Edmund Harrow's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Edmund studied the map spread across his truck's hood. Three weeks of watching had taught him the cult leader's patterns, but not where he lived. The sheriff would arrive tomorrow at dawn with a warrant. That gave Edmund one night to search the charlatan's home for evidence beyond the transmitter. He found the shack two miles deeper into the swamp, moss clinging to its weathered walls like a second skin. Black smoke curled from the crooked chimney. The cult leader was home. Edmund crouched in the cattails, waiting. An hour passed before the front door opened and the man emerged, climbing into a rusted sedan. The engine coughed to life and disappeared down the dirt road. Edmund counted to sixty, then moved toward the shack. A low growl stopped him cold. The wolf in the wooden shelter beside the porch had lifted its head, yellow eyes fixed on him. Edmund froze. The animal watched him for three long breaths, then settled back down with a huff. Inside, the shack reeked of cigarette smoke and mildew. Edmund worked quickly, checking drawers and cabinets with gloved hands. He found the duffel bag shoved under the bed. The zipper stuck, then gave way. Cash and gold coins gleamed in the dim light. Beneath them lay leather notebooks filled with names, dates, and dollar amounts. The widow's name appeared six times, each entry higher than the last. Edmund photographed every page. This wasn't just fraud. This was systematic predation, documented in the charlatan's own handwriting. Headlights swept across the window. Edmund's stomach dropped. The cult leader's car was pulling back into the drive. He shoved the notebooks into the bag, zipped it closed, and pushed it back under the bed. The front door rattled. Edmund slipped out the back window as the lock clicked open behind him. He ran low through the darkness, the wolf's bark erupting behind him. By the time he reached his truck, his hands were shaking. But the photographs were safe in his camera. Tomorrow the sheriff would see exactly what kind of monster had been feeding on grief.