The Man in The Shadows

Paul and Jessica got up early the next morning and went into town to a small café for breakfast. Neither of them had slept much the night before and both needed a jolt of caffeine to get their wits about them.

Paul stood beside Jessica at the counter as he paid the bill. Suddenly he was keenly aware that Jessica was preoccupied by something.

Jessica couldn’t move. She stood frozen, staring at the man in the distance—his silhouette swallowed in the shadows of the parking lot across the street. Just like before. Watching. Waiting.

Paul followed her gaze, his body going rigid. His voice was low, calm, but she could hear the shift in his tone—like a coil winding tight.

“Go get in the truck,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Jessica didn't argue. For once, she didn’t have the strength. She turned on shaking legs and made her way to the black pickup. Paul was right behind her, one hand resting on his holster, eyes scanning the night like a hawk.

The moment they were both inside, he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot in a slow, calculated motion. His eyes scanning left and right.

Jessica clutched the journal to her chest. “He’s not letting up.”

“No,” Paul said grimly. “He’s not.”

They drove in silence for a while, headlights cutting through the night. The journal sat between them once again, like a loaded gun. Jessica could feel it buzzing with secrets. She had only read bits and pieces—scattered entries about her father’s past, cryptic notes, locations she didn’t recognize.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“To the station for now. Safe, secure. Then I want to talk to a contact I trust at the state bureau,” Paul said, his voice all business. “And I want to finish reading that journal.”

Jessica nodded slowly. “It’s all in there… he was trying to leave it all behind. But he was scared.”

Paul glanced at her. “Scared of whom?”

Jessica hesitated. “He never said. He only referred to them as ‘the Circle.’ ”

Paul’s grip tightened around the wheel. “Sounds like a damn cult.”

“More like a syndicate,” she murmured. “He said once you’re in, you don’t get out. Not alive, anyway.”

Paul didn’t respond. The weight of that hung thick in the truck.

When they reached the station, it was nearly midnight. The building sat quiet and empty, a single light flickering in the back office. Paul let them in through the side door, bypassing the front desk entirely.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “You take the couch in my office. I’ll be right outside.”

Jessica opened her mouth to argue—then closed it again. She was too exhausted. Too shaken.

The journal sat heavy in her lap as she curled up on the stiff leather couch. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the building.

But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, she opened the journal and read.

December 17, 2004. If you’re reading this, I’m either dead… or trying very hard not to be found. I never meant for this to land on your shoulders, Jess. I tried to shield you. But secrets rot in the dark, and now they’re crawling into the light.

Jessica blinked back tears.

The Circle recruited me when I was young. I thought I was saving people. In the beginning, I was. Then came the transports. The unspoken shipments. Children. Women. They made me complicit, and I didn’t know how to get out without dragging your mother and you into the fallout.

But I’m trying. I left clues in the margins, Jess. The names, the routes, the drop sites. If I disappear… follow the redbird.

She frowned. “Redbird?”

She flipped the page. Something was scribbled in the margin—barely legible.

Redbird Motel. West of Route 17. Ask for Martin. He owes me.

Paul’s voice came from the doorway. “You find something?”

Jessica jumped, startled, but then nodded. “I think I did. The Redbird Motel. Route 17.”

Paul stepped inside, eyes narrowing. “That’s way out past the county line.”

“He left this message… said someone named Martin could help us. And that’s not all.” Her hands trembled as she held the journal out. “Paul… what if he’s not dead?”

Paul didn’t flinch. He took the journal, reading the entry with grim focus. “You think he faked it?”

“He knew too much. He was scared. What if he staged his death to protect us? Mom and me?”

Paul looked up, his voice softer now. “Then that means he’s still out there. Somewhere. Maybe even watching.” Paul wasn't sure what to believe. He thought all of this sounded far fetched and more like a bad movie.

Jessica exhaled, her throat thick with emotion. “I need to know. I have to know.”

Paul didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat beside her, flipping through the journal pages. After a moment, he looked up at her, his gaze intense.

“We go at first light.”

The sky was still pink when they pulled up to the dusty, long-forgotten roadside motel. A rusty sign swung in the breeze. There were only three cars in the lot, all older models. No security cameras. No front desk clerk in sight.

The Redbird Motel looked exactly like the kind of place someone might go to disappear—or be disappeared. It was a rundown remnant of a better time. The neon sign buzzed weakly in the early morning haze, half the letters flickering as if exhausted from years of neglect. Jessica sat in the truck, staring at the faded pink door of Room 6, her fingers tightening around the edge of the journal in her lap.

Paul killed the engine.

“Martin’s in that room?” she asked, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“According to your dad’s notes he is, yes.” Paul glanced at her. “You sure about this?”

She nodded before her nerves could catch up to her decision. “He’s the only person left who might tell us the truth.”

Paul reached across the seat, placing a gentle hand over hers. “Stay behind me.”

“I won’t get in the way,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “I know. But I still want you behind me.”

Paul got out first, adjusting the weight of his holstered gun. Jessica followed, tucking the journal into her shoulder bag. The gravel crunched beneath their steps, every sound amplified in the eerie quiet. When they reached the door of Room 6, Paul knocked twice, then stepped back, his stance ready.

Nothing.

Then…a rustle, a sound of shuffling footsteps approaching the door. Paul instinctively put his hand on his hip, touching the weapon under his jacket.

A chain clicked inside. A lock turned. The door opened two inches, revealing a single bloodshot eye and a slice of wrinkled skin.

“Who the hell—”

“We’re looking for Martin,” Paul said.

“There isn’t anyone here by that name! Now git out of here!” Martin seemed upset.

Paul reached behind him and took the journal from Jessica’s hands. He held it up so the old man could see it.

“Okay, you found him,” the man grumbled. “But you ain’t bringing trouble to my doorstep.”

Jessica stepped forward. “My name is Jessica Bowden. My father… was Michael Bowden.”

The door froze mid-close.

“You need to go,” Martin hissed. “Now.”

“He’s alive,” Jessica said quickly. “I know he is. And I think you do, too.”

Martin’s eye twitched. Slowly, he opened the door wider.

Inside, the room smelled of stale smoke and regret. A single cot, a desk littered with old magazines and an ashtray full of cigarette butts showed a lonely existence. The yellowed blinds covering a window hadn’t seen fresh air in years.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Martin said, motioning them in. “If they find out—”

“They already know we’re onto them,” Paul said. “You’re not hiding anymore.”

Martin sat with a groan. “Michael was trying to get out. He wanted to protect you, Jessica. The Circle doesn’t let people walk away.”

“He faked his death,” she said.

Martin nodded. “He didn’t want you finding him, thought you’d be safer thinking he was dead.”

“But he left the journal,” Paul said. “That means he knew she’d look for the truth.”

Martin’s fingers tapped restlessly against the table. “The Circle’s in deep. Judges. Cops. Politicians. Your dad knew where the bodies were buried—literally and figuratively.”

Jessica sat down. “So where is he?”

Martin sighed, then pulled a scrap of paper from under the lamp. “He’s staying off-grid. Has a cabin near Lake Roscoe. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Paul took the paper. “We’ll make sure no one knows you helped us.”

Martin looked at Jessica. “If you find him… tell him I’m sorry.”

Jessica nodded, her heart thudding like a war drum.

They had a name. They had a place.They had hope.

Jessica looked at Paul, “Let’s finish this,” she said.

Paul nodded. They took the paper and headed to the truck. They had a clue, something to go on. But what if Martin was lying? What if her father was really dead and he was part of the plan to send them on a wild goose chase? Jessica had to believe. She had to move forward and find the truth.