CHAPTER THREE: The Poor Boy
Noah didn’t sleep.
Even with the motel’s cheap curtains drawn, the fire kept playing behind his eyes. Every time he blinked, he saw that boy again—standing still, like the world had stopped turning around him.
Isaiah.
He hadn’t meant to get involved. Hadn’t meant to stay more than a few nights. Just long enough to check on his father and maybe figure out where the madness started.
But now…
Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on that kid’s face.
By the time the sun broke over the edge of the Bellview Baptist steeple, Noah was already back behind the wheel. Coffee in hand. Tie loose around his neck. No destination in mind. Just driving.
Then he saw the flashing lights.
Sheriff's SUV. One deputy car behind it.
He rolled slower, keeping back.
They were outside a trailer. The kind with bent porch steps and an old couch sun-bleached beyond recognition.
Isaiah stood in the dirt, hands above his head, surrounded by officers.
Noah slammed on the brakes.
“What the hell—”
One deputy pushed Isaiah to the ground.
“I said stay down!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Isaiah cried.
Noah jumped out of his car. “Hey!”
The sheriff—Mason Collier—turned at the sound. His jaw clenched the way it used to when they played ball together in high school.
“Noah Keene,” he said, voice flat.
“What’s going on?” Noah asked, walking fast.
“Official business,” Mason replied. “Turn around.”
“That’s the kid from the fire last night.”
“I said turn around.”
Isaiah looked up from the ground, face streaked with dirt and something close to blood. “I didn’t light it—I swear!”
The deputy cuffed him.
“Wait—” Noah stepped forward. “He’s a minor.”
“Seventeen,” Mason said. “Old enough.”
Noah’s voice sharpened. “Have you read him his rights?”
“He knows his rights.”
“I didn’t start that fire!” Isaiah shouted. “I was trying to get them out!”
“Get who out?” Noah asked.
Isaiah hesitated. “I—I don’t know—someone screamed. I tried to help—"
“Shut it,” Mason barked.
“No,” Noah snapped. “Let him talk.”
Mason stepped closer. “You’re not his lawyer.”
“Yet.”
Mason's eyes narrowed. “You’re just here for your father. I remember.”
Noah didn’t blink. “I remember you too, Mason. Funny how we both ended up here. Just on opposite sides of the line.”
“You don't know what you're walking into.”
“And you don’t know who you're dragging out of it.”
Isaiah was crying now—silent tears.
“They think I did it,” he mumbled. “They always think I did it.”
The deputy yanked him to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you taking him?” Noah asked.
“Juvenile holding,” Mason said.
“Has he had a guardian present? A public defender?”
“He’ll get one.”
“You’re arresting him without an interview?”
Mason didn’t answer.
Noah looked at Isaiah. “Did they ask you anything? Before this?”
Isaiah nodded, then shook his head. “They said… they said I was already guilty.”
Noah’s stomach dropped.
Mason gestured to the car. “We’re done here.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Then come prove it,” Mason said. “In court.”
The door slammed shut behind Isaiah. The cruiser pulled away, trailing dust and something heavier behind it.
Noah stood in the road, watching until the lights were gone.
He’d seen that look before—in every courtroom that swore it was fair.
Back at Meadow Pines, James sat in the garden again.
He didn’t speak until Noah pulled up a chair.
“They found someone,” Noah said quietly. “They’re saying he started the fire.”
James blinked slow.
“A boy,” Noah added. “Isaiah. Same age Carter was, back then.”
That name sparked something. James’s hand twitched.
“Wasn’t him,” he muttered.
“You don’t even know—”
“Wasn’t him. They’re using him.”
Noah leaned forward. “Who’s ‘they,’ Dad?”
But James was gone again. Eyes vacant. Rocking now, just slightly.
“They’re using him… just like they used me…”
At the sheriff’s office, the lobby smelled like old sweat and fresh bleach. A secretary glanced up without interest.
“Keene,” he said, flipping his ID on the counter. “I need to see the intake report for Isaiah Reed.”
“Only his lawyer can request that.”
“I am his lawyer.”
“You’ve been retained?”
He held up a blank form. “His mother’s about to sign.”
The secretary frowned. “You’ll have to speak with the sheriff.”
“Gladly.”
She buzzed the door.
Mason stood just inside, arms folded.
“You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Neither do you,” Noah said. “That’s the problem.”
Mason led him into the office. The door clicked shut behind them.
“I don’t have to let you in.”
“You do if you want this to hold up.”
Mason sat behind his desk. “That boy’s a liar.”
“He’s scared.”
“He was at the scene. He ran.”
“He was in shock.”
“We found accelerant on his boots.”
Noah blinked. “Did you test it yet?”
“We sent it off.”
“Then it proves nothing.”
Mason leaned back. “Why are you here, Noah? Really.”
Noah paused. “I’m here for my father.”
“No,” Mason said. “You were. But now you’re sniffing around something that smells like the old days.”
Noah didn’t answer.
Mason nodded. “I remember what happened to James. He chased ghosts. Got obsessed. Look where it got him.”
Noah stepped closer. “You don’t think the fire last night and what happened to my father are connected?”
Mason’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you better tread light.”
Noah stared at him.
“Can I see the boy now?”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
Isaiah sat alone in a holding cell. His knees were pulled to his chest. When he saw Noah, his head dropped.
“I didn’t do it,” he whispered.
“I believe you.”
“They keep saying I did.”
“Did you?”
Isaiah looked up, eyes wet.
“I heard someone screaming. I tried to get in. I broke a window. The smoke—it was too much—I couldn’t see. I swear I didn’t light it. I was trying to help.”
“Who was screaming?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know. I never saw them.”
“You were alone?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just me.”
Noah didn’t push further. Not yet.
“You have a lawyer now,” he said.
Isaiah blinked. “Why would you help me?”
“Because someone has to.”
That night, Noah sat alone outside his motel room. The fire had been out for twenty-four hours, but it hadn’t left.
Neither had Isaiah’s face.
Or Mason’s warning.
Bellview hadn’t changed.
Just the players.
But the game?
That was still the same.
And Noah was already in it—whether he wanted to be or not.