Prologue: Get to Maine

AUTHOR’S NOTE

"The things we do to survive will eventually destroy us—but we do them anyway, because survival is all we know."

PROLOGUE: GET TO MAINE

Caleb Banks sat in a chair pulled up to the motel window, radio on low, the volume just high enough to fill the room without competing with his thoughts.

The newsreader’s voice moved from weather to traffic to court filings like it was all the same thing.

“…Evan Rourke was formally charged today with multiple counts including child murder, rape, and kidnapping…”

His jaw set.

The report continued. Dates. Jurisdictions. A prosecutor quoted. A defense attorney promising cooperation.

Then another story slid in behind it.

“…another body was discovered overnight. Authorities say the victim’s face had been removed…”

Caleb reached up and pinched the leather cord at his neck between his thumb and forefinger. The wedding ring and the small metal charm hung warm against his chest—the charm a little superhero with a cape bent at one corner. He rolled them once, then let them fall back into place.

The phone rang.

After a moment, he answered.

“What?”

A voice came through cheerful, almost teasing. “Caleb! Why do you always sound so damn tense? You should try yoga or something.”

Caleb didn’t respond.

“You’re needed,” the voice continued, still light. “Get to Maine.”

The line went dead.

The phone went into his jacket pocket. A small trunk came out from under the bed and flipped open.

Passports. Money. Guns. All in place.

The trunk was set by the door.

The radio clicked off. The bedspread was smoothed once. The lamp went dark.

He adjusted the cord at his neck one last time, picked up the trunk, and left without looking back.