by T. A. Kunz
Harrison pulls me up and over the railing until I can plant my feet firmly onto solid ground. I’m immediately enveloped in his arms. In safety.
“You saved my life,” I say next to his ear.
He doesn’t reply, he just squeezes me tighter as we stand there in the moment … a quiet and comforting moment.
We peer over the railing and the person’s still there. Still contorted into a painful looking position. An audible sigh of relief leaves us both at the same time. As we make our way down to the first floor, my eyes never leave the figure.
Now, standing over the body, my mind grows hazy. I’m still in shock, I think. Numbness overtakes me while I stare at them lying there motionless. I’m not sure if the reality of what just happened has truly set in yet. Tears well up in my eyes. My entire body feels like it’s been hit by a semi-truck full of emotions that I’ve been holding inside.
This nightmare’s finally over.
I kneel and lean in to reach for the mask. The urge for me to see who’s been doing this overtakes every other one of my instincts. I need to know who’s behind all of this.
“Careful, Drea,” Harrison wheezes out. “They might still be alive.”
“I don’t think anyone could survive that fall,” I reply, though in the back of my mind I’m imagining them springing to life at any moment.
My hand shakes as my fingertips stall at the base of the mask. I steady myself, warding off the trembles from the adrenaline, and fully commit to grabbing it. I pull it back and can hardly believe the sight in front of me.
What!? Sophia!?
A complex mix of emotions conjure forth as I stare at the person responsible for so much turmoil and chaos. And now I’ll never know why. I want to scream, punch, and kick the air, but instead, I’m paralyzed in disbelief.
Her honey brunette hair cascades down around her shoulders as I flip the mask back further off her head. Blood is pooled in the corner of her mouth and has traveled down her chin, leaving droplets on her neck. Her face looks peaceful, not like that of a merciless killer.
“I don’t get it. Why?” Harrison’s confused tone echoes my own internal dialogue.
“We’ll probably never know.”
A faint moan draws my attention to him. He’s supporting himself against the railing and his face has grown paler. “Are you okay?”
He pulls the left side of his suit jacket open to reveal a sizable slice to his midsection. “I guess it went a little deeper than I initially thought,” he says as he stumbles down the last couple steps. He lands against the bannister and slides down to rest on the floor.
Concern consumes me. “Harrison!” I yell, moving to be by his side.
His hand hovers over the blood-soaked area on his shirt. My heart aches seeing him like this.
“I’m going to be okay. It’s only a scratch.” His attempt to laugh is ruined by a wince in pain.
A surprised giggle escapes my lips at his poor attempt at humor. I’m glad to see he’s well enough to still joke around. “You’re hurt. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks. Promise. I think they somehow missed all my vital organs,” he replies with a wan attempt at a reassuring smile, but I’m not fooled.
I loosen his tie and carefully remove it from around his neck. “Here, fold this up and hold it to your wound. Apply pressure, okay? We have to stall the bleeding.”
He chuckles softly. “Look at you going all Doctor Sullivan on me.”
“Yeah, well, there are plenty of sides to me you don’t know about, Mr. Daniels.”
“I’m looking forward to being introduced to all of them.” His smile warms my heart and has me forgetting for a moment the waking nightmare we’re currently in.
I reach for my phone to call Donovan, but I come away with nothing. Did it fall out of my pocket? My eyes search the area and land on a bright purple rectangle resting on the floor a little ways from me.
“Be right back,” I say, patting Harrison’s arm.
“Don’t worry, not moving from this spot,” he says with more humor.
I collect the phone and immediately notice the screen’s shattered. I try to turn it on, but nothing happens. It’s toast.
Dammit.
A loud bang resonates from the foyer. “Haddon Falls Sheriff’s Department. Open up!” someone commands from the other side.
Deputy Owens!
I rush to the door and fling it open. A wave of relief crashes over me when I see the deputy standing there, gun in hand, as if he was pulled straight from one of the cop shows my parents watch.
“Drea, are you okay?” he asks. “What’s the situation here?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. And I’ll explain everything, but first we need an ambulance.”
I hope they get here soon.
Donovan
I have to stop my hand’s impulse to reach for the car door handle. It hesitates there before retreating to my lap.
No. Deputy Owens told me to stay put.
It’s taking every fiber of my being not to jump out of the deputy’s cruiser right now, especially knowing people I care about are in danger. I’m at odds with every one of my decision-making organs over the conversation I had with the deputy about me staying in the vehicle before he left me in here alone. In the dark, I might add. I find myself checking each door yet again for, like, the millionth time to make sure they’re still, in fact, locked.
I mean, who would be stupid enough to try and attack someone in a cop car, right? Right?
The yellow and green lights above the cruiser swirl around, causing the surrounding area to glow in a surreal manner. I asked why Deputy Owens turned them on in the first place, and he said they’re tied to the camera on his dash. It begins to record audio and video when they’re active. I’ll be honest, I feel a touch safer knowing that fact. Just in case a certain fox decides to come out and play.
