The crowd pressed against the line of deputies. Rutger pushed from the back, as his men held onto him. Along the yard's edge, Marie kept low. No matter how much she breathed in the rancid air, fetid and sickly, it only sunk deeper into her guts. Blood lingered in the air to settle on the skin. Directionless curses and drug addled glee filled the hot, low land. In the city or country, death thrust upon life elicited a primal curiosity, she understood. Her questions echoed.

Morbid dreams lingered in the mind of the darkness beyond the veil of death. Through the bleak hours, when Marie was alone, whispers crawled up from the recesses. Cracks in the world were filled with the dead. They followed her. To the ends of the earth she could fly, like the raven, which carried the souls of the departed. Inevitability of the truth drew ever closer, only forward never back. Bethany had sought those truths. Part of her wanted to know the murderer. She knew a story could mean money and a way back to her old life. Whispers slept at the borders, flutter of wings never truly faded, and Marie followed them, though she would deny it.

A shadow stepped towards the back of the trailer. Marie paused; flutter of wings brushed her ear. The back door of the home was open, low sob like a sigh. Inside, the destruction was complete. Marie looked over the ruin, yet the cries persisted.

She stopped at the room's edge, mahogany eyes bewildered. Marie thought of the corpse and Rutger, whose gazes mirrored. Like the princess of the rodeo, the Sheriff's daughter was toned from hard work yet held herself like royalty. Denim shorts showed off long legs. The red halter top strained, but held the gaze with each breath. "Who are you?!" she barked in a southern spite, yet tears spilled.

"I'm here to talk to you," Marie smiled, "so I can get your side of the story."

"I guess Dad blames me," she said, and fresh tears spilled. Carol's lips quivered, "It isn't my fault! I'll date whoever I want, but…I never thought that this would happen!"

"Was a Van Lear present tonight?"

She jerked, nearly fell and looked, "NO, he…Jacob wasn't here." Marie stared at her, but Carol's eyes searched the destruction, "I can't say…more."

"Your brother," Marie said and she winced, "Jesse was murdered by someone. Who was Seth to you?"

Carol leaned against the wall, blinded by tears, "My boyfriend, Jesse's friend, but no one knew except my brother. I'd already split up with Jacob."

"Why did you break up?" she said in a soft tone.

"We only," she smiled; wicked grin gone fast as it appeared, "We wanted to piss off our families." The bitter laugh fell to a virulent smile. Carol slid to the ground, spent from the confession.

"It is hard to escape your family," she turned to the shift under the dark corners.

She blinked, and felt tears roll down her face, "I should have just left town, but I want to show him."

"Who killed them?" Marie whispered.

"Who are YOU?!" Rutger barked behind her.

Marie turned with a sigh, and raised her hands, "I'm a member of the Press."

"Bullshit," he snapped, hand on the large revolver, "I know everyone at the local rag. That evil hag is too much of a coward to come here!" Carol shook her head, but recoiled from him. "Diana Van Lear isn't the queen of Hemlock Hurst."

"What does she have to do with this?" she asked, careful to keep her tone even.

"She won't save that little weasel," he jabbed a finger at her, eyes turned to stone. Rutger took a step forward, glanced at Carol. "He and Carol wanted to piss me off, and look at what happens. Treacherous scum, I'll catch him."

"I don't work for anybody."

The Sheriff paused, considered, and looked over Marie, "La Voison, you finally made it back." His eyes softened, "They've went too far. Diana betrayed us all, and her family destroyed Hemlock Hurst, just to spite us." A hard hand brushed his beard, body relaxed. "I don't know why you're skulking about," he mused, but knew Bethany was always drawn to death. "I'm sure poor Tim is near," Rutger said, as he appeared at the door, and glanced back, "At least you got your clothes on, boy."

"Oh, uh," he looked at the Sheriff and blushed, "sorry, Sir, I was just—"

"You never could say no to her," Rutger waved him off. "Take her and get out of here," he looked at Marie. "I'm sorry about Bethany. She was a great woman." The sheriff wished Marie's mother was alive, for her counsel would be invaluable now. "She helped me, Marie," he studied her and saw much of her mother, "I went to her funeral."

Tim and Marie stepped out of the home. The Sheriff's words still burned. He'd caught them at the abandoned quarry, which had filled with water. Young lovers still snuck into the old Bullock Stonework to swim. They'd played there often, and after Marie had insisted it was too hot for clothes, they had only worn moonlight. He still flushed, when he recalled Rutger catching them.

They walked back towards his truck. The crowd had been driven back, but some had already departed. Some spoke of Jacob Van Lear, but no one knew where he had gone. Marie listened, pried at them, but most knew better than to get involved with a Van Lear, McWhorters feud. The two families had hated each other, Marie mused, even before she'd left. The earth beneath had opened to receive all Hemlock Hurst.

Past the stench of piss and decay, at the light's edge, the dance of the night slowed. Rasp of wings withdrew from her. Marie stopped, though kept her eyes forward. She knew better than to touch that accursed book. Superstitious nonsense, she assured herself, but felt eyes scratch against her skin. Each breath drew in the taste of Owl Sticks, its narcotic putrescence, but the low musk of the grave whispered under the world.

"This is bad," Tim looked at the broken pavement.

"I've never seen the Sheriff so angry," she forced a smile at him, "I thought his scowl was welded on."

"The Sheriff will go after Jacob."

"What is the deal with the Van Lears and McWhorters?" she asked, though knew there was bad blood between them. The McWhorters were always a thorn in the side of the Van Lears. It was one of the secrets most of Hemlock Hurst speculated about.

"Well," Tim shook his head, "most of it has to do with the factory closing."

"Okay, that's a little vague," she frowned, "so the Van Lears are behind it?"

"I heard they had something to do with it, but no one has any details," he said, though grew silent till they grew close to the truck. "Jacob, after High School and College, was a real source of trouble. All he did, while away, was party, but his mother, Diana, grew tired of his shenanigans. Once, he got drunk as a lord, and streaked up the middle of town," he opened the door for her.

"Another rich kid, who uses their parents to get out trouble," she offered and got in the cab.

Tim got in, started the truck, and pulled back on the road, "I know the McWhorter and the Gregory families wanted to bring more industry into the county, develop it."

"That would help Hemlock Hurst," she watched the road, but saw only her thought. There was more to the story, and a lot had changed since she'd left. "I think, first thing tomorrow, I'll seek what there is to drudge up."

"I don't, Inky," he rubbed strawberry blonde hair, "people around here are less friendly, and it is a bad idea to get mixed up in this feud."

"I've maneuvered around the cops and rich," she saw darkness at the boundaries of the road move. I have to get out of here; she thought and closed her eyes. The story would have to be well-researched, but anything was worth getting back her life.