Chapter 12: Isaiah’s Tears
The county jail was colder than Noah remembered. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, and somewhere down the hall, a door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.
The guard led him to a small room with a scratched metal table. Isaiah Reed sat there, hunched over, his wrists cuffed to a metal loop. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes red and swollen. He looked younger than his seventeen years—too young for the world he was being dragged into.
“Noah Keene,” Noah said softly, taking a seat. “I’m your attorney now.”
Isaiah’s eyes darted up, then quickly dropped again. “You’re… really gonna help me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Noah replied. “But you’ve gotta tell me the truth. No half-answers. No lies. The fire—where were you?”
Isaiah’s hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the table. “I wasn’t there. I swear, Mr. Keene. I didn’t light nothing. I didn’t even—”
“Then where were you?”
Isaiah swallowed hard, his throat working. His gaze flicked toward the corner camera in the room, then back to Noah.
“I can’t say,” he whispered.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Noah leaned forward, his voice low but firm.
“I can’t,” Isaiah repeated, his voice breaking.
Noah studied him for a moment, weighing his next move. “Isaiah, if you have an alibi, that changes everything. You could walk out of here. But if you keep quiet, you’re just making their job easier.”
Isaiah’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “I was with someone,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear.
Noah’s pulse quickened. “Who?”
Isaiah’s voice cracked. “She saved me. From them. From—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.
“From who?”
Isaiah shook his head violently. “If I tell you, they’ll kill her. They’ll make it look like another accident. You don’t understand, this town… it don’t forgive. It buries people.”
Noah’s hands rested on the table, steady. “Listen to me. I’ve seen what this place does to people who stay quiet. I’ve seen what silence costs. If she’s in danger, the only way to protect her is to get the truth on record.”
Isaiah’s tears spilled over now, tracing lines down his cheeks. “You don’t get it, Mr. Keene. They don’t care about records. They don’t care about truth. My grandma used to say—‘When Bellview wants you gone, they don’t wait for the trial.’”
Noah’s chest tightened. “Isaiah—”
“I can’t,” the boy choked out. “If you care about me at all, don’t make me say her name.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the lights seemed louder, the cold sharper.
Finally, Noah sat back, exhaling slowly. “Alright. I’m not gonna force it. Not yet. But if you think staying quiet will keep her safe… you’re wrong. Sooner or later, they’ll come for both of you.”
Isaiah’s head dropped, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked his thin frame.
Noah wanted to reach across the table, to tell him it was going to be okay—but he couldn’t promise that. Not here. Not in Bellview.
The guard appeared in the doorway. “Time’s up.”
Noah stood, his eyes still on Isaiah. “I’ll be back,” he said quietly. “And when I come back… we’re gonna find a way to tell her story without getting her killed.”
Isaiah didn’t look up, but his voice trembled in the air between them. “You don’t know what you’re up against, Mr. Keene.”
Noah turned toward the door, his jaw set. “Neither do they.”
He stepped out into the dim hallway, but Isaiah’s broken voice followed him long after the cell door slammed shut.