Armed with a fully belly and a clear mind, Boo dials up the local news station. The automated answering service runs through a list of options to choose from: "Press one for today's weather report. Press two for information on local upcoming events. Press three for our anonymous tipline. All other calls, please stay on the line and you will be transferred to a representative."

Boo punches the three button and waits anxiously as the line begins to ring. Soon she's met with another pre-recorded message.

"Hello, welcome to the JCTV anonymous tipline. If this is an emergency, or you are in immediate danger, please hang up and dial emergency services."

Boo rolls her eyes as the rest of the message plays. Her heart skips a beat as a loud dial tone sounds, indicating she's reached the voicemail box. She clears her throat and does her best to disguise the normal tone of her voice.

"Uh, hello, I'm calling because . . . I'm suspicious about the woman who died, the sister of that missing guy. I think it's too much of a coincidence. I suggest you guys look more into that story and see if you can get the nine-one-one call released. The public needs to be more informed about what happens in our town."

She cringes internally before hanging up abruptly. Hopefully she sounded paranoid enough to stir the new station's interest enough that they'll hound the police department for the call transcript and save Boo the trouble of doing so. Following her phone call, she plants her butt on the sofa and spends the rest of the evening conducting research.

"how to cover up a murder"

"how to fake a heart attack"

"weird accidental deaths"

"causes of heart attacks"

"signs of murder in autopsy"

What an awkward conversation it'd be if someone saw this.

Everything seems to be pointing to the same general answer: the most effective way to fake a heart attack is poison. Boo's eyes rake over dozens of websites and images, filling her mind with line after line of knowledge on different poisons, their effects, and how traceable they are.

Her own heart nearly stops beating as she stumbles across an image of a familiar purple flower. The description underneath the picture reads "Aconite-Queen of Poisons". Itching with curiosity, she clicks on the hyperlink below the picture and is immediately directed to a series of articles. She scrolls through the first one, her eyes going wide as she reads.

"Also known as Monkshood, the poison is volatile and extremely difficult to detect postmortem unless certain tests are run. The poison can interact with voltage-dependent sodium channels, which are proteins present in the membranes of cardiac and neural cells. This interaction keeps the channels 'open', allowing sodium to flow freely inside the cell. As a result, the cardiac cells cannot repolarize, eventually leading to cardiac arrest."

She moves to the second article. "Death usually occurs within two to six hours of receiving a fatal dose. The main causes of death are ventricular arrhythmias and asystole, or paralysis of the heart and respiratory centers. The only postmortem signs are those of asphyxia."

Boo feels her mouth run dry. She reads the last line again, feeling the words run through her with the force of a train.

"The only postmortem signs are those of asphyxia."

She swallows hard, realizing the depth of what she's just read. If Aconite was used to cause Hazel's heart attack, her death would've been slow and grueling. She would suffer through a plethora of nasty symptoms before her heart either gave out, or she suffocated from the lack of oxygen. Even with an autopsy, it would be almost incapable of showing her death as anything but accidental unless they knew what to look for-like trying to find one specific needle in a stack of needles.

Her gaze goes back to the picture. Her brows knit in concentration; she knows she's seen that particular plant before, she just can't remember where. Feeling the itch of restlessness start to creep up, she abandons her computer and snatches up her car keys instead.

« • »

Despite driving around dozens of streets and studying multiple front gardens across the town, Boo efforts to find the aconite are sorely unsuccessful. Time winds on fruitlessly and the sun begins to set, casting gold paint strokes of light across the empty street while the air around her takes on the sting of a cool night. Her stomach begins to twist in dread and she decides to abandon her search for the warm safety of home.

When the sun finally dips beneath the horizon, Boo signals defeat and crawls under the covers, fighting back exhausted tears. Despite the fatigue in her bones, sleep won't come. She lays in bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling for over an hour, unable to quell the knotting in her stomach or the way her mind whirs at a hundred miles an hour. Worst of all, she knows Harry won't pick up the phone if she were to call. She hates arguing; hates knowing he's mad at her.

I'll try again in the morning, she promises herself. We're both adults, we can solve this. Just a misunderstanding. He's scared and so am I.

