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CONTENT WARNING: This episode contains themes of domestic abuse.
Series 1 Episode 1
"Welcome to Riverisle"
Running.
Not for fun. He hadn’t done that since he was tiny. Nothing about running was fun anymore. Running used to signify excitement, or a game, but this wasn’t excitement, nor was he winning. The stakes weren’t low like they used to be on the playground.
This time, Edmund was faced with a never-ending, eerily empty stretch of road. This time, he was running away. Running for his safety. Running for his life. That’s what his gut was telling him to do, anyway. What he was running from, he still wasn’t completely sure, but Edmund figured that was probably for the best. He wasn’t going to stick around and ask questions, that was for sure.
Whether he enjoyed it or not, Edmund considered himself a decent runner on a normal day. He never won cross-country at school like one of the sporty show-offs, but he wasn’t the straggler that finished ten minutes after everyone else, either.
Regardless, that night had extenuating circumstances. Running while your leg was throbbing with pain was significantly more difficult. His left leg was dripping an alarming trail of blood, and with the size of the injury, it seemed unlikely to stop any time soon, exposing his route to his attacker for as far as he ran. Edmund knew he was screwed.
Every frantic glance behind revealed little. Edmund could hardly focus while continuing to push forward. His brain was far too foggy to focus. His lungs were working harder than ever, his heart beating like club music on speed. He needed to take a break; he wasn’t sure his body would last much longer.
Thinking quickly, Edmund darted into the bushes that shrouded the side of the road. Thankfully, the towering trees cast a significant shadow, making it the perfect hiding spot for a few moments. Edmund sat on the ground, not caring about how muddy his skinny jeans were undoubtedly getting. He needed to catch his breath if he wanted to make it any further.
Behind him, Edmund felt a tough metal pole, sending a frozen chill through his sweaty back. Confused, he looked up, spotting a sign almost entirely shrouded from the road by the overgrown greenery.
“Welcome to Riverisle,” Edmund quietly read aloud. He had no idea how far he’d travelled, but he hoped it was far away enough.
Nervously, Edmund lifted his trouser leg to check on his injury. It had stopped hurting, but he suspected it was the adrenaline blocking out the pain. Bafflingly, though, instead of the expected sight of a gnawed leg completed with teeth marks and swelling, Edmund saw…nothing. His leg looked entirely normal, as if there never were an injury. How was that possible?
Far away, Edmund heard the spine-tingling noise of a wolf howling. The night just got stranger and stranger – he’d only read earlier that day that wolves hadn’t been seen in California for at least seventy years. It was an impossible noise, and it was terrifying.
His break was over. Edmund had to run again. He still wasn’t safe. Quickly, he had to find refuge. Riverisle was his home, now.
Not for fun. He hadn’t done that since he was tiny. Nothing about running was fun anymore. Running used to signify excitement, or a game, but this wasn’t excitement, nor was he winning. The stakes weren’t low like they used to be on the playground.
This time, Edmund was faced with a never-ending, eerily empty stretch of road. This time, he was running away. Running for his safety. Running for his life. That’s what his gut was telling him to do, anyway. What he was running from, he still wasn’t completely sure, but Edmund figured that was probably for the best. He wasn’t going to stick around and ask questions, that was for sure.
Whether he enjoyed it or not, Edmund considered himself a decent runner on a normal day. He never won cross-country at school like one of the sporty show-offs, but he wasn’t the straggler that finished ten minutes after everyone else, either.
Regardless, that night had extenuating circumstances. Running while your leg was throbbing with pain was significantly more difficult. His left leg was dripping an alarming trail of blood, and with the size of the injury, it seemed unlikely to stop any time soon, exposing his route to his attacker for as far as he ran. Edmund knew he was screwed.
Every frantic glance behind revealed little. Edmund could hardly focus while continuing to push forward. His brain was far too foggy to focus. His lungs were working harder than ever, his heart beating like club music on speed. He needed to take a break; he wasn’t sure his body would last much longer.
Thinking quickly, Edmund darted into the bushes that shrouded the side of the road. Thankfully, the towering trees cast a significant shadow, making it the perfect hiding spot for a few moments. Edmund sat on the ground, not caring about how muddy his skinny jeans were undoubtedly getting. He needed to catch his breath if he wanted to make it any further.
Behind him, Edmund felt a tough metal pole, sending a frozen chill through his sweaty back. Confused, he looked up, spotting a sign almost entirely shrouded from the road by the overgrown greenery.
“Welcome to Riverisle,” Edmund quietly read aloud. He had no idea how far he’d travelled, but he hoped it was far away enough.
Nervously, Edmund lifted his trouser leg to check on his injury. It had stopped hurting, but he suspected it was the adrenaline blocking out the pain. Bafflingly, though, instead of the expected sight of a gnawed leg completed with teeth marks and swelling, Edmund saw…nothing. His leg looked entirely normal, as if there never were an injury. How was that possible?
Far away, Edmund heard the spine-tingling noise of a wolf howling. The night just got stranger and stranger – he’d only read earlier that day that wolves hadn’t been seen in California for at least seventy years. It was an impossible noise, and it was terrifying.
His break was over. Edmund had to run again. He still wasn’t safe. Quickly, he had to find refuge. Riverisle was his home, now.
Noise.
All around her. Everything had descended into chaos. Any hope Grace had of a quiet day at work had vanished the second she arrived. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong hadn’t just gone wrong, it had royally bellyflopped off a cliff.
Grace couldn’t deny how much of a control freak she was at work. She was the youngest sheriff Riverisle had ever seen, and she had a lot to prove. As a result, Grace had every inch of the sheriff station under her control. No piece of paper was out of place, let alone one of her deputies. There was no room for error.
However, with a growing queue of people waiting to report the most menial offences, any impression of a tight ship had set sail long ago, and Grace was treading water, barely afloat.
“Walsh,” Grace summoned.
“Yes, Sheriff,” Walsh gently swung the office door open. Walsh was Grace’s best deputy, and the only one of her employees that was younger than her.
“Could you send the next one in, please?” Grace requested, “And maybe a coffee. My head feels like it’s been hit by a train then flattened by a steamroller. And that’s an understatement.”
“Two sugars?” Walsh checked, her obedience never in question.
“Make it three,” Grace chuckled. She knew that if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. Either way, she had a job to do, whether she wanted to or not.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” the familiar face of James Waldon scowled. Waldon had one of those permanently angry expressions, even when he was being nice. It made sense that he often worked alone; it was for the best that he needed few people skills to be a park ranger.
“Good morning,” Grace kept professional regardless, “How may I help?”
“I know the forest here like the back of my hand. I’ve been out there every single day for the last twenty-five years. Until a couple of weeks ago, I had never had to deal with even a rabid dog, let alone another animal. Never,” Waldon detailed, “Until today. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of mountain lion, perhaps.”
“Well, you are the expert, Mr. Waldon,” Grace remarked. She had little time for animal attacks, as sympathetic as she was towards the cause behind the blatant blood stains on Waldon’s scruffy jeans. It wasn’t her territory. She dealt with humans, nothing else.
“Except, whatever it was, after it came for me, I tried to follow it. It came right for me, so I was going to get it back. It’s what it deserved. Except, it covered its tracks somehow. All that was left was a trail of footprints. Human footprints,” Waldon detailed. He looked unusually shaken for a man who seemed unfazed by anything. He was old-fashioned in every way, but the alpha male was crumbling.
“This is all well and good, Mr. Waldon, and I’m sorry you got hurt, but I’m not sure what you want me to do. Mountain lions are hardly my field,” Grace politely responded, choosing her words extremely carefully.
“Did you not hear me? There were footprints. Someone has been trespassing on my land. That most definitely is your field, Sheriff,” Waldon grew irate.
