Chapter 5 The Sheriff at the Door

Eveline Shore POV

The knocking didn’t just shake the door.

It shook me.

Three heavy blows—each one louder than the last—echoed through the hallway, vibrating straight into my chest.

“Eveline Shore!”

The voice boomed, sharp and authoritative.

“Open the door!”

My pulse spiked instantly. Jonas’s warning from Chapter 4 slammed back into me like a cold wave:

“Don’t let them take you in alone. They’re not here to help.”

Until now, those words had been terrifying in theory.

Now they were real.

My mother’s footsteps hurried across the landing above me. “Eveline? Who is that?” Her voice was tight with sleep and worry.

The knocking came again—five rapid pounds.

Not patient.

Not polite.

A demand.

I forced my breath steady as my mother appeared on the stairs, her robe tied haphazardly. She froze halfway down, gripping the railing.

Her eyes widened.

“Is that—”

“The sheriff,” I whispered.

Her brows pinched together. “At this hour?”

Another blow rattled the door.

“Eveline,” he said, slower this time, as if he knew I was hesitating. “I need you to open this door right now.”

My mother descended the last few steps quickly. She touched my arm. “We’ll open it together.”

I nodded, though my stomach twisted in knots. Jonas’s warning repeated in my head, but the thought of ignoring the sheriff completely felt even more dangerous. Something was happening—something I didn’t understand.

I exhaled and reached for the latch.

Cold night air rushed in as I opened the door just enough to see Sheriff Winslow standing under the porch light.

He was tall, broad shouldered, with the same stern face I’d seen at every summer festival since childhood. His expression was usually unreadable in a comforting way—stone-steady. The law of Merriweather Cove.

But tonight?

His eyes were tight.

Something simmered behind them—frustration, worry, something darker.

He wasn’t here for a welfare check.

He wasn’t here with news about Silas.

He was here on business.

The wrong kind.

My mother stood beside me now. “Sheriff?” she said, voice stern. “What’s going on?”

He nodded slightly at her, then looked at me again. “May we step inside? I need to speak with Eveline.”

No.

The word screamed in my mind even as my lips struggled to move.

Jonas’s warning.

The note.

The shadow in my house.

Everything was happening too fast.

My hand tightened on the edge of the door, and I didn’t open it any wider.

The sheriff’s eyes flicked to my grip, reading my tension instantly.

“Eveline,” he said carefully, “there’s been… an incident.”

My breath caught.

“What kind of incident?” My voice cracked.

He hesitated—just long enough to terrify me.

“A phone call was made from your house tonight.”

My throat closed.

No.

No, no, no.

“The call came in at 10:42 p.m.,” he continued. “It lasted twenty-one seconds. Static. Distorted vocals. The number is connected to an active investigation.”

My mother turned her head toward me sharply.

I felt the blood drain from my face. “I—I didn’t make a call.”

The sheriff’s gaze sharpened. “We know. The call didn’t come from your cell phone—it came from the house landline.”

“I didn’t touch the landline.” My voice felt thin and small.

“But someone did,” he said.

A cold shiver slid down my spine.

The static call.

The whisper.

Silas’s name.

My mother’s hand tightened on my arm. “Eveline… why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Because I didn’t know what to believe.

Because I didn’t know what was real.

Because everything was spiraling too fast.

The sheriff sighed, as if preparing himself. “This is important. I need to know if anyone was inside this house without your knowledge.”

I froze.

My pulse slammed through my body.

Behind the sheriff, fog drifted past the porch light—thick, almost swallowing the edges of the yard. The night suddenly felt alive.

“Sheriff,” I said slowly, “what investigation are you talking about? What does this have to do with Silas?”

His jaw twitched.

A tell.

A tell I remembered from childhood when he’d scolded kids for lighting fireworks on the beach.

He was holding back information.

“Let me inside, Eveline,” he repeated, firmer now. “I can’t explain this on the porch.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because it’s confidential.”

My stomach twisted.

That word again.

Confidential.

A wall.

A barrier between truth and danger.

I shook my head. “Then you can’t come in.”

My mother looked at me, startled.

But the sheriff’s expression tightened into something harder.

“We’re not playing games tonight,” he said. “Something is happening in this town. Something you don’t understand yet.”

“Then explain it,” I shot back.

He exhaled harshly, clearly losing patience. “Eveline, listen carefully. The number that called this house is connected to a group Silas may have been involved with before he disappeared.”

I felt faint.

“Involved how?” I whispered.

“We believe he may have witnessed something,” the sheriff said. “Something dangerous. Something he shouldn’t have been near.”

The same thing Jonas said.

Almost word for word.

Except Jonas wasn’t trying to scare me.

