Chapter 8 - THE PAST CAME BACK FIRSTBy afternoon, everyone in Redbrook knew.
Local news didn’t need long to find Silas’s old conviction.
Biker with violent past questioned in assault on principal.
That headline hurt more than it should have.
Because technically, every word was true.
He was a biker.
He had a violent past.
Police were questioning him.
Truth can still be arranged dishonestly.
Silas was held overnight while investigators verified timelines and sought warrants for his motorcycle, clothing, and phone data.
His old record did exactly what he always said it would.
It made suspicion heavier.
Boone came to my house that evening.
For the first time since I met him, the enormous man looked frightened.
“He didn’t do this.”
“I know.”
Boone shook his head. “Knowing ain’t evidence.”
He was right.
Silas’s phone location data looked helpful but not perfect because his phone had briefly gone offline while charging at Boone’s shop.
The parking-lot camera could not capture a face.
Davis insisted he heard Silas say, “You should’ve listened.”
Silas denied saying it.
Then police searched his garage.
They found no stolen laptop.
No blood.
No clothing matching the unidentified attacker beyond items thousands of bikers owned.
But they did find the threatening text Silas had already reported.
That helped him.
A little.
The police released him pending further investigation, but the damage had started.
Parents who had thanked him the week before suddenly avoided eye contact.
One school board member told reporters the district had “always been concerned about outside intimidation.”
Davis’s attorney suggested the assault proved exactly why “criminal associates” did not belong around school disputes.
Easton heard part of that on television before I turned it off.
He went to his room.
Ten minutes later, he returned with the drawing.
Black boot.
Orange line.
Then another picture.
A rectangle.
The school.
A dark figure.
An orange line near the ground.
“Easton,” I said carefully, “did you see something that night?”
His hands went to his ears.
Not because the room was loud.
Because the question was.
I backed off immediately.
“Okay. You don’t have to answer now.”
He took the drawing back.
Then he walked next door.
Silas was sitting alone on his front steps.
Easton stopped at the fence.
For the first time since Silas’s arrest, Silas looked at him.
Neither moved.
Then Silas said softly:
“I’m still me.”
Easton stared at his boots.
Black laces.
Both of them.
Silas had replaced the orange one nearly a week earlier.
Easton’s breathing changed.
He looked down at the drawing.
May you like
Then back at Silas.
Something was building inside him.
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