Original Sin

Avalon Falls is back to business. The funeral is over. The speeches have been made. And the town is already pretending nothing has changed.

But Mags and Amy aren’t done watching.

As old legends resurface and new patterns emerge, the girls find themselves caught between competing truths — folklore and data, grief and calculation, loyalty and power. What looks like coincidence begins to resemble design. What feels buried starts to push back.

Transcript

Murder Girls is created, written and produced by Eternal Teenager. Content warning, this episode contains discussions of murder, violence, historical medical abuse, and mental health treatment. There are also brief moments of comedic, suggestive audio, and profanity throughout. Listener discretion is advised.

Previously on Murder Girls. Okay, so the Calhouns.

The Calhouns are our county's favorite ghost story. They were one of the older families in the county. Quite powerful, actually, but they fell during the Great Depression. But when you go looking for the boring parts, the names, the dates, the actual bodies, there's nothing solid.

Someone might say it was scrubbed.

Someone might.

And that's when I see it. A mural painted directly onto the plaster. There's handwriting under the folds of the torn wallpaper. DS, look closer.

What is that?

Someone's been here.

Dylan.

This was an artist's studio. Someone created here, and someone destroyed it. There, in the corner.

Sculptures. Bronze, I think.

Two figures. A man and a woman.

Oh, hey, there's something carved underneath.

Says Dorothy Calhoun.

Have you heard of the Driftwood School?

Communal movement.

It burned bright, and after that, the movement turns into more ghost stories.

Anyone still alive?

Clement Dryer. Lives in Holloway now, I believe.

And the pins.

God, the pins. The originals and their fucking pins.

What are the symbols again?

Virens have the falcon, handlers get the anchor, Bergman's bear, holter the stag.

With the fancy gothic initial.

The mural. We peel more paper, a sheet larger and larger, tearing off a swath. Faces, abstract, though unmistakable, caught halfway between screaming and knowing that won't help.

Oh my God.

Holy shit. Those figures.

Dorothy and Nathan Calhoun.

The bronze statues we found in the cabin, the ones frozen right before the end. They were studies for this, and they weren't imagined. They were people, real ones. And above them, animal heads. Stags, bears, falcons, their eyes empty, their mouths open like masks. The masked figures are holding weapons that don't belong to any one time. Distorted weapons firing flames of sickly white and green into the dozens of figures, Dorothy and Nathan among them.

This is done by the artists from the cabin.

The mural isn't abstract, it's a record. The Calhouns being erased. And the ones doing it, they aren't hiding their faces. They're wearing them. Stags, bears, falcons.

And the anchors. This isn't metaphor, is it?

No, it's a massacre.

And a message.

The originals took care of their competition. Oh, hey, what's that? Ooh, shiny, shiny. Whoa, this is an original's pin.

Amy, that's not any crest I've seen before.

What's the letter?

C.

And the animal is a?

Salmon. And in my head, I see the mural again. Bodies on the floor with salmon heads.

C for Calhoun. The Calhouns weren't just some rich family that got wiped out.

They were one of them.

One of the originals.

The Calhouns weren't erased by strangers. They were erased by family. Murder Girls, episode 19, Original Sin.

We didn't have proof, we didn't even have a clean theory. Just the sense that something had been cut out of the story so precisely it left an outline behind, a void. Like a body removed from a crime scene before anyone thought to look down. Dylan didn't give us answers, he gave us absences. So we stayed calm, we stayed polite, and we pretended we hadn't just found the part of Avalon Falls everyone else agreed not to see. This pin.

Ah, yes. The family pin.

Do you know where it came from?

Not specifically, no.

Maybe who it belonged to?

I couldn't say. It was never cataloged. I mean, none of this stuff really is.

You kept everything else pretty meticulously.

I kept what survived. Found objects were very fashionable with driftwood. Pins, signage, junk. Things pulled out of the world and re-contextualized. Someone probably brought it back from a dock or a roadside shrine on a lark.

So it's just here?

Everything has to end up somewhere.

He didn't know what the pin meant or he didn't think it mattered. There's a difference, but only if you're the one paying attention.

Yes, now here. Look at this. This is special. This here is the only surviving group photo. 1970. Cedar City Lanes.

The bowling alley?

The Lanes. Yes. First show. Fluorescent lights. Hot dogs. They loved it.

Hey, who doesn't love hot dogs, right?

Um, yes. Quite.

The photo is well preserved. They're not mid-gesture, not half-laughing, not caught pretending this moment is casual. They stopped moving on purpose. They're too composed, too aligned. Not touching, but close enough to mean something. Like they agreed on who they were before the shutter clicked. Nobody's smiling. Not because they're serious, but because they don't think they need to be. It's the look of people who believe this is the beginning of a story. Not the kind that ends badly, just the kind that ends.

They look confident.

They were for about five minutes.

