Sharp knocking pierces the still air. Boo jolts upright in a confused haze, her heart sent into a sprint by her rude awakening. Warm skin burns against her as she struggles to enter the conscious world; she soon becomes acutely aware of toned arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She rubs her blurry eyes, fighting to wake up and detangle herself from a sleeping Harry.

Soft morning light peers in through gauzy white curtains. Boo yawns and sits up, running her hands through her unkempt hair as Harry stirs beside her. The blankets from his bed have been cast off onto the surrounding floor, leaving her legs wrapped in a thin sheet while Harry is left in only his boxers. A deep sigh leaves Boo lips as she momentarily forgets what'd woken her up in the first place.

That is, until the impatient banging sounds again and she realizes someone is at the front door.

"I'm in the bathroom," Harry mumbles groggily, his face pressed into a pillow. "I needed the peanut butter."

"Coming!" Boo warbles, practically falling out of bed before stumbling into the living room. In their haste, she and Harry had forgotten about the mess of papers still left scattered across the floor. A dark shadow hovers on the front porch, mottled by the stained-glass window cut into the front door. Boo yanks open the door, welcoming in a flood of warm summer air and the unexpected face of Detective Loughton.

"Detective," she says bluntly. "What are you doing here?"

He seems oddly unfazed by her presence. "Could ask you the same thing but I think we both know why," he bites back.

Boo is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Harry's black shirt is the only thing covering her small frame. She tugs down the hem of his shirt to shield her bare thighs and replies, "Last I checked, visiting a friend isn't a crime."

Loughton's acrid stare hardens as a tense pause ensues. A soft breezes ruffles through Boo's loose curls, gently tickling the nape of her neck. Finally, Loughton sighs and breaks his glare. "Believe it or not but I didn't come to harass. I just want the files back."

Boo's blood runs cold, and she knows. "You left that writing on my window, didn't you?"

Her outright question is more than an admission of guilt, but so is the shameful expression that passes Loughton's face. "You shouldn't have taken those files. That information is confidential."

Boo almost asks why she's been added to a suspect list when the entire police department is continually saying that Martha merely died in the hurricane. Instead she decides to probe the obvious.

"Why aren't I being arrested?"

She's pushing her luck and she knows it. His eyes flash in annoyance. "Let's just say I wasn't at my post and you getting in was an egregious oversight on my part. This can stay between us so long as you return everything you took."

Boo ponders the opportunity she's just been given. "Give me a second," she finally agrees, dipping inside to collect the files together before handing them back with a grimace. Her own is situated on top, the corner of Loughton's interview notes just peeking out for her to see. "That's all of it."

Loughton briefly checks to make sure all three files are in his grip before glancing up. "Don't make me regret this," he says pointedly before retreating down the porch steps. He makes it halfway to the sidewalk before Boo pipes up again.

"Wait," she calls, and he stops to look at her. "How did you know I'd be here?"

He snorts in amusement. "I'm a detective."

With that, he turns and slides back into his waiting cruiser. Boo remains in the doorway and watches him go, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. His car pulls away from the curb after a few moments, tires crunching on the gravelly road as he disappears around a corner. Birds begin to chirp cheerily overhead, bringing her back to the innocence of the morning, and Boo lets out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. She slips back inside the house, double checks the locks, and returns to her warm spot beside Harry. His arms wind back around her as her weight hits the bed, and his face automatically lifts from the pillow so he can settle into the crook of her neck. He exhales contentedly, his breath sweeping across her skin.

Boo gently pulls the sheet up over his bare shoulders and settles down into his warmth. "Did you get your peanut butter?" she whispers after a moment.

Harry's eyes stay shut but a sleepy smile appears on his face. "Gonna have so much peanut butter," he garbles. "Gonna make you all the sandwiches."

She kisses his forehead. He buries his face closer to her neck. Boo's eyes flutter shut to the sound of Harry's even breathing in her ear.

"Do you like hazelnut?"

"What?" she laughs breathily.

"Hazelnut," he groans in a tired voice. "Do you like it?"

A giggle slips from her mouth. "Why are you asking me that?"