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” Walsh timidly interrupted. Grace couldn’t have been luckier. Walsh had given her the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Waldon, but we are snowed under. I would be happy to review any evidence if you have something concrete. In the meantime, have a wonderful day,” Grace closed the meeting, standing up at her desk to hint what Waldon also needed to do. Begrudgingly, he pushed himself up and huffed out of the room. Grace breathed an uncontrollable sigh of relief as he faded out of sight, “Thank you for that.”
“Sheriff, there really is an emergency,” Walsh didn’t share that same relief, “Missing teenager, last spotted entering Riverisle town.”
Grace just couldn’t catch a break. Her day was going from bad to worse, but this time, it was serious.
No matter how much Alfie detested school, there was always one saving grace: it had to be better than being at home. It was a seven-hour escape from the shoddy shack he was forced to call home, with nobody but his dad for company, if it could even be called that when he was working half the time and drunk otherwise.
According to his dad, being a Waldon carried high expectations. The family had a reputation across Riverisle, but Alfie found it difficult to see what for. The only legacy his dad would leave behind was one of abuse, alcoholism and hate.
It was a miracle that Alfie knew better than that. The only influence he’d had for much of his life couldn’t be further away from how he approached life. It was far more exhausting to hate someone, so Alfie relished his tolerant and accepting nature. He was proud of who he was, even if the real Alfie could never be on display in his own home.
Therefore, school was like a refuge. Sure, the essays were tough, and the classes were dull, but at least he didn’t have to hide who he was. As he always did when he arrived at school, Alfie’s first port of call was his locker to pick up his pride pin badge. He stored it there overnight – taking it home would be suicide – and proudly fastened it to his bag throughout the day. He had nothing to hide, even from the least tolerant people at school. No-one was worse than his dad.
“Dude, when did you last wash your hair?” Millie enquired, skipping the small-talk and weekend catch-up that neither of them could usually be bothered with anyway. Millie was Alfie’s best – and only – friend at Riverisle High. They had known each other since kindergarten, and they told each other everything. Nothing could break that bond.
“Ten days ago,” Alfie sighed “I’ve rinsed it, but we’re out of shampoo. It’s my dad’s latest tactic to get me to buzz it off, after the cold showers failed.” Both of those schemes were par for the course with James Waldon, and as difficult as it was, Alfie was never going to give in to the manipulation. He wasn’t his dad, and nothing could persuade him to become what his father wanted.
“That’s it, you’re coming round to mine later. You can use as many products as you need,” Millie offered without hesitation.
“Not sure my dad would approve of me getting home late,” Alfie added with a shrug. It wasn’t news to either of them that his father was a grade A douchebag, but that didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.
“Alfie, I’m not taking no for an answer,” Millie insisted, tidying up Alfie’s admittedly already unkept mop. He’d been growing it for a year, and he loved the androgyny that long hair brought his look; it was the perfect contrast to the shadow he was forced to live in.
“Okay, I’ll text dad and say we’ve got a biology project to do,” Alfie caved in. If that was how his dad wanted to play, Alfie had to stand tall and stick to his guns.
“And I’ll tell my mom, in case he calls her again. We’ve both got you covered,” Millie assured. Alfie smiled. There was no better feeling than knowing at least someone had his back, “Come on, we’re late for math, and I desperately need your help.”
“Fine,” Alfie pushed his locker door firmly shut and locked it, but before he could take the key out, he got distracted by something in the corner of his eye. The corridor was almost empty now, save for another lad, surely around his age, but he looked much worse for wear. His clothes were ripped, and his mop of loose curls was all over the place. He looked both ways before dashing into the boys’ toilets. Who was he? Alfie was sure he’d never seen him before, and he clearly wasn’t on his way to class, “I’ll be right there, I just need the bathroom.” Alfie grabbed his keys and quickly slipped into the toilets, away from Millie. Whatever was happening, Alfie couldn’t let someone else suffer in silence.
Few things confused Grace. In her role, she was privy to a lot of information, and even the most shocking things became a weird sort of normal to her. The world was a scary place, but rarely did it baffle her. Everything had an explanation.
Yet, the file in front of her made no sense. Edmund Franklin, a sixteen-year-old boy, had been reported missing by his foster family. His history of running away had been documented – it was hardly surprising that he lacked a sense of belonging when he’d lived with seven different foster families – but the file went blank. A seventh foster home was logged, but no details beyond that. No school, no counselling, not even one social worker report in the six months since Edmund moved in. It wasn’t just weird, it was unrealistic.
Another gentle knock at the door. Walsh with yet another coffee, much to Grace’s delight. Caffeine had been her best friend that day, and the only thing stopping her from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“There are a couple of journalists waiting. What do you want me to do?” Walsh queried. The queue outside had quickly been sifted through, and Grace had been able to delegate and prioritise.
"I have no statement, whatever it's for,” Grace quickly said. The press had no place in her office.
“They’re investigative journalists, they want to speak to you about the missing teenager,” Walsh added. Suddenly, Grace was intrigued. How did any investigative journalist know about this Edmund kid? If nothing else, she wanted to know that.
“Send them in,” Grace allowed. Walsh signalled behind the door before holding it open wider. Moments later, two men walked in, They were dressed somewhat casually, and neither looked much like a typical journalist, not that it mattered to Grace. One led the way; his silky dark curls hung below his shoulders, tucked behind his ears without a single curl out of position. He looked confident and assured, as if he knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there.
The other slipped in behind. His hair was even longer, waving down to his waist, and his demeanour looked much less comfortable, but there was an unmistakable gravitas to him that Grace couldn’t put her finger on. Together, they made quite an impression.
“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Grace stood to greet them and held a firm hand in front, “Sheriff Grace Harding.”
“Hi, thank you,” the first one took the offer of the handshake, “Jono Chadwick-Drummond, and this is my associate and husband Dylan. We’re investigative journalists, and we understand there’s been a report regarding Edmund Franklin going missing.” He handed Grace a small business card which told her exactly what he’d just said. Just as Walsh reported, they knew about the case already, but how? They weren’t police or FBI, unless they were undercover, but that made even less sense. Something wasn’t adding up.
“I’m sure you understand, I’m not able to discuss an ongoing case, but yes, we are investigating the disappearance of a teenager who was spotted arriving in Riverisle,” Grace explained. She was desperate to find out more, but her job came first. She couldn’t break protocol.
“Of course, Sheriff. We were hoping for a collaboration,” Jono continued, “We’ve been following this case for a little while. He went missing two weeks ago in Crystalshaw.”
“My stepfather is Crystalshaw’s sheriff and asked for our help in tracking him down,” Dylan finally spoke up. He made little eye contact, but Grace, for some reason, felt trusting of him.
“Take a seat, please,” Grace gave in. She had no proof that either of them were who they said they were, but there was no reason to doubt them either. If this could help find Edmund, it would be mutually beneficial. They wanted the same thing.
“Thank you,” Jono smiled, both he and Dylan taking the seats on the opposite side of Grace’s perfectly organised desk.
“How much do you know?” Grace enquired. She figured it was best for them to speak first. This was their chance to prove themselves. Grace didn’t want to land herself in it.
“Just the basics. Edmund’s sixteen years old, grown up in the care system, frequent runaway,” Jono listed, just as Grace had already seen in the report, “But his social worker’s not been able to track him down.” Grace sat up. That was a detail she hadn’t uncovered yet, but it went hand-in-hand with the empty file. She had to give them credit; they were already proving themselves.
“Him alone, or the foster parents too?” Grace clarified.
“All of them. Vanished. House abandoned and cleared out, neighbours none the wiser,” Dylan replied, his eyes looking everywhere but towards her when he spoke, with his finger twirling around a mini curl at the tail of his locks.