He points to the photo one at a time, his finger pressing into each one individually.

Bobby Joe Thurman, Doug Whitlock, Jane Urquell, Wyatt Alder. Then there's Bella Harper and Georgia Wilkes, always together, those two. Sam Beck there sitting on the ground. Tom Hollowtree and Kaia Salish rounded out. And this handsome young fella, that's yours truly.

Okay.

Then I noticed it. The flash of color. Wait.

You see it too?

She's near the center. Bella Harper, not posing, not smiling. A long and wide red ribbon tied in her hair, like it was an afterthought she never bothered to remove. Anson Calhoun didn't remember much, but he remembered that.

The girl with the red ribbon.

Hmm. Yes, I suppose that was her.

You mentioned she had talent, right?

Technically.

What does that mean?

It means, yes, she had the most raw talent of the group. No question. But talent isn't the same as trajectory. She just focused on the wrong things.

What was she focused on?

Not the work. Her attention seemed elsewhere.

Elsewhere? What do you mean?

Where?

Bella had problems. That's the word we used back then.

Problems.

Manic. Depressive. Unstable. The labels changed depending on who was filling out the form.

So she was sick.

It reads as tragic now. But at the time, it just felt disruptive. She was brilliant, yes. But brilliance doesn't protect you if people decide you're unwell.

He didn't sound cruel. That was the part that scared me.

What happened to her?

When the federal pressure started, her history didn't help. It just made things simpler for everyone involved. It wasn't unusual, especially in this story. Facilities, evaluations, transfers. By then, Driftwood was already being dissolved.

So she just disappeared?

That's one way to put it. What people tend to miss is how many things were disappearing at once.

What do you mean?

Certainty, boundaries, accountability. People forget how porous the line was back then. Artists, politicians, money people. Everyone's slumming it together for a few years before they remembered who they were.

Sounds cozy.

It was profitable.

That photo on your desk.

Elizabeth Fennering.

Yes?

We knew Dylan, so we of course know his mother.

I consulted with the gallery in Avalon Falls, and later with the one in Paris. Authentication, provenance, that sort of thing.

Which pieces?

That's not relevant.

Oh, it might be.

I think we've wandered out of art history and into something else. And I'm afraid I have another appointment.

Ah, right. Of course you do.

Dreyer didn't know the story we were telling ourselves. Or maybe he did and didn't care. Either way, what survived wasn't random, and what disappeared didn't do it quietly.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

The Original Sin lies buried with the Fifth. There were four Originals.

That's what we're taught.

That's what survived.

And the Calhouns didn't. The Fifth is a Fifth Original family.

The Calhouns were Originals.

And they didn't just disappear.

They were buried.

And the Sin isn't just what happened to them.

It's who did it.

And who benefited.

And who agreed to forget. So what do we do with this?

Right now? Nothing.

Nothing?

Nothing loud. This county has survived a long time by mistaking silence for peace. We weren't going to make that mistake. We were just going to use it.

Offices are just storage units with better lighting. You keep the version of yourself there that needs witnesses. The rest gets boxed up, labeled or erased. Nora Chen had been missing for three days, which meant her office was still pretending she was just late. This isn't abandonment, this is editing. We'd followed her the night she officially went missing, to Cedarbrook, to a secure store self-storage unit. We watched her go in, we watched her come out a few minutes later with a bag she hadn't brought with her. Two days later, we were standing in the same space. After learning it belonged to Dylan Holt. After realizing he'd turned it into a bold hole for everything he couldn't say out loud. Once we reframed the tale, the rest was obvious. Dylan had left instructions, and Nora had followed them. So here we were, reading the negative space.

Okay, so, not ransacked.

But also not lived in.

She took what mattered.

Uh, hi. Can I help you?

We're friends of Nora's. You're her office mate, is that what it's called?

We heard she stopped by.

Oh, yeah. I mean, not while I was here, but Facilities asked about it.

Facilities?

Yes. Um, her key card logged early Wednesday, like, oh, must have been 6.30. Cleaning crew said her light was on.

Early.

Yes, and she didn't stay long. Ten minutes, maybe.

So, did the police come by?

Briefly, yes. Wednesday afternoon.

Um...

Just looked around. Didn't open anything.

Okay, good to know.

Should I even be telling you this? I just find myself telling you whatever you ask.

Nah, man, don't worry about it.

I hope she's okay.

Yeah, buddy, so do we.

Okay, so, the police looked, they didn't read.

Right.

No laptop.

Nope, but she left an old friend.

Whoa, a Barry Lockjaw notepad holder. No fucking way.

Dylan.

Has to be. And look, pages are missing.

How missing?

Enough. Do you have a pencil?

Actually, she does have one over here in this fetching. There is no Planet B mug. Here you go.

Gimme.

Wait, wait, wait. Oh my God. Oh my God. No way.

Calm down.

