Patterns in Death
Maya Cross POV
I find Luna Pierce surrounded by historical documents in the library basement, her face pale as moonlight as she points to a death record from 1969.
"They've been dying in eighteen-year cycles for over a century."
The musty smell of old paper and binding glue fills my nostrils as I descend the narrow stairs to Luna's domain. She's built a fortress of archive boxes around her desk, manila folders stacked like defensive walls. Her curly brown hair escapes its ponytail in wild spirals, and her wire-rimmed glasses reflect the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Luna?" I approach cautiously. She called an hour ago, voice tight with panic, begging me to come alone. "What did you find?"
She holds up a yellowed death certificate with trembling fingers. "Dr. Margaret Holloway, medical examiner, died September 21st, 1969. Blood Moon eclipse." Her voice cracks. "Then Dr. James Morrison in 1951. Dr. Sarah Chen in 1933. Maya, they all died during Blood Moon eclipses."
I sink into the chair beside her desk, Kane's treatment keeping the crystallization stable but doing nothing for the ice spreading through my chest. "How far back do the records go?"
"1897." Luna spreads the certificates across her desk like tarot cards predicting doom. "Every eighteen years, during the Blood Moon eclipse, the medical examiner dies. Along with seventeen others." She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're not randomly sick, Maya. You've been targeted."
The basement suddenly feels smaller, the weight of a century of conspiracy pressing down from above. "Show me my grandmother's file."
Luna hesitates, her loyalty warring with whatever she's discovered. We've been friends since childhood—she taught me to hide in these same archives when my parents fought, helped me research my first autopsy techniques, celebrated when I got into medical school. But the woman sitting across from me now looks like she's aged years in a single night.
"Luna. The file."
She pulls out a folder marked "Cross, Elena - 1987" with shaking hands. Inside, my grandmother's death certificate lists cause of death as "acute myocardial infarction." But clipped to the back is a handwritten note in my grandmother's familiar script: The water. They're putting something in the water. Town council knows. Helen Ward knows. They're all complicit.
"My God." The words come out as barely a whisper. "She was murdered."
"There's more." Luna opens another folder, revealing medical records dating back decades. "The whole town's been unknowingly serving as test subjects. Fluoride treatments, vitamin supplements, water purification—it's all been cover for pharmaceutical testing."
I scan the documents, my medical training helping me parse the implications. Genetic screening disguised as routine blood work. Experimental compounds introduced through municipal water supplies. Entire families tracked across generations like lab rats.
"Helen Ward's signature is on most of these orders," Luna continues. "She's been overseeing the program since she started practicing here."
The betrayal cuts deeper than the crystallization ever could. Helen delivered me, bandaged my scraped knees, held my hand when I got my first shots. She was my grandmother's closest friend, my mother's confidante, the one person in Ravenshollow I thought I could trust.
"Maya." Luna's voice drops to an urgent whisper. "There's someone upstairs asking questions about you. A detective."
Before I can respond, footsteps echo on the basement stairs. A woman descends with confident strides—tall, athletic build, wearing a state police jacket over dark jeans. Her black hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and her dark eyes miss nothing as they scan the archives surrounding us.
"Dr. Cross?" Her voice carries a slight accent that speaks of years spent away from here. "Detective Iris Vale, State Police. I'd like to ask you some questions about the recent deaths in Ravenshollow."
I recognize her now—Iris Crow Feather, three years ahead of me in high school before she left for college and never looked back. She changed her name, apparently, but I remember her fierce intelligence and her desperate need to escape this place.
"What kind of questions?" I keep my voice steady despite the incriminating documents spread between Luna and me.
"The kind that explain why eighteen people have died from medically impossible causes in the past six months." Iris approaches Luna's desk, eyes cataloging the historical records. "Interesting research you're conducting here."
Luna shoots me a panicked look. "It's just historical preservation—"
"Dr. Holloway, 1969. Dr. Morrison, 1951." Iris reads the death certificates with professional detachment. "All medical examiners. All died during Blood Moon eclipses." She looks up at me. "Just like your grandmother."
