When Devils Sing(40)

A number of the photos featured Samantha Calhoun, the girl from the news, alongside Dawson, dating all the way back to their childhood. But the photos stopped abruptly about a year ago. The pair seemed close, but they didn’t follow each other on Instagram.

Then he noticed someone else had replaced Samantha in Andrea’s recent photos—Reid Langley. There wasn’t much to go off of, as the number of photos tapered off over time. But there was Dawson’s eighteenth birthday back in March, with Reid sitting proudly beside Dawson at a steakhouse in Lake Clearwater.

Isaiah leaned back in his desk chair, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Then he took to his keyboard, typing into a new Word document. He wrote down the fragments of everything he knew so far.

Missing teenager, Dawson Sumter (possibly dead?)—reason unknown

Cover-up by Lake Clearwater—motive unknown

Colonial motel—connected to Dawson’s disappearance?

Strange voicemail from Dawson’s mom, Andrea Sumter, to Clearwater attorney, Casey Leblanc—connection unknown

Samantha Calhoun—lied to police??

Reid Langley—Dawson’s best friend?

As Isaiah stared at the meager bit of information he had, his anxiety about his father returned. If he were to investigate Lake Clearwater in the same way he’d done for the past three seasons of Secrets of the South, he was terrified of what he might find. Afraid there was, in fact, something insidious going on in Carrion.

What would that mean for his father?

For his family?

For himself?





CHAPTER 15REID





Someone called Reid’s name.

He lay on his fiberglass paddleboard in the middle of Lake Clearwater, having come here to escape his family, and stared up at the night sky. His arms dangled off the side of the board, skin growing pruned from hours spent floating.

Someone called his name again. In the stifling humid air, Reid swore it was his mother’s voice. But that was impossible. His mother had been dead for six years.

“You’re just cross-faded, Reid,” he mumbled aloud to himself, while rubbing his face.

After he’d seen the news of Dawson’s drowning earlier that day, Reid grabbed his vape pen, one of his father’s flasks, and vanished to the water. It was full dark now, but he didn’t want to return to land because it meant he would have to confront the fact that everyone he loved had left him.

Reid reached for his vape, inhaling for as long as he could bear it. Only nothing happened. His pen had finally died, and the flask was now empty. He cursed, struggling to right himself on the board. His head felt heavy. His vision swam. And that voice—it kept calling for him.

From his anchor point far from the dock, Reid could just barely make out the blur of guests gathered outside the Langley estate, lingering like flies, their laughter echoing across the dark water. Reid was so sick of the endless parties and posturing and pretending. Sitting fully up, he squinted against the cloudy haze in his head, only to see his sister’s faint figure waving him in from the shore.

Coming, Reid reluctantly signaled.

As he paddled back to land, the memory of the day he’d met Dawson was still clear in his head, nearly a year ago to the day. Jonah had dragged Reid onto the lake’s most difficult golf course, Kingdom Waters. His brother was on a mission to impress their father, and Jonah was in desperate need of an ego boost after nearly being kicked out of UGA for selling prescription stimulants on campus.

That blistering June day, Dawson Sumter had the misfortune of being Jonah Langley’s golf caddy.

Jonah took one look at Dawson with his oversize, ill-fitting polo and khakis, eyes lingering on a scuff mark on his white golf shoes. He was clearly a kid from Carrion, yet he wore his uniform with pride. “Do they let just anyone work here these days?”

Despite Jonah’s unbearable rudeness, Dawson smiled through it with ease. All eighteen holes of it. He always handed Jonah the best clubs, advising him appropriately on his swings, his posture, the tips he learned from caddying other golfers.

But for all of Dawson’s patience and help, Jonah had a terrible round. There would be nothing for Jonah to boast about around the Langley dinner table that night. Jonah felt small, but he needed someone else to feel smaller.

“Next time, you’d do well to not be my caddy,” Jonah warned as they parked the golf cart outside one of the many golfing clubhouses that dotted the shores of Lake Clearwater. “Otherwise, you’ll be lucky to get a job picking up dog shit on the green, much less caddying.”

Jonah stalked off like a petulant child before Dawson could get a word in, leaving him and Reid alone with the myriad of golf equipment as the sun set along the lake. Wordlessly, Dawson climbed out of the golf cart, making to grab the golf bags and walk away. He didn’t bother concealing his disappointment. Four hours of being bossed around by a Langley and all he got out of it was a threat to his job security.

“Wait,” Reid said, finally speaking up. He pulled out his own wallet, counting out several hundred dollars. Extending it to Dawson, he said, “For putting up with my awful brother.”

Dawson didn’t move to take the bills. Dryly, he asked, “Pity money from a Langley?”

Reid flinched but kept his hand extended. “For a job well-done.”

With a firm shake of his head, Dawson said, “I’ll pass. Thanks, anyway.”