I can't believe we get to use this. This feels illegal.

Uh, what?

Don't worry about it, Greg.

But my name is Matt.

I'm loving this. The old pencil rub. Sweet.

It's just physics.

Mags, don't you dare diminish this for us.

Oh, whatever.

What do we got? Okay, so numbers?

Instructions.

Poetic. But what does it mean, man?

No idea. Although, oh, okay.

Those are zip codes. Yeah, I see that now.

For the county.

This isn't where she started.

It's where she checked something off.

This wasn't her plan.

Dylan.

She didn't grab her life.

She grabbed what would keep her alive.

Okay, let's head back to AF. Hey, thanks again, Mike.

It's, uh, it's Matt.

Whatever Dylan left behind, it wasn't a stash. It was a system. And systems don't disappear. They get passed down. And they wait.

Some revelations feel like lightning, others feel like fog, the kind you don't notice until you're already driving through it. Once we said it out loud, it didn't feel dramatic, it felt overdue.

So there were five original families, and then four of them, the Holtz, Bergmans, Varans, and Handlers.

They destroy the Calhouns, strip them of power, erase the name.

Erase the importance of the name.

And then they keep tabs on their bloodline for 50 years.

That's not cleanup, that's creepy accounting, postmodern horror paperwork.

That's maintenance, if you want to wipe something out, you don't keep checking its pulse.

Unless you're waiting for something, and they didn't wipe the Calhouns out. Not completely, they just stole their power and influence after killing the Maine family.

True, they didn't kill every Calhoun, at least that's not what it looks like. Those CIS numbers, those started in the 70s, right?

Based on what we saw, yeah.

So whatever this is, it's modern.

Or modernized. Okay, so when we get back?

We don't say any of this out loud.

Yeah, we don't poke the bear.

Or falcon, or stag?

Or anchor? Like, is it a sentient anchor? That's actually quite terrifying. Yes, yeah.

On another note, I need to swing by the pharmacy.

Right, right, yes. Hey, it's Piper. Weirdo speaker call-in coming.

Hey, what's up?

Hi.

Where are you guys?

Can you come to Walter's trailer?

We have pizza.

Still regretting letting you get anchovies, man. Smells like someone wiped down this place with cat farts.

Oh my god, it does.

Walter, your food is gross, man.

It's how they eat it in Naples. You know, where pizza was perfected?

Hey, hello. Hi, we're nearby.

What is it, though?

We have something.

Well, maybe a couple of somethings.

It's about the Osprey Island data.

Okay, we're on our way. Give us, like, five to ten.

You okay?

Just wondering if what they found is all about the originals and threshold and pollution or...

Or about Jonathan.

Yeah.

It's Avalon Falls.

Why not both?

Yes!

Nice!

In Avalon Falls, it's never just one thing. The nightmares stack, the fog always returns, and nothing, absolutely nothing is an accident.

Avalon Falls has a talent for making you feel like you're late. Like something important already happened, and you showed up just in time to watch everyone pretend it didn't.

Okay, so quick perusal of the vibes. Are we going into the teen trailer like normal adults, or are we going in like we're about to commit a felony?

We don't do felonies.

We do felony adjacent.

We do whimsical trespassing.

We do emotionally responsible breaking and entering.

We do investigative theater.

Cute, much love for that.

Sunset Shores looks like every trailer park more or less. Quiet, lived in, somewhere between stubborn and tender. We'd barely gotten out of the car when we saw it.

Whoa, that's new.

Very new. On the side of someone's shed in drippy black spray paint. Jimmy sees you! Exclamation point. On a mailbox in the same black paint, Jimmy lives! Exclamation point. On a fence post, like someone's tagging a ghost. Jimmy wants blood! Exclamation point. All caps. In red spray paint this time.

Charming. Jimmy seems super fucking busy for a dead serial killer.

Okay, so the town is doing great. Capital, Jimmy Rivers. The local boogeyman. The story that never dies because it doesn't have to be true to be useful.

We should knock like humans, right? We want to be humans today for this meeting right here?

Sure, let's knock.

Ooh, that was a good knock. Some good ASMR on that right there, cutie. Welcome, welcome!

Hey guys, you made it!

Hi! Hey, weirdos.

Hey Walter, how's my favorite patient? How's the leg?

Still broken, but it's in a cast now.

Okay, good update.

I mean, I thought I was your favorite patient, but okay, sure. I don't know. I guess it's like they always say, medicine is the most fickle of vocations.

Oh yeah, is that what they always say? Is it?

We have pizza!

Yeah, we heard.

And now we smell. Nasty dude.

Oh my God!

Right?

Walter!

You are gross, man!

Sit, eat, be nourished by the sea.

That's a sentence, all right.

It was a school day, technically. But Avalon Falls had just buried Dylan Holt. So the district did what it always does when the rich die. It called it morning and gave everyone a day off.

