CHAPTER 1

Dear Ms. Alison Sloan,

News of your arrival in Sandhaven has driven our fractured community to a breaking point. By the time you read this, I’m sure you will have understood that for yourself.

We embraced more businesses; we settled for new neighbors. Nobody asked for a gimmick. The opening of The Clairborne Theater will be the final straw in a series of unwelcome additions to our town. We see it for what it is: the affluence you want to invite in, and the hardship you want to haul out. If our home continues to transform at this pace, the backlash will be uglier than you’re prepared for.

To avoid the worst of this, you will need my help.

Enclosed with this letter is the script of Banebirth, an original screenplay written by my brother, Charlie Casey. The story follows a tribe of early humans and their first encounters with an emergent prehistoric predator, a tale of tension and strife mirroring the challenges of integration with Sandhaven’s newer residents. As the celebrity ambassador of the Frontier Development Group, your endorsement of this screenplay would be a visible gesture of goodwill to those of us who’ve felt sidelined during the implementation of the commercial and residential development across our town.

Your successful film career and my lifelong experience as a local with aspirations in the entertainment industry would ensure this screenplay is properly adapted. I could shape the preparation and rollout, as my family’s name holds weight here. Our partnership would steer Sandhaven toward a more peaceful and prosperous future.

I must admit that the success of this project would also provide my family with a lifeline. Though your sponsors only see a struggling town to strip and repurpose, Sandhaven isn’t just a place where we live. For many of us, it’s part of who we are.

When you find you need my help, don’t hesitate to contact the number below. And please do not misplace this drive, as I will not be able to produce another.

Sincerely,

Ingersoll Casey

The cursor rested behind his signature. Soll fixated on the blinking static line, a panting sprinter forced to race across the page. His fingers fidgeted, tempted to send it on another course of reconstruction, but nothing else felt fit for change. Finally, it was ready.

Ready to be in the hands of someone who mattered. Someone with talent, influence, and the resources to fulfill its potential. Someone with the power to change lives. And finally, it would be out of the hands of someone with none of that.

Time to deliver it.

Within a week, she would read it—or she’d be long gone, the opportunity shuttered, and the mundane rhythm of life in Sandhaven resumed.

Not an option.

Beyond his bedroom window, the sun dipped behind the distant treeline overlooking Main Street. Crowds were probably arriving, all crossing paths for the first time, trading wary glances as they took in the new scenery. Suspicion was probably thick in the air, billowing from the old guard while they seethed. But the newer locals would mask it entirely. That was the intention: an idyllic atmosphere for the reveal of their latest investment.

Soll skimmed the message a final time as if the words might’ve changed. Days of revising, pacing, and doubting, all reduced to a few paragraphs. He sprang from his desk, weaving through piles of half-unpacked boxes strewn across the room. At the printer in the hallway, he plucked the warm paper, folded it, and slid it into an envelope. Just enough space left for a companion.

The white USB waited in the laptop. A window on the screen displayed the only file it carried, one Alison Sloan couldn’t miss, if he could only get it into her hands.

Soll returned to his desk and gently withdrew the drive like a loaded syringe. With the same tenderness, he sealed it into the envelope and tucked it into his backpack.

Pages filling the screen vanished with a few swift clicks. Search history—deleted. Recycling bin—emptied. File changes—discarded. He wiped the keys to remove the panicked, oily stamps from his fingertips. One final check confirmed any remaining evidence had been scrubbed.

He shut the laptop and cradled it in his arms. Hurrying through the disarray, he left the room and crossed the hallway to the next bedroom door. His trembling hand hovered over the knob. Ticks of the wall clock chopped the silence as he pressed his ear to the door.

All quiet.

He slowly turned the knob and pushed it forward.

Dusky sunlight splashed across sheets folded tight on the bed. A warm breeze slipped through the window that was cracked open an inch. The desk’s surface was bare. He crept toward it, slinking past the shelf, neatly arranged with books flanking a gallery of framed certificates and awards.

Click.

The latch of the front door snapped from down the hallway. Soll stiffened. Creaking hinges groaned into the silence, followed by two bickering voices. They were early.

“Don’t be like that, Charlie. You’re getting stronger every visit. I know it won’t be long before you’re back to normal, or at least closer. God willing, maybe you’d even be able to walk—”

“No, I won’t.”

The atmosphere soured with the squeaking of the wheels across the hardwood floor.

“Be encouraged, son! You’ll get better if you continue to work at this pace. They said it today!”

“I know what they said. I was there too, remember? I’m telling you, it’s impossible, so stop fantasizing that I’ll be crippled one day and an athlete the next.”