He was trying to protect me.

The sheriff continued, “We have reason to believe Silas reached out to someone he trusted before he went missing.”

My hands shook. “You think he reached out to me?”

The sheriff didn’t blink. “Did he?”

“No,” I whispered. “At least, I don’t think—”

My head spun.

The whisper on the phone.

The static.

Could Silas have—

No.

No, it was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

The sheriff stepped closer. “Let us inside, Eveline. We need to protect you.”

Jonas’s voice sliced through my mind:

“They’re not here to help.”

I straightened, gripping the door like a shield. “Protect me from what?”

Another hesitation.

A deep one.

Then:

“From the same people who took Silas.”

My stomach lurched.

My mother gasped softly beside me. “Sheriff, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he answered, “that Silas didn’t drown, or run away, or get lost at sea.”

His eyes locked onto mine, cold and unwavering.

“Silas was abducted.”

The world tilted.

Abducted.

Taken.

Just like Jonas said.

But hearing it from the sheriff’s mouth felt different—clinical, sharp, rehearsed.

“How do you know?” I whispered.

“That isn’t something you need to worry about tonight. What matters is—”

“No,” I snapped, surprising myself. “If you want me to trust you, tell me how you know.”

He stared at me—a long, unbroken stare—before answering:

“We found evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Classified.”

My fear burned into anger. “Then stop asking me to trust you.”

His jaw tightened again.

My mother stepped forward. “Sheriff, if you truly want to help my daughter, stop hiding information from her.”

The sheriff looked torn—between procedure and pressure.

Finally, he leaned in slightly.

“We found signs someone else was with Silas the night he disappeared.”

My heart stuttered.

Someone else.

Someone he trusted.

Someone he met with intentionally.

“Who?” I breathed.

His eyes flicked to the shadows behind me.

“Let us inside,” he repeated. “This isn’t safe to discuss here.”

“No.”

The word came out steadier than I expected.

Shock flickered across his face. “Eveline—”

“You won’t tell me the truth. You won’t explain what’s happening. And you’re asking me to believe Silas was abducted without giving me a single detail. So until you start talking, you’re not coming in.”

For a moment, the porch was silent except for the shifting fog.

The sheriff’s expression hardened into something new. Something colder.

“You’re making a serious mistake,” he said quietly.

I didn’t move.

After a long breath, he stepped back.

His boots echoed against the wooden steps as he turned and descended into the fog-covered yard. “We’re not finished,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

My mother closed the door quickly, locking it twice.

My hands were still trembling when I turned.

She stared at me, pale and shaken. “Eveline, what aren’t you telling me?”

I tried to speak.

I couldn’t.

My throat tightened with so many truths and lies tangled together that not one of them could escape.

I stepped backward, leaning against the wall just to steady myself.

“Mom… I—”

My foot hit something.

I looked down.

An envelope lay on the floor—thin, white, slightly bent where it had been shoved under the door.

My heart seized.

When had it—

My mother frowned. “What is that?”

I dropped to my knees and picked it up.

The weightless fear inside me sank heavy and cold.

Same envelope style.

Same sharp handwriting.

My fingers shook as I tore it open.

Inside was only a single sheet of paper.

One sentence.

Three words.

The ink dark and deliberate:

“Don’t trust him.”

My breath caught.

I could almost feel Jonas’s voice in those words.

Urgent.

Fearful.

Too accurate.

Too timely.

My mother knelt beside me. “Eveline, what does that mean? Who does it refer to?”

My eyes drifted toward the door.

The sheriff’s car was already gone.

Only fog remained.

A shudder ran through me as I whispered:

“The sheriff.”

My mother’s face drained of color.

The house suddenly felt smaller.

The walls seemed to listen.

The windows felt like eyes.

For the first time in my life—

my childhood home didn’t feel safe.

I folded the note with shaking hands.

Somewhere out there, Jonas was watching.

Tracking every move.

Knowing things I wasn’t prepared to understand.

And somewhere out there—

Silas was alive.

But I wasn’t just searching for him anymore.

I was now in the middle of something deeper, darker, older than this town wanted to admit.

A secret people were willing to lie for.

A secret people were willing to abduct for.

A secret people might kill for.

My mother squeezed my hand. “Eveline, what are we supposed to do?”

I lifted my eyes, breath trembling.

“I think…”

My voice cracked.

“I think I’ve become part of whatever took Silas.”

My mother’s grip tightened.

“Eveline—”

“I think someone wants me next.”

Her gasp disappeared in the thick silence of the house.

And in the distance, through the fog-covered street—

A shadow moved just beyond the edge of the porch light.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hidden.

My heart plummeted.

Because I knew, with absolute certainty—

This was only the beginning.