Page 23 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

T he car ride home is quiet. The air between Damien and me feels thick, like it’s pressing down on my body, making it hard to breathe.

I lean back in the seat of his sleek car, my gaze fixed out the window as the towering trees of Blackthorn Manor fade into the distance.

Lucien’s words echo in my head, feeling more than a bit sinister.

My conversation with Damien’s brother didn’t go at all like I’d expected.

He’d been far more open about the Blackhollow family and their ties to the occult than I’d thought he’d be.

I doubted Damien would be happy knowing everything Lucien had shared with me.

And that last parting shot, the way Lucien’s eyes had glinted when he’d asked me about my father and alluded to Damien keeping some dark secret from me.

Though Damien had warned me to be careful, that Lucien could be manipulative, something tells me Lucien didn’t just throw that out to mess with my head. It felt truthful. Real.

Lucien knows something about the Veil and my dad. I’m certain of it.

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the car window, trying to make sense of it all. How could my father be connected to this? He was only an employee at Blackhollow Industries. He wasn’t even an executive— just an IT guy.

When I glance over at Damien, he’s busy responding to emails on his phone. His jaw is set, dark eyes staring ahead, hands resting casually on his lap. He hasn’t said much since we left Blackthorn Manor. He looks completely normal, like a man who has nothing to hide.

“James?” He notices me staring. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking,” I say.

“You were with my brother longer than I expected.”

“It was less than an hour.”

“That’s a lifetime for Lucien. He’s usually very abrupt with people.” He lifts a brow. “You must’ve charmed him.”

“Hardly.”

“Just remember, Lucien is not someone you want to get involved with.” Damien shifts in his seat, angling his body toward me. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Learn anything interesting?”

I can tell by the look on his face he knows something’s off, but I’m not ready to talk about what I’ve learned. Not yet anyway.

“Maybe.”

“So I was thinking,” he says after a moment, “as long as you’re still here in Salem’s Fall, we should grab lunch. There’s this charming little place?—”

“Thanks, but I need to work.”

The words come out harsher than I mean them to. There’s a pause, a stretch of silence that feels like it’s going to snap any second. His body stiffens slightly, jaw clenching. I can tell he’s not used to being turned down.

“You need to take care of yourself, James. You’ve been pushing too hard.”

I study him, my eyes narrowing. “Is that concern for my well-being? Or your case?”

He holds my gaze. “Both.”

I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to say something further, but I don’t want to tell him what I’ve learned yet. I don’t know who or what to trust.

The moment the car pulls up to the Cottage, I grab my bag and bolt. “See you later,” I say over my shoulder, already rushing for the entrance.

“James, wait—” he calls after me, but I don’t look back.

I spend the rest of the day in my room with Lucky and room service, watching old sitcoms on TV while drafting discovery motions for Quinn to review and updating my case memo with notes from my interview with Lucien.

I leave out one important detail about our meeting—I don’t include the part about my dad.

Ethically, I’m crossing a line by not including it.

The information pertains to our case, and it’s my professional responsibility to disclose it, but my gut tells me this isn’t something I should share yet with anyone. Not even Quinn.

If I’m being brutally honest, it’s not just the impact this information could have on my family, but I’m also worried about the impact it could have on my career.

If there’s a real conflict here, Quinn will have to take me off the case.

Maybe I didn’t want to be on the case in the beginning when things looked bad, but after all the progress I’ve made, I’ll be damned if anyone sidelines me now.

What I need to do is get to the bottom of things with my father first. Then I can decide my next steps.

The very next morning, I begin the short drive to Massachusetts Correctional Institution—the medium-security prison where my dad is incarcerated, about twenty miles away.

It goes by in a blur. Before I know it, I’m stepping inside the familiar prison walls where I’ve spent so much time these past few years, shivering, rubbing my hands together to warm myself up. It’s always freezing here.

I square my shoulders as a guard leads me toward the visiting room, trying not to gag at the strong smell of disinfectant, sweat, and something stale.

