Abner’s nerves were on fire as Anderson herded him out of the house. A knot of dread had tied itself into his stomach. He wasn’t the most perceptive man, but even he could tell when he’d fucked up. Given too much away. And sure enough, as soon as they were out of earshot of the house, the detective flipped open that little black book and started asking questions.

“I, uh,” Abner started, scratching at his throat again. He could feel the mask slipping when he thought of Dr. Holland, and the distinct shift in his tone and posture as it did. Like a scared little kid. “I know Maria Holland, sir. She’s...she’s the head of psychology in the Enclave labs. We came here together from Raven Rock. Back east.” His memories of the trip were shrouded in a thick fog, but vague fragments stood out—hands on his face, pressure around his neck, flesh and bones between his teeth. It was probably good he couldn’t remember.

“She didn’t do it. She wouldn’t do something like that, she’s a really nice person, and I would recognize her voice anyway. I...just didn’t expect to see her name here. It startled me, that’s all. I didn’t know they were friends. That’s all, sir.”