Chapter 5: Eyes Everywhere
"We need to leave," Luca said. "Right now."
Marcus grabbed his phone. "Who the hell is watching us?"
"I don't know." I was still scanning faces. The barista wiping down the espresso machine. The college kid with headphones typing on his laptop. The woman reading a book by the window. Any of them could be taking photos.
All of them could be.
"Out the back," Marcus said. "There's an exit through the kitchen."
"They'll see us leave."
"Better than staying here like targets."
He had a point.
We grabbed our stuff and headed toward the back of the shop. The barista called out something about the bathroom being the other direction but we ignored her.
The kitchen exit led to an alley that smelled like old grease and rotting vegetables. My car was parked on the street two blocks away. Luca's was closer.
"Where are you parked?" I asked Marcus.
"Other side of the building."
"Don't go to your car. Come with us."
"Why?"
"Because they know you're involved now. They might be waiting for you."
Marcus's face went pale but he nodded.
We walked fast without running. Running drew attention. Three people speed-walking through downtown Redwood Heights on a Monday afternoon was weird but not suspicious.
We made it to Luca's car without anyone following us that I could see.
Luca unlocked it and we all got in. Marcus in the back. Me in the passenger seat.
"Where are we going?" Luca asked.
"Somewhere public. Somewhere with cameras." I was thinking out loud. "The library. They have security cameras everywhere."
"The library?"
"You have a better idea?"
He didn't. He started the car and pulled out of the parking spot.
I watched the rearview mirror the whole drive. Looking for cars that stayed behind us too long. Looking for anyone following.
Marcus was doing the same thing from the back seat.
"This is insane," he said. "Who does this? Who follows people around taking photos and sending threats?"
"Someone who doesn't want us digging into Rebecca's death."
"You think it's Dylan."
"Don't you?"
"Yeah. But Dylan's a swim coach. He's not some criminal mastermind. How is he pulling this off?"
"Maybe he has help."
"From who?"
"I don't know yet."
Luca turned into the library parking lot. It was moderately full. Good. More people meant more witnesses if something happened.
We went inside and found a table in the back corner where we could see the entrance but weren't visible from outside.
I pulled out my phone and opened the photo Marcus had shown me. The text from Coach to Rebecca.
Meet me at the bridge at 7pm. We need to talk.
I can't. Please leave me alone.
7pm. Don't make me come find you.
"Did the police pull Dylan's phone records?" I asked.
"They said they did. But they wouldn't tell me what they found. Said it was part of the investigation."
"Which means either they found nothing or they found something and didn't care."
"Or they found something and covered it up," Marcus said.
Luca looked up from his phone. "Why would they cover it up?"
"Because Dylan's connected. His dad's on the city council. His uncle's a judge. People like that don't get investigated properly."
That made sense in the worst possible way.
"We need proof," I said. "Something concrete that ties Dylan to Rebecca's death. Something the police can't ignore."
"Like what?"
"Witnesses. Anyone who saw them together that night. Anyone who heard them argue. Anyone who knows something they haven't told."
"I already asked around," Marcus said. "No one saw anything. Or if they did, they're not talking."
"What about Rebecca's friends?"
"They said she was acting weird the last few weeks. Distant. Scared. But she wouldn't tell them why."
"Did any of them mention Dylan?"
"No. She kept the lessons secret from most people. I only knew because I saw his text messages."
"Why would she keep it secret?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable. "I think he told her to. I think he was grooming her and part of that was isolating her from people who might notice."
The word grooming sat heavy in the air.
Luca rubbed his face. "If Dylan was grooming her, there might be other victims. Other girls he did this to."
"The police would have found them during the investigation," Marcus said.
"Not if the girls never reported it. Not if they were too scared or embarrassed or thought no one would believe them."
I thought about Ashley. The girl Marsh had mentioned in my outline. The one from Dylan's previous town who got away.
Except I hadn't met Marsh yet in this timeline. Didn't know about Ashley.
But the logic still held.