Soll returned the laptop to the desk and scurried back to his room under the cover of a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Disabled, Charlie. Words are powerful; that’s why I keep telling you to pray about it. But maybe it’ll mean more coming from your brother. Why don’t we tell him the good news?”

Charlie’s voice dropped to a sharp whisper that barely reached down the hall. “Stop trying to force this! Just because he’s living here again doesn’t mean I want anything to do with him.”

His mother retorted in an equally faint whisper, “If you keep being like this, you’ll drive away everyone who loves and cares about you.” Kim Casey’s voice suddenly rose. “Soll, what are you up to in there?”

Soll counted down, stretching a smile over his face before venturing from his room. His mother’s beleaguered face and his little brother’s slouch resolved as he strolled down the hall.

“I’m here, Ma. Just…reading.” He reluctantly regarded his brother. “How did it all go, Charlie?”

“Dr. Jones said there’s a potential for a total recovery with the use of both legs. He said he’s never seen a patient with the determination Charlie has. Don’t you remember how discouraged we were from believing it just a few months ago? God willing, soon enough we’ll look back on this like it was all a nightmare…”

Charlie’s low gaze didn’t acknowledge either of them, only lingering on Soll’s backpack.

Soll tucked it behind him. “I hope—I know we will. And I’m gonna do whatever I can to help you get there. Anything you need, Charlie, just say the word. We can try the exercises the doctor suggested.”

Kim hesitated. “No need to worry about that, Soll. I’ve got it handled…”

“And I’m going to help you handle it!” insisted Soll. His hand reached to affirm his intention onto Charlie’s shoulder, which jerked back as if repelled by a magnetic force.

“Your support is more than enough,” Kim reassured. “But what you both could always do is join me to visit your dad. I know he’d be happy to see more of your progress, Charlie. And maybe if he sees your face, Soll, it’d stir some old memories. That could bring him back to his right mind.”

A cold silence wedged between them. Soll glanced at the cluster of family portraits covering the walls, lingering on one. The four stood beneath a sprawl of digital billboards and fluorescent city lights. His father squeezed them together while they beamed into the camera. Despite the resemblance in their broad smile, deep cedar skin, and woolly black hair, the exuberant man in the frame was a distant, faded memory.

“Maybe we could talk about this a little later? I actually have to leave,” Soll blurted out.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And to where would that be?”

“Into town,” Soll replied. He hesitated, gathering himself before adding, “I really gotta go or I’m gonna be late. Is there any way I could drive your—”

Kim held up a hand. “Absolutely not! You’re not about to ruin any car of mine! Buy another one of your own, and you can do what you want.”

“But it’ll only take me ten minutes versus a half-hour ride!” he pleaded. “There’s nothing to worry about! I’m going for something important, so I’ll be careful, I promise!”

“Important? I know you’re not heading there to try to meet that actress lady. I thought you were done with all that,” Kim groaned. “They’re not looking to discover anyone, honey. If it didn’t happen in New York, why would it happen in Sandhaven? It’s time to get focused, Soll. Time for you to find some proper direction, starting with keeping a car on the road.”

Soll’s jaw tightened. “Fine. I guess I’ll ride my bike like a child.”

“Seems fitting,” Charlie scoffed, gliding out of the room and down the hallway toward the door Soll had just closed. Kim shook her head as he disappeared into his room.

“You think that’s a good idea with how things have been going around town? I’ve been hearing a lot of scary stories recently, and I decided I don’t like you riding around after dark. Folks around here have gone from protesting to straight-up causing trouble. I don’t want you caught up in any of that…”

“Ma, what are you even talking about?”

“Lots of scary things! The new neighbors are trying to get the police involved. They said they’re getting stalked and harassed, talking about they’ve spotted folks going through the woods near that new neighborhood off Sycamore Road. That’s the route you take! We don’t need to give them any chance to suspect you…”

Minutes ticked by as Soll fidgeted, searching for another opportunity to slip out.

“And you should stay clear of that grand opening tonight. Those Fair Share folks will be there, and their protests have only gotten more erratic the longer they don’t get their way. No doubt they’ll be on their worst behavior tonight. I’m starting to worry someone’ll get hurt sooner or later. Other folks can get away with it, but let us get caught up in it one time...” Kim shook her head. She watched his focus swing from her face to the door as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Soll, are you listening to me?”

He groaned, imagining what other absurd gossip finally drove her to embrace the conspiracy. “I’ll be fine. Those people are only after the transplants. Anyone could tell I’m from here.”