“But it was the foster parents who reported him missing,” Grace added, proving her commitment to the partnership, “Why would they go into hiding, knowing they’re breaking the terms of their fostering, and still be the first to call the cops?”
A phone buzzed, slicing through Grace’s train of thought.
“Sorry,” Dylan quickly apologised sheepishly, his eyes focused on the screen as he quietly read the message he’d received. He showed it to Jono, his facial expression spelling out how urgent it was, “I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“No, don’t worry. You’ve been so helpful,” Grace shook his hand before Dylan dashed out without uttering any further words. She turned back to Jono, whose eyes followed Dylan until he slipped out of view, “If you need to go too, it’s okay.”
“No, I’m good, but thank you. You said Edmund came to Riverisle. Could you take me to where he was spotted?” Jono questioned. A conversation in her office was one thing, but taking Jono to investigate with her was another. However, Grace had already figured out more with Jono than she ever could have alone. Perhaps protocol could be easily ignored if it resulted in the return of Edmund?
At last, a place he could hide. A place he could keep a low profile. If anything was still following him, there was no way they’d know he was hiding in the toilets. Nobody would ever willingly hide in school toilets. Perhaps this was the diversion he needed? The perfect chance to throw them off his scent.
It wasn’t over yet for Edmund, though. He was in an entirely different county, miles from home, whatever home was to him at that point. Was anyone actually missing him? Edmund doubted it. His foster family was the worst one yet, and it wasn’t like he’d been able to form anything resembling a friendship. He only had himself, and that was the way it had always been.
For now, Edmund needed to clean up. He’d been on the run for two weeks, and pit stops were few and far between. His money supplies were depleting fast, so perhaps a sneaky trip to the school canteen could solve a problem or two while he was there? It was the only option left.
Filling his hands with water, Edmund splashed it across his face. He braced himself for the intense pain of his cuts stinging, but nothing came. Taking a further look in the mirror ahead, Edmund could hardly believe it. Without any dirt to obscure his view, Edmund could get a good look at his face. He remembered the pain of the cuts inflicted by the bushes he’d hidden in, and the scrapes across his cheek when he’d tripped and faceplanted the road. That was only a couple of days ago, so how was his skin looking better than ever, without as much as a scab or scar?
“Um, hi,” a voice startled Edmund from behind. His face still dripping wet, he anxiously spun to face another lad staring at him with a friendly smile. He remained a couple of metres back, but everything about his demeanour said he wasn’t a threat.
“What do you want?” Edmund bluntly said. Friendly or not, he didn’t have time for chit chat. The fact that one person had spotted him was already one too many.
“I’m sorry, I saw you come in and I just wanted to check you’re okay,” he explained calmly, “My name’s Alfie, what’s yours?”
“Were you followed?” Edmund mostly ignored him. It wasn’t that Alfie wasn’t being nice, but small talk and pleasantries were miles down Edmund’s priority list at the best of times.
“Um, no, I don’t think so. The corridor was empty. What’s the matter?” Alfie replied. His smile faded into a look of concern as he evidently realised the seriousness of the situation.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Edmund brushed him off. He didn’t owe an explanation to anyone.
“Try me,” Alfie took a step closer and met Edmund’s gaze directly. Whoever this kid was, he felt genuine.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” Edmund calmed himself a little. Nobody else was around, after all. Alfie seemed truly kind, and so few people ticked that box.
“Okay, I’ll start. I’m going round my friend’s house tonight to use her shampoo because my bald, homophobic ass father thinks not buying it will make me shave my girly hair off,” Alfie explained.
“Shit,” Edmund sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m used to it. It’s not new. I‘m sure you have your own shit too, and you don’t have to tell me, but if you wanted to talk, I promise you can trust me,” Alfie assured. Edmund felt safer than he had in a very long time. Something about Alfie just felt right, and it was more than his adorable smile.
“I could probably do with the shampoo too,” Edmund chuckled, ruffling his messy mop of curls.
“Feel free to come later if you need to. Millie won’t mind. Meet me at the gate?” Alfie offered.
“Okay,” Edmund nodded. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to that, but it felt natural.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
No matter how hard he tried, Edmund couldn’t block out the sound of footprints. Unnaturally loud footprints, like a boot, but they didn’t sound heavy. It was like a normal footprint with the volume at full blast. How was that the case? It wasn’t even coming from the toilets. Either way, they grew closer, and closer.
“Are you okay?” Alfie asked as Edmund raised his hands to his ears, attempting to block out the horrific excess noise.
The door slammed open, the noise almost shattering Edmund’s eardrums. An adult male appeared, his lengthy brown hair cascading most of the way down his back and his body language seemed unsure. Instantly, he raised his hands, as if to prove he wasn’t a threat.
“I think we need to talk,” he said, not moving any closer, “Let’s start with introductions. Hi, I’m Dylan.” Edmund removed his hands from his ears. Somehow, the noise had gone. He felt calmer and safer again. Dylan wasn’t a threat, but who was he?
Forests were the most daunting places. There wasn’t one that didn’t put the frighteners into Jono. It wasn’t an issue with the forests themselves; the beauty of untouched nature was second-to-none, but there were too many hiding places. Too much that couldn’t be seen. Too much space. It was the unknown that terrified Jono, especially with everything he knew.
To Jono’s relief, he didn’t have to tread far into the forest that enclosed the border of Riverisle. Edmund had been caught on the traffic camera by the side of the road. Not much more could be seen, but he wasn’t in a good way. It felt like the best place to start, and there was more to investigate than Sheriff Harding could ever understand.
Nevertheless, Jono and Dylan were both new to Riverisle. It had been less than a month since a number of leads carried them away from the place they met. The place where their friends and family lived. It was a seismic shift, particularly for Dylan. Adapting to change didn’t come naturally to anyone, but especially not to Dylan.
That was why Jono was determined to lay some solid foundations. Dylan deserved the best, and Jono would move mountains for him to be happy and comfortable. Dylan meant everything to him, and Jono’s heart had never felt fuller than in the decade he’d known Dylan.
“He’ll be long gone from here,” Sheriff Harding commented, examining the bushes and branches by the side of the busy highway. It was a stark contrast to the footage Jono had seen, where the night sky obscured much of the view, and the road was entirely empty.
“I know, but every clue helps. These bushes are razor sharp, there is no way he didn’t cut himself in here,” Jono observed, peaking through to avoid breaking his own skin. He wasn’t able to heal like Dylan – not anymore – so he had to be careful.
“So what brings you to Riverisle?” the Sheriff interrogated. The truth couldn’t come out, but Jono knew the cover story. It was all anybody in that town needed to know.
“It’s an investigative journalist’s dream. There are so many unusual happenings in this town. Missing people, weird animal sightings, loads of unsolved cases. There’s so much to explore. Great place to start our career together. People come to us for answers, after all,” Jono explained. Nothing he said was wrong, but a couple of details had to be downplayed.
“Makes it sound like I’m not doing my job,” the Sheriff shrugged, swerving a thin hanging branch from the biggest tree.
“Not at all. I’ve read many good things about you,” Jono assured. He wasn’t lying; the most reassuring element to Riverisle was how much of a positive impression Sheriff Harding had immediately made, especially towards minority communities.
“Among the racism, no doubt. I know what social media is like,” the Sheriff sighed, letting her guard slip in a moment of vulnerability.
“I’m sorry. I can’t pretend to know how that feels. For me, nothing makes me feel more valid than seeing an openly gay person succeeding. I can imagine young black people in Riverisle look up to you,” Jono knew he couldn’t solve her problem, but he hoped his words could at least provide something positive to remember. That was a quality he’d picked up from Dylan.
