Chapter 4: The Town Turns

But Aubrey failed.

The phone rang at midnight. My heart nearly stopped. Downstairs, chaos erupted—shouts, smashing glass, boots stomping. I knew something had gone horribly wrong.

I scrambled out of bed, feet tangled in my sheets, heart pounding. The sounds of yelling, glass breaking, heavy boots—my worst nightmare, come alive.

People were shouting and trashing my shop.

Shelves crashed, the bell jangled, angry voices roared. I grabbed the diary and USB, shoving them into the air vent behind my dresser.

My first instinct was to hide the diary and the evidence. When I ran downstairs, I saw the townsfolk flooding into my shop.

There were faces I knew—Mr. Barnes from the hardware store, Mrs. Jenkins, the high school janitor, even the mayor’s cousin. They moved like a mob, eyes wild with fear and anger.

Everything was wrecked. Then someone rushed over, grabbed a shovel, and cracked me in the head.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, the world spinning. I hit the floor hard, vision going red.

I collapsed. My parents heard the noise and ran out. My mom screamed, my dad stood in front of me, but the mob didn’t stop. He fell too, blood pooling on the floor.

My mom’s scream cut through the chaos, fueling the frenzy. My dad tried to shield me, but they beat him down. Blood spread across the linoleum.

Then I knew—Aubrey’s secret had been exposed.

I saw it in their eyes—someone had seen what they shouldn’t. Now everyone was desperate to cover their tracks.

She was so close, but someone unrelated ruined everything.

All it took was one loose thread, and it all unraveled.

The electronics store owner, Mr. Patel, had noticed Aubrey’s beauty and her habit of buying cameras. He once asked her what she needed them for.

He was the guy who sponsored the Little League team and whose wife ran the church bake sale. But he’d always been a little too friendly, always watching Aubrey as she bought up surveillance gear. She’d blush, mumble about “security.”

She didn’t dare tell the truth, so she said they were for safety at home.

He pretended to believe her but kept watching, his curiosity obvious.

He figured she was using them at home, so he hacked into the feeds, hoping to catch her changing or showering.

He was a creep, the kind who bragged about his tech skills at the VFW. He set up spyware, hoping for a show—and instead saw something he never expected.

He saw all the horror Aubrey endured.

Instead of innocent footage, he found her secret hell, playing out night after night.

He thought it was thrilling—how could something like this exist?

His curiosity turned to obsession. He watched every night, growing colder each time.

Every day, when Aubrey came to buy more cameras, he’d smirk behind the counter, thinking, you act so pure in front of me, but I see everything in private.

He started coming home late, ignoring his wife, spending hours alone in his basement. His marriage grew cold.

Mrs. Patel noticed the change. She found empty takeout boxes, ignored texts, and the tension building. She worried, but didn’t know why.

One day, she snapped. While her husband was in the bathroom, she rushed into the study.

Fueled by anger, she rifled through his files, clicking until she found a folder labeled “Aubrey.”

She lost it.

Her screams shook the house. She slammed the door so hard the pictures rattled. Suddenly, everything was cold and silent.

But she didn’t call the cops. She posted Aubrey’s videos in the family group chat, wanting her in-laws to see what kind of son they’d raised.

Her hands shook as she uploaded the files, hitting send before she could change her mind. She wanted to shame him, not realizing what she’d started.

Her in-laws were stunned.

The messages blew up—shocked, angry, desperate. The family chat turned into a war zone overnight.

Some men in the videos looked like relatives from nearby towns.

Faces were recognized instantly—cousins, uncles, neighbors from two counties over. The panic spread like wildfire.

They quickly told their relatives, and soon the whole town knew.

Text messages flew, calls made in the dead of night, and word spread from trailer parks to the mayor’s house. It was a storm no one could stop.

The wives panicked. Even if their men had done terrible things, they were the breadwinners. If Aubrey called the police, their families would be ruined.

They met in kitchens and church basements, whispering about what to do. Some cried, some raged, but all agreed—they couldn’t let Aubrey destroy everything, no matter how much they pitied her.

They told themselves it was for the kids, for their families. Easier to blame Aubrey than face the truth.

They organized and went looking for Aubrey, blocking any news from getting out.

