomed behind her daddy's smile. He'd told himself it would be quick. Painless. But truthfully, no matter how much care he had taken, no matter how much struggle he had done to convince himself that it was for her good, the good of Shepherd's Glen, he knew he was a coward.

"Why. Why do I have to be such a coward?" he spat. "If I was stronger, if I was half the man Adam was, maybe I could've done something. Maybe I could've stopped her."

"Judge Holloway." The name was like poison in his mouth. She had been the one behind all of this, the driving force that had twisted the town that had demanded the sacrifices. She had promised them that it was for the greater good that they were saving the town. And he, weak, spineless, broken, had listened to her. Had gone along with it.

Adam didn't.

Adam Shepherd had stood up to her. He'd seen through her lies and had questioned the Order and their rituals. He'd tried to stop her, even if it meant putting his life and his own family in peril. And where had Fitch been? Hiding behind his desk, cowering in his office, performing his sick, twisted rituals in the hope of appeasing some ancient, unseen force. He didn't even have the guts to take on Holloway. Not the way Adam had face-to-face.

"Adam," he whispered. "I should have poisoned her and her stimulants. God knows I had enough narcotics in the clinic to do it."

But he hadn't. He couldn't. Even poisoning her, would have been too brave for him. Too much of a risk. So, instead, he had done nothing. He had stood by and watched while Holloway twisted their town, their lives, and their children into some offering.

He was too big a coward to do even a coward's work. He hated himself. He hated the man he had become. He hated how he had cowered in the shadows while others, like Adam, had acted, and tried to make things right. Had tried to stop the madness.

"But I couldn't." he choked out. "I couldn't stop her. I couldn't stop any of it."

Scarlett's doll sat silently in the corner, staring at him with cold, hollow eyes. It was the only part of her that was left behind. And even that was a lie, a mockery of his daughter.

The guilt, the self-hate, his cowardice, it was just too much. He grasped his hair, pulling at it, trying to ground himself in the pain. He'd murdered his daughter. He'd sacrificed her like a lamb to the slaughter, and for what? To save the town? To appease Holloway and her Order? To follow some kind of twisted, ancient ritual that he barely understood?

No. It was because he'd been scared. Scared of Holloway. Scared of what would happen if he refused. Scared of the consequences.

"I… I deserve this," he whispered. "I deserve all of it."

No pain, no amount of rituals would ever wash away the decision he had made. The coward's decision.

"I'm sorry, Scarlett." he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

Now the fog was even thicker, clinging to him as he made his way down the streets of Shepherd's Glen. His mind still thinking of the encounter he'd had with Bartlett, the mayor's disjointed ramblings about his son Joey.

Joey was missing, just like Joshua.

Alex walked and thought to connect the dots in this growing web of disappearance and strange behavior. His younger brother Joshua had always been close with Joey, he remembered them playing together, laughing as kids, inseparable. Thick as thieves. And now both of them were gone.

Joshua, Joey. And now his mom and dad too.

His father, Adam Shepherd, had always been a distant man. Cold and stern, never a comforting presence, never somebody who could offer him some much-needed guidance, not even after Alex came home from the war. And yet, there were a time flickering moments when he felt he saw something else in his father's eyes, something like respect.

But now even Adam was gone, vanished into thin air like Joshua. His mom had vanished too she had left her house empty of her voice and full of the echoes of silence.

He walked, his fists clenched, frustration rising in him. He had gone off to fight a war to finally be the man his father had always expected him to be, and now it was all unraveling. The town, his family, it was all slipping through his fingers.

Maybe if he had stayed, if he hadn't left, things could have been different. Maybe Joshua would still be here. Maybe Adam would have opened up.

Alex shook his head. He couldn't go back in time. He had to focus on the here and now, the present, on finding answers, on finding Joshua.

And now, on finding Elle.

Finally, he arrived at her home, Judge Holloway's house. Alex stood for a moment, standing in the entryway. Judge Holloway had never been fond of him, always looked down on him, even before the war. And since he'd come back, it seemed her disapproval had only deepened. He could see it in the cold, calculating look in her eye, how she spoke to him, as though he were an outsider, someone not worthy of Shepherd's Glen.