“I think you might just be what Riverisle needed,” the Sheriff smiled, briefly looking away from the mission.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Sheriff,” Jono smiled back. Naturally, he and Dylan wanted to create links with notable people in Riverisle, but the Sheriff seemed truly kind. It was a quality more cops needed, Jono thought.
“Please, I’m not your boss. Call me Grace,” she nodded.
“Sure,” Jono noted. If he hadn’t got it already, that was the final seal of approval secured.
In the corner of his eye, Jono spotted the clue he’d been desperate to find. A tiny speck of blood against a tree trunk, its metallic red reflected in the sunlight. It was only a drop, but if Jono’s suspicions were correct, it was just the start.
“What can you see?” Grace queried.
“Blood,” Jono explained, “Look.” He pointed ahead, noticing a further trickle further down the trunk.
“But that doesn’t prove anything, we have video footage to prove he was here,” Grace was confused, but Jono knew what he was doing.
“There should be a trail. Look at how sharp these are,” Jono explained, brushing carefully through the branch barricades to take a closer look, “This isn’t safe. His skin would have been wrecked.”
“Or not,” Grace noted, continuing to inspect the ruffles of leaves from the roadside. She was right; there wasn’t a single other drop. The tiny clearing was lit perfectly by the sun, so Jono could see everything, but there was nothing there. He raised an eyebrow. Grace couldn’t know that it was all the evidence Jono needed. He had to speak to Dylan, and urgently.
Every suspicion he had was confirmed. Dylan knew exactly how to handle the situation, but he had to be careful. He still knew so little about Edmund, but the biggest doubt was no longer there. His eyes told him all he needed to know.
Until then, Dylan had been going in blind. Most of the information he and Jono had been given about Edmund was vague and presumptive, but Dylan had good reason to be wary. Edmund’s foster parents had a reputation, and Dylan couldn’t deny how much it terrified him.
“Get out,” Dylan warned the other lad, who didn’t need to be asked twice as he scuttled out of the toilets. Dylan didn’t know his name, but he couldn’t risk an innocent teenager’s life. Not when he knew what was coming.
It was clear that Edmund had no idea what was happening, though. Dylan remembered those early days so clearly; the disorientation and confusion was at its peak, and for the first time in his life, Dylan craved normality.
“What the hell?” Edmund gasped as he turned to face the mirror, observing a sight that was guaranteed to change his life forever. His eyes were glowing bright yellow, which had become normal to Dylan, but he knew how Edmund must have been feeling. It was unlike anything he’d have ever seen, but it was about to become a permanent fixture of his life. Edmund would never look at his own eyes the same way again.
“You’re changing. Your whole body is shifting. You can feel it, can’t you?” Dylan tried to explain. He had to be gentle.
“Changing into what? That doesn’t make sense,” Edmund grew frustrated, failing to retain any semblance of calm, “And who even are you?”
“My name is Dylan. The rest isn’t important,” Dylan replied, “Right now, Edmund, I need you to look at me.”
“But my eyes,” Edmund’s rage simmered into pure confusion.
“I know,” Dylan spoke softly, “Look at me, Edmund.” Edmund continued to gaze into the mirror, fascinated and freaked out simultaneously. He had no interest in paying attention to Dylan. Why would he? They didn’t know each other. Dylan had to resort to drastic measures.
“Edmund,” Dylan growled. For a split second, Dylan’s humanity faded. The growl came from a part of Dylan he seldom utilised but owed his life to. Without that part of him – the part his humanity was forced to cohabit with – Dylan wouldn’t know who he was.
Without another word, Edmund turned to face Dylan. He looked terrified. Too terrified to ask questions. Dylan hated doing that; it wasn’t the way he did things when he could help it. Building trust wasn’t about asserting authority, it was about a connection, but in his panicked state, that was near impossible with Edmund.
“It’s okay,” Dylan quickly reassured. The last thing he wanted to do was make Edmund even more terrified. Edmund, however, remained silent, “I’m here to help you, but I need you to listen to me.”
“I can’t stay. I need to run. It won’t be far away,” Edmund stressed, “And I don’t know who or what you are, but that’s not me. I’m not you.”
“Please, Edmund. Just listen to me. Five minutes is all I ask,” Dylan pleaded. Edmund was a tough cookie to crack; unsurprising considering his history.
“How do you know my name?” Edmund started to spiral again. Whatever Dylan was doing wasn’t working. He needed a rethink.
“Take this,” Dylan slid a card out of his back pocket. He only ever carried a couple, but with the kind of work he and Jono did, they never knew when they’d be needed, “You’ll need me soon, Edmund, but it has to be on your terms. Come and see me.”
“Why would I need an investigative journalist?” Edmund studied the card, attempting to make sense of it.
“Because we are the same, and I’ve got the answers you need,” Dylan confidently answered as he turned his back to leave. He knew Edmund would come – he was certain – but when he did, Dylan had his work cut out.
Too much was running through Edmund’s head. He didn’t know what was happening or who he could trust any more. Things had gone from crazy to full-on off-the-chart ballistic in the space of a day, and he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust.
After all, he was still the prey, and he hadn’t shaken his predator off his trail just yet. It was far too close behind him for that to be the case. There was no way it was that easy. The word ‘easy’ hadn’t existed in Edmund’s vocabulary for years. All he knew was that staying still too long made him a sitting duck, and Edmund needed to keep running if he wanted to survive.
Whatever help Dylan was offering, Edmund didn’t need it. He’d survived so long on his own. He didn’t even know who Dylan was. Was he telling the truth? How did he know so much? He could have been anyone, and Edmund hadn’t been on the run for so long to just play into his hunter’s hands.
Despite that, Edmund felt trusting of Dylan. The way he commanded Edmund’s attention was something else. The way he spoke. That growl. Edmund couldn’t begin to guess what that sound was, but it worked. It calmed him down. His rage instantly switched off, all because of some growl. Whoever Dylan was, he knew what he was doing.
None of that mattered, anyway. Edmund had already been seen by more people than he wanted. He had to run before anyone else found him. Yet, there he was. Feet firmly planted on the pathway just outside the school. He knew he needed to run, so why wasn’t he doing it? What was keeping him in Riverisle?
The first reason on Edmund’s mind was blatant. All he could picture was Alfie’s adorable innocent face gazing naively at him earlier that day. He was as cute as a puppy, which felt like a stark contrast to whatever Edmund had seen in his own reflection. Edmund’s head was telling him to keep his distance, but his heart couldn’t have disagreed more.
Edmund examined the card he’d kept firmly in his hand. Dylan Chadwick-Drummond’s business card. Investigative journalist. An address. Was this his way out? Between Dylan and Alfie, Edmund felt seen for the first time in a long time. He had to make a decision, and quickly.
Throwing his jacket onto his desk chair, Dylan felt relieved to be home. It had been a hectic day – the most hectic he’d had in Riverisle – and it could easily have been a disaster. It wasn’t easy to make an impact on anyone in a new town. Dylan felt like a nobody all over again.
Despite that, Dylan felt like he’d achieved something that day. The meeting with Sheriff Harding went smoothly, and what happened with Edmund could have fared much worse. Jono always said how much he loved Dylan’s optimism, so Dylan could only look at the positives.
“I was starting to get worried,” Jono smiled, immediately gravitating towards Dylan for a kiss. It was the warmest welcome, and could calm even the greatest anxieties in Dylan’s mind. The effect Jono had on him was unlike anything he knew. Without Jono, Dylan didn’t know who he was.
“Only just starting?” Dylan playfully smirked.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you thinking I don’t believe in you,” Jono wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist, pulling their bodies tightly against each other. Dylan was addicted to the pull of Jono’s gravity; he never wanted to move from that position.
“Boys, your bedroom is literally metres away,” Selena interrupted, the mood killed stone dead. Dylan had momentarily forgotten they were still in the office. It was a sizeable garage conversion at the front of their house, giving enough room for three desks as well as a couple of noticeboards plastered with photos and information. Of all the places to get caried away, it was the worst possible option.