Phones were taken, rumors shut down, social media wiped. They worked together, desperate to keep their secrets buried.

In the end, one wife caught Aubrey sneaking around the old bachelor’s house with a backpack full of wires.

Mrs. Wheeler spotted her in the bushes, sounded the alarm, and half the women in town descended like wolves.

Aubrey was caught.

They dragged her by the arm, face scratched and wild, back to Main Street. She fought, but there were too many.

I watched as they yanked Aubrey by the hair into my shop.

Her cries echoed off the brick, piercing the night. I stood frozen, powerless.

She collapsed on the floor, face covered in blood, trying to force a smile at me.

Even then, she tried to reassure me, her lips trembling in a smile that made me want to scream. Blood ran from her hairline, her eyes begging for help.

I touched my own head, already bleeding from a blow.

My vision blurred, the world spinning. I pressed a towel to my scalp, hands shaking.

And my father lay in a pool of blood, unable to get up.

His chest barely moved, eyes fluttering. I wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but my voice was gone.

I’d told Aubrey I wouldn’t help her, because if she failed, my family would be buried with her.

Now, just because I couldn’t stand to see her fight alone, that fear had come true.

Several tech guys surrounded Aubrey, demanding to know where the files were.

They crowded her, shouting, faces twisted with rage. One waved a laptop, another a USB stick. Their desperation was thick.

Aubrey said nothing.

She glared at them, lips tight. Even in pain, she wouldn’t betray me.

They got frantic.

Voices rose, threats turned ugly. Someone kicked a chair, another slammed a laptop. They’d once told Aubrey she was beautiful—now they kicked her in the head.

The same men who’d flirted with her now lashed out with boots and fists. Their fear turned to violence.

They slapped her, kicked her sides, smashed her legs with sticks.

It was savage. They took turns—some crying, some laughing—trying to erase their guilt with violence. The sound of bones breaking made me sick.

They forgot they’d ever admired Aubrey. Now, to save themselves, they beat her like wild animals.

It was like the whole town’s shame erupted at once, and Aubrey was their scapegoat.

Aubrey stayed silent. A wife cried, “Stop hitting her! If she passes out, she’ll forget—how will she confess then?”

Her voice was desperate. The irony hung in the air—her broken mind was the only thing saving her.

The men were all bluster, but the women—well, they knew how to really make it hurt.

They traded nervous glances, remembering every trick they’d learned from years of pain.

To make her talk, they held her down and brought out pliers, gripping her fingernails.

I flinched at the sight. My stomach turned as they pinned her arms, her screams echoing off the walls.

The wife gritted her teeth: “Aubrey, I always remembered your kindness, I feel so sorry for you. My husband was wrong, but my kids can’t grow up without a father. Please, just tell us! You’ve always been good—how can you hurt others?”

Her voice shook, hands steady despite the tears running down her face. The room stank of sweat and fear.

Aubrey realized what was coming. She slammed her head against the floor.

Blood pooled at her hairline, but she stayed awake. She’d rather hurt herself than give up hope.

They pinned her tighter, whispering apologies, but refusing to let go.

The pliers crushed her fingernail. The wife steeled herself and yanked it out.

The sound was sickening. Aubrey’s scream rattled the windows, the pain snapping her wide awake.

She gasped for air, wild-eyed, every nerve on fire. Her hands clawed at the floor.

Blood splattered from her fingers, mixing with dust and tears on the floorboards.

The pliers gripped a second nail. Aubrey sobbed and begged them not to. The wife cried too, wiping her face, saying, “I always treated you like a sister, this hurts me more than you! But I have to protect my family!”

Her voice broke, the room vibrating with pain and guilt. Other women nodded, some sobbing, some looking away.

“Yes, just tell us, we’ll protect you after.”

The promise was empty, echoing like an old church hymn.

“We’re all from this town. You’re gonna ruin it for everyone!”

The words hung, a last desperate plea. Nobody helped her.

The women wept as they pleaded, but their hands never stopped.

Tears streaked their faces, but their grip was iron. Every act of violence twisted by love for the families they’d built on secrets.

Her nails were ripped out, her body twisting in agony, howling like a wounded animal.