"We need to find out where Dylan worked before coming to Redwood," I said. "See if there were any similar deaths or accusations."
Marcus pulled out his laptop. "I can do that. I've been researching him for months. Just haven't found anything useful yet."
"What have you found?"
"Clean record. Glowing recommendations. Parents love him. Kids love him. He's like the perfect coach. Too perfect."
"No one's that perfect."
"Exactly."
Marcus typed for a few minutes. Pulled up Dylan's LinkedIn profile.
"Before Redwood, he worked in Ashton. Small town about three hours north. Before that, Riverside. Before that, Pineville. He moves every two or three years.
"That's a lot of moving for someone with a good reputation."
"I thought so too. So I searched for deaths in those towns. Young women. Teenagers."
He pulled up a document. A list of names and dates and causes of death.
Ashton: Emily Chen, 17, drowned in the lake. Ruled accidental.
Riverside: Hannah Torres, 16, fell from hiking trail. Ruled accidental.
Pineville: Megan Ross, 15, overdose. Ruled accidental.
My mouth went dry.
"All accidents."
"All within six months of Dylan leaving town."
"Did you tell the police this?"
"Yeah. They said it was circumstantial. That accidents happen. That I was seeing patterns where there weren't any."
"But you don't believe that."
"No. I think Dylan's been doing this for years. And I think he knows exactly how to make murders look like accidents."
Luca was staring at the list. "We need to contact the families. See if any of them suspected foul play."
"I already tried," Marcus said. "Most won't talk to me. They think I'm a conspiracy nut trying to exploit their grief."
"What about the ones who did talk?"
"Emily Chen's mother said Emily was taking swimming lessons before she died. From a coach she wouldn't name. Hannah Torres's sister said Hannah was acting scared the weeks before her death but wouldn't say why. Megan Ross's dad hung up on me."
"So we have a pattern but no proof."
"Right."
I looked at the names again. Four girls. Four deaths. Four towns.
Rebecca made five.
"There could be more," I said. "Girls who survived. Girls he groomed but didn't kill."
"How do we find them?"
"We don't. They find us."
Luca looked at me. "What are you thinking?"
"We go public. Post about this online. Reddit. Facebook. Twitter. Wherever. We share the pattern. Ask if anyone else has information about Dylan Rivers. See who comes forward."
"That's risky," Marcus said. "If Dylan's watching us, he'll know we're building a case."
"He already knows. He's been threatening me since I bought Rebecca's jacket. Going public might actually protect us. Make it harder for him to do anything without drawing attention."
"Or it might make him desperate enough to do something stupid."
"Then let him. Desperate people make mistakes."
Marcus considered this. "I'm in. I've got nothing left to lose. Rebecca's already gone. Might as well burn everything down trying to get her justice."
Luca didn't look convinced. "Sage, this could put a target on your back. Bigger than the one already there."
"The target's already there. At least this way we're fighting back instead of hiding."
"What if no one believes us?"
"Some people won't. But some people will. And all we need is one person with real evidence."
We spent the next hour drafting the post. Kept it factual. Listed the names and dates and towns. Explained the pattern. Asked for anyone with information to come forward.
Marcus posted it first on his Facebook. Then I shared it. Then Luca.
Within ten minutes it had twenty shares.
Within twenty minutes, fifty.
Within an hour, it was everywhere.
My phone started buzzing at the two-hour mark.
Messages from people I hadn't talked to in years.
Is this for real?
Are you serious about Dylan Rivers?
My cousin took lessons from him. She quit after two weeks. Wouldn't say why.
I screened the messages. Most were people curious or skeptical. A few were angry, calling us liars and attention seekers.
But then one came through that made me stop scrolling.
I need to talk to you. In person. Not over text. I have information about Dylan.
The message was from a number I didn't recognize.
I showed it to Luca and Marcus.
"Could be a trap," Luca said.
"Could be a witness," Marcus countered.
I typed back.
Who is this?
Three dots. Then:
Someone who got away. Barely.
My hands went cold.
Where do you want to meet?
