He sighed. "Meaning, I heard she's been making phone calls. Lots of them, telling anyone who listened that you attacked her, threatened her, that you rigged the power system to hurt her."
My jaw clenched. "She's lying again."
Randall shrugged. "To folks who know her, yeah. To the new cabin owners who just moved in a mile up the ridge? Maybe not so obvious."
I scrubbed a hand across the back of my neck. The idea of more drama spreading across the ridge made my stomach twist. I'd come up here to escape drama, not become the center of it.
"So, what do I do?" I asked.
"Stay calm," Randall said. "Keep documenting, and don't let them bait you. The sheriff's office already knows the truth. You did everything by the book."
I nodded, absorbing it. "Thanks. Really."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't thank me. Thank the trail cam and your phone and your common sense." He headed toward the door. "I'll check in later. Don't hesitate to call if anything happens."
When he left, the cabin felt both safer and heavier, like the walls were aware the storm wasn't over yet. I sat down at the table, staring at my phone, debating what to do next. Part of me wanted to drive straight to the sheriff's office and show them the footage of Joey approaching. Part of me wanted to set more cameras, reinforce the shed, install a full perimeter alarm system. And part of me wanted to just pack up, go back to the city, and let the mountain chew up the entire mess without me.
But that's not who I am. Not anymore. Not after everything they'd done.
I decided on the smart route: gather more evidence, secure the property, and stay level-headed, even if they were spiraling.
I went back outside and mounted the additional trail cams I'd purchased earlier. One faced the driveway. Another covered the back of the cabin where Joey had accessed the breaker. The motion-sensor floodlight I installed pointed directly at the tree line where he'd been standing the night before.
By the time I finished, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained heavy and dark, a gray blanket pressing low over the trees. The kind of sky that made the mountain feel quiet in an unnatural way.
I returned to the cabin, started some coffee, and sat on the porch with the mug warming my hands. Minutes passed, maybe an hour. It was hard to tell in the mountain stillness.
Then I heard footsteps. Soft, slow, deliberate—not heavy like Joey's. Lighter, hesitant.