The Stranger in the Woods

by Kiersten Modglin

  “Don’t jinx us,” she said firmly, though she’d just been thinking the same thing. “What about tomorrow?”

  He sank into the couch next to her, an arm around her shoulders. His breath was minty, and he smelled of men’s soap. He was clean and new, and she smelled of staleness and the police station. He leaned his head over onto hers. “Tomorrow is a new day. We’ll be together. That’s all that matters, right?”

  She nodded, turning to face him. She ran a finger over his wound, tracing the outline. The closer it grew to being healed, the more she was reminded that someday soon his memory would be healed, too. And then this would all be over. And he’d leave her. And she’d be all alone again.

  Seeming to read her mind, he reached up, touching her fingers lightly. “I’m fine,” he whispered, kissing her nose. “We’re fine.” He pulled her fingers to his mouth, kissing them carefully. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She stared into his eyes, wondering if it were even possible that it could’ve been true. As if to answer her question, her phone began buzzing in the pocket of her robe. She reached into it, pulling it out and checking the screen. It was the chief. She stood, making her way to the window before putting the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Arlie, it’s Chief Chapman.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “Is everything okay?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “At home.”

  “Is he there?” the chief asked.

  “Mason?” she asked, turning around to glance at him. She stopped short. He was gone, his imprint still in the couch.

  “Yes, Mason. Listen, Arlie, I checked into that article you sent me. I checked the IP address.”

  “Okay, and?” she asked, peeking around the corner of the hall to check for him.

  “I’m sending Nathan to your house now to pick him up, Arlie. Do you hear me? It was him. We think it was Mason.”

  The words hit her like a block of ice square to the chest, sending cold chills down her body. “What are you talking about?”

  “Has he had access to your computer? Any computer in your house?”

  “Um, I don’t know, I guess so. Why? What are you talking about?” She recalled walking into her office when she’d caught him on the computer, though he’d had a valid reason to be using it. He hadn’t been trying to hide anything…but he did shut the computer quickly. She remembered that.

  “The connection, Arlie. It was coming from inside your house.”

  Someone was moving in the kitchen. Slow, methodical footsteps. She slid her phone back into her pocket without another word, but without pressing the end button. “Mason?” she called, searching for his face. As she made her way into the kitchen, someone grabbed her hair. She closed her eyes seconds before her face made contact with the counter and then…it all went black.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Arlie awoke to flashing lights. No, wait. That was her eyes opening and closing. Where was she? What was happening? Her eyes were dry, and she seemed incapable of keeping them open for longer than a few seconds. She moved to rub them, but something stopped her. Something was pulling at her skin.

  She turned her head slowly, noticing the stiffness, and opened her eyes again. The bed she was in was not her own. It was white. Crisp. Too clean. She stared down at the IV line taped to her arm. It took a moment before she realized where she was. A hospital. In Arbordale or Riverside, she couldn’t be sure. Her whole face was a giant bruise, every new expression causing her pain. She tried to sit up in bed, but a noise outside of her room stopped her. She watched the metal door handle twist. Someone was coming.

  As the door opened and a doctor appeared, his salt and pepper hair and warm, friendly smile caused a memory to come back to her. Mason. Where was Mason? The chief had said he was guilty. Could that be true?

  “Well, Arlie, it’s great to see that you’re awake,” the doctor said, looking at the machine above her bed before typing something into the iPad in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” she said honestly, her voice throaty. “Am I…what happened?”

  “You’re going to be fine,” he assured her, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed. He placed a hand on her arm cautiously. “I’m Doctor Ryan. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

  “What happened to me?” she asked again. “Did someone try to hurt me?”

  “Someone did,” he said. “You were…attacked, Arlie. In your home. You were lucky to have survived. The police brought you here. You’ve got a broken nose that we’ve reset and a lot of bruising, but you’re going to be okay.”

  “Who…do they know who it was? Who hurt me?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to the cops about that. But not to worry, okay? You’re safe here. In fact, the officer who found you has your room guarded. I can send him in if you’d like.”

  “Please,” Arlie said, nodding her head cautiously. “I have to know the truth.”

  “Sure,” the doctor said, standing from his chair. “Is there anything you need right now? I can have one of the nurses get you a drink, maybe? It’s past dinner time, but we could get a snack brought up if you’re hungry.”

  “A drink would be great,” she said, touching her parched throat for emphasis.

  “You’ve got it.” He bowed out of the room quickly, and within seconds it was opening again.

  Nathan stood in front of her, and in that moment, she was so grateful to see a familiar face she could’ve cried. “Nathan,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  “Arlie, thank God you’re okay,” he said, rushing to her side. “I was so worried about you.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “I…I remember being at home. With Mason,” she watched the officer’s eyes go stony as she said his name, but went on, “but I don’t remember much else.”

  “Do you remember the email you sent the chief about Bartholomew Danger?”

  She nodded, the memory coming back slowly. “I do.”

  “And the phone call he made to you?”

  “About the IP address,” she said quickly. “Yes. I do. I do remember.”

  “I was already on my way to you when he called. He said he heard you put your phone down.” He was speaking through partially gritted teeth, his jaw tight. “And then you screamed. When I got there, you were in the floor. And the blood…there was so much blood. I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m fine, Nathan,” she said calmly.

  “I know,” he said, nodding and looking away. “I’m glad. But we arrested Mason. Or whatever his name is. He’s down at the station now being interrogated. If you could remember what happened, we can make sure he can never hurt you again.”

  She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes once again. She tried to scrape the fuzzy memory from her mind. Someone had been in the kitchen. Someone had grabbed her hair and shoved her into the countertop. Someone. But she couldn’t be sure it was Mason.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I can’t…I can’t remember. They…he attacked me from behind. I never saw the person. Not that I can remember.”

  “Are you remembering clearly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was anyone else in the house with you?”

  She looked down, folding her hands together again and again. “No. It was just the two of us.”

  “When we found Mason, he was in the restroom. Washing his hands. Probably washing away evidence of the crime. Your blood, Arlie. You have to remember. Without your testimony, this psycho could walk.”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to believe it.”

  “I know, but—”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t want to believe it, but I guess it’s true.” His face was coming back to her. The blurry outline of him as he walked away. Maybe it had been him. It had to h
ave been. Who else was there? “I can sort of remember it now. It’s just…it’s hard. I trusted him.”

  “I know you did,” he said calmly, patting her hand. In his pocket, a phone started ringing and he stood up. Her heart pounded as she watched him walk to the edge of her room, but to her relief he didn’t leave. “Chief.” He paused. “Mhm…no shit? Mhm, okay. Okay, yes I’m with her. Okay. Do you need me to…okay. Thanks.” He lowered the phone from his ear, slipping it back into his jacket pocket and turning back around. His head hung, his eyes not meeting hers as he walked back toward her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The police searched your house. Looking for anything that might incriminate Mason further.”

  She swallowed. “Did they find anything?”

  “