A weary sigh escaped her lips. “You’d better hope. I’m so tired of all this nonsense. Looking out for your dad, taking care of your brother, and worrying about whatever you’re getting up to is just becoming too much for me. I told you, some of those ‘transplants’ are trying to snatch up this house too, and making some pretty good offers at that. Give me one more reason, and I’m selling this place and taking Charlie and Dad to North Carolina to live with Aunt Raina. At this point, I’ll take any help I can get.”

Soll swallowed hard. “Let’s just give it some more time. It’ll all be fine.”

“Like I said, you’d better hope. I don’t know if my sister is going to be as tolerant of an able-but-aimless twenty-three-year-old living in her house as much as I’ve been.”

The bite of her words brought them both to silence. Soll averted his gaze to blunt her piercing disappointment that soon resolved to remorse.

“If you must go, then there’s something you need to take with you. You’re not gonna like this…” she muttered, opening the adjacent coat closet and flinging jackets aside. “But you need to wear it if you’re gonna be on the road.”

She pulled out a neon vest and tossed it over to him.

“Of course, Ma. No one could miss me with this.” Soll stuffed it into his backpack and pecked her on the cheek. “See you when I get back.”

The clear orange sky met him as he dashed through the door, casting enough light to find the bike leaning against the house. Hopping over the frame, he kicked it forward, clicking on the headlight before vanishing into the evening.

Endless rows of ripening corn and soybeans flanked the cracked road, all disappearing under the coming darkness. Soll flicked his damp shirt from his chest. His stomach turned as he accelerated, envisioning the letter finally landing in Alison Sloan’s hands.           

A low hum rose behind him, drowning out his panting. Dim beams swept over his shoulders, followed by a rattling engine. The sound trailed him until he veered off the pavement. The old engine screamed as the hunter-green pickup truck sped past, spitting a cloud of exhaust. Soll choked a curse between coughs at the pair of red brake lights disappearing into the dusk ahead.

Neat fields gave way to a grove of towering white and shortleaf pines. Chattering crickets and katydids filled the resinous air, heralding the evening’s arrival. Burning aches wrapped Soll’s legs as the insect songs swelled around him. Somehow, he needed to get further, faster.

Doubt collapsed into disillusionment, dragging at Soll’s feet like an anvil. Even if he flew into town and placed the letter in Alison Sloan’s hands, it wouldn’t erase the truth. It couldn’t change that it wasn’t meant to be delivered this way, or maybe at all. It wouldn’t sharpen his ineffectual ideas beside Charlie’s cleverness. Regardless of how swiftly his bike flew over the road, he’d never outrun that.

But Charlie needed him. He needed someone to seize the opportunity he was too bitter to recognize. His talent was never meant to be relegated to a file, buried and forgotten. Someone had to be bold enough to break his rules, even if the casualty was trust. If he would never allow Soll’s yearning hands to lift him up or push his chair, then those hands would have to carry his ideas and ensure their success.

Soll clenched the handlebars and pedaled harder, spurring the groaning bike forward. He wouldn’t have to explain. Good intentions didn’t need permission.

The wild trees suddenly broke. An arm of asphalt diverted from the weathered pavement like a fresh black scar carved through the flattened forest.

Lampposts lined the crisp street bisecting the new development. A row of charming houses sat on each side, blemished by no more than a few weeks of sun and rain. They gleamed under the soft glow of the lamps like roses in a field of wilted weeds, enviable and new.

Soll freed himself from the allure and surged ahead, digging his feet into the pedals, pushing the bike to a flying speed. Humid air clung to his face as he sailed past another untamed stretch of thicket. The edge of the beam rolled over cracks and ruts of the pavement; its hypnotic pattern was only broken by a flash several yards ahead.

It faded in a blink. Soll slowed, scouring the path as far as his beam could reach until it caught the outline of a green pickup truck. Dried mud peppered the bottom of the olive coat, nearly masking a dented fender.

He choked the brakes. The truck’s nose dipped off the road, the bumper clinging to the pavement. The headlights and brake lights were out. Grass in its tire paths was freshly pressed.

He aimed the beam at the back window and peered inside. The light passed through without catching a thing. No shadow. No movement. No sign of life.

“Hello?” Soll called out. Silence. The engine had angrily roared behind him no more than twenty minutes ago; now, it sat dead in the headlight. He inched closer with the bike between his legs. “Everything okay there?”

Nothing.

He took another few steps, then jerked to a halt.

From behind the cab, a figure emerged and stepped into the beam. His hazel glare glimmered in the light, demanding something from beneath the awning of a black hood. Soll’s eyes dropped. His breath snagged, and his throat cinched. The edge of a knife glinted as it raised into the air, pointed at his throat.

“Gimme your phone and your wallet,” a voice growled from behind a red bandana. “Now.”