Her screams faded with each nail, voice ragged, strength waning. Still, she refused to speak.

The town’s beauty now had a face twisted in pain.

Her features contorted, blood and tears streaking her cheeks. The town’s angel was now its scapegoat.

She watched as another nail came out, stubborn as ever.

Her eyes burned with defiance, even as her body gave out. She glared at her tormentors, daring them to break her.

I was the only light left in her life, and she’d rather die than betray me.

I knew then what I meant to her—a responsibility heavier than any secret I’d ever kept.

I knew I was worth it to her.

Shame and pride tangled in my gut, knowing I was her last hope. I swore to never let her down.

Because they’d never find the evidence, and to protect Aubrey, I’d hidden it where no one would ever look.

My heart pounded, thinking of the vent behind my dresser, the USB deep inside. No matter what they did, I’d never give it up.

While they tortured Aubrey, people ransacked my house, but found nothing.

They tore through every room, flipping mattresses, smashing frames. They cursed and grumbled, but came up empty-handed.

Seeing she wouldn’t betray me, I said, “Why do you think I’m involved with her?”

I kept my face blank, trying to buy us a few more minutes.

I knew they suspected the tattoo meant something, probably related to me, so they tried to scare and beat me, hoping I’d confess.

They circled me, fists clenched, eyes wild. The air was thick with fear and violence. Someone kicked me in the ribs, demanding answers.

A man snapped, “I run the food truck across from your house. I see her come to you every day. Aubrey only remembers the past. She never came before—why now? You must be involved!”

He jabbed a finger at me, breath hot with anger. Others nodded, voices rising.

“Yeah, that tattoo’s to remind her to find you!”

A chorus backed him up, mob mentality building.

“You’re not being honest. You won’t confess. You help a girl who’s nothing to you and want to ruin our families!”

The words hit hard, but I stood my ground. Nothing I could say would change their minds.

I pressed my hand to my bleeding head.

Blood dripped between my fingers, sticky and warm. The pain kept me grounded—still fighting.

I said I’d tied Aubrey up, abused her, and tattooed her.

The lie came out cold. I forced myself to say it, hoping it’d save her—at least for now.

I told them I was a pervert, that Aubrey cried in my room all the time.

The words tasted like poison. I saw my mom’s face crumple, her hope dying. The room got colder, the crowd pressed in.

I just wanted her to think of me every day, to come ask me, so I could possess her and torment her again and again.

It was a story they could believe. I let myself become the villain, so Aubrey could survive another night.

My mother collapsed, staring at me in disbelief.

She covered her mouth, eyes wide. The woman who packed my lunches and patched my jeans now looked at me like I was a stranger.

She probably never imagined her son could be so sick.

Her hands shook, voice gone. I wondered if she’d ever forgive me.

Everyone was stunned, until a neighbor piped up—he’d heard a woman’s cries coming from my room, cries so painful they were hard to bear.

Mr. Klein from next door stepped forward. His words sealed my fate. The crowd murmured, some looking away, others glaring with new hatred.

Only then did the townsfolk decide I was one of them.

Their anger shifted, now aimed at me instead of Aubrey. It was a twisted relief. I’d rather bear their hate than see her hurt again.

They started arguing what to do. The old bachelor with the limp, Jerry, finally snapped, “If we don’t know where the evidence is, there’s no case. The dead can’t talk. Bring her parents—let’s end it tonight!”

Jerry’s voice was ice cold. The room went silent, the threat hanging like thunder.

Everyone agreed.

One by one, heads nodded. Some hesitated, but peer pressure won out. The decision was made—quick, brutal, final.

They called Aubrey’s parents. Everyone promised to pay them and bury Aubrey in the woods behind town, where old graves hid secrets. Just dig one up and stuff her in.

Her parents arrived, hollow-eyed and broken. They didn’t protest at the money—just nodded, numb. The woods behind town had swallowed secrets before; one more wouldn’t matter.

That way, nobody’d report a thing, and everyone would be safe.

The plan was ugly and simple. No body, no evidence, no justice. Everyone could pretend nothing happened.

Aubrey’s parents agreed, but asked everyone to help build their son a new house for free.