The walls around me are painted in a bland, institutional beige, designed to drain the life out of the place and the people inside.

My footsteps echo down the hallway, each step a reminder of the reality I’m about to face—my father, behind glass, a man whose life was stolen from him years ago.

He’s been in this place for nine years now, almost a decade.

His life reduced to four walls, a narrow bed, and whatever peace of mind he can carve out of this cold, dead environment.

As I step inside the visitor’s area, my stomach churns with a mix of sorrow and a bit of anger.

Rows of small plastic chairs line the wall in front of thick, bulletproof-glass partitions.

Each station is its own isolated world. Behind those partitions sit men who have been locked away, some of them for good reason.

Others, like my father, for reasons that are less clear.

I take a seat at the booth labeled “Thomas Woodsen.” My fingers smooth the wrinkles in my blazer as I wait.

The ticking of a clock on the far wall is too loud, too persistent, like it’s counting down to something inevitable.

Around the room, other visitors are talking to their loved ones through the glass, their voices muffled by the barrier.

An elderly woman leans in close to the partition as she speaks to a man on the other side.

Her expression is unmistakable—grief. Loss.

The door creaks open behind the glass, and my breath catches in my throat. Every time I see my dad, it’s like being hit by a freight train all over again. Guilt rushes through me as I take in his salt-and-pepper hair, almost entirely gray now. He looks older than I remember.

I try to come as often as I can, but I’ve been so busy at work.

His once-vibrant pale blue eyes are duller, wearier, though they light up when they see me.

He’s still in good shape, trim and muscular, but the hard lines on his face tell me prison life has taken a toll on him in ways I can’t begin to comprehend.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, his voice warm. “It’s great to see you.” He smiles as he sits down, a sad, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I notice the way his thumb rubs over the spot where his wedding ring used to be—a habit I’ve seen a million times before.

“Hi, Daddy,” I say, my voice cracking.

“James?” His expression instantly tightens with concern. “Everything okay? Is it Madison? Are you in trouble at work again?”

Dad knows all about my last screwup at the office.

I email him often using the prison’s monitored email system, updating him on my life and job, even Maddie.

My little sister refuses to talk to him herself.

She still blames him for Mom’s death, no matter how many times I’ve tried to tell her I know he’s innocent.

“No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine.” I shake my head. “But I need to talk to you. It does involve work, I guess. It’s… complicated.”

He straightens a bit, his expression growing more serious. When my dad looks at me, I always know I’m getting his full attention, that nothing else matters in the world more than what I have to say. Dad has always been the best listener I know.

“Tell me everything, kiddo. What’s going on?”

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. How do I even start a conversation like this?

“I’m on a new case at work. A new client,” I say. “It’s Damien Blackhollow.”

The name hangs between us like a loaded gun. I watch as his grip tightens on the edge of the table, his thumb stilling over the place where his wedding ring used to sit.

“I don’t understand,” he says, his voice suddenly suspicious. “You’re brand new at the firm and Blackhollow—he’s an important man. Why you?”

“I’m not sure, but Damien sort of asked for me specifically.

Threatened to pull his business if I wasn’t on the team.

” I pause. When I say it out loud, it does sound more than a little strange that Damien would care so much about having someone like me involved in his case.

“Listen, Dad. The point is that Damien is accused of murdering his fiancée, and there are a lot of similarities between his case and yours. His fiancée was stabbed multiple times, like Mom. The knife used is similar. And there were strange symbols carved into the walls and, um, the body… like Mom.” I clear my throat nervously.

I’ve never asked many questions about Mom’s murder before, but I have to now.

“Dad, I need to know what really happened. I need to know the truth about Mom’s murder. ”

He’s quiet, his gaze locked on the glass between us. I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flex and tighten.

“The truth…” he echoes softly, talking to himself.

“Please, Dad. You have to tell me.”

His eyes snap back to mine, and I see something raw and broken flash across his face. He blinks it away quickly, but I saw it, and he knows I saw it.