You guys working on your day off? Huh?

Day of mourning. The email was insane.

In honor of Dylan Holt's memory.

The Holt's have strong We Own Grief energy.

Okay, okay, okay. Before we get into whatever you've got, have you guys noticed all the Jimmy River stuff?

Oh my God, it's spiking.

It's always around, like background mold. But lately, it's everywhere.

When we were little, it was basically Tlaquah County slender man.

But with more dads yelling at kids for being on their property.

I mean, Jimmy Grouse, serial killer, 1800s, Avalon Falls, the town's favorite nightmare, right?

Yeah, the town's only serial killer, hopefully.

It's so basic that he became a supernatural urban legend. I hate that.

There are cycles. Like every decade or so, people bring it back.

Someone dies, someone tags a wall, and suddenly everyone's like, ooh, the curse is back.

Stephen King's it, but with fewer clowns and more people who own jet skis.

Yeah, we used to try and summon him by looking in the washroom mirror in the dark and saying, Jimmy Rivers, three times.

See, that's what I mean. It sticks.

But it's not just kids, right? This feels different right now.

Yeah, it's on forums, Facebook groups. I mean, someone made a TikTok account, man.

Of course they did.

And people are already tying it to Jake now. And Dylan, like, same killer or same curse.

Or same town that doesn't know how to metabolize violence?

Yeah, that.

Funny how the town always drags Jimmy Rivers out when it's scared.

He's the only murderer everyone agrees is finished.

Which makes him safe.

And useful. And speaking of which, Minerva is using it.

You're joking. Minerva is using Jimmy fucking Rivers?

She's doing the what if voice.

Oh god.

She dropped an episode this morning. Like, she literally recorded overnight.

Minerva is like a demon with, well, guess she's just a demon. No offense, babes.

Yeah, no offense.

That's never happened before.

Do you want to hear it?

A part of me wants to say no, but the other part of me wants to know how much damage she's doing.

Play it, just enough for nausea. Like, not enough for full barfing. Can't go full hurl in Walder's trailer.

That's not how it feels with all the fucking fish pizzas he fucking ordered, right?

Hey, hey, hey, let's be courteous, huh? Come on, dude.

Okay, here we go.

Some say Jimmy Rivers never left the riverbank. Some say he never had a body to leave behind. But in Avalon Falls, the dead don't always stay quiet. And when tragedy strikes twice, you have to ask, is it coincidence, or is something watching?

I hate her, respectfully.

It's fine. I hate her, disrespectfully.

Okay, that's enough psychic damage for one afternoon.

Right. Actual reason you're here.

Hit us. So, the data caches.

Right.

We went through everything. It all seemed about what you'd expect, except there was all this medical contamination.

Which is not like a little weird. It's weird, weird.

Super weird, weird. And off the charts.

Yeah, that's what we thought.

Yes, we saw it. We saw it, too.

Okay, cool.

Wait, you saw it, too?

Yes, when we went over the data caches we kept.

And you didn't tell us?

Well, we didn't not tell you.

We didn't have anything useful to add. It was an anomaly with no obvious source, and we got pulled in another direction.

Except it's not just an anomaly. It's like a fingerprint.

So we did what you didn't?

Excuse me?

We followed it.

Miles said it gently, but it landed like a little slap.

Okay, so we started with the obvious question. Where would medical waste come from if there's no pharmaceutical manufacturing here? No labs, no major hospital complex, dumping stuff.

Answer? It shouldn't come from anywhere.

So then we looked at hospitals.

Okay, yeah. Tlaquah County has and had a lot of hospitals.

And a lot of care facilities. That title, that means people disappear politely with care.

Exactly. And once we started digging, it got gross.

Like, statistically gross.

Yeah, from the 50s through the 80s, Tlaquah County hosted a ridiculous number of medical and pharmaceutical studies.

Studies?

The kind that never made it past phase one, but still left residue.

Trials, pilot programs, therapeutic initiatives. A lot of them tied to institutional populations.

Mental hospitals.

Not always, but yeah. And not always even like relevant studies.

Some were for mental health meds, but then a lot were just out there. Radiation adjacent drug trials on patients who weren't even being treated for anything requiring radiation adjacent treatment.

But also things like contrast dyes for scans, drugs for stomach ailments, blood ailments, and a bunch of other non-mental health medications.

That doesn't make sense.

It doesn't have to make sense if the subjects can't refuse.

When people say it was a different time, what they mean is someone got away with it.

How many are we talking?

Enough that we had to summarize. Enough that it stops being coincidence and starts being a business model.

So then we cross referenced with the Wellness Initiative Requisition stuff Dylan was poking at.

And?

Overlap, facilities, dates, program names.

So Dylan was looking into the same infrastructure.

Yeah, which means he wasn't just chasing a theory. He found a map.