Not in public. Too many people watching. Can you come to my apartment?
Every instinct said this was a bad idea. Meeting a stranger at their apartment. Someone who'd found me through a viral post.
But if this person really had information…
Send me your address. We'll be there in an hour.
The address came through two minutes later. An apartment complex on the east side of town. Not far from here.
"We're really doing this?" Luca asked.
"You don't have to come."
"Yes I do. But I'm going on record saying this is stupid."
"Noted."
Marcus closed his laptop. "I'm coming too."
"You don't have to
"Yes I do. This is about my sister. I'm not sitting on the sidelines."
We packed up and headed for the car.
The address led us to a run-down building with peeling paint and bars on the windows. Not dangerous exactly. Just tired. Like the people who lived there had given up on trying to make it nice.
Apartment 3B was on the second floor. The hallway smelled like cigarettes and microwaved food.
I knocked.
Footsteps. A chain rattling. The door opened a crack.
A girl looked out. Maybe nineteen. Blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.
"Sage?"
"Yeah."
She looked at Luca and Marcus. "Who are they?"
"Luca's my friend. Marcus is Rebecca's brother."
Something changed in her expression when I said Rebecca's name. Pain. Recognition.
"Come in. But lock the door behind you."
We stepped inside. The apartment was small. One room serving as bedroom and living room and kitchen. Neat despite the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet.
The girl locked the door. Put the chain back on. Checked the window blinds to make sure they were closed.
"Sorry. I'm paranoid about windows now."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Ashley. Ashley Morrison."
The name from my outline. The girl who got away.
"You said you have information about Dylan Rivers."
"Yeah." She sat down on the edge of her bed. Hands clasped together so tight her knuckles were white. "He was my swim coach three years ago. In Ashton. Before he came here."
"What happened?"
"He started giving me private lessons. Said I had potential. That he could help me go competitive if I worked hard enough." Her voice was flat. Emotionless. Like she'd told this story before and learned to disconnect from it. "I was fourteen. I believed him."
No one spoke.
"It started small. Compliments that felt too personal. Texts late at night asking how I was doing. Touches that lasted too long. I thought I was imagining it. Thought I was making it into something it wasn't."
"You weren't," Marcus said quietly.
"I know that now. But I didn't then. And by the time I realized what was happening, I was in too deep. He'd isolated me from my friends.
Convinced me that I was special. That we had a connection no one else would understand."
"Did you tell anyone?" I asked.
"I tried to tell my mom. She said I was misinterpreting things. That Coach Rivers was a professional. That I should be grateful someone was investing time in my training."
She laughed but there was no humor in it. "Three weeks later Emily Chen drowned during a private lesson with him."
"You knew Emily?"
"We trained together sometimes. She was younger than me. Fifteen. Sweet kid. She'd just started lessons a month before she died."
"What happened?"
"Official story? She had a panic attack in the deep end. Dylan tried to save her but couldn't reach her in time. Accident. Tragic. No one's fault."
"But you don't believe that."
"Emily was a good swimmer. Better than me. And she'd been acting weird before she died. Scared. Just like I'd been acting."
"Did you tell the police your suspicions?"
"Yeah. They interviewed me. Asked if Dylan had ever been inappropriate. I told them everything. Every text. Every comment. Every time he touched me wrong." Her voice cracked. "They said it wasn't enough. That I didn't have proof. That Coach Rivers had been cleared."
"Cleared by who?"
"I don't know. But someone made sure the investigation went away."
Marcus was gripping the edge of the table. "Did he ever hurt you? Physically?"
"He tried. The night Emily died, he texted me. Wanted to meet. I knew if I went, I'd end up like her. So I blocked his number. Told my parents I was quitting swimming. Refused to go back to the pool."
"And that worked?"
"For a while. Then I found out he was leaving town. Taking a job in Riverside. I thought I was safe." She pulled out her phone and showed us her messages. "Then this came last week."
The text was from an unknown number.
I know you've been talking. It needs to stop. Or you'll regret it.