The admission hangs in the air like smoke. Iris knows about the pattern, which means we're not the only ones investigating. Either she's here to help, or she's here to silence us.
"What do you want?" I ask directly.
"The truth." Iris pulls out a notebook, flipping to a page covered with neat handwriting. "I've been tracking similar deaths across New England. Always the same pattern—eighteen-year cycles, astronomical events, medical examiners among the victims. Ravenshollow is the epicenter."
"Someone's been conducting experiments on the entire population," Luna blurts out, loyalty to me overriding caution. "Using the water supply, the medical center, systematic genetic data collection—"
"Luna." I try to stop her, but it's too late.
Iris's expression sharpens with interest. "Do you have evidence of this?"
Luna looks between us, torn. Finally, she pushes the medical records toward Iris. "Fifty years of documentation. Dr. Helen Ward's been overseeing it all."
Iris studies the files with growing amazement. "Jesus Christ. This is a federal crime. Multiple federal crimes." She looks up at me. "Dr. Cross, are you cooperating with this investigation willingly?"
"I'm dying from the same condition that killed the others," I admit. "So yes, I'm highly motivated to cooperate."
Iris's professional mask slips slightly, revealing genuine concern. "How long do you have?"
"Three weeks. Maybe less." The crystallization pulses as if responding to the admission. "Unless someone stops whoever's doing this."
"Then we work together." Iris closes her notebook with decisive snap. "I need everything you've found—victim profiles, medical records, water quality reports, anything that establishes the pattern."
Before Luna can respond, her phone buzzes with a text message. Her face drains of color as she reads it. "Maya, Dr. Ward's been trying to reach you. She says it's urgent—something about Kane Rivers."
My blood turns to ice. I left Kane at my house this morning, promising to return with Luna's research. If Helen knows about him...
"I have to go." I stand, grabbing the most damning files from Luna's desk. "If something happens to me—"
"Nothing's going to happen to you," Iris interrupts firmly. "Not on my watch. Where are you going?"
"To confront the person who murdered my grandmother."
I leave Luna and Iris in the basement archives, their worried voices fading as I climb the stairs two at a time. The October afternoon sun seems too bright after the basement gloom, and Ravenshollow's peaceful streets feel like a mockery. Pretty Victorian houses hiding ugly secrets. Friendly neighbors serving as unwitting test subjects.
At the medical center, I find Helen in her office, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stares out the window toward Mirror Lake. She doesn't look surprised to see me.
"Maya, dear." Her voice is thick with emotion. "I was hoping you'd come."
"You killed my grandmother." The accusation fills the space between us.
Helen closes her eyes as if in physical pain. "Elena was my dearest friend. I loved her like a sister."
"But you murdered her anyway."
"She was going to expose everything." Helen turns to face me, and I see genuine anguish in her eyes. "Fifty years of research, thousands of lives saved by our treatments, entire families protected from genetic diseases—Elena would have destroyed it all."
"She would have stopped you from murdering innocent people."
"Innocent?" Helen laughs bitterly. "Maya, every person in this town carries genetic markers for devastating diseases. Huntington's, early-onset Alzheimer's, hereditary cancers. Our program has prevented countless deaths."
"By causing others."
"By making necessary sacrifices." Helen moves toward her desk, hand reaching for something in the drawer. "Some experiments require loss of life to save many more. Your grandmother understood that, eventually."
I step backward, but Helen's already withdrawing a syringe filled with clear liquid. "The question is—will you?"
"Helen, don't—"
The needle slides into my neck before I can finish the protest. Whatever she's injected burns through my bloodstream, and the world starts to blur around the edges.
"I'm sorry, dear," Helen whispers as I collapse into the chair. "But some secrets are too important to let die."
Darkness creeps in from the corners of my vision, and my last coherent thought is that Kane's treatment has been overwhelmed by whatever Helen just gave me. The crystallization flares to life with renewed vengeance, and I realize I might not live long enough to expose the truth after all.