“Sorry,” Jono sheepishly apologised, breaking the connection of their bodies with a disappointed sigh, reciprocated by Dylan. On the bright side, Dylan was certain they’d pick it back up that evening.
“It’s alright, it’s about that time for me to be clocking off anyway,” Selena smiled. She matched their energy perfectly and they’d only known her for a few weeks. Having a secretary took some getting used to, but Selena was perfect, and she knew her stuff when it came to the true nature of their work, too.
“Could have been worse,” Dylan shrugged, “He didn’t attack me. I’ll take that as a win.”
“So where is he now?” Jono wondered.
“I’m not sure, I couldn’t force him to come, but he has our business card. He’ll be in touch, I know it,” Dylan assured.
“I hope you’re right. Sheriff Harding is on his trail,” Jono added.
“I told you, she’s good,” Selena added, throwing her coat on.
“What does she know?” Dylan was confused. Surely she didn’t know everything?
“Nothing specific, but she’s only a few steps behind. One wrong move and she’ll know the secret. Edmund’s secret,” Jono informed.
“My secret,” Dylan realised. There was more at stake than just Edmund.
“But I think she liked us. We’re on first name terms,” Jono mentioned.
“You charmer,” Dylan smirked, their chemistry simmering once again.
“Okay, that is definitely my cue to leave. See you both tomorrow,” Selena chuckled, quickly slipping out of the office.
“Just you and me now, hubby,” Jono inched closer again with a playful look in his eye. It made Dylan’s heart race. He knew what was coming and he could hardly wait. He connected his arms around Jono, weaving through his shiny curls. It was the cosiest feeling.
“All I could ever wish for,” Dylan inched closer, their bodies pressed firmly against each other. It was the only place Dylan felt truly safe. He knew Jono would do everything in his power to protect him.
“Um, sorry boys,” Selena poked her head back around the door, “You’ve got a visitor. It’s urgent.”
The mood had broken again, but Dylan didn’t have time to be disappointed. It was an unusual time to be getting any visitors, particularly considering they didn’t really know anyone in Riverisle.
Together, Dylan and Jono curiously dashed to the front door. Gazing desperately back at them with bags under his eyes was a nervous-looking Edmund. Just as Dylan had anticipated.
“Please, tell me?” Edmund pleaded, exasperated. Dylan focused, matching Edmund’s eye contact. Despite how unnatural it felt for him, Dylan needed Edmund to know he was serious.
“You’re a werewolf,” Dylan answered, keeping a straight, serious face, “Just like me.”
All around her. Everything had descended into chaos. Any hope Grace had of a quiet day at work had vanished the second she arrived. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong hadn’t just gone wrong, it had royally bellyflopped off a cliff.
Grace couldn’t deny how much of a control freak she was at work. She was the youngest sheriff Riverisle had ever seen, and she had a lot to prove. As a result, Grace had every inch of the sheriff station under her control. No piece of paper was out of place, let alone one of her deputies. There was no room for error.
However, with a growing queue of people waiting to report the most menial offences, any impression of a tight ship had set sail long ago, and Grace was treading water, barely afloat.
“Walsh,” Grace summoned.
“Yes, Sheriff,” Walsh gently swung the office door open. Walsh was Grace’s best deputy, and the only one of her employees that was younger than her.
“Could you send the next one in, please?” Grace requested, “And maybe a coffee. My head feels like it’s been hit by a train then flattened by a steamroller. And that’s an understatement.”
“Two sugars?” Walsh checked, her obedience never in question.
“Make it three,” Grace chuckled. She knew that if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. Either way, she had a job to do, whether she wanted to or not.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” the familiar face of James Waldon scowled. Waldon had one of those permanently angry expressions, even when he was being nice. It made sense that he often worked alone; it was for the best that he needed few people skills to be a park ranger.
“Good morning,” Grace kept professional regardless, “How may I help?”
“I know the forest here like the back of my hand. I’ve been out there every single day for the last twenty-five years. Until a couple of weeks ago, I had never had to deal with even a rabid dog, let alone another animal. Never,” Waldon detailed, “Until today. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of mountain lion, perhaps.”
“Well, you are the expert, Mr. Waldon,” Grace remarked. She had little time for animal attacks, as sympathetic as she was towards the cause behind the blatant blood stains on Waldon’s scruffy jeans. It wasn’t her territory. She dealt with humans, nothing else.
“Except, whatever it was, after it came for me, I tried to follow it. It came right for me, so I was going to get it back. It’s what it deserved. Except, it covered its tracks somehow. All that was left was a trail of footprints. Human footprints,” Waldon detailed. He looked unusually shaken for a man who seemed unfazed by anything. He was old-fashioned in every way, but the alpha male was crumbling.
“This is all well and good, Mr. Waldon, and I’m sorry you got hurt, but I’m not sure what you want me to do. Mountain lions are hardly my field,” Grace politely responded, choosing her words extremely carefully.
“Did you not hear me? There were footprints. Someone has been trespassing on my land. That most definitely is your field, Sheriff,” Waldon grew irate.
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” Walsh timidly interrupted. Grace couldn’t have been luckier. Walsh had given her the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Waldon, but we are snowed under. I would be happy to review any evidence if you have something concrete. In the meantime, have a wonderful day,” Grace closed the meeting, standing up at her desk to hint what Waldon also needed to do. Begrudgingly, he pushed himself up and huffed out of the room. Grace breathed an uncontrollable sigh of relief as he faded out of sight, “Thank you for that.”
“Sheriff, there really is an emergency,” Walsh didn’t share that same relief, “Missing teenager, last spotted entering Riverisle town.”
Grace just couldn’t catch a break. Her day was going from bad to worse, but this time, it was serious.
No matter how much Alfie detested school, there was always one saving grace: it had to be better than being at home. It was a seven-hour escape from the shoddy shack he was forced to call home, with nobody but his dad for company, if it could even be called that when he was working half the time and drunk otherwise.
According to his dad, being a Waldon carried high expectations. The family had a reputation across Riverisle, but Alfie found it difficult to see what for. The only legacy his dad would leave behind was one of abuse, alcoholism and hate.
It was a miracle that Alfie knew better than that. The only influence he’d had for much of his life couldn’t be further away from how he approached life. It was far more exhausting to hate someone, so Alfie relished his tolerant and accepting nature. He was proud of who he was, even if the real Alfie could never be on display in his own home.
Therefore, school was like a refuge. Sure, the essays were tough, and the classes were dull, but at least he didn’t have to hide who he was. As he always did when he arrived at school, Alfie’s first port of call was his locker to pick up his pride pin badge. He stored it there overnight – taking it home would be suicide – and proudly fastened it to his bag throughout the day. He had nothing to hide, even from the least tolerant people at school. No-one was worse than his dad.
“Dude, when did you last wash your hair?” Millie enquired, skipping the small-talk and weekend catch-up that neither of them could usually be bothered with anyway. Millie was Alfie’s best – and only – friend at Riverisle High. They had known each other since kindergarten, and they told each other everything. Nothing could break that bond.
“Ten days ago,” Alfie sighed “I’ve rinsed it, but we’re out of shampoo. It’s my dad’s latest tactic to get me to buzz it off, after the cold showers failed.” Both of those schemes were par for the course with James Waldon, and as difficult as it was, Alfie was never going to give in to the manipulation. He wasn’t his dad, and nothing could persuade him to become what his father wanted.
“That’s it, you’re coming round to mine later. You can use as many products as you need,” Millie offered without hesitation.
“Not sure my dad would approve of me getting home late,” Alfie added with a shrug. It wasn’t news to either of them that his father was a grade A douchebag, but that didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.
