Where The Mind Breaks

Chapter 7: The Second Coffin

The Demmys house was a museum to quiet power. Polished dark wood, mounted fish frozen in perpetual struggle, and a pervasive smell of old money and lemon polish. It was meant to intimidate, and it was working. Nel’s heart was a frantic drum against the tiny recorder in his breast pocket.

“Drink?” Jason gestured to a crystal decanter on a sideboard.

“No, thanks.” Nel’s voice was tight. He needed a clear head.

Jason shrugged, refilling his own glass. “Suit yourself.” He led Nel into a study, a room lined with books that looked unread. A massive oak desk dominated the space. Hedge Demmys sat behind it, not in the chair, but on the edge, one hand resting on his cane. He didn’t look up as they entered.

“Sit, son,” Hedge said, the word ‘son’ sounding like a threat.

Nel sat in a stiff leather armchair, feeling like a defendant. Jason leaned against the desk, crossing his arms, the congenial host gone, replaced by the sheriff.

“We’re concerned about you, Nel,” Jason began, his tone deceptively soft. “Coming back here, after all this time. Stirring up old ghosts. It’s not healthy.”

“I came for Golda’s funeral,” Nel said, forcing his hands to stay still in his lap.

“Did you?” Hedge finally looked up, his gaze like a physical weight. “Or did you come because she filled your head with nonsense before she decided to check out?”

The casual cruelty of the words hit Nel like a punch. He felt a hot flush of anger. “She didn’t kill herself.”

The silence in the room was immediate and absolute. Jason’s friendly mask slipped completely, his eyes turning flat and cold. Hedge’s lips curved into a thin, unpleasant smile.

“That’s a very serious accusation,” Jason said quietly. “Based on what?”

Nel knew he’d stepped over an invisible line. He was in the heart of the beast, and he’d just poked it. He had to pull back. Play the part.

“Based on the fact that I talked to her,” he said, letting a tremor enter his voice. “The night she died. She was scared. She was talking about… about the past. About Vivi. But she wasn’t suicidal.” He dropped his gaze, feigning a grief he didn’t have to fake entirely. “I just can’t believe she’d do that.”

He felt their eyes on him, measuring, testing the truth of his performance.

“Grief does strange things to the mind,” Hedge rumbled, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Makes people see connections that aren’t there. Hear threats in the wind. Golda was a lonely woman. The paper was failing. It’s a sad story, but a simple one.”

“Is it?” The words were out before Nel could stop them.

Jason pushed off the desk, looming over him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Panic flared in Nel’s chest. He was losing control of the script. “It just… it doesn’t feel simple.”

“Let me make it simple for you,” Jason said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. “The investigation is closed. Golda Haines is in the ground. And you… you need to go back to your life. This town, these memories… they’re a poison, Nel. You need to let it go.”

Poison. The same word Silvera had used.

“My sister vanished here,” Nel whispered, the real emotion cracking through his act. “My friend was just murdered here. How am I supposed to let that go?”

Hedge Demmys tapped his cane once on the floor, a sharp, final sound. “By understanding that some things are buried for a reason. You keep digging, you’re not going to like what you find. Some coffins…” He paused, his cold eyes locking with Nel’s. “…are better left closed. And some have more than one body in them.”

The threat was so plain, so brutal, it stole the air from the room. More than one body. Was he talking about Vivi? Was he implying they’d bury Nel alongside her?

Jason placed a hand on Nel’s shoulder again, a parody of comfort. “We’re saying this for your own good, old friend. Leave. Tomorrow. Go back to your books. Forget Everfell. It’s the only way you walk away from this.”

Walk away. The phrase was a lie. He knew too much now. He had the ledger. They just didn’t know he had it. Letting him leave would be an enormous risk. This was a warning, but it was also a trap. They were watching to see what he would do next.

Nel stood up, his legs unsteady. He had to get out. Now. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do,” Hedge said, his attention already returning to the papers on his desk, dismissing him.

Jason walked him to the front door. The friendly facade was back, plastered on for anyone who might be watching from the street. “Take care of yourself, Nel. Drive safe.”

The door closed behind him, the lock turning with a definitive click. Nel stood on the porch, the misty rain cooling his feverish skin. He felt violated. Hunted. The recorder felt like a block of ice against his heart. He had their threats on tape, but it felt like a worthless prize. It didn’t change the fundamental truth they had just imparted.

He was in a game he couldn’t win. They had all the power, all the pieces.

He started walking back towards the inn, his mind racing, the panic a screaming static in his head. He needed to see Silvera. He needed to play the recording. He needed to...

A figure detached itself from the shadows between two houses ahead.

Nel froze, his blood running cold. It was the same tall, hooded figure from the cemetery. It stood perfectly still, blocking his path back to the only semblance of safety he had.

They had warned him. And now they were making good on it.

He was alone on a dark, wet street, with the Demmys house at his back and his hunter in front of him. There was nowhere to run.

The figure took a slow, deliberate step forward..