Mr. Carter’s voice shook as he asked. The others grumbled but agreed—everyone knew the cost of silence.

Everyone agreed. Aubrey lay there alone, covered in blood.

She shivered on the floor, breath shallow. No one met her eyes. The room reeked of sweat, blood, and fear.

The old bachelor looked at me and said, cold as ice, “I don’t trust you. Lots of us don’t. You come up the hill and bury her yourself.”

Jerry pointed, eyes narrowed. The others murmured their agreement.

I asked, “Why do I have to?”

My voice was flat, hands trembling behind my back. I knew it was pointless, but I had to try.

The old bachelor sneered, “If you’re really that sick, you’ll get the death penalty anyway. Either way, you die—so what’s one more crime? If you won’t do it, you’re lying.”

The others nodded. The decision was final. I felt all their eyes on me, waiting to see if I’d flinch.

I turned to my father.

He met my gaze, blood running down his face. Pain and pride in his eyes. He nodded once, urging me to do what I had to.

He tried to sit up, clutching his head, face twisted in pain.

His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear. I knew what he meant: Survive. Protect your mom. Don’t let them win.

I said, “Fine. I’ll bury her.”

The words cut like knives. But it bought us both a little more time.

Only then did everyone relax. Someone brought a big burlap sack and stuffed Aubrey inside.

Her body went limp. I caught a glimpse of her face—almost peaceful. Maybe she’d finally found a second’s rest.

The old bachelor slapped me on the shoulder, grinning, “Man, you really are sick—tattooing folks while messing with them. That’s wild.”

His breath stank of bourbon and cigarettes. I forced a laugh, my skin crawling.

I put on a lewd grin.

It was just a mask. Inside, I was screaming.

And my mother wailed in grief.

Her sobs echoed down the empty street. Neighbors shut their curtains tight.

I thought, she must think I’m filth.

I couldn’t meet her eyes. I prayed she’d understand someday, before it was too late.

The son she raised turned out a monster.

I remembered her braiding my hair, her laughter in the kitchen. Now it was all gone.

In my heart, I thought, Mom, I’m sorry.

It was all I could offer, the only prayer I had left.

There was no way to explain I was trying to protect my family.

I wanted to shout, beg her forgiveness, but stayed silent. Some truths are too dangerous.

They hurried me out, a few men carrying Aubrey up the hill.

Night was thick with fog, moon hidden. We pushed through brush, the sack heavy in my arms.

To be safe, they picked the most remote old grave, far from the road so no one would smell it if the body rotted.

We passed crumbling headstones, names worn away by time. Coyotes howled in the distance. The men moved fast, eager to be done.

At the grave, a man dragged Aubrey out. No sack left—if anyone found it, they’d know something was up.

They rolled her out, limp. I watched her chest, hoping for a breath.

Aubrey had fainted. I was already scanning the woods, wondering if I could bury her and double back to save her.

Just as I was thinking, pain exploded in my head.

The shovel slammed behind my ear. I fell, everything spinning away.

The old bachelor hit me hard with the shovel.

His face twisted in triumph. “Thought you were clever, didn’t you?” he spat. The others closed in, their faces a blur.

I hit the ground, mind reeling.

The world spun, darkness closing in. I fought to stay awake, to remember everything.

The old bachelor roared, “Did you really think you could fool me? I know what kind of person you are!”

His voice echoed through the trees. The others circled closer.

I whispered, “I didn’t lie to you…”

My voice was barely there, vision fading. Blood pooled under my cheek, soaking the leaves.

“You do tattoos. Some wild girls in town wanted tattoos but had no money. They offered you a good time, but you turned them down. Three girls at once—a man’s dream—but you said no.”

His words were venom. The men grunted, as if this was the real crime.

“My nephew runs a shop in the city. He played with those wild girls, bragged about it, and said you were a straight arrow.”

The old bachelor sneered. “You never joined in, never wanted a piece. You’re not one of us.”

He grabbed my hair, hissing in my ear, “Three girls together couldn’t tempt you. Aubrey’s as pretty as an angel, but is she better than three girls in one bed? You’re not one of us!”

His breath was hot, the words a final curse. I closed my eyes, praying for strength, for one last chance to do right.