Okay, that's big.

It's big, but it's still cooking.

Yeah. I pushed one step further.

Pipes.

No, listen.

I didn't do anything illegal. I searched if anyone had looked into this before. Like, historically. Environmental inspections, public health reports, county oversight.

Okay.

And I found someone. Ten years ago, there was an EPA health inspector who flagged weird readings in the water and soil around the county and had been requisitioning the same studies and reports Dylan did a decade later. He would have had access to the same sort of environmental sensors that we found on Osprey Island. His name was...

Jonathan O'Connell. Yeah. My dad.

Um, yeah.

Yeah, we knew that.

You knew?

Oh my God.

Wait, you knew and you didn't tell us?

We didn't want to...

No, sorry. Time out.

Walter.

No, seriously. I am saying to you, time out. You let us run around like little Scooby-Doo interns feeding you results and you're sitting on key information?

That's not what this is.

It kind of is, though.

OK, fair. But also, we didn't know what it meant. We still don't.

That's the point, man. We're supposed to figure it out together.

We're not your employees.

Nobody said you were.

Yeah, maybe because if you say it, then we can actually say no.

And for the record, you definitely just act like it.

There it was. The thing I'd been watching build for days, not jealousy, not hero worship, something sharper, respect, trying not to turn into resentment.

OK, you're right. I'm sorry.

Yes, yeah, I'm sorry.

You're right. We've been selective.

It's because we're scared.

Girl, we're scared too. That's not a special adult privilege.

Fear is a communal resource.

Listen, it's not about being adults. It's about stakes.

The stakes are already here. Dylan Holt is dead.

I know. Look, we have something too, something big, but it's dangerous to say out loud right now.

Like, people will kill us dangerous?

Like, people have already killed for less dangerous.

OK.

It's a need-to-know thing.

We're not freezing you out. We're trying not to get you hurt.

Then treat us like allies. Let us choose risk.

OK, OK, that's fair. Yeah, we'll do better.

We'll expand what need-to-know means.

Thank you.

So, what do we do with what we've found?

We keep digging. This just feels like the surface of something. Something deep.

And if this county was running trials for decades?

Then it wasn't just bad actors. It was a system.

And systems don't vanish. They rebrand.

OK, so you keep diving.

We will. And you keep us in the loop. No matter what it is.

Deal.

Also, take the pizza. Please.

Oh, my God.

Yes.

Walter bought too much of those cursed pies.

Like a man who's never known peace.

Come on now. Pizza is a peace treaty.

Hard pass. I don't want my car smelling like the wharf. Thank you very much.

We left without a clean lead, without a tidy answer, but a clearer shape of the thing underneath. And the uncomfortable realization that we weren't the only ones trying to solve this town. In Avalon Falls, everybody thinks they're a witness. But the truth is, most people are just evidence.

Sunset Shores looks the same as it always does. I haven't been back since Wednesday morning.

Not really.

I grabbed clothes, chargers, things I could pretend were temporary. But the mess stayed, like it was waiting for me to admit it counted. Since we were here anyway, figured it made sense to check up on the place.

You sure you don't want help?

I'm just grabbing a couple things.

That's what people say right before they emotionally spiral into a junk drawer. Rude, accurate, but rude. Hey, random question.

I love those.

Have you ever actually taken this thing anywhere?

The trailer?

Yeah, you know, like, hitched it up, seen the open road, gone full nomad.

Nah, the Yaris would simply lie down and die.

Fair. It does not strike me as a manifest destiny vehicle.

Also, I don't think I wanted it to move.

Why not?

If it stays parked, it's a home. If it goes somewhere else, it starts feeling like a choice.

Huh. Okay, it's just you chose a trailer with wheels, and then never used them.

Dude, I was a 13-year-old without parental supervision and a bunch of cash. Have you seen how shiny this thing is?

I know, I know. It's just not to psychoanalyze your real estate decisions or anything, but it's interesting you stayed.

Oh yeah? How so?

You could have gone anywhere, and this fucking town wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat, right?

No ma'am, it certainly was not. But what about Kathy?

Sure, sure. But Kathy, of all people, would have backed you leaving. She would have packed your bags and made you a playlist.

Things never felt finished here.

Jonathan.

Yes.

Totally get that. I wasn't, I didn't mean-

Hey, don't worry about it. It's cute that you were thinking about me so much, Park. Are you obsessed?

Oh, yes. Yeah, I'm obsessed. When I encounter a cryptid, I need to understand every facet of its being, you know, for safety reasons.

Oh, yeah? Is that what it is?

Hi, girls.

Whoa. Okay. The energy in here is something else right now, isn't it?

Hey, Kathy.

Hi.

Oh, are you okay?

You'd think after a funeral, they'd at least give us a grace period. 24 hours, a courtesy. Some kind of humanity.

What do you mean?

