Page 26 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

T his whole town now knows my arson theory.

The paper went out first thing this morning, and I’ve been holed up in my room since I woke—the same way I’ve been since I sent the article off to George—afraid to face Mary and Emmett, or anyone else in Ember Grove.

It’s not that I regret what I wrote. It’s more so that in a town like this, I fear they’ll burn me at the stake for even suggesting someone they know could be responsible for the fires.

Truth be told, I’m still a little shocked that George agreed to publish it. I know he said I could write whatever I wanted, but I also know he read it when I sent it to him last week, and I’m not going to lie and say the fact that he didn’t change his mind didn’t surprise me.

At least one person in this town trusts me. And the fact that he went ahead with publishing confirms that he’s not the person responsible in my mind. If it were him, I don’t think he would’ve been on-board with letting the whole town know my theory.

I blow out a breath as my phone dings from its spot beside me on the bed. I pick it up, finding a text from Cassidy sitting on the home screen.

CASS

Hol, this article is badass. No one will be able to ignore your theory now.

My lips twist into a smile. Make that two people.

ME

Thanks, Cass. Hopefully your brother feels the same way.

I know before I even hit send that that’s wishful thinking. If anything, I think this article might make Colson Caldwell trust me less—which is the exact opposite of what I’ve been trying to accomplish. But I couldn’t wait anymore. He wouldn’t listen to me, so I needed to find a way to make him.

My phone dings again.

Haha, yeah. About that…

My brows pull together, and a split second later, as if on cue, I understand what she means.

“What room is she in?” an angry voice bellows in the lobby. I don’t have to question who it is.

I rise from the bed and head for the door. Mary speaks calmly, but she refuses to tell him my room number. I’m sure she’s just as pissed at me, but it gives me some peace of mind knowing that she keeps my location private.

Or tries to, anyway. It won’t stop him from finding me. It’s not like anyone else is staying here, and there are only six rooms.

“I’ll figure it out myself then,” he says, and his footsteps get louder as he approaches.

I smirk. It takes less than ten seconds for the pounding on my door to begin, given that I’m in room one. Still, that was almost too easy.

I hesitate for a moment before opening it.

“I know you’re in there, Rhodes. I can hear you breathing,” the rough voice says from behind the door.

I scoff, swinging it open. “You could not hear me breathing.”

“It got you to let me in though, didn’t it?” He shoves his way inside.

I turn around, letting the door close behind me. “Oh, sure, come on in, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?” I joke, sarcasm laced in my tone.

He holds up the newspaper in his hand. “What the fuck is this?”

“A newspaper?” I state, despite knowing that’s not what he’s asking—he’s just so fun to piss off.

He takes a step toward me, his eyes rolling. “You know damn well I’m not referring to the fucking newspaper. I’m referring to what’s in the fucking newspaper.” He unfolds it and shoves it in my face, showing me the article. “What the fuck is this , Rhodes?”

“It’s an article I wrote.”

“An article you wrote,” he states. It’s not a question.

“Yeah, see.” I point to my name in the by-line. “That’s me. Holland Rhodes.”

“Except that’s not your real name, is it?” he mutters, his jaw flexing. I swear I see smoke coming out of his ears.

I roll my eyes, unafraid of his threats to tell people who I am. If he wanted to, he would’ve by now. Besides, short of the arsonist setting me on fire, there’s not much anyone will be able to do to make me leave. Not at this point in the game.

He continues to stare me down, as if the weight of his gaze will get me to crack. Biting my lip, I try to fight the urge to smile.

I fail.

“You think this is funny?” He takes another step closer.

My expression shifts from humour to frustration. “No, I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. My article was serious. What’s funny is you coming here, into my space, and getting angry with me for writing what everyone else in this town has refused to say. ”

He scoffs. “You can’t be serious with this shit, Rhodes.”

I shrug. “I am. The town needs to be informed of the possibility that someone is setting these fires on purpose.”

“That wasn’t up to you to decide!” His breathing is heavy, the tension between us thick.

“Do you know what kind of chaos this is going to cause? You’re going to create an uproar.

We were trying to keep this under wraps until we knew more.

Until you found actual evidence. This”—he holds the paper up between us—“isn’t going to help. ”

Despite writing in the article that I didn’t want to cause paranoia, I knew exactly what it would do. Maybe I should feel guilty for publishing it anyway, but it was my best chance at finally getting through to people—getting them to take me, this , seriously.

He’s silent for a moment before he adds, “Write a retraction.”

I swipe my tongue over my lips, shaking my head. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why the fuck not? This isn’t helping anything.”

He slams the newspaper down on the bed and then runs a hand through his hair, anxiety flowing off him in waves. His whole body vibrates with frustration and resentment toward me . This article is definitely getting his attention, but it’s also having a worse effect on him than I expected.

It almost makes me feel guilty enough to do what he’s asking, but I also know that it won’t do anybody any good, even if he thinks it would.

“It’s all speculation at this point anyway,” Colson continues. “My arguments that they could be coincidental still stand. You don’t have any real proof, so why would you go out of your way to create panic based on a theory ?”

I open my mouth to tell him that Dom and I found two more candle wick tabs at the scene of fire number six, but he cuts me off before I have a chance.

“I’ve heard enough of it to believe that you are onto something, but without evidence, we can’t prove anything. As it stands, all this article does is show me that you’re here to benefit yourself like I’ve assumed all along. If you really wanted to help the town, you wouldn’t have published this.”

I flinch as his words land. Maybe he’s right. But I can’t take it back now, and I still stand by the fact that this article will get people’s attention.

“I may have come to escape some things, but I chose Ember Grove for a reason. What’s going on here isn’t normal.

You can continue to deny it all you want, but regardless of whether I was out of line publishing this article or not doesn’t change the fact that this is arson.

And I’m not going to stop until I find out who’s doing it. ”

I grab my files about the investigation off the bedside table, then make my way back over to where Colson stands and hand them to him.

“Please just take a look at these, and talk to Dom. I know you don’t trust me, but separate me from the investigation and then tell me you still don’t think there’s an arsonist.”

His jaw clenches, but he takes the files anyway.

I let out a sigh and then add, “I’m sorry if the article causes problems for you.

I know it was risky, but it was a risk I was willing to take if it meant finally getting the town to listen to me.

And despite what you say, it will do that.

I can tell you with the utmost confidence that I’m not the only person who believes this to be arson, and I think this will make other people question it too. ”

“It could also scare whoever the hell you think it is into hiding.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “I considered that possibility, but between the email I got and the threatening note on my car, I have a feeling the arsonist is only going to get bolder.”

“Wait, what email?” Colson asks, his tone shifting from furious to curious.

Shit . I’d forgotten I never showed that to him.

I grab my phone off the bed and navigate to my email trash, finding the message that was sent a few weeks ago. I open it then hold my phone out for him to read.

“‘I’m watching you,’” he states, repeating the subject line of the email. His eyes shift to the date of the email. “You got this right after you arrived. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Like you would’ve cared,” I snap. His shoulders fall, my words hitting exactly as I intended them to.

We both know he wouldn’t have given the email a second thought had I brought it to him immediately, but that doesn’t stop me from adding, “Besides, I didn’t think much of it at the time.

I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it, but it seems too coincidental for it to be spam like I initially assumed. ”

Colson swallows and nods, keeping his eyes on the screen for a moment as if deciding whether this makes him trust me more or not.

After a beat, he finally says, “Looks like publishing that article was dumb in more ways than one. If this is an arsonist, you have a serious target on your back.”

I scoff. “Trust me, I know.”

And the article is only going to make it bigger.