Chapter 6
Nathan sat across from Elijah Moore in a cold, windowless interview room in the Hollow Creek youth detention center. The boy looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad—immaculate skin, expensive clothes, hair too perfectly cut to match the orange jumpsuit. But there was something off in his posture, something jagged just beneath the calm.
Elijah leaned back in the metal chair like it bored him.
“So,” Nathan started, setting down his recorder. “You know why I’m here?”
“You’re the lawyer,” Elijah said.
“You know I’m representing you now?”
“That’s what my mother said. I didn’t have a choice.”
Nathan folded his hands. “You always have a choice.”
“Not in Hollow Creek.”
Nathan raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting thing to say for someone who’s been given every choice his whole life.”
Elijah gave a slow, thin smile. “That’s what people think. But they don’t know what it’s like to grow up being watched.”
“Watched?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Elijah tapped the table. Once. Twice. Then looked Nathan square in the eye.
“Have you ever felt like your thoughts weren’t yours?”
Nathan didn’t answer.
“Like something was listening inside your head,” Elijah continued. “But not with ears. Not with sound. Just… watching. Waiting.”
Nathan leaned forward. “Tell me about the night your father died.”
Elijah went still.
Silence stretched.
Then he whispered, “I don’t remember much. Just flashes.”
“What kind of flashes?”
“Greenhouse lights. My father yelling. Blood. Screams—mine or his, I don’t know. Then silence.”
Nathan studied him. “Did you kill your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said that already.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
Nathan tapped his pen. “Then tell me what you do know.”
Elijah looked down at his hands.
“My father was a part of something. So was the sheriff. So were others. They called themselves the Circle. The Rebirth Circle.”
“What is it?”
“A club. A cult. I don’t know. But they used to meet in the woods, near the old stone ring. My dad took me once.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “He took you where?”
“To the woods,” Elijah said, barely audible now. “There were torches. Masks. They spoke a language I didn’t know. He said it was tradition.”
“What did he make you do?”
Elijah’s jaw clenched.
“He made me stand in the center. They surrounded me. He said I had to earn the right to be chosen. I didn’t understand what that meant. But they made me kneel. One of them poured something on my head. I don’t know what it was. It burned.”
Nathan’s stomach turned. “How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?”
Elijah laughed, but it was dry, bitter. “Tell who? My mother was asleep. The sheriff was part of it. Everyone else would’ve said I was imagining things.”
Nathan shifted forward. “You mentioned voices. What do they say?”
“They don’t speak in words. Not always. Sometimes it’s just images. Fire. Blood. Sometimes I see them in my dreams. Faces with no eyes. They call to me.”
“Call you to do what?”
“I don’t know.”
Nathan paused. “Are you afraid of them?”
Elijah looked away. “I used to be. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think I belong to them now.”
Nathan went quiet.
Then he asked, carefully, “Are you trying to scare me?”
“No,” Elijah said, softly. “I’m trying to prepare you.”
“For what?”
“For what’s coming.”
They stared at each other.
Then Elijah added, “You think this is about my dad? Or Jace? Or even your brother?”
Nathan’s shoulders stiffened. “What do you know about my brother?”
“I know he tried to stop them. And I know they stopped him first.”
Nathan stood slowly. “You better start giving me names, Elijah.”
But Elijah just leaned back and smiled again.
“They already know you’re here, Mr. Rourke. And they don’t like it.”
Nathan grabbed his files and shut off the recorder.
“Then let’s make sure they know I’m not going anywhere.”
As he turned to leave, Elijah said one last thing.
“They chose me once. But they need someone new now. Someone younger.”
Nathan’s hand froze on the door.
“Who?”
Elijah stared at him, deadpan.
“Jace.”