“I didn’t kill her, James,” he says, his voice low and filled with pain.

“I know,” I whisper, but the words feel fragile, like they could shatter at any moment. “But I need to understand what happened. I need to know what you got involved with.”

“You shouldn’t be anywhere near that man—that family.” He slumps back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if trying to fend off a headache. “I didn’t want you to get dragged into this. I wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

His eyes meet mine again.

“The Order of the Veil. ”

My pulse hammers in my ears as the world shifts and reality drops away.

“What do you know about the Veil, Dad?”

He sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I first came across the Veil when I was working for Blackhollow Industries. You remember, I did IT for the company, right?”

I nod.

“I found some private files hidden away in a folder on Ian Blackhollow’s email server,” he continues.

“I know I shouldn’t have snooped, but what I saw…

I couldn’t stop myself once I started reading.

” He swallows hard, his skinny Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“It was so shocking. Documents detailing rituals, sacrifices, power… It sounded like nonsense at first, but the more I dug, the more I realized it wasn’t. It was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls to the floor, and he presses his palms flat against the table, like it’s the only thing still tethering him to this world.

“I… I went to Mr. Blackhollow—to Ian.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “Oh, Dad. What did you do?”

“I thought—God, I thought it would help,” he says. “All I wanted was to give you and Madison and your mother the life you all deserved.”

“What do you mean? We had a great life.”

“We never had enough!” he snaps. “No matter how hard I worked or how much I tried to save, it was never enough! We were always living paycheck to paycheck. I wanted more for you.”

The look on his face breaks my heart.

“Dad?”

“They called it the Blood Rite. A sacrifice to fulfill my end of the bargain.” He closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I was ready to die that night. I thought I was giving my life for you girls and your mom. But something went wrong. It wasn’t working.

” His voice begins to shake. “The knife wouldn’t let me. It just… wouldn’t.

“And then your mother—” He grips the table, his knuckles going white. “She stepped forward. It was like she understood something I didn’t. She told them she would be the sacrifice?—”

A cold chill spreads through me. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Dad, no… How could you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he cries, shaking his head furiously.

“I wouldn’t do it, James! I wouldn’t take her life!

” His breath shudders, his shoulders sagging like the weight of that moment is still crushing him.

“But the knife—the Veil—didn’t care. I tried everything I could to stop it.

But it was too late. They took her anyway. ”

The room spins, tilting dangerously, like the ground beneath me is no longer solid. A cold, sharp pressure clamps around my chest, and suddenly, I can’t seem to pull in enough air. My mother is dead because of some twisted, fucked-up ritual my dad and Damien’s father agreed to.

I blink at him, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to know what I’d done,” he says, his voice breaking. “I lost your mother and then your sister. Madison… she wouldn’t even look at me after what happened. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you too, James.”

“But what about your attorney?” My pulse pounds in my ears, my vision narrowing. “Why didn’t he bring this up at the trial? Why didn’t he say anything about the Veil?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Say what? That the Blackhollows—the wealthiest, most powerful family in New England—are part of some secret evil cult? Practicing witchcraft and sacrificing your mother in some gory ritual gone awry?”

“You could’ve done something,” I say, my voice wavering between accusation and desperation. “You could’ve fought back, tried to expose them.”

“Expose the Blackhollow family ? They would have crushed me and then gone after you and your sister for revenge.” He shakes his head, a resigned look in his eyes. “No, staying quiet was the only way to keep you safe.”

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. A mix of fury and sadness roils inside me.

“You should have told me. I deserved to know the truth.”

“You’re right,” he says, his face etched with regret. “I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

I stand, my legs trembling as his terrible confession sinks in. I can barely bring myself to look at him.

“I have to go.”

“Kiddo, wait,” he pleads, but I’m already backing away, my heart shattered.

Without another word, I turn and make my way out of the prison, the weight of my father’s words hanging over me like a death sentence. For the first time in years, I feel completely lost. Everything I believed about my family, about my father, was a lie. And Damien…

Damien knew the truth this whole time.