Having done her best to placate her worry, she flops onto her side and pulls the covers over her head, blocking out the gentle sound of the television in her room and bathing her vision in darkness. Her eyes squeeze shut and she inhales warm air.

"Sleep," she groans, as if her unconscious could be turned on by a simple command. She exhales and inhales once more, feeling her lungs begin to ache at the stretch. "Sleep."

Her eyes are starting to sting when she blinks; she's been awake for too long. An obnoxious yawn escapes her lips before her body finally recognizes that rest is the answer. Her eyelids flutter shut and her breathing slows.

But any chance of a peaceful night is chased away by the distant, gut-twisting sound of glass shattering.

Every muscle clenches and her breath halts in her throat as the sound hits her ears, easily heard throughout her quiet apartment. At first some silly part of her thinks that maybe it was just the wind, or perhaps a stray branch breaking a window, but then she again hears the gentle tinkling of glass hitting the floor and she knows something more sinister is happening.

Holy shit, someone is breaking in. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Boo hesitates under the covers for a split second, desperately wondering what to do while time races on around her.

A heavy thud from the living room spurs her to action. In a moment's notice, she's out of bed and creeping towards her closed bedroom door, terrified of drawing the attention of her intruder. Whoever's in the house hasn't reached her room yet, but surely they must know she's home. Her car is parked out front. Boo swallows the knot in her throat, trying not to think about what brazen kind of thief breaks in when they know someone is home.

Maybe it's more than a thief.

Boo hears muted thumping noises from the hall, and then the living room light suddenly flickers on. Light floods under her door and she has to suppress the gasp that bubbles up. Fueled by a surge of fear and adrenaline, she carefully reaches under her bed and fishes out the hammer she keeps hidden for protection. She turns the handle over in her hand, adjusting to the foreign weight before she dares to crack open the door.

One eye peeks out of the slit between the door and the doorway as her temple rests on the wood. She can see a blurred shadow moving across the carpet before a Hulk of a man crosses her vision, and the hairs on the back of her neck are immediately drawn to attention.

He doesn't see her, but she's seen enough of him: dressed in all black from head to toe, wearing black gloves, and a balaclava. His shadow disappears for a moment before he crosses the room again, this time holding a messy bundle of papers.

What is he looking for?

Boo doesn't give herself a moment to wonder; time is precious, and hers is spiraling away like the last breath of life. She slinks into the hallway and flattens her back against the wall, slowly making her way towards the living room while carefully dancing around the edge of light on the floor. The hammer stays close to her chest, holding her to the ground like a lifeline. She stops just shy of the doorway and squeezes the handle one more time, just waiting for the right time to strike.

Her heart is in her throat; her pulse beats hot and heavy in her veins. It's a wonder her unwelcome guest can't hear her terrified breathing.

From her hiding spot, Boo can see partially into her living room and is shocked to see the state of disarray it's been left in. Every nook and cranny seems to have been searched in mere seconds; books lay open on the carpet, the couch cushions are all upturned, her table lamp is knocked over onto one side, and several of Martha's smaller trinkets and storage boxes are strewn haphazardly across the ground.

Whatever he's looking for must be deathly important.

Suddenly the intruder crosses the room again and Boo seizes her moment. She springs out of the hallway, swinging the hammer through the air with as much force as she can manage. The burglar only has a split second to see her before the hammer collides with his temple and cheekbone. His head jerks to one side and his body quickly follows as he stumbles back, completely thrown into a state of shock. He bellows in pain and the papers in his hand scatter like leaves on an errant breeze. She catches a brief glimpse of the writing and is startled to recognize her handwritten notes from her interviews with Hazel's neighbors.

Powered by another surge of adrenaline, Boo advances on him, moving the hammer to her right hand and preparing to swing again. But to her surprise, the intruder doesn't fight back. He merely scrambles out of the broken window and melts into the black night.

« • »

"Did you get a good look at his face?"

After fighting off her intruder, Boo had called nine-one-one and officers arrived within minutes. Those four minutes waiting for the police had been agony; she stood alone in the living room, surveying the chaos around her and fighting back terrified tears. Only when she saw a glimpse of police lights on her doorstep did she think to gather up her interview notes and hide them away for safekeeping.

"No," she answers quietly, chewing on her bottom lip. "He was wearing all black and had on gloves."