But Elle. Elle had been the only one who had been different. Even now, after all these years, the bond between them remains intact. She was his childhood friend, a confidante, and in some ways, his anchor. He knew he had to see her, to know she was all right, and just maybe she'd be able to help him find his way.

He raised his hand to knock but paused, his thoughts drifting back to Bartlett. The way the mayor had spoken. What had he said? Something about Adam's bravery. About how if he'd been stronger, Joey might still be alive.

"What had Adam been doing? What had he been brave enough to fight?"

Alex's tried to connect the dots. His father had always been tight-lipped, and always seemed to carry some burden Alex couldn't quite grasp. And now Bartlett's words added only mystery, "Had Adam been a part of something deeper? Something to do with disappearances? With Joshua's disappearance?"

He shook his head, pushing the questions away. That was for later. Now, he needed to focus on Elle.

Finally, he knocked, louder than he had anticipated, and Alex felt his stomach knot in anxiety.

He heard the sound of movement from inside after what seemed to be a very long time. There were cautious but steady footsteps approaching the door. It creaked open enough to allow Elle to peer through the gap, as the knob turned, her face was one of relief and confusion when she saw him.

She stood in the doorway, groggy but awake, her eyes narrowing down in concern as she took Alex standing there in. She still clutched a bowl of popcorn, and that buzzing sound in the air seemed to come from a generator. Her living room behind her was somewhat lit.

"Alex," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing here? It's-" She stopped to glance at a clock, "the middle of the night. What's going on?"

Alex shifted on his feet/ "Elle, something's happening out here. The town. It's changing."

Elle raised an eyebrow at this "What do you mean, 'changing'? You look like hell." She waved her hand in the general direction of the dirt caked on his clothes.

"I was attacked," Alex said keeping his voice in a low steady tone. "Some dog-no, something that looked like a dog. It wasn't right, Elle. It was twisted, like something out of a nightmare and it's not just the dog. The fog, it's wrong. It's like the town's shifting into something else."

Elle stared at him a moment, "You're serious?" She set the bowl of popcorn down on a nearby table and crossed her arms. "I mean, yeah, the blackout's weird, and I've seen some strange things, but…. You're saying the whole town is-what, cursed? Haunted?"

Alex shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but I have never seen anything like it. I ran into Mayor Bartlett again at the cemetery. He was digging, talking to himself. He mentioned Joey."

In an instant, Elle's expression changed; her concern deepened further. "Joey's missing?"

"Yeah, and Bartlett's losing it. He's obsessed with finding Joey, like digging in that graveyard is going to somehow make everything all right again. But he just wouldn't listen. Something's wrong, Elle. It's not just Joshua, it's more than that."

Elle sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "I knew this blackout wasn't just a coincidence." She glanced back at the TV, the screen from 'Alien' paused there. "This whole town's been off for a while. I thought maybe it was just me being paranoid or, I don't know, the stress of everything going on. My mom's been even more controlling than usual. She won't talk about the missing people. I know she's keeping something from me."

Alex looked at her, nodding. "Judge Holloway knows more than she's letting on. I overheard Bartlett say something about my dad as I was walking away. Something about how he stood up to her, how he tried to stop whatever was happening. I think my dad knew, Elle. He was fighting it."

She met his gaze. "If your dad was involved, then… this is bigger than we thought. If he was standing up to my mom, maybe he's why she's been acting so secretive?"

"I need to find Joshua, Elle. I need answers."

She pushed herself off the doorframe. "Then we'll figure it out together. If something is going on in this town, then we're not going to wait for anyone else to fix it." She looked over at the humming generator in the living room. "I've got power for now, and we can use it to map out where we need to go. But I'm not letting you wander off alone, not with whatever's out there."

Alex felt a wave of relief wash over him. Now he didn't have to face this alone. "Thanks, Elle. I knew I could count on you."

She gave him a small, tired smile. "Yeah, well, someone's got to keep you out of trouble." She paused, looking him over. "You're sure you're okay? After the dog, I mean."

He nodded. "I'm fine. Just shaken up."

"Great. Then let's figure out our next step." She stepped back, gesturing to him with her hand to step inside. "We'll have to be careful, though. If what you're saying is true, we're dealing with something a lot bigger than a blackout."