Below that was a photo of Ashley. Walking to her car. Taken recently based on her clothes and the snow in the background.
"He found me," she said. "After three years. He found me and now he's threatening me just like he's threatening you."
I showed her my phone. The messages. The photos.
Her face went white.
"He's escalating. That's what he does. He threatens. Then he waits. Then he acts."
"What do you mean acts?"
"Emily didn't accidentally drown, Sage. He killed her. And he made it look like an accident because that's what he does. That's what he's done in every town." She looked at Marcus. "I'm sorry about your sister. But she didn't kill herself. Dylan killed her because she was trying to get away. Just like Emily. Just like I almost did."
The voices in my head were screaming now. All thirty-eight of them. But Rebecca was loudest.
I didn't kill myself.
"We're going to prove it," I said. "We're going to get him."
Ashley shook her head. "You can't. He's too smart. Too connected. Everyone who tries to expose him ends up dead or discredited."
"Then we'll be the ones who succeed."
"You don't understand. He has people protecting him. Important people. People who make evidence disappear and witnesses stay quiet."
"Who?"
"I don't know all of them. But I know his father's on the city council. His uncle's a judge. And there's someone else. Someone he mentioned once when he thought I wasn't listening. Someone he called when things got messy."
"What did he say?"
"He said 'Don't worry. My friend at the department will handle it.' Like he had a cop on his payroll."
Luca cursed under his breath.
A cop. Dylan had a cop helping him.
Which explained how the investigations kept getting buried. How evidence kept disappearing. How he stayed clean no matter how many girls died.
"Do you know which cop?"
"No. But it has to be someone with access. Someone who can make files disappear. Someone high enough up that other officers don't question them."
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
New message.
I opened it.
The photo showed Ashley's apartment building. Taken from across the street. Recent. Maybe minutes ago.
The text below it read:
I know where Ashley lives. I know you're with her right now. Leave town, Sage. Take your friends and go. Or everyone you care about ends up like Rebecca.
I showed the others.
Ashley started crying. "He's here. Right now. He's watching us."
Luca moved to the window. Peeked through the blinds.
"I don't see anyone."
"He's there. He's always there."
My phone buzzed again.
Another photo.
This one showed Luca. At the window. Looking out.
Taken two seconds ago.
The message came through:
Nice try, Luca. But you can't see me. I see everything. And if you don't leave Sage alone, I'll make sure you regret it.
Luca stepped back from the window. His face had gone pale.
"We need to call the cops."
"The cops won't help," Ashley said. "One of them is working for Dylan. We call them and they'll tell him everything we know."
"Then what do we do?"
Marcus stood up. "We get evidence. Real evidence. Something so solid that even a corrupt cop can't make it disappear."
"How?"
"We break into Dylan's house. Tonight. And we find whatever he's hiding."
It was possibly the worst idea I'd ever heard.
Which is why I agreed immediately.
"Let's do it."
Luca looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "That's breaking and entering. That's illegal. That's"
"The only way we're going to get proof."
"And if we get caught?"
"We won't."
"You can't know that."
"Then I'll take the risk. You don't have to come."
"Of course I'm coming. Someone needs to keep you from getting killed."
Ashley wiped her eyes. "I can help. I know his schedule. I know when he's home and when he's not. Monday nights he coaches late. Doesn't get home until after nine."
I checked my phone. It was five thirty now.
"That gives us three and a half hours."
"To plan a break-in? That's not enough time."
"It's what we have."
Marcus opened his laptop. "I've got his address. I've got the layout of the house from public records. We can do this."
My phone buzzed one more time.
I almost didn't want to look.
But I did.
The message was from a different unknown number. Not the one that had been threatening me.
This one just said:
I can help. I know what Dylan did. And I know how to prove it. Meet me at Pinewood Cemetery. Gate 3. Midnight. Come alone or I won't show.
Below that was a photo I'd never seen before.
Rebecca. Alive. Smiling. Standing next to Dylan at the pool.
With a bruise on her wrist that looked like fingerprints.