"But you think it was a man?" the officer asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I . . . yes. I don't really know," Boo admits with a defeated sigh. "He was wearing a ski mask too. But he was really tall, like over six foot, so I just assumed it was a man."

The officer nods and scribbles something into his notepad. Boo sneaks a peek at his gold-plated name tag: A. Reynolds.

"Are you new here?" she asks, maybe a little too boldly.

The officer glances at her momentarily before nodding and returning to his notepad. "Yeah, just graduated from the academy a couple weeks ago. I was in Harrisford but they requested backup for the evening, so here I am." He gives her a small, genuine smile and Boo has to suppress the tired groan that rises up in her throat.

Of course he's new, he's treating her like a normal human being. No Jack Creek officer would've bothered to show up that quickly.

Then the other half of his sentence sinks in. "Backup? Why'd they need backup?"

Reynolds purses his lips and Boo figures she's crossed an unspoken line. "Sorry, just curious."

He nods politely and rubs his chin in thought. "Just a few more questions. Did you see the intruder take anything?"

Boo shakes her head and absently gestures around the ransacked room. "He was going through a few drawers but I don't think he actually left with anything."

"Do you know what he was looking for?" Reynolds asks, his hazel eyes carefully searching Boo's.

She chews on the inside of her cheek and glumly shakes her head. "Wish I did. I hit him in the face with a hammer before he could find what he wanted."

The officer's face contorts in surprise before a hint of a smile appears. "You hit him in the face with a hammer?" he repeats incredulously.

Boo nods proudly, turning to fetch her lifesaver from where she'd laid it on the kitchen counter. She hands it to him with a grimace. "Maybe you can get something useful from it."

He licks his lips before turning to his partner and requesting an evidence bag. Boo's stomach plummets to her knees when she realizes who his partner is-none other than Detective Loughton.

A sneer curls across his upper lip as he approaches Reynolds with the opened bag. "Good to see you again, Miss Taylor." His voice drips with acidity, and even Reynolds seems to notice the abrupt tension.

"Wish it were under better circumstances," is all Boo says. She drops the hammer into the evidence bag and Loughton seals it, somewhat begrudgingly. He turns and stalks away without another word, leaving Boo to finish her interview with Reynolds.

"Anything else you want to disclose?" he asks.

"Not that I can think of," Boo answers.

"Do you have any idea who would want to do this?"

Boo bites her tongue as her mind runs through a lottery list of individuals: Lori, Nathaniel, even Loughton or Janet or Calum. She shakes her head after a moment. "No. Can I have a business card for you or something? I'll call if anything else comes up."

Reynolds nods graciously and fishes a card from his pocket. He scribbles down a number before handing her the card. "There's my work line in Harrisford, but my cell is-"

"Melita!" Her name, wrapped in desperation, is enough to tear her attention away from the officer. They both turn to see Harry rushing in through her open front door before he freezes, his face draped in horror as he takes in the scene around him.

"Jesus, Lita, what the hell happened?" he mumbles, his eyes flickering up to meet her gaze.

"Harry," she states bluntly, totally thrown off by his presence. "What are you doing here?"

"Sir, you can't be here," Reynolds says, cutting in. "This is a closed scene."

Loughton, remarkably enough, seems to also have some unspoken vendetta against Harry because his jaw visibly tightens upon seeing him in the doorway. He marches over, one hand landing on his holstered gun, a move which makes Boo's anxiety immediately spike. He mutters something inaudible to Harry before jabbing his finger into Harry's chest.

The suspicions that arose when Boo saw Harry arrested resurface once more. He and Loughton clearly know each other, but how?

Even more odd is the way Harry remains completely undisturbed as he takes in Loughton's harsh words. Reynolds continues to speak to Boo but she can't hear him as she's too distracted by the scene in her doorway.

Finally, Loughton pushes past Harry and disappears outside. Harry glances over at Boo before calmly saying, "I'll be waiting outside."

Part of her wants to tell him not to go out there alone with Loughton lurking nearby, but she merely nods and watches him go with a knot in her stomach.

"Anyhow," Reynolds continues, drawing Boo's attention back to him. "My line in Harrisford is on there but I've written down my cell too. If you think of anything, don't hesitate to tell me."