I guess since you've been out all day, you haven't seen it then. That boy's funeral ended at noon. Richard Holt was on every channel by 1 p.m. Big smile, serious tie. The Omnia deal's moving forward.

Whoa, what, really?

Yes, it'll be signed and finalized by the beginning of the new year. I guess the courting phase is over.

Dylan was literally buried a couple of hours ago.

Obviously, the onward march of capitalism doesn't observe mourning customs.

Definitely feels fast.

Not fast, efficient. There's a difference. They don't wait for the ground to settle before they start measuring it. Shock doctrine at its coldest. They buy the land, call it revitalization, offer people a number that looks generous until you try to live on it. Then, suddenly, Sunset Shores is a legacy site and everyone here is a memory. This is the worst thing the Hults have ever done. Far none. I can't think of anything worse. Honestly.

The worst, Kathy?

Really? You, come on now. You know what I mean, sweetheart.

I do. That's the problem. Jonathan didn't get a press conference. I mean, he was your brother. You know that.

Amy, I...

Look, I'm not mad. I just need you to hear yourself for a second.

Yes.

You're right.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.

It's okay.

Richard didn't even wait a day.

Richard's always been good at timing. Knows when to speak, knows when not to.

It's a skill, not a virtue.

Huh. I wonder what he says he was doing that night, I mean.

Like what? His alibi?

Yeah. Or whatever passes for one when you're a Holt.

Or any of them. I think the only one who we know what they were allegedly up to is Eleanor.

Okay, okay. But yeah, that's true. The Holt's don't rush. They just never stop. And somehow that makes everything feel worse. Hmm. We can talk Holt alibis with Claire.

Oh, oh.

You're serious? Yeah, why? I feel like after Osprey Island the sequel, Claire was definitely getting off the Amy and Mags favors train.

Nah, nah, nah. She loves us. I know how to play this too. You'll see.

Girl, I don't know.

Listen, she doesn't have to love us. She just has to hate being wrong.

Ugh, fine. Not here though.

Okay, let's book.

Careful, girls. People who announce the future don't like it when you ask what happened the night before.

There were a few things I didn't say yet, not because I didn't trust Mags, but because once you name a doubt, the clock starts counting down. I kept thinking about the card Thomas Holt sent Walter and how familiar Claire was with him at the funeral and then how comfortable she was warning us off the Holt's. If I was ever going to be wrong, I was okay with it being now.

There are people you trust because they've never given you a reason not to. And then there are people you trust because they were there when you needed someone to be. Losing the second kind always hurts worse. Claire was a fixed point in Amy's life, the kind you don't question until it shifts. And once it does, everything around it feels off balance.

You ready to make this call?

Yeah, but I'm assuming you're leading on this one, right?

Sure, sure. But I'm always happy for your input, obviously.

You okay?

Yeah.

Amy.

I just, I don't know. Claire talking to Thomas at the funeral, the Get Well card, it's in my head.

Okay, so we listen carefully, and we don't give anything away.

Okay, yeah.

Right, here we go.

Amy.

Hey, Claire Bear, you're on speaker. I've got Mags with me.

Okay.

Come on now, we're not calling to cause problems.

Why don't I believe you?

Come on, think of us as a concerned third party.

That's not how I think of you, especially if you're gonna keep insinuating yourself into a murder investigation, you have zero professional or personal business being involved in.

Zero professional? Sure. Zero personal? No, I'm not so sure about that.

Amy wasn't circling the line anymore. She was leaning on it.

Regardless, I don't have a professional or personal stake in any of this, and yet you keep involving me.

We just keep hearing versions of the same night. We're trying to make sure they line up.

The police already did that, Amy.

I know, I know. I just want to understand what they landed on. You'd know, right? You've got contacts at the AFPD level. You got contacts at the county level, contacts at all levels.

Girl, what are you asking?

Yeah, what is she asking?

The holds, what everyone says they were doing, alibis and such, that's all.

Oh, is that all?

If it all already checks out, what's the harm?

Fine, but the well is dry after this. I mean it.

Okay, okay, got it.

Richard says he was at the Lodge.

The Lodge? Like the creepy originals only compound in the woods?

What did we use to call that place?

Castle Lemon Grab.

Oh my god, yes.

Randolph Bergman was there with him. Drink, conversation. Police spoke to Bergman. That satisfied them.

And you? Satisfied?

As a police officer who is very much retired?

Yes.

And as a person?

It's convenient.

Yeah, it is. It's convenient, isn't it?

That's what I said.

So what can you tell me about Thomas?

What?

Thomas Holt, his alibi?

Victor vouched for him. They were at the old man's house, watching the Monday night game, drinking.

That's so, so cozy. And all-American and familial. Victor and Thomas, obviously super cuddly dudes.

Right.

And just so obviously into sports and happiness.

Sure.

You know Thomas was big in high school lacrosse, right?

