Chapter 3 - The Butcher of Crestwood
The stairwell smelled of bleach and old concrete. Stan was waiting, holding a thick manila folder. He looked older, tired, and deeply afraid.
"I shouldn't be doing this," Stan said, handing me the file. "But I have a grandson Leo's age. I couldn't let it go."
I opened the folder. Inside were grainy newspaper clippings from 2008. The headline made my blood run cold: CRESTWOOD FATHER DISAPPEARS AFTER TRAGIC FIRE. WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN DEAD.
There was a photo of the prime suspect, a man named Elias Thorne. He was younger, with a different haircut and a thicker jawline, but those dead, hollow eyes were unmistakable. It was David.
"The police thought he died in the woods trying to escape," Stan explained. "I was the first responder on the scene. I saw what he did to them before he lit the match. He likes control, Rachel. The moment they stopped obeying, they stopped breathing."
Panic seized my chest. "I have to tell the police. I have to show them this!"
"It's circumstantial," Stan warned. "He changed his identity. He burned off his fingerprints. If you go to the cops without hard proof, he’ll know. And he’ll finish what he started tonight."
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"What do I do?" I whispered.
Stan looked me dead in the eye. "You smile. You play the dutiful wife. And you find his real documents before you take that boy and run."