Instead of an answer, he plants a few tiny kisses along her neck. She sighs wistfully and his sleepy voice bounces around in her head. Hazelnut. Hazel.

Hazel Commons.

The witness from the notes. Lightning strikes in her brain and in a moment's time, Boo has shirked off Harry's grip and leapt to her feet. He groans in confusion as she flies around his room and hurriedly gathers up her belongings, powered by a spike of adrenaline .

"Get up, Harry," she instructs hurriedly, shaking him awake. His eyes finally open and she's met with annoyance. "We have to go, get up!"

He sits up and runs his hands through his hair but fails to do anything further. "What's going on?"

"We have someone to see," Boo pants, stumbling into her shoes. "God, I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner!"

"Think of what?" Harry seems to finally sense her urgency; he rolls out of bed and begins making his way to the closet, though the confusion is still clearly painted on his face. "Who are we going to see?"

"Just get dressed and meet me in the car in five minutes," Boo orders frantically. "Go!"

He merely rolls his eyes before disappearing into the bathroom to change. Boo grabs the rest of her belongings, shoves them into her bag, and snatches up Harry's journal before rushing outside. As soon as she reaches Tabitha, she hears the front door closing and glances up to see Harry jogging down his front steps.

"Care to tell me what this is about?" he demands, trailing after her. Boo yanks open her car door and nods her head at the passenger side.

"Hazel Commons," she answers breathlessly, starting the car and pulling her door shut. As soon as the passenger door closes she peels away from the curb, not even leaving Harry time to buckle his seatbelt. He jerks back in the seat, caught off guard by her driving, and throws her a cross look.

"What's the rush?" he gripes, pushing his hair out of his face.

Boo's hands curl anxiously around the steering wheel and her voice inadvertently drops to a whisper. "I think Damien Burkwell was the body Nathaniel and Nana were talking about on that tape," she says quietly. "At least, one of the bodies."

Harry's eyebrows pull down into their signature position, giving him an air of deep concentration. "Why do you think that?"

"Not many people went missing from Jack Creek in nineteen-sixty-nine, but Damien did. He knew Nathaniel, he knew Nana; he goes missing and they just don't say anything for years? I don't buy it."

She drums her fingers on the wheel, feeling jittery from her realization. The deeper she delves, the more she recognizes that her veneration for Martha may have been ill-founded. "It's a wild hunch, I know. But I think Hazel can help us."

"Why?"

"Because," Boo says, glancing over at Harry. "Damien was her brother."

« • »

Boo pulls up in front of a small white house beaten away by time and rainfall. Before Harry can try to persuade her any differently, she's out of the car and marching up the path. This may be a bad idea, but she's in too deep now to stop. Her gut says Damien is buried somewhere secret, and Boo feels responsible for finding out what Hazel knows.

Harry trails faithfully behind her, vigilant and quiet as ever. Boo ascends the sagging front steps and pauses at the screen door, her eyes lingering on the broken hinges barely keeping the door intact.

"What is it?" he asks.

Boo can't look at him. Her stomach squirms uncomfortably. "We're about to rehash a deep wound for this woman," she answers hollowly. "I keep thinking about her interview after he first went missing. She was so distraught, and yet here we are forty years later, dredging up the same painful memories."

"Can't escape the past forever," Harry answers in a hushed voice.

Boo knows he's right but that doesn't stop her from hesitating a moment further. His words bury underneath her skin, rattling her nerves and shaking loose every emotion she's been trying to suppress for weeks-all the guilt, the anger, the fear incited by Martha's murder.

She wonders if he knows how deeply his words have hit.

Inhaling big, she uses this emotion to drive herself forward and knock on the door.

"Ms. Commons?" she calls to the empty air. "Are you home?"

Seconds drag on in silence before Boo hears a light rustling behind the door. Footsteps shuffle closer and two locks click loudly before the front door squeaks open. A weathered face, as worn down as the house it lives in, peers out through a crack of light. Sharp grey eyes stare directly back at Boo.

"Who are you?" the voice rasps in a thick Southern accent.

"My name is Boo," Boo says gently. "Are you Hazel?"