I didn't, actually. I did not know that about Tommy.

The circle closes. No witnesses who don't already belong.

Okay, so Eleanor?

Amy, you already know this.

I know what she told me. I don't know what she told the police.

We're in function. Bearview Country Club. Staff saw her, guests saw her. There are photos, time stamps. It's boring.

And Elizabeth? Since we now know she was in town before Dylan died.

At the Hope Mansion. That's where she's staying while in town.

Ooh, so, so mature and evolved. I suppose the staff at the manor confirms this. They do. Huh, you know. It kind of feels like there's more to the story there, Claire Bear. Uh, hello? Hello, Claire?

Evan Parker says she was there all night as well. With him.

Oh no, oh gross. That disturbs my girlish sensibilities to no end.

That is just so, so, so unsettling.

Like the vomit is there, but you know, it's just fucking terrified to emerge fully. That's how gross, dude. Okay, that helps. I hate it just, like, so much, but it helps.

Does it?

Yeah, it tells us what kind of story everyone agreed to tell. Thank you. As always, Claire, I mean it. I know I'm a pain, but hopefully it's been fulfilling watching me grow into the upstanding young woman I am today.

You're welcome. And yes, it has been. You should be careful, Amy.

We are, always. Talk to you soon.

Bye.

You don't trust her.

I don't think she's lying.

That's good, right?

Uh, from a certain point of view.

Right. So what's your theory, then?

I'll have to get back to you.

So forge ahead, then. We check the alibis.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Especially Richard's.

Every alibi was neat. Every witness belonged, which meant the truth wasn't hiding. It was being protected.

The machine doesn't believe in coincidence, it believes in patterns, and it remembers everything.

Okay, so we're not doing the full Holt family reunion tour.

Nope, Thomas might not be the murderer, but he is Hundo P lying. Victor is probably telling the truth, at least about where he was, and Eleanor was where she said she was too.

And video evidence of Elizabeth's alibi would emotionally decimate us for life and beyond.

Deeply, spiritually, like a karmic atrocity. No one needs to picture Evan Parker in any form, honestly.

We are aligned on that.

So we start with Richard.

The golden boy, the public face, the man who smiles like he's already been forgiven.

He says he was at the Lodge.

Castle Lemon Grab.

The Lodge sits deep in the Holtwood, like it grew there on purpose. Built in the early 1940s, it's a place adults whisper about, and kids dare each other to bike past. It wants a reputation. It cultivates one.

Still can't believe Deedee has a camera on it.

Makes sense, but no way she tapped anything official. It's gotta be her own.

Of course it is.

Okay, there's Randolph's spare mobile.

You recognize his car?

I recognize all of them. Occupational hazard of growing up here and not trusting anyone with money.

You followed them?

Casually? Occasionally?

Totally normal. I'm not seeing Richard's SUV.

Neither am I. No G-Wagon, no arrival, no departure.

So either he walked in from the woods like a Sasquatch.

Or he wasn't there. It wasn't proof. It was absence. And absence is how lies usually announce themselves. Let's check the Holt building around the murder window.

There we are.

Parking lot's empty.

So Richard wasn't at the lodge, and he wasn't at work. Not damning, but interesting.

God, every time we pull on one thread?

It unravels reality.

Yup. So Richard is out there doing whatever, and Elizabeth is smashing Evan Parker?

Gross, but looks that way.

So that makes Elizabeth selling that painting to Evan, and needing Dreyer to authenticate it.

It makes it shady feeling, especially with Dylan being furious over it.

Yeah, whatever that painting was, it mattered. More than sentiment. We didn't say it, but we were both thinking the same thing. Families don't implode quietly.

Who could that be?

Let's check it out. In noir, the truth doesn't text first, it knocks.

Marguerite? Amy?

That's Eleanor. Yeah, I got that.

When someone shows up instead of calling, it's because they've already run out of places to stand. However, they decide to move, running, jumping, or falling. It's usually someone else who deals with what's left behind.

You can tell a lot about someone by where they stand when they don't know where to go. Eleanor Holt stood like someone who'd run out of corners.

I didn't know where else to go.

Yeah, that checks out.

Amy wasn't angry, she wasn't soft either. It was the kind of distance you learn when closeness keeps getting weaponized. Come in, have a seat.

Thank you. God, I haven't been in here in, since I was a kid. Your aunt helped me pick out something for my mom's birthday. A snow globe.

Oh, neat.

Why are you here, Eleanor?

I think, I think someone in my family killed Dylan.

Whoa, okay, that's a big sentence. Let's slow it down.

I'm not being dramatic. I'm not spiraling. I just, they're lying, all of them, about small things and big ones. And the way they did it, it was too clean.

With Lily, you mean?

Yes, that wasn't panic, that was choreography.

She said it like she'd already replayed it a hundred times and hated herself for not seeing it sooner.