“Alfie, I’m not taking no for an answer,” Millie insisted, tidying up Alfie’s admittedly already unkept mop. He’d been growing it for a year, and he loved the androgyny that long hair brought his look; it was the perfect contrast to the shadow he was forced to live in.
“Okay, I’ll text dad and say we’ve got a biology project to do,” Alfie caved in. If that was how his dad wanted to play, Alfie had to stand tall and stick to his guns.
“And I’ll tell my mom, in case he calls her again. We’ve both got you covered,” Millie assured. Alfie smiled. There was no better feeling than knowing at least someone had his back, “Come on, we’re late for math, and I desperately need your help.”
“Fine,” Alfie pushed his locker door firmly shut and locked it, but before he could take the key out, he got distracted by something in the corner of his eye. The corridor was almost empty now, save for another lad, surely around his age, but he looked much worse for wear. His clothes were ripped, and his mop of loose curls was all over the place. He looked both ways before dashing into the boys’ toilets. Who was he? Alfie was sure he’d never seen him before, and he clearly wasn’t on his way to class, “I’ll be right there, I just need the bathroom.” Alfie grabbed his keys and quickly slipped into the toilets, away from Millie. Whatever was happening, Alfie couldn’t let someone else suffer in silence.
Few things confused Grace. In her role, she was privy to a lot of information, and even the most shocking things became a weird sort of normal to her. The world was a scary place, but rarely did it baffle her. Everything had an explanation.
Yet, the file in front of her made no sense. Edmund Franklin, a sixteen-year-old boy, had been reported missing by his foster family. His history of running away had been documented – it was hardly surprising that he lacked a sense of belonging when he’d lived with seven different foster families – but the file went blank. A seventh foster home was logged, but no details beyond that. No school, no counselling, not even one social worker report in the six months since Edmund moved in. It wasn’t just weird, it was unrealistic.
Another gentle knock at the door. Walsh with yet another coffee, much to Grace’s delight. Caffeine had been her best friend that day, and the only thing stopping her from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“There are a couple of journalists waiting. What do you want me to do?” Walsh queried. The queue outside had quickly been sifted through, and Grace had been able to delegate and prioritise.
"I have no statement, whatever it's for,” Grace quickly said. The press had no place in her office.
“They’re investigative journalists, they want to speak to you about the missing teenager,” Walsh added. Suddenly, Grace was intrigued. How did any investigative journalist know about this Edmund kid? If nothing else, she wanted to know that.
“Send them in,” Grace allowed. Walsh signalled behind the door before holding it open wider. Moments later, two men walked in, They were dressed somewhat casually, and neither looked much like a typical journalist, not that it mattered to Grace. One led the way; his silky dark curls hung below his shoulders, tucked behind his ears without a single curl out of position. He looked confident and assured, as if he knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there.
The other slipped in behind. His hair was even longer, waving down to his waist, and his demeanour looked much less comfortable, but there was an unmistakable gravitas to him that Grace couldn’t put her finger on. Together, they made quite an impression.
“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Grace stood to greet them and held a firm hand in front, “Sheriff Grace Harding.”
“Hi, thank you,” the first one took the offer of the handshake, “Jono Chadwick-Drummond, and this is my associate and husband Dylan. We’re investigative journalists, and we understand there’s been a report regarding Edmund Franklin going missing.” He handed Grace a small business card which told her exactly what he’d just said. Just as Walsh reported, they knew about the case already, but how? They weren’t police or FBI, unless they were undercover, but that made even less sense. Something wasn’t adding up.
“I’m sure you understand, I’m not able to discuss an ongoing case, but yes, we are investigating the disappearance of a teenager who was spotted arriving in Riverisle,” Grace explained. She was desperate to find out more, but her job came first. She couldn’t break protocol.
“Of course, Sheriff. We were hoping for a collaboration,” Jono continued, “We’ve been following this case for a little while. He went missing two weeks ago in Crystalshaw.”
“My stepfather is Crystalshaw’s sheriff and asked for our help in tracking him down,” Dylan finally spoke up. He made little eye contact, but Grace, for some reason, felt trusting of him.
“Take a seat, please,” Grace gave in. She had no proof that either of them were who they said they were, but there was no reason to doubt them either. If this could help find Edmund, it would be mutually beneficial. They wanted the same thing.
“Thank you,” Jono smiled, both he and Dylan taking the seats on the opposite side of Grace’s perfectly organised desk.
“How much do you know?” Grace enquired. She figured it was best for them to speak first. This was their chance to prove themselves. Grace didn’t want to land herself in it.
“Just the basics. Edmund’s sixteen years old, grown up in the care system, frequent runaway,” Jono listed, just as Grace had already seen in the report, “But his social worker’s not been able to track him down.” Grace sat up. That was a detail she hadn’t uncovered yet, but it went hand-in-hand with the empty file. She had to give them credit; they were already proving themselves.
“Him alone, or the foster parents too?” Grace clarified.
“All of them. Vanished. House abandoned and cleared out, neighbours none the wiser,” Dylan replied, his eyes looking everywhere but towards her when he spoke, with his finger twirling around a mini curl at the tail of his locks.
“But it was the foster parents who reported him missing,” Grace added, proving her commitment to the partnership, “Why would they go into hiding, knowing they’re breaking the terms of their fostering, and still be the first to call the cops?”
A phone buzzed, slicing through Grace’s train of thought.
“Sorry,” Dylan quickly apologised sheepishly, his eyes focused on the screen as he quietly read the message he’d received. He showed it to Jono, his facial expression spelling out how urgent it was, “I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“No, don’t worry. You’ve been so helpful,” Grace shook his hand before Dylan dashed out without uttering any further words. She turned back to Jono, whose eyes followed Dylan until he slipped out of view, “If you need to go too, it’s okay.”
“No, I’m good, but thank you. You said Edmund came to Riverisle. Could you take me to where he was spotted?” Jono questioned. A conversation in her office was one thing, but taking Jono to investigate with her was another. However, Grace had already figured out more with Jono than she ever could have alone. Perhaps protocol could be easily ignored if it resulted in the return of Edmund?
At last, a place he could hide. A place he could keep a low profile. If anything was still following him, there was no way they’d know he was hiding in the toilets. Nobody would ever willingly hide in school toilets. Perhaps this was the diversion he needed? The perfect chance to throw them off his scent.
It wasn’t over yet for Edmund, though. He was in an entirely different county, miles from home, whatever home was to him at that point. Was anyone actually missing him? Edmund doubted it. His foster family was the worst one yet, and it wasn’t like he’d been able to form anything resembling a friendship. He only had himself, and that was the way it had always been.
For now, Edmund needed to clean up. He’d been on the run for two weeks, and pit stops were few and far between. His money supplies were depleting fast, so perhaps a sneaky trip to the school canteen could solve a problem or two while he was there? It was the only option left.
Filling his hands with water, Edmund splashed it across his face. He braced himself for the intense pain of his cuts stinging, but nothing came. Taking a further look in the mirror ahead, Edmund could hardly believe it. Without any dirt to obscure his view, Edmund could get a good look at his face. He remembered the pain of the cuts inflicted by the bushes he’d hidden in, and the scrapes across his cheek when he’d tripped and faceplanted the road. That was only a couple of days ago, so how was his skin looking better than ever, without as much as a scab or scar?
“Um, hi,” a voice startled Edmund from behind. His face still dripping wet, he anxiously spun to face another lad staring at him with a friendly smile. He remained a couple of metres back, but everything about his demeanour said he wasn’t a threat.
“What do you want?” Edmund bluntly said. Friendly or not, he didn’t have time for chit chat. The fact that one person had spotted him was already one too many.
“I’m sorry, I saw you come in and I just wanted to check you’re okay,” he explained calmly, “My name’s Alfie, what’s yours?”
