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I am honored and thankful for the incredible support I have received. I would like to express my gratitude to Monroe County Reporters for their significant role in increasing the audience for my page and book. I hope readers will enjoy the story, and I am pleased to announce that more books are on the way. Please stay tuned for further updates. If you have not already liked my page, I encourage you to do so and share it with others. Again, I offer my sincere thanks to everyone; your support is truly invaluable to me.

I am currently removing my entire collection of novels from Amazon and embarking on a fresh start. 'Even the Road Follows' will undergo a comprehensive rewrite and be rebranded as 'Ears of the Silent', emerging as a richer and more complex story, now comprising a trilogy of three books. Consequently, the original edition will become a highly sought-after rarity, treasured by those fortunate enough to own a copy.

A teaser of Ears of the Silent Chapter 1.

BOOK I: THE CARNIVAL BELOW

CHAPTER ONE — THE CALL

The body was found just before dawn, but Henry Wells would not know that for another two hours.
At 4:12 a.m., while fog crawled over the grass outside Evermere’s west woods, Henry was asleep facedown on his cramped Dayton apartment sofa, one leg dangling off the edge like he’d fallen there instead of choosing it.

The TV glowed blue In the corner of the room — static on a muted late-night infomercial — while a half-empty bottle of Red River Bourbon sat on the coffee table beside a scattering of old case notes he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

His back ached. His head was a dull throb. And his sleep was the deep, heavy kind that follows the kind of exhaustion no rest can fix.

Then the phone rang.

Henry didn’t move.
It rang again, louder this time.

He groaned, rolled onto his back, and blinked up at the ceiling. His phone vibrated against an empty pizza box on the floor, crawling like a metallic bug.

He reached for It, squinting through the blur of sleep and stale whiskey fumes.

UNKNOWN CALLER — EVERMERE POLICE DEPT.

Henry froze.

Evermere.

A name like a bruise pressed into the skin of his memory.

He almost let it ring out. Almost tossed the phone across the room like he’d done a hundred times before with numbers he didn’t want to face.

But he didn’t.

He answered.

“Wells,” he muttered, voice rough.

Silence for a beat.
Then:

“Henry… it’s Bennett.”

Henry sat up fully.

Chief Tom Bennett’s voice hadn’t changed — still deep, steady, carrying the unspoken weight of a man who’d seen far too much.

“What do you want, Tom?”

A pause. Longer than it needed to be.

“We found a body.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. “And?”

“And it’s posed.” Bennett inhaled, then exhaled shakily. “The ears are gone.”

Henry folded in on himself, like the air had been knocked out of him.

No.

Not again.

He closed his eyes, gripping the phone tighter. Beneath that quiet sentence was a sound he recognized — the tremor of someone remembering a horror they once tried to forget.

“Same as before?” Henry asked, voice low.

Bennett didn’t answer right away.
Finally:

“Yes.”

Henry stood abruptly, pacing the length of the tiny apartment. His legs felt weak, unsteady.

“How old?” he asked.

“Seventeen. Maybe eighteen.”

Henry swallowed.

Jemma had been sixteen.

He felt heat behind his eyes. The kind you refuse to let fall. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply, grounding himself.

“What made you call me? You’ve got younger detectives. Fresher minds.”

Another pause.

“That’s why I didn’t call them.”

Henry knew exactly what he meant.
No one else in Evermere had seen what he’d seen. Done what he’d done. Lost what he’d lost.

“Henry… I’m sorry,” Bennett said quietly.

Henry hated how much the apology hurt.

“Text me the address,” Henry said finally. “I’ll be there in three hours.”

THE ROAD BACK

The highway to Evermere cut through miles of open nothing — fields of dry corn stalks, skeletal trees lining the horizon, and stretches of fog so thick it erased the sky.

Henry drove with both hands on the wheel, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion clawing at him. He didn’t listen to the radio. Didn’t want noise. Noise made him think. Silence made him remember.

And remembering hurt.

At the county line, he passed the rusted billboard:

WELCOME TO EVERMERE — A PLACE FOR FAMILIES.

The smiling cartoon mascot still clutched a balloon, though the paint had peeled away, leaving just a ghostly outline of its face.

Henry looked away.

The further he drove, the more the town appeared like a familiar nightmare coming into focus — old storefronts, sagging porches, a diner that had changed owners three times but never its menu.

In the distance, half-shrouded in fog, he saw it:

The Ferris wheel.

Still. Silent.
Its once-colorful lights darkened years ago.

Jemma had loved that Ferris wheel.
The memory hit him with physical force.

He gripped the wheel tighter.

THE WOODS

Police tape fluttered between branches like warning flags. Patrol cars parked at odd angles illuminated the clearing with alternating washes of red and blue.

Henry stepped out of his car and smelled it immediately — the metallic tang of early morning dew mixed with something colder. Something wrong.

He ducked under the tape.

“Wells?”

Henry turned toward the voice.

Detective Emily Carter approached — early thirties, focused expression, sharp eyes that flickered with suspicion and curiosity in equal measure. She wore her badge clipped to her belt and her dark hair tied back tightly.

“You’re Henry Wells,” she said, stopping in front of him.

“So they tell me.”

Her tone flattened. “Chief Bennett said you used to be one of us.”

“I’m not anymore.”

She watched him for a moment — assessing, calculating.

Then she nodded toward the clearing. “Follow me.”

They walked through a corridor of trees until the ground opened into a wider space where the grass was disturbed, pressed flat.

And in the center of it—

The girl.

Lying on her back, hands folded neatly on her stomach like someone had arranged her gently after death. Head tilted slightly left, eyes closed, lips parted as if in mid-whisper.

And where her ears should have been —

Vacant, bloodless impressions.

Henry’s world went silent.

He moved toward the body without waiting for permission. Emily stepped aside, watching him closely.

He knelt down beside the girl, careful not to disturb the scene.

Same.

Everything was the same.

Same positioning.
Same careful carving.
Same ritualistic precision.

Emily crossed her arms. “You recognize the signature?”

Henry nodded once.

“Looks like a copycat,” Emily said.

Henry’s eyes remained on the girl. “It’s not.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Henry slowly stood, turning to face her. His voice was quiet, steady, filled with something Emily didn’t yet understand.

“Because he’s not copying the original case.”
A long beat.
“He’s continuing it.”

Emily’s expression shifted — the first sign of her realizing this case was bigger than a small-town murder.

Henry stared back at the girl, a cold dread settling in his spine.

Whoever had done this wanted him here.
Whoever had done this remembered everything.

And worst of all—

Whoever had done this hadn’t stopped.

Not twenty years ago.

Not ever.

END OF CHAPTER ONE