"But you're with the Harrisford department," Boo says in confusion. "This isn't your jurisdiction when you go back, right?"

Reynolds' eyes gaze down at Boo with a kindness she hasn't seen from an officer in a long time. "I don't care, I want to help. Clearly the cops in this town are . . ." He trails off, glancing behind him at the door where Loughton passed through. " . . . less than reliable. But I'm on your side. Whatever you need, just call."

Boo smiles softly and holds his card tightly in her hands. "What do I do about the mess?"

"We've roped off the apartment for the night. A CSU team should be here any minute to start processing the scene and collecting evidence. For tonight, I'd suggest you stay elsewhere."

Right on cue, several people in navy blue jackets march up the front steps and fan out around the living room, already getting to work. Boo nods, hoping Harry will oblige her given the current situation. "Thank you, Officer Reynolds."

"Call me Ashton," he says with a charming smile. Boo feels her knees tremble as it dawns on her that he may be flirting with her.

"Uh, then you can call me Boo," she answers somewhat awkwardly, suddenly unable to find her voice. "Everyone does."

Ashton's smile gets a little wider and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks genuinely pleased with this. "Alright, Boo, stay safe tonight, okay?"

She nods shyly, biting back a small smile as Ashton finally turns and lopes out of her apartment. She presses his card to her chest, feeling momentarily gleeful before the wreckage around her pulls her back to reality.

When she steps outside, she sees Harry leaning against the porch railing while Ashton is climbing into the driver's side of a Jack Creek squad car. The CSU van is parked behind the cop car; Harrisford Police Dept. is written on the side of the van in yellow lettering. Ashton turns the police lights off and the cruiser pulls away altogether. Boo peers at Harry's black car parked haphazardly in the lip of her driveway and she knows he must've run inside in a hurry.

She tentatively leans against the rail beside him and slides Ashton's card into her pocket so Harry won't see. Unable to look him in the face, she keeps her eyes on the yellow police tape fluttering in the slight breeze.

"Thank you for being here," she says quietly, her voice floating through the warm summer air. "I don't know why you are but thank you."

"I just have great timing," he murmurs teasingly. She glances over to find him smirking at her.

"Seriously, how did you know I needed you?" she asks in slight awe.

"I didn't," he answers honestly. "I couldn't sleep so I was driving around, trying to think about what I'd say to you if I had the chance, and I just turned onto your street without thinking. I panicked when I saw the cop car, I thought something had happened to you."

His hand slides over hers and squeezes firmly. "After what happened to Hazel, I was scared you were next. And suddenly, all I could think about was how the last conversation we had was a fight because I didn't believe you."

Boo's heart physically aches with the knowledge that Harry thought she was dead, even if for a second.

"Oh, Harry," Boo murmurs softly, her free hand curling around his bicep. "I get it. I get why you're hesitant." Especially now with a break-in added to their list of misfortune, Boo wouldn't blame him for tucking tail and running away for good.

"But I'm not anymore," he says decidedly, looking back at her. She's always admired the way he looks right in her eyes when he talks to her, as if he's making sure she knows he sees her. "I believe everything you said; about Martha, and Damien, and even Hazel being murdered. Everything is connected somehow, and we have a responsibility to find out. I can't help but think that things are only going to get more dangerous but I won't let you go through them alone. I don't care how long it takes and what Hell I have to take for you. We'll figure this out."

Boo's heart sings in a way it never has. The feeling that floods her is foreign; never has she felt so understood, so protected-so stable. So . . . normal. Russell had died and left her with a splintered home life, and even Martha had the ability to make Boo question if she was really loved or not. But not Harry.

Through rain; through fire; through death; through the beginning of the end, he'd remained by Boo and withstood everything. For that, she'll be eternally grateful.

HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE FIRST NIGHT OF SPOOKY WEEK!! *distant cheering*

okay if you couldn't tell i'm literally so freaking excited, this is officially my favorite time of year! i'm so happy for y'all to start reading all the amazing stories that other writers are posting! be sure to check the reading list on my page as well as our hashtag #spookyweek19 to find the other stories!

hope you liked this update! felt it was perfect for the first night of the year's spookiest week :*