The eyes look her up and down suspiciously. "What'chu want?"

"Ms. Commons, is it alright if we come in?" Boo asks, doing her best to keep her voice even. "We're with the Jack Creek Inquirer, we'd like to ask you a few questions if that's okay."

She doesn't look back at Harry, in case breaking Hazel's gaze gives away her lie. Her heart is hammering so loudly in her chest that it's a wonder all of Jack Creek can't hear it.

Hazel purses her thin lips. "Whatev'a you need to ask me, m'sure there's enough information already out there."

"We'd like to hear what you have to say," Boo urges gently. "Firsthand."

"What's this about?" Hazel snaps impatiently.

Boo can't help herself. "Damien," she answers bluntly. "We want to know what you think happened."

Hazel's face screws up in agitation and her thin lips start to tremble. Boo feels Harry's hand land protectively on her arm. "Get out of here," Hazel demands, her voice shaking. "You got no business askin' about my brother."

Recoiling in disappointment, Boo glances back at Harry for help. He merely shakes his head, looking equally as disappointed.

"Let's go, Melita," he says quietly. Her heart thumps painfully at hearing her full name wrapped in such sorrow. She can't leave, not yet-Damien deserves peace. Nana deserves justice. And Boo deserves answers.

"Ms. Commons, please," Boo pleads, inching closer to the door. "We think you could really help us."

Hazel stares her down, her eyes glazing over, before she finally asks, "Melita? Melita Taylor?"

Boo's tongue turns to a block of ice. She nods stiffly.

"This ain't no interview for the paper, is it."

Her statement is short; not a question but a realization. Boo hesitates before softly admitting, "No ma'am, it isn't. But we do want to hear what you have to say, truthfully."

Hazel pauses before the door abruptly whooshes shut. Metal squeaking against metal punctuates the air, and moments later the door swings open fully. Hazel stands in the dim doorway of her front foyer, clad in a worn pink nightgown. Her face is distressed as she hurriedly pushes open the screen door.

"Get in," she orders, nodding her head inside the house. Boo doesn't need to be told twice; she grabs Harry's wrist and pulls him in after her.

The interior of the house is dark and cold and frozen fifty years in the past. Lace table coverings, yellow laminate countertops, and antiquated furniture dot the tiny front room and kitchen. Boo and Harry wait hesitantly in the foyer while Hazel latches the door shut, bathing the house in darkness despite the full sun outside.

"This way," she says, hobbling past them and into a dark living room. Harry flashes Boo an unsure grimace as he follows after Hazel, but Boo stays in the foyer a moment longer. She glances around and her eyes land on a faded photo tacked to the fridge-a closer look reveals a group of friends, arms thrown carelessly around one another as they grin candidly at the camera and each other.

Boo is immediately drawn to a tall boy with curly black hair and a familiar face; it's one she's seen in every news story and TV broadcast from four and a half decades ago.

Damien Burkwell. Young, happy, alive.

Her pulse thrums nervously. Without thinking, she snatches the photo off the fridge and tucks it into her pocket before scurrying into the living room to join Harry on the sofa. Hazel eyes her suspiciously but says nothing as she sits. Hazel grips her hands together in her lap, her hard gaze jumping between Boo and Harry for a brief second.

"Don't lie to me again," she instructs firmly. "Tell me what's going on."

Boo shares an unsure look with Harry, who nods encouragingly after a long pause.

"My grandmother died during the hurricane," she begins solemnly.

"Sorry to hear that," Hazel says grimly.

Boo rubs her palms along the length of her thighs, attempting to find grounding in the way the fabric of her pants feels against her hands. "For a while now, things haven't felt right about that night. Everywhere I turned, I found more things that didn't add up."

Hazel purses her lips and looks down at her weathered hands. "Grief has a way of playing tricks on a mind. Felt the same way after my brother left."

"That's the reason we're here though," Boo continues in earnest. "It isn't just grief anymore. Something happened to my Nana, and I believe something happened to Damien. More than just him leaving. What do you remember from the night he disappeared?"

Harry slides his hand covertly into Boo's and squeezes gently. The suspicion has returned to Hazel's face. "Why should I tell you anything? Whole town think m'crazy. You will too."

