The Quiet Answer: A Samantha Leary Short Story

⚠️ Mature Audience Only

This story contains themes suitable for adults. Please proceed only if you are 18+.

By J.E. Nickerson

Samantha Leary leaned back in the chair, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the table, fingers brushing the smooth surface. Across from her, a man in a rumpled suit avoided her gaze, tapping his fingers nervously on his knee. The room was small, dimly lit, and the steady tick of the clock on the wall seemed louder than it should have been, echoing in the silence between them. 

Samantha could hear the muted sounds of the precinct beyond the door, their steady rhythm grounding her. She had insisted Greg watch from behind the glass. His presence would have intimidated the man. She needed him calm.

“Mr. Harris,” she began, her voice calm, deliberate, almost casual. “You and I both know why you’re here. I’m not here to accuse you. I’m just… trying to understand.”

He shrugged, eyes flicking to the door, then away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Samantha’s lips curved into a faint, controlled smile. “You do. You saw her leave the building. You saw who followed her. You know it wasn’t just a random passerby.”

He swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair, trying to shrink, though there was nowhere to go. Samantha let the pause stretch. She had long ago learned that silence could be sharper than any accusation.

“I… I don’t want to get in trouble,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Samantha leaned forward, her elbows on the table now, eyes locked on his. “Trouble is already here, Mr. Harris. It’s sitting right in front of you. But what I want—what I need—is honesty. That’s all. A clear answer. You’ll feel lighter when it’s out. Heavier when it’s buried. And Sophia deserves the truth as well.”

He blinked, jaw tight, then shook his head. “I—I can’t…”

Her gaze stayed. Calm. Patient. Dangerous. “You think you can’t, but you already know how. You know the pieces. You just have to put them into words. I’m not here to punish you. I’m here to listen. And if you talk, you control the story, not them.”

He pressed his palms to his face, exhaling in a long, shuddering breath. His mask was cracking. Samantha could feel it.  She let him sit like that for a moment, letting him confront the fear he couldn’t voice. She had done this before—seen the walls around people crack, brick by brick, until just a sliver of truth escaped.

Finally, his voice came, shaky but clear. “Okay… okay. I saw her leave. I saw someone following her—someone tall, dark. He…he got in the car with her after she went down the alley. I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t know he would….”

Samantha nodded once, softly, letting him register that he had given her something. She didn’t smile, not really. Not yet. She didn’t need to. The storm was just beginning, and he had just handed her the first gust of wind. 

Her mind flashed to the alley. The woman lying still, peaceful. But not in a comforting way. Her skirt pulled up too far. Underwear torn, hanging around her ankles. Face battered. A brutal ending by someone who had seen her as disposable. Someone to control and use, then discard. 

She leaned back, hands folding neatly on the table again, watching him carefully. “That’s a start,” she said. “Thank you for telling me. That’s all it takes… a start.”

The room was quiet again, but the air felt heavier now, charged. Samantha had the patience of a predator, the precision of a surgeon. And for Mr. Harris, the quiet was only the beginning of what was coming.

“I didn’t know she was in danger. She never… told anyone about the stalking. If I had known—if I had only known—I wouldn’t have let her walk home alone.” The man’s voice cracked.

Samantha watched as the truth settled in, horror dawning across his face. She said nothing. He had been the last to see her alive. He had also been the last person who could have helped her.

No—Mr. Harrison wasn’t the one who ended her life. But he was the one who had failed to save it.

The man shuffled out of the interview room, pausing at the door. He turned back one last time.

“Please try to find whoever did this,” he said, his voice small, pleading.

Samantha nodded.

She knew the search for justice would be long. It always was. And in crimes like this, justice was never clean. It always left something behind.

A void.

The silence of a voice cut off.

A life ended before its time.

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