Recognition flashes through the officer’s eyes and she nods. “Okay, Mr. Hoffman, have a seat. Sheriff Gordon will come get you.”
“Thanks,” Wade says, twisting around and eyeing the seating.
There are two sections, each with four chairs that have been clamped together. There are no tables or magazines to preoccupy those who take a seat. Instead, they all just face each other in a sort of seated standoff.
“I forgot about Sheriff Gordon being related to your landlord. That was a good call,” I say, leaning in and whispering in Wade’s ear.
Wade feigns a smile. “Yeah, I figured if nothing else, I’d have a little bit of leverage by talking to him. At least Chelsea knows me. You know?”
My insides clench and I try to suppress the irrational welling of jealousy springing up from her name. She’s been nothing but nice, but I can’t help but feel a little pang of possessiveness.
“Mr. Hoffman?” a man says, extending a hand as he enters the lobby. He has the same ginger hair and green eyes as his cousin and it’s easy to see the family resemblance.
Wade immediately stands up. “Yes, hi.“
“What can I help you with?” Sheriff Gordon says. His eyes crease at their edges, immediately disarming any apprehension lingering in me. Another trait he shares with his cousin.
“I—uh,” Wade begins. “Is there anywhere we could talk privately?”
Sheriff Gordon quirks an eyebrow. His lips tug downward as he nods. “Sure, follow me.” He turns on his heel, flashes a badge that opens the door he came through, and holds it open so we can follow behind him.
Wade reaches for my hand, and together we follow after the sheriff to a small conference room down the hall. Sheriff Gordon steps inside, standing beside the door until we both walk in and take a seat at the small table. Without a word, he quietly clicks it shut and sits down opposite us.
Again, he flashes a grin and extends his hand to me. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Autumn Blackwood,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Ah, yes,” he nods. “Lyle’s girl. I thought you looked familiar. Been awhile. Are you back in town now?”
I narrow my gaze, trying to process. “I—yes, actually. I’m going to school at Windhaven Academy.”
His eyebrows rise into his hairline, but he nods absently. “Certain amount of sense to that.”
I press my lips together and tap the top of the table with my fingertips.
“So,” Sheriff Gordon says, turning back to Wade, “What can I do for you?”
Wade’s nostrils flare as he breathes in deeply. “I have a confession to make.”
The sheriff’s eyes widen, and his jaw hardens. He looks over his shoulder at the mirror behind him and pulls his chair in tighter to the table. “Before we go much further, do you mind if I record this?” he says, pulling out a small voice recorder from his breast pocket and placing it on the table between them.
Wade doesn’t say anything, but he shakes his head.
Sheriff Gordon tips his head. “All right, what kind of confession are we talking here?”
Clasping his hands together, Wade drops his gaze to his fingers. An awkward pause follows, and he licks his lower lip. “I know what happened at Mistwood Point Cemetery last week. I know I should have come forward sooner. It’s just—”
“Okay, hold up,” Sheriff Gordon says, holding a hand out. “Are you saying you were there?”
“Yeah, I was there,” Wade says, refusing to look my direction.
The desire to speak up and say I was, too, almost bowls me over. Wade must sense it, because he taps his foot against mine. Clamping my lips shut, I focus on watching the two men’s reactions.
“All right, go on,” the sheriff says.
“The cemetery director called and let me know my grandfather’s columbarium was fixed, so I went to have a look. I wanted to make sure things were restored to the way they were before,” Wade says, swallowing hard. “Especially since his ashes haven’t been…”
The sheriff holds very still, watching every movement Wade makes like he’s waiting for something that will tell him whether or not to pounce.
“When I was there,” Wade continues, his tongue skating across his lower lip as he shoots me a quick sideways glance, “I was attacked.”
This was clearly not the confession the sheriff was expecting, as his eyebrows arch high. “You were attacked? Why didn’t you report anything?”
Wade scratches at the back of his head. “I was afraid. I knew how things looked, and people at Windhaven Academy were already assuming I was involved with the desecration earlier because one of the graves that was vandalized was my grandfather’s. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself if I could help it.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrow, but he nods. “All right, continue. Who attacked you?”
Wade casts a super-fast glance in my direction and says, “The dead did.”
Sheriff Gordon’s green eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“The graves that were robbed—I don’t think it’s a prank. I think someone is raising the dead,” Wade reiterates.
“Is that a thing now?” Sheriff Gordon says, scratching at his chin. “Zombies?”
“Revenants, actually,” I say, unable to help myself.
The sheriff’s gaze flits to me. “I’ve been around a long time and I’ve seen some weird things in this town thanks to the supers…but zombies? Now, that’s new.”
“Revenants,” I repeat.
“Right, revenants,” he nods. “Well, see, here’s the thing. We’ve had another five or so graves desecrated over the course of the past week. I haven’t checked in with the Mistwood PD, but I’ll wager they’d be real interested to hear your story, Mr. Hoffman.”
Relief flashes through Wade’s features and he leans back in his chair. “You—you believe me?”
Sheriff Gordon mimics Wade’s position, shifting back into his chair. “I’m not sure what in the hell I believe at the moment. But what I do know is this... We’ve had almost a dozen graves desecrated over the past few weeks and all of them are