"Ms. Commons, with all due respect, you don't earn a nickname like Boo by being perceived as friendly," Boo says firmly. "Whatever folks have said about you has been said about me too."

Silence falls across the living room. Boo can practically hear her heart pulsing in her ears. Hazel has a thoughtful gleam in her eyes; clearly wrestling with an inner decision. Her grey eyes flit down and land on Harry and Boo's intertwined hands. Something in her face changes in that moment.

"Please," Boo begs. "There must be a reason you let us inside."

Even the air around them begins to move restlessly; waves of humid summer heat move in through the dusty curtains shrouding the living room windows. Something uneasy swims beneath the surface. Boo waits with bated breath as Hazel settles back in the couch, her beady eyes bouncing between Harry and Boo.

"Last I seen him was that mornin'," Hazel begins quietly. "Momma woke me up, said we needed to go to the market in Harrisford and get the groceries. My daddy's birthday was comin' up and she wanted to make him dinner. I come round into the kitchen that mornin' and Damien was in the front room, getting ready to leave."

She pauses, inhales deeply, and looks away. Her face seems to age ten years from the way the shadows move across her flattened features. "Momma asked him where he was goin'. He hadn't been fishin' in a while-weather was too cold. But that mornin', the sun was out and he thought he could get a few good bites."

flashback-may 21, 1969

Morning May sunshine leaks into through the windows of a small white house on Dover Street, illuminating soft pink walls and a young woman putting the finishing touches on her braid. Once the last bobby pin has been perfectly placed in her hair, a teenage Hazel traipses down the hallway leading from her bedroom into the kitchen, skidding to a stop when she sees her beloved brother Damien knelt in the front hallway, tugging on a pair of mudders. Leant on the wall opposite him is a fishing pole, and at his feet is a beat-up red tackle box, one Hazel recognizes as once belonging to her father.

"Hey, where you goin'?" she asks, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Damien looks up and flashes her his signature smile.

"Hey, bug, didn't think you'd be awake this early," he grins.

Hazel doesn't get to reply as Yvonne comes sweeping out of her bedroom, carefully tucking the last of her pincurls behind her ear. "Hazel, baby, are you ready?" Her brown eyes catch sight of Damien in the front hallway and she stops out of curiosity. "Where are you headed?"

"The river," Damien answers. "It's finally warm enough outside that I should have some luck down on the water."

Yvonne mulls this over for a moment. "Who you goin' with?"

Damien shifts slightly at her question. "Just a friend."

Despite the suspicion on her face, Yvonne doesn't question this. "You sure you ain't gone come shoppin' for Daddy's birthday dinner?"

"No, Momma, I'll be home to enjoy it all the same," Damien laughs. Yvonne shrugs and disappears into another room of the house; Damien keeps his eyes on where his mother vanished, trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face as he approaches his sister.

He slips her a crisp dollar bill and she nearly gasps in surprise. "Special request for a special girl," Damien whispers. "Buy me some of those chocolate-covered peanuts and I'll let you keep the change. Don't tell Momma."

Hazel grins wide and obediently takes the dollar. "You got it, Bub."

end

"Waited all night on the porch for him," Hazel murmurs, still not looking Boo or Harry in the eye. A pit forms in Boo's stomach at the mental image of a young Hazel, wide-eyed and guileless, waiting for a brother that would never come home. "Daddy came home from work and Momma got scared when Damien wasn't with him, she kept tellin' herself he'd gone straight from the river to see Daddy. They called the police after that."

"What happened next?" Harry asks softly, equally as enthralled in Hazel's story.

"Police took statements, looked around his room, and then told us he was just a runaway," Hazel mutters. "We knew better, but there wasn't nothin' we could do otherwise. And once they found his car, they completely stopped lookin'. We put up posters and looked ourselves but never found nothin'. I went down to the station nearly every day that summer but it was always the same excuse: 'He's over the age of eighteen, he can leave if he wants to.' Nobody took him seriously."

Boo ponders Hazel's dismal words. "I heard they never found the fishing gear. Is that true?"