I also appreciate that he left the car running. It’s keeping the interior of the vehicle from becoming a freezer. But again, it’s not just for my benefit. Apparently all the electronics in here would drain the battery if he didn’t leave it running. He called it a “running idle state.”
The more you know.
It’s been almost seven minutes since he left—yes, I’ve been counting—and I’m beyond the point of becoming fidgety. I’m on super high alert and keep thinking I see shadows dart around outside the car in my peripherals.
“Screw this,” I say at the peak of restlessness.
I jump out of the car and dash through the sprawling yard, stopping short at the front door. With a subtle twist of the knob, I crack it open in order to peek inside before pushing it the rest of the way. After taking a couple steps in, I spot Harrison over by the stairs posted up against the railing and clutching his side. Drea’s next to him combing her hand through his hair. Something covered in a sheet is on the floor near them, but I can’t make out what it is.
Trent?
“Drea,” I whisper to avoid startling them, but they don’t hear me. I move a few steps closer and go to call out again, but I’m halted by an alarming voice.
“Hold it right there!”
My hands immediately fly up in the air as I turn to face Deputy Owens. His gun is pointed in my general direction.
I think I just peed a little.
“It’s me, it’s me,” I say.
He lowers the sidearm while releasing a sharp breath. “I thought I said to stay in the car.” His tone is soaked in exasperation.
It only takes a few seconds before I’m wrapped up in Drea’s hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaims as she squeezes me tight. It’s a desperate hug. A relieved hug.
“Me too,” I echo, fully embracing her. “Is Harrison okay?”
I wave to him. He returns it, but only barely. The slight smile that appears on his face is more reassuring.
“He was injured trying to save me,” she replies. “He’ll make it. We just need to get him to the ho
spital.”
“I’ve already called for an ambulance and backup. They’ll be here shortly,” Deputy Owens chimes in.
“What happened here?” I ask. “Where’s Sophia? I thought you said she was with you.”
Drea pulls away, her expression grim. “Sophia did this, Donovan,” she replies with tears forming in her eyes. “Her body’s over there. She attacked us. She killed Trent, Lori … all of them.”
“What? Why? How? This doesn’t make any sense.”
She shrugs and delicately shakes her head. “I don’t know, but this means Connor didn’t do anything. Deputy Owens told me he’d be freed after he gets back to the station. Right, Deputy?”
He nods. “Well, not exactly after I get back. There’s still a chance he’s involved with this whole thing, but it’s looking a lot less likely now. And it seems there’s enough evidence here to make a case for sure.”
It’s not exactly what I want to hear, but that statement causes me to beam nonetheless. I knew Connor couldn’t have been involved with anything like this. I just knew it.
Then confusion wades its way through the fog of solace clouding my brain, grounding me.
“Hold on,” I say. “How did Sophia attack Marcus and me at the diner and then have enough time to get back here before you arrived? And I know she was cheerleader fit, but the person who attacked us had enough strength to wrestle a door open while we were both pulling against them.” I look between them and see the wheels spinning in both Drea’s and Deputy Owen’s heads. “Marcus stabbed the attacker in the left hand with some scissors.” I hurry over to the sheet covering Sophia’s body and lift it up enough to see her left hand. There’s no hole or visible stab wound in her black glove. “See? It couldn’t have been only her this whole time. There has to be another killer.”
My own words send a severe shiver down my spine. It spreads and begins to overwhelm me.
“Dammit, you’re right,” says Drea. “Trent’s body was upstairs on the third floor. There’s no way Sophia got him up there all by herself. And she got a text from Trent’s phone right in front of us. I can’t believe I missed that!”
Deputy Owens seems to agree with everything we’ve said. “I’ve got to call this in,” he says before stepping away.
Drea digs into her pocket and presents me with a piece of paper. “This was on Trent’s body. It’s from Carrie’s diary. The barn sketch.”
“What do you think it means? Is this where the other person wants us to go?”
She shrugs.
“That’s for me to figure out,” Deputy Owens says as he approaches us again.
The sound of sirens echoes outside the house, pausing our conversation. Red and blue flashing lights filter in through the slits of the blinds on the large windows lining the living room. The paramedics enter the house and Deputy Owens directs them to collect Harrison. Drea walks alongside him as he’s loaded out on a stretcher before disappearing through the front door.
Deputy Owens faces me. “I want you to wait here for the other officers to arrive and get one of them to take you and Drea back to the station, understood?”
“Where are you going?”
“To the barn to see if there’s any evidence there we can use.”
“You’re going alone?” I probe. “I should come with you.”
“Hey, look, I appreciate your eagerness to help. I really do. But frankly, I’ve allowed you to be a part of this investigation more than I should have already.” I begin to protest, but he continues talking over me. “Listen, I’m the one with the badge and the gun, okay? You’re a civilian, so I’m asking—no, I’m telling you to go to the station and hang out there until I get back. Besides, the sheriff said he’s going to meet me there with a couple other deputies.”
“Okay, fine. By the book it is,” I reply.
“Thank you.”
Drea returns and Deputy Owens takes his leave. “Where’s he going?” she asks, coming to stand in front of me. A gauze bandage is wrapped around her upper arm.
