Chapter 7 - The Town's Bitter Pill
Back in town, the atmosphere had shifted from shocked disbelief to profound, collective shame.
The local diner, usually bustling with morning gossip and coffee-cup chatter, was deathly quiet. A homemade sign taped to the front window read: PRAYING FOR ANDREW AND ASHLEY. WE ARE SO SORRY.
Mrs. Gable, the neighbor who had so eagerly condemned Andrew from her porch, sat in a corner booth with a cup of coffee she hadn't touched in twenty minutes. She hadn't left her house in two days, but the guilt had finally driven her out. When she saw Tom, Andrew’s coworker, walk in to pick up food to take to the hospital, she stood up, her lower lip trembling.
"Tom," she called out softly, stepping into the aisle.
Tom stopped, turning around. His face was etched with exhaustion, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes. He didn't look angry; he just looked tired.
"I... I just wanted to say," Mrs. Gable choked out, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks, "none of us knew. We thought... we thought he just left them. If we had known he was out there trying to get medicine for that little girl..."
"You didn't want to know, Mrs. Gable," Tom interrupted quietly, his voice cutting through the diner like a knife. "It’s easier to brand a single father a monster than it is to offer him a hand when he’s drowning. Andrew worked sixty hours a week, paid his taxes, and never asked anyone for a dime. When his wife died, this whole town patted him on the back, said 'stay strong,' and then watched him starve in silence."
He turned and walked out the door, the bell chiming softly behind him. Mrs. Gable sank back into her booth, burying her face in her hands as the other patrons looked down at their plates in heavy silence.
At the hospital, Ashley was slowly regaining her strength. She sat propped up in bed, happily coloring in a superhero book Officer Natalie had brought her.
"Do you think my daddy is a superhero?" Ashley asked suddenly, looking up with bright, hopeful eyes.
Natalie, who had just returned from the muddy banks of the Old Mill with the waterproof pouch and the fresh evidence, swallowed the lump in her throat. She knelt down beside the bed, taking Ashley’s small hand in hers.
"I know he is, Ashley," Natalie said, her voice steady and warm. "Your daddy did something incredible. Even when his truck crashed, he made sure your medicine stayed safe. He fought harder than anyone I’ve ever met."
"When is he coming to get me?" Ashley asked, her smile fading just a fraction.
Natalie looked toward the hospital door, where Deputy Miller stood in the hallway holding a secure tablet, signaling urgently through the glass window.
"Very soon, sweetie," Natalie promised softly. "Very soon."
She stood up and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.
"Miller, what is it?" Natalie asked, her heart racing.
Miller held out the tablet. "Forensics just ran the blood samples we found on the ledge by the Old Mill drainpipe. It matches Andrew’s DNA from his DMV records. But Natalie... that’s not all."
He tapped the screen, pulling up a satellite map of the industrial timberland behind the mill.
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"There’s an old caretaker’s cottage about two hundred yards upstream from where we found the truck. It’s abandoned, boarded up for winters. But look at the thermal scan taken by the state police chopper ten minutes ago."
Natalie leaned in, staring at the screen. A faint, glowing orange signature flickered from the tiny, broken-down structure nestled deep within the dense, flooded timber—a heat signature that did not belong to wildlife.
