Skye returned to Gavin’s office. He was reviewing the footage. “He knows,” Gavin said. “He knows we’re onto him.” “What do we do now?” “We wait. If he’s smart, he’ll run. If he’s desperate, he’ll make a mistake.” “And if he does neither.” Gavin looked at her. “Then we moved to Plan B.” “What’s Plan B?” His smile was cold. “We go after Pierce directly.”
Thursday evening practice started normal enough. Eighteen kids showed up. Word was spreading again that the field was coming back. The cleanup was almost done. Fresh dirt covered the oil stains. New bases had been installed. The spray paint had been scrubbed off and repainted. It felt like hope was returning. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the outfield. Coach Marcus had the younger kids running drills near first base. The older ones were practicing batting. Skye stood on the pitcher’s mound, throwing to a catcher named Louise. Her fastball was sharper than ever. Focused. Angry. Devin was there too, standing near the dugout, quieter than usual. He’d barely said ten words all practice. Just watched. Helped when asked. But something was different about him. Gavin noticed it. Skye noticed it. Even some of the kids noticed it. “Coach Devin seemed sad today,” a little girl named Aisha whispered to Skye. “You think he’s okay?” “I don’t know,” Skye said honestly.
At exactly 6:47 p.m., with practice in full swing and parents gathering in the bleachers, every light on the field went out. All of them. At once. The field plunged into complete darkness. Kids screamed. “What happened?” “I can’t see!” “Mom, where are you?” Parents jumped up, shouting for their children. Fumbling for phone flashlights. Chaos erupted in seconds. Skye stood frozen on the mound, her heart hammering. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Couldn’t see anything.
Then she heard it. Laughter. Low and mean. Coming from somewhere beyond the fence. “Aw, scared of the dark!” a voice called out. Mocking. Cruel. More laughter. Multiple voices now. At least three, maybe four. “Y’all should be scared!” another voice added. “This is just a warning.” Something metal crashed against the fence. Kids screamed louder. “Everybody stay calm!” Gavin’s voice cut through the darkness. “Stay where you are! Don’t run!” But it was too late. Panic had already taken over. Kids were running blindly, crashing into each other. Parents were shouting names, trying to find their children. Someone fell. Someone else started crying.
Skye dropped to her knees on the mound, making herself small. Her hands found the dirt, gripped it tight. Then she felt someone grab her arm. She almost screamed until she heard Gavin’s voice right next to her, “It’s me. Stay low. Don’t move.” Car headlights suddenly blazed to life from the parking lot—someone had turned their car to face the field, giving just enough light to see shapes and shadows. That’s when Skye saw them. Four figures standing outside the fence. Big. Wearing dark hoodies. Faces covered. One of them held a baseball bat. Another had something that might have been a crowbar. They just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Making sure everyone saw them. Making sure everyone felt the fear. “This is your last warning!” one of them shouted. “Shut this place down or next time we come during the day!”
Then they were gone. Disappeared into the darkness like ghosts. By the time more car lights came on and people got their phone flashlights out, the field was empty except for terrified kids and furious parents. Coach Marcus got the backup generator running. Emergency lights flickered on, dim, but enough to see. The damage was immediate and obvious. Parents scooped up their kids and headed for the exits. Fast. “This is done!” one father yelled at Gavin. “You said you’d keep them safe! We’re not coming back!” another mother added, her daughter clutching her leg and sobbing. “You can’t guarantee anything!” someone else shouted.
Within ten minutes, the field was empty except for Gavin, Coach Marcus, Skye, and her grandmother who’d come running when she heard the screaming. And Devin. He stood near the dugout, hands on his knees, breathing hard like he’d been running. His face was pale. His eyes were wide. “What happened to the lights?” Coach Marcus demanded, checking the control box. “They were just replaced last week.” “Breaker’s been cut,” Gavin said, examining the electrical panel. “Someone cut the main power line.” “Who?” Gavin’s jaw clenched. He turned slowly to look at Devin. Devin looked back. And in that moment, Skye saw it. Guilt. Raw and undeniable.
“You knew,” Skye said quietly. “You knew they were coming.” “What?” Devin’s voice cracked. “No, I—” “You knew.” Her voice rose. “That’s why you were acting weird all practice. That’s why you kept checking your phone.” “Sky, I swear—” “Don’t lie to me. Not anymore. Just tell the truth.” Devin stood there, trembling. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I…” He looked at the ground. “I didn’t know they’d do it during practice. I thought… I thought it’d be after everyone left.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Coach Marcus took a step toward him. “What did you just say?” “I didn’t know kids would be here,” Devin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They said they’d just mess with the equipment. Scare people off. I didn’t know.” “You helped them!” Marcus roared. “Those were children out here! Babies! And you let armed men show up!” “I needed the money.” Devin’s voice broke completely. “I owed people. Bad people. They were gonna kill me if I didn’t pay them back.”
Gavin walked over slowly. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “Get out,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “Mr. Parker, please!” “Get out!” Gavin’s voice exploded. “Get out before I do something I’ll regret!” Devin took a step back. Looked at Skye one last time. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” “You’re not sorry,” Skye said, her voice cold. “You’re just caught.” Devin grabbed his bag and ran. His car peeled out of the parking lot seconds later.
After he was gone, Skye finally let herself cry. Really cry. Her grandmother held her tight while Gavin and Coach Marcus stood in shocked silence. “They’re winning,” Skye sobbed into her grandmother’s shoulder. “They’re gonna make us quit.” Evelyn pulled back and looked at her granddaughter. Wiped her tears with rough, calloused hands. “Baby girl,” she said firmly. “I didn’t raise no quitter. And neither did your mama before she left. But Grandma—” “But nothing.” Evelyn’s voice was steel. “You threw a ball from three stories up and saved a man’s life. You think you can’t fight back against some cowards who hide in the dark?” Skye sniffled. “How?” Gavin stepped forward. His eyes were red but his voice was steady. “Your grandmother’s right. We don’t fight them with fear. We fight them with truth.” He pulled out his phone. “And I know exactly how to do it.”
By Friday morning, the field was a ghost town. No kids. No parents. No laughter. No hope. Just Skye and Gavin, standing in the middle of what used to be a dream. The sun was barely up, casting everything in that cold blue light that makes the world look unfinished. Skye bounced a ball—not her original one, still locked up in evidence—against the backstop. The sound echoed hollow and lonely. Gavin sat on the dugout bench, head in his hands. His phone had been ringing non-stop since last night. Angry parents. Worried volunteers. His own business partners asking what the hell he was doing wasting time on some charity project that was falling apart. He’d ignored every single call…