“Were you followed?” Edmund mostly ignored him. It wasn’t that Alfie wasn’t being nice, but small talk and pleasantries were miles down Edmund’s priority list at the best of times.
“Um, no, I don’t think so. The corridor was empty. What’s the matter?” Alfie replied. His smile faded into a look of concern as he evidently realised the seriousness of the situation.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Edmund brushed him off. He didn’t owe an explanation to anyone.
“Try me,” Alfie took a step closer and met Edmund’s gaze directly. Whoever this kid was, he felt genuine.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” Edmund calmed himself a little. Nobody else was around, after all. Alfie seemed truly kind, and so few people ticked that box.
“Okay, I’ll start. I’m going round my friend’s house tonight to use her shampoo because my bald, homophobic ass father thinks not buying it will make me shave my girly hair off,” Alfie explained.
“Shit,” Edmund sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m used to it. It’s not new. I‘m sure you have your own shit too, and you don’t have to tell me, but if you wanted to talk, I promise you can trust me,” Alfie assured. Edmund felt safer than he had in a very long time. Something about Alfie just felt right, and it was more than his adorable smile.
“I could probably do with the shampoo too,” Edmund chuckled, ruffling his messy mop of curls.
“Feel free to come later if you need to. Millie won’t mind. Meet me at the gate?” Alfie offered.
“Okay,” Edmund nodded. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to that, but it felt natural.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
No matter how hard he tried, Edmund couldn’t block out the sound of footprints. Unnaturally loud footprints, like a boot, but they didn’t sound heavy. It was like a normal footprint with the volume at full blast. How was that the case? It wasn’t even coming from the toilets. Either way, they grew closer, and closer.
“Are you okay?” Alfie asked as Edmund raised his hands to his ears, attempting to block out the horrific excess noise.
The door slammed open, the noise almost shattering Edmund’s eardrums. An adult male appeared, his lengthy brown hair cascading most of the way down his back and his body language seemed unsure. Instantly, he raised his hands, as if to prove he wasn’t a threat.
“I think we need to talk,” he said, not moving any closer, “Let’s start with introductions. Hi, I’m Dylan.” Edmund removed his hands from his ears. Somehow, the noise had gone. He felt calmer and safer again. Dylan wasn’t a threat, but who was he?
Forests were the most daunting places. There wasn’t one that didn’t put the frighteners into Jono. It wasn’t an issue with the forests themselves; the beauty of untouched nature was second-to-none, but there were too many hiding places. Too much that couldn’t be seen. Too much space. It was the unknown that terrified Jono, especially with everything he knew.
To Jono’s relief, he didn’t have to tread far into the forest that enclosed the border of Riverisle. Edmund had been caught on the traffic camera by the side of the road. Not much more could be seen, but he wasn’t in a good way. It felt like the best place to start, and there was more to investigate than Sheriff Harding could ever understand.
Nevertheless, Jono and Dylan were both new to Riverisle. It had been less than a month since a number of leads carried them away from the place they met. The place where their friends and family lived. It was a seismic shift, particularly for Dylan. Adapting to change didn’t come naturally to anyone, but especially not to Dylan.
That was why Jono was determined to lay some solid foundations. Dylan deserved the best, and Jono would move mountains for him to be happy and comfortable. Dylan meant everything to him, and Jono’s heart had never felt fuller than in the decade he’d known Dylan.
“He’ll be long gone from here,” Sheriff Harding commented, examining the bushes and branches by the side of the busy highway. It was a stark contrast to the footage Jono had seen, where the night sky obscured much of the view, and the road was entirely empty.
“I know, but every clue helps. These bushes are razor sharp, there is no way he didn’t cut himself in here,” Jono observed, peaking through to avoid breaking his own skin. He wasn’t able to heal like Dylan – not anymore – so he had to be careful.
“So what brings you to Riverisle?” the Sheriff interrogated. The truth couldn’t come out, but Jono knew the cover story. It was all anybody in that town needed to know.
“It’s an investigative journalist’s dream. There are so many unusual happenings in this town. Missing people, weird animal sightings, loads of unsolved cases. There’s so much to explore. Great place to start our career together. People come to us for answers, after all,” Jono explained. Nothing he said was wrong, but a couple of details had to be downplayed.
“Makes it sound like I’m not doing my job,” the Sheriff shrugged, swerving a thin hanging branch from the biggest tree.
“Not at all. I’ve read many good things about you,” Jono assured. He wasn’t lying; the most reassuring element to Riverisle was how much of a positive impression Sheriff Harding had immediately made, especially towards minority communities.
“Among the racism, no doubt. I know what social media is like,” the Sheriff sighed, letting her guard slip in a moment of vulnerability.
“I’m sorry. I can’t pretend to know how that feels. For me, nothing makes me feel more valid than seeing an openly gay person succeeding. I can imagine young black people in Riverisle look up to you,” Jono knew he couldn’t solve her problem, but he hoped his words could at least provide something positive to remember. That was a quality he’d picked up from Dylan.
“I think you might just be what Riverisle needed,” the Sheriff smiled, briefly looking away from the mission.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Sheriff,” Jono smiled back. Naturally, he and Dylan wanted to create links with notable people in Riverisle, but the Sheriff seemed truly kind. It was a quality more cops needed, Jono thought.
“Please, I’m not your boss. Call me Grace,” she nodded.
“Sure,” Jono noted. If he hadn’t got it already, that was the final seal of approval secured.
In the corner of his eye, Jono spotted the clue he’d been desperate to find. A tiny speck of blood against a tree trunk, its metallic red reflected in the sunlight. It was only a drop, but if Jono’s suspicions were correct, it was just the start.
“What can you see?” Grace queried.
“Blood,” Jono explained, “Look.” He pointed ahead, noticing a further trickle further down the trunk.
“But that doesn’t prove anything, we have video footage to prove he was here,” Grace was confused, but Jono knew what he was doing.
“There should be a trail. Look at how sharp these are,” Jono explained, brushing carefully through the branch barricades to take a closer look, “This isn’t safe. His skin would have been wrecked.”
“Or not,” Grace noted, continuing to inspect the ruffles of leaves from the roadside. She was right; there wasn’t a single other drop. The tiny clearing was lit perfectly by the sun, so Jono could see everything, but there was nothing there. He raised an eyebrow. Grace couldn’t know that it was all the evidence Jono needed. He had to speak to Dylan, and urgently.
Every suspicion he had was confirmed. Dylan knew exactly how to handle the situation, but he had to be careful. He still knew so little about Edmund, but the biggest doubt was no longer there. His eyes told him all he needed to know.
Until then, Dylan had been going in blind. Most of the information he and Jono had been given about Edmund was vague and presumptive, but Dylan had good reason to be wary. Edmund’s foster parents had a reputation, and Dylan couldn’t deny how much it terrified him.
“Get out,” Dylan warned the other lad, who didn’t need to be asked twice as he scuttled out of the toilets. Dylan didn’t know his name, but he couldn’t risk an innocent teenager’s life. Not when he knew what was coming.
It was clear that Edmund had no idea what was happening, though. Dylan remembered those early days so clearly; the disorientation and confusion was at its peak, and for the first time in his life, Dylan craved normality.
“What the hell?” Edmund gasped as he turned to face the mirror, observing a sight that was guaranteed to change his life forever. His eyes were glowing bright yellow, which had become normal to Dylan, but he knew how Edmund must have been feeling. It was unlike anything he’d have ever seen, but it was about to become a permanent fixture of his life. Edmund would never look at his own eyes the same way again.
“You’re changing. Your whole body is shifting. You can feel it, can’t you?” Dylan tried to explain. He had to be gentle.
