Gravel crunched under Elias’s tires, a frantic percussion against the quiet of the woods. Rage still pulsed through him, a white-hot current ignited by Lily's last desperate words. Sarah gripped the armrest, her knuckles stark. She watched Elias’s jaw, a muscle twitching relentlessly beneath his skin. His silence spoke louder than any shout. Miles melted away, the familiar path to Hemlock’s isolated cabin appearing through the trees. Smoke feathered from the chimney, a thin, hopeful plume. Pulled the truck to a stop, dust settling around them like an accusation. Elias was out before the engine died, marching toward the crooked porch. Knocked, a heavy thud against the worn wood. No answer came, only the distant cry of a hawk. He hammered again, louder this time. “Hemlock! I know you’re in there!” His voice, raw with urgency, echoed back. Footsteps shuffled inside, then a creak. Old Man Hemlock peered through the crack, his eyes wide and wary, framed by a shock of white hair. “Elias? Sarah?” His voice was a thin rasp, already edged with fear. He tried to close the door. Elias wedged his foot. “We need to talk. Now.” His tone left no room for argument. Hemlock reluctantly swung the door open, retreating deeper into the cluttered cabin. A faint smell of woodsmoke and old paper clung to the air. “What’s all this about?” Hemlock gestured vaguely with a trembling hand, avoiding their gaze. Sarah stepped forward, her voice softer than Elias’s. “It’s about Lily, Mr. Hemlock. And Jonathan Vance.” Hemlock flinched, his eyes darting to Elias, then away. He wrung his hands, a nervous tic. “I… I told the sheriff everything I knew.” “No, you didn’t,” Elias cut in, his patience razor-thin. “Lily knew things. Things that threatened her life. She wrote about them.” Hemlock’s face paled, the color draining from his cheeks. He stumbled back, bumping into a stack of old newspapers. “We know Jonathan Vance was threatening her, Mr. Hemlock,” Sarah continued, her voice gentle but firm. “We need you to be honest with us. For Lily.” His gaze dropped to the scuffed floorboards. A long, agonizing silence stretched between them, punctuated only by Hemlock’s shallow breaths. “Did you see Jonathan Vance on the night Lily died?” Elias pressed, each word a hammer blow. “At the mill?” Hemlock swallowed hard, his throat working. He looked up, his eyes glassy. “I… I saw him. His car.” Elias felt a jolt, a cold tremor. “His car? Where?” “Down by the river, near the old mill entrance,” Hemlock mumbled, picking at a loose thread on his worn sleeve. “Parked off the road, hidden in the trees.” Sarah’s hand went to Elias’s arm, a silent plea for him to breathe. “What time was this, Mr. Hemlock?” “Close to sunset,” he whispered. “I was coming back from checking my traps. Saw his black sedan tucked away.” Elias remembered his own drive to the mill, the fading light. He hadn’t seen another car. Jonathan must have already been there, or just arriving, cleverly concealed. “And later?” Elias pushed, his voice a low growl. “Did you see anything later that night?” Hemlock’s head shook, a desperate denial. “No. I went home. Stayed home.” “Are you certain?” Sarah asked, her voice quiet. “Think hard, Mr. Hemlock. This is important.” Hemlock’s shoulders slumped. He took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on some point beyond them. “I… I went out again. Later.” Elias leaned in, every fiber of his being focused. “Why? What did you see?” “Heard a car,” Hemlock confessed, his voice barely audible. “Sounded like yours, Elias. Heading up the ridge road. I thought… I thought it was strange.” “And?” Elias urged, his heart hammering against his ribs. “I… I followed it for a bit,” Hemlock admitted, shame etched across his face. “Just curious. Didn’t want to get too close.” Elias’s mind reeled. Someone was following him that night? “And what did you see?” Hemlock wrung his hands again, his eyes clouded with a profound guilt. “I saw… I saw Jonathan Vance’s car. It was following yours, Elias. Right behind you.” A cold dread settled deep in Elias’s gut. Jonathan Vance. Following him. That night. He remembered the feeling of being watched. He dismissed it as paranoia. “Why didn’t you say anything, Hemlock?” Elias’s voice was rough, choked with a sudden surge of grief and betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Hemlock’s gaze dropped. Tears welled in his old eyes, tracing paths down his wrinkled cheeks. He trembled visibly. He swallowed, a dry, painful sound. His breath hitched in his chest, a deep, rattling gasp of regret. The silence felt like a weight, pressing down on them all. He looked up, a raw, tormented plea in his eyes. “He threatened me. Said he’d burn my cabin down if I breathed a word.”

Chapter 38: The Witness's Silence