Hazel nods. Boo shares a pointed glance with Harry. "Lord knows they didn't look hard. But we never found nothin' either. Searched all up and down the river. Sometimes I wonder if he even made it to the water that mornin'."

Harry interjects before Boo can. "What do you think actually happened that day, Ms. Commons?"

She sighs grievously. "Momma used to say that the brightest light fades out the quickest. Only one reason he'd be gone this long."

She doesn't have to say anything further; her words strike dark and heavy all the same. "We think the same thing," Boo says quietly. "We know he didn't just run away. But we're having trouble connecting some of the other dots. Was there anyone he saw regularly or was close friends with?"

Hazel shakes her head. "He was real friendly but most folks was scared to get too close. Times were just . . . different."

Boo holds in the words that bubble up, instead leaning her weight on Harry's shoulder in a bid to find comfort. He squeezes her hand once, a firm reminder she isn't alone. Boo lifts her eyes to find Hazel already watching her expectantly.

"How did you know my last name?" Boo asks, chewing on her lower lip.

"I knew Martha," Hazel answers shortly. "A long time ago, before she was a Taylor."

Boo's jaw instinctively clenches. "What did you know about her?"

Hazel's eyes falter. "She was friends with Damien more than she was with me, but she come round here a few times before he disappeared. I think Damien . . . well, I know. He loved her, a lot."

The blood shunts away from Boo's cheeks. She sits up on the couch, blown away by this revelation. "Damien was in love with my grandmother?" she asks softly. Harry shifts beside her, clearly also caught off guard.

Hazel nods small. "Ain't nobody know, though. 'Cept Martha, and me. But I wasn't supposed to know."

"But I heard the rumors, about him being . . ." Boo trails off, unsure of what else to say.

"I know. He wasn't but people was convinced he was because he was a bit of a loner. Outed him in public and made him even more of a target."

Boo fights to swallow the tightness growing in her throat. "Who outed him, Ms. Commons?"

"Nathaniel Waters," she answers after a pause. "And Randall Taylor."

Boo's heart nearly stops beating. Her mouth goes dry and the air in the room grows stagnant. "My grandfather?" she whispers in mild horror.

Harry's grip on her hand tightens protectively. Hazel's expression shows her immediate regret at admitting this truth aloud. "Sorry, honey," she grimaces. "But people ain't always who we think they is."

« • »

Hazel escorts them back to the front door a little while later-both she and Boo walk shrouded in heavy silence, weighed down by the depth of their revealing conversation. Harry senses this and allows Boo the quiet space she needs to process things; he's already by the door, waiting to leave when Hazel suddenly clears her throat.

Boo turns, unsure if she can handle any more confessions. Hazel searches her face for a moment before saying, "You look like her, you know."

Boo can't help but roll her eyes. "Yeah, I know. But I don't even speak to Lori anymore so-"

Hazel cuts her off. "Not your mother. You look like Martha."

The look in her eyes is far too kind; similar to the quiet sort of encouragement Martha would offer Boo in times of hardship. Without thinking, Boo wraps her arms around Hazel and hugs her tightly. "Thank you for everything, Ms. Commons. We'll be in touch."

Upon reaching the door, Harry's hand falls into hers without hesitation. They descend the steps without looking back. Inside the car, Boo moves through the motions of starting the engine and buckling her seatbelt with the emotion of a robot; by the time she glances back at the house, the front door is already shut tightly.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asks.

Boo exhales heavily. "I'm pretty certain my grandparents were still dating that summer. Nana got pregnant with Lori somewhere around the time Damien disappeared. Everyone thought he was gay after Nathaniel and my grandfather outed him, and he was bullied for it. There were other race issues going on at the time, and Damien being black definitely wouldn't have helped his situation.

"But Damien wasn't gay. And if my grandfather found out Damien had feelings for Nana, he would've done something about it."

"That's motive," Harry whispers, and a chill runs down Boo's spine.

"I hate to admit it but I think my grandfather had something to do with Damien's disappearance."

WOWWWW this chapter got me shook. everyone still in one piece out there?

sorry this update is a teeny bit late! hope you enjoyed it all the same :*