Then the deal going through, the press conference today, nothing stopped. Mom sold the painting, dad sold the town, and Amber disappeared, and dad hasn't mentioned it at all. No one has, not even mom.

Thomas.

Thomas keeps offering details no one asked for. Do you want to know the sickest part of this? That press conference was scheduled yesterday.

I'm sorry, but none of that is surprising to me.

You believe me.

I believe you're paying attention.

Yeah, and that's not nothing.

I don't know which of them did it, or if it was more than one. But I know this. Dylan was scared, not just angry, not just reckless. Scared.

That word hung between them. Scared didn't fit the version of Dylan Holt the town preferred. It sounded familiar, not the fear. The choice of who to trust with it.

You mentioned Elizabeth selling the painting. We spoke with Evan yesterday. He told us Dylan was furious about it being sold.

Yeah, well, he was more than furious. He was unhinged. Not about money, about principle, about history.

The Driftwood School.

You know about them?

I mean, don't sound so surprised. Shit.

You know what I mean.

Amy smiles differently when she feels understood. I notice things like that. Do you have a photo of the painting?

I do, actually. Here.

Whoa. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't trying to be beautiful. It was trying to be true. Large canvas, landscape orientation, mixed media, paint, collage, photocopied photographs. The main figure at the center is a photograph of a man in a suit. Maybe a posed model may be taken from a found photograph. But his face is wrong. Like it's been shredded and glued back together. His mouth is cartoonishly rendered and wide open and angry, filled with scary, blunt teeth. And he's consuming things, buildings, animals, symbols. All of them being pulled into the vortex of his mouth from different parts of the canvas. Like the scary void is a black hole. But then you notice something around his neck, a flash of color. He's being strangled or reigned in or both by a thick red ribbon. A real one. The real one, I would bet. Affixed to the canvas. Holy shit.

I see it.

It's painted by...

Bella Harper.

Uh, wow.

Yeah, that's right.

We've learned a lot this week.

What's the painting called?

The Girl with the Red Ribbon. Dylan said letting it leave the county was like erasing a crime scene.

Right.

That makes sense.

It didn't to anyone else.

Of course it didn't. Erasure always sounds reasonable if you benefit from it.

My mom, she wants me home.

Then you should go.

If you find something, I need to know.

We won't lie to you.

And you can't let on that you came here or that you're thinking any of this. Not yet.

I won't.

I trust you both.

That's why I came.

People don't show up like that unless they've already made a decision, even if they don't know what it is yet.

Well, that was a lot.

Yes, definitely a lot.

Hey, you know what? I need to pick up my meds.

Want some company?

Obviously. What part of codependent friendship and parasocial obsession do you not understand?

Okay, let's walk. In Avalon Falls, answers don't come when you sit still. They come when you move, preferably before the town decides to move on without you.

After you pull enough threads, everything starts to look like the right next move. Look into Richard, look into Bella Harper, look into the medical waste, look into Nora, look into the thing underneath the thing underneath the thing. Avalon Falls loves that part, the part where you're busy enough not to notice what's noticing you back.

Okay, tactical regroup, what do we chase first?

Richard feels slippery.

Slippery is actionable.

Nora's zip codes are weird, but human.

Weird is actionable, human is confusing.

We're bad at choosing.

We're excellent at parallel spirals.

True, also pharmacy.

Right, meds before existential collapse.

I'm nothing if not ontologically responsible.

Amy O'Connell, hi, you're right on time.

I try not to let my brain short circuit too publicly.

Scripts ready, same dosage. We still all good?

Yep, no seizures, just me being me.

Hi there, can I ask about adjuncts?

My god, my god, my god.

For side effects, non-sedating, something that won't mess with the primary med.

You're not guessing, med school?

Former, yeah.

You can take a look.

Here, this is what Amy used to take.

There may be newer options.

I'll grab the prescription and a couple adjuncts. Sounds good.

Oh, oh my lord, mercy. I need water and I need to lie down. I need a fainting couch.

Drama, so let's see here. Whoa, how bad was this sinus infection last year?

Huh? Sinus infection? No, no, no, I don't remember that.

I mean, you wouldn't. You couldn't. You were on industrial strength decongestants. And then there's, oh.

Oh, oh my, oh my god. Oh my god.

Mags has a lot of faces. The one she gets when she's pretending not to be proud of me. The one she gets when she's about to make a joke and decides not to, which is rarer. The one she gets when she's focused and everything else drops away. There's also the one she gets when she looks at me like she's measuring the distance between us. Not dramatically, quietly. Is this safe? That one always makes my chest do something. Right now, though, she has a different face. Still, careful, like she's standing on glass and just realized how thin it is. I don't know that face, not fully. Mags? Hey, what is it?

It's your patient ID number.

It has the CIS tag.

Amy, you're a Calhoun.