“He’s going to the barn.” My eyes zero in on the bandage again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize you got hurt.”
She examines the injury. “No worries. It’s barely anything,” she says with a strained smile. “So, are we going to the barn or what?”
“I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to, but recently I’ve been trying to ignore that part.”
She exhales sharply. “Yeah, maybe we should wait for the officers to show up first and then let them handle it.”
I take a moment to think it over. My thoughts are interrupted by the chime of my cell phone. I retrieve it from my pocket and see a text from the very last person I’d expect one from.
Connor.
“What is it?” Drea asks while my eyes scan the text.
The barn holds all the answers you seek.
“Connor just sent me a text, but that’s impossible. He’s locked up and doesn’t have his phone,” I say, confusion wracking my brain. “And there’s no way they just let him go, right?”
She shakes her head. “Deputy Owens said there was a process. It wouldn’t have happened this quickly.”
“Wait, Deputy Owens. He was the last one with Connor’s phone. Could he be involved?”
“No, I’m sure he would’ve turned it in as evidence,” she says.
My mind becomes overloaded with facts and theories. Then something occurs to me. “He said the sheriff was meeting him at the barn. You don’t think it could possibly be the sheriff, do you?”
“He most definitely would’ve had access to the phone,” she confirms.
“Looks like we might have to just go anyway. Deputy Owens could be in serious trouble,” I say. Then I’m struck by another realization. “Damn, we don’t have any way of getting there.”
Drea produces a set of keys. “I swiped these from Harrison’s coat pocket just in case. I gave him a kiss to pacify him when he protested. It seemed like an even trade at the time.”
I expel a drawn-out exhale. “Are we really about to do this?”
“We don’t have to. We could just go to the station. Your call.”
It takes only a second or two for me to decide what feels like the right thing to do. “No, we’ve got to go to the barn. You drive.”
“We should probably leave a note on the front door for when the deputies get here. It wouldn’t hurt to have some backup of our own,” Drea points out.
“We can use the piece of diary paper.”
She ducks away for a moment and then returns. “Here, I found a Sharpie and some tape in a drawer in the kitchen,” she says. “I also grabbed this.” She showcases a large butcher knife that would make any villain from a slasher film envious.
“Good ideas all around,” I reply, taking the tape and marker from her.
I scrawl out a message with bold thick strokes. Clear and easy to read. Then I tape it to the outside of the front door in plain sight.
COME TO WILSON FAMILY BARN
DEPUTY IN TROUBLE!!!
“Ready to go?” asks Drea.
“I sure hope so.”
Nerves, don’t fail me now.
Donovan
We’ve made a very serious mistake.
I’ve seen this exact scenario play out in countless horror films. A car pulls up to an isolated, weathered barn. The only light sources are the lone lantern above the oversized door and the vehicle’s headlights. The surrounding forest resembles a dark, impenetrable barrier, walling in the unsuspecting victims. And it’s just certain they’ll be stumbling through that dense mess of trees to get away from the killer before the movie rolls credits.
Only this time, it’s real life and not a piece of B-movie cinema.
On our approach, I notice two deputy cruisers idling off to the side near the broken-down truck. Both of their cab lights are on, but no one’s inside. The visible exhaust leaving their tail pipes into the cool air gives off the impression they’re still running. But there’s no other a
ctivity aside from that. Nothing.
Drea rolls Harrison’s car up in front of the barn’s large door. The headlights are drowned out by the warm glow of the overhead lantern shining down from above.
“So, no element of surprise then? Got it,” I say as the vehicle comes to a full stop. Sarcasm is present and accounted for.
“I figure we’re safer in the car than we would be parking in the shadows somewhere and then going the rest of the way on foot. I don’t know about you, but I can drive a lot faster than I can run,” she replies.
“Fair point.”
I glance over at the deputy vehicles again and notice the faint outline of a vehicle tucked back amongst the trees beside the white truck. I can’t quite get a good look at it from here. No telling whose it is.
“What exactly are we thinking we can do here?” I ask into the quiet of the car. My voice sounds weirdly loud even though I thought I whispered.
“I was actually about to ask you the same thing,” she says. We look at each other. “I guess I got caught up in the moment and didn’t fully think this through. Oh—but we do have the knife. So there’s that.”
“We suck at this, don’t we?” I say with a tense laugh as I crack open my door. The car’s dome light turns on and I suddenly feel even more exposed.
“What are you doing? I’m not ready yet,” Drea says, tugging on the sleeve of my coat. “We need to plan first.”
My head whirls around to look at her. “Maybe that should have occurred to us before we came here.”
BAM!
CRACK!
Our collective screams boom throughout the small car as it shakes from a sudden and violent impact. My heart has officially left my chest now. A body lays face down on the windshield. The glass is on the verge of being shattered, looking like crushed ice. I catch a glimpse of the person’s face framed by dark hair. Her empty lifeless eyes peer back at me as a trickle of blood trails down the glass from the pool gathered near her gaped mouth.
Tawni? Dammit!
“Is she dead?” Drea asks in a panic. “Does she need our help?”