“Changing into what? That doesn’t make sense,” Edmund grew frustrated, failing to retain any semblance of calm, “And who even are you?”
“My name is Dylan. The rest isn’t important,” Dylan replied, “Right now, Edmund, I need you to look at me.”
“But my eyes,” Edmund’s rage simmered into pure confusion.
“I know,” Dylan spoke softly, “Look at me, Edmund.” Edmund continued to gaze into the mirror, fascinated and freaked out simultaneously. He had no interest in paying attention to Dylan. Why would he? They didn’t know each other. Dylan had to resort to drastic measures.
“Edmund,” Dylan growled. For a split second, Dylan’s humanity faded. The growl came from a part of Dylan he seldom utilised but owed his life to. Without that part of him – the part his humanity was forced to cohabit with – Dylan wouldn’t know who he was.
Without another word, Edmund turned to face Dylan. He looked terrified. Too terrified to ask questions. Dylan hated doing that; it wasn’t the way he did things when he could help it. Building trust wasn’t about asserting authority, it was about a connection, but in his panicked state, that was near impossible with Edmund.
“It’s okay,” Dylan quickly reassured. The last thing he wanted to do was make Edmund even more terrified. Edmund, however, remained silent, “I’m here to help you, but I need you to listen to me.”
“I can’t stay. I need to run. It won’t be far away,” Edmund stressed, “And I don’t know who or what you are, but that’s not me. I’m not you.”
“Please, Edmund. Just listen to me. Five minutes is all I ask,” Dylan pleaded. Edmund was a tough cookie to crack; unsurprising considering his history.
“How do you know my name?” Edmund started to spiral again. Whatever Dylan was doing wasn’t working. He needed a rethink.
“Take this,” Dylan slid a card out of his back pocket. He only ever carried a couple, but with the kind of work he and Jono did, they never knew when they’d be needed, “You’ll need me soon, Edmund, but it has to be on your terms. Come and see me.”
“Why would I need an investigative journalist?” Edmund studied the card, attempting to make sense of it.
“Because we are the same, and I’ve got the answers you need,” Dylan confidently answered as he turned his back to leave. He knew Edmund would come – he was certain – but when he did, Dylan had his work cut out.
Too much was running through Edmund’s head. He didn’t know what was happening or who he could trust any more. Things had gone from crazy to full-on off-the-chart ballistic in the space of a day, and he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust.
After all, he was still the prey, and he hadn’t shaken his predator off his trail just yet. It was far too close behind him for that to be the case. There was no way it was that easy. The word ‘easy’ hadn’t existed in Edmund’s vocabulary for years. All he knew was that staying still too long made him a sitting duck, and Edmund needed to keep running if he wanted to survive.
Whatever help Dylan was offering, Edmund didn’t need it. He’d survived so long on his own. He didn’t even know who Dylan was. Was he telling the truth? How did he know so much? He could have been anyone, and Edmund hadn’t been on the run for so long to just play into his hunter’s hands.
Despite that, Edmund felt trusting of Dylan. The way he commanded Edmund’s attention was something else. The way he spoke. That growl. Edmund couldn’t begin to guess what that sound was, but it worked. It calmed him down. His rage instantly switched off, all because of some growl. Whoever Dylan was, he knew what he was doing.
None of that mattered, anyway. Edmund had already been seen by more people than he wanted. He had to run before anyone else found him. Yet, there he was. Feet firmly planted on the pathway just outside the school. He knew he needed to run, so why wasn’t he doing it? What was keeping him in Riverisle?
The first reason on Edmund’s mind was blatant. All he could picture was Alfie’s adorable innocent face gazing naively at him earlier that day. He was as cute as a puppy, which felt like a stark contrast to whatever Edmund had seen in his own reflection. Edmund’s head was telling him to keep his distance, but his heart couldn’t have disagreed more.
Edmund examined the card he’d kept firmly in his hand. Dylan Chadwick-Drummond’s business card. Investigative journalist. An address. Was this his way out? Between Dylan and Alfie, Edmund felt seen for the first time in a long time. He had to make a decision, and quickly.
Throwing his jacket onto his desk chair, Dylan felt relieved to be home. It had been a hectic day – the most hectic he’d had in Riverisle – and it could easily have been a disaster. It wasn’t easy to make an impact on anyone in a new town. Dylan felt like a nobody all over again.
Despite that, Dylan felt like he’d achieved something that day. The meeting with Sheriff Harding went smoothly, and what happened with Edmund could have fared much worse. Jono always said how much he loved Dylan’s optimism, so Dylan could only look at the positives.
“I was starting to get worried,” Jono smiled, immediately gravitating towards Dylan for a kiss. It was the warmest welcome, and could calm even the greatest anxieties in Dylan’s mind. The effect Jono had on him was unlike anything he knew. Without Jono, Dylan didn’t know who he was.
“Only just starting?” Dylan playfully smirked.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you thinking I don’t believe in you,” Jono wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist, pulling their bodies tightly against each other. Dylan was addicted to the pull of Jono’s gravity; he never wanted to move from that position.
“Boys, your bedroom is literally metres away,” Selena interrupted, the mood killed stone dead. Dylan had momentarily forgotten they were still in the office. It was a sizeable garage conversion at the front of their house, giving enough room for three desks as well as a couple of noticeboards plastered with photos and information. Of all the places to get caried away, it was the worst possible option.
“Sorry,” Jono sheepishly apologised, breaking the connection of their bodies with a disappointed sigh, reciprocated by Dylan. On the bright side, Dylan was certain they’d pick it back up that evening.
“It’s alright, it’s about that time for me to be clocking off anyway,” Selena smiled. She matched their energy perfectly and they’d only known her for a few weeks. Having a secretary took some getting used to, but Selena was perfect, and she knew her stuff when it came to the true nature of their work, too.
“Could have been worse,” Dylan shrugged, “He didn’t attack me. I’ll take that as a win.”
“So where is he now?” Jono wondered.
“I’m not sure, I couldn’t force him to come, but he has our business card. He’ll be in touch, I know it,” Dylan assured.
“I hope you’re right. Sheriff Harding is on his trail,” Jono added.
“I told you, she’s good,” Selena added, throwing her coat on.
“What does she know?” Dylan was confused. Surely she didn’t know everything?
“Nothing specific, but she’s only a few steps behind. One wrong move and she’ll know the secret. Edmund’s secret,” Jono informed.
“My secret,” Dylan realised. There was more at stake than just Edmund.
“But I think she liked us. We’re on first name terms,” Jono mentioned.
“You charmer,” Dylan smirked, their chemistry simmering once again.
“Okay, that is definitely my cue to leave. See you both tomorrow,” Selena chuckled, quickly slipping out of the office.
“Just you and me now, hubby,” Jono inched closer again with a playful look in his eye. It made Dylan’s heart race. He knew what was coming and he could hardly wait. He connected his arms around Jono, weaving through his shiny curls. It was the cosiest feeling.
“All I could ever wish for,” Dylan inched closer, their bodies pressed firmly against each other. It was the only place Dylan felt truly safe. He knew Jono would do everything in his power to protect him.
“Um, sorry boys,” Selena poked her head back around the door, “You’ve got a visitor. It’s urgent.”
The mood had broken again, but Dylan didn’t have time to be disappointed. It was an unusual time to be getting any visitors, particularly considering they didn’t really know anyone in Riverisle.
Together, Dylan and Jono curiously dashed to the front door. Gazing desperately back at them with bags under his eyes was a nervous-looking Edmund. Just as Dylan had anticipated.
“Please, tell me?” Edmund pleaded, exasperated. Dylan focused, matching Edmund’s eye contact. Despite how unnatural it felt for him, Dylan needed Edmund to know he was serious.
“You’re a werewolf,” Dylan answered, keeping a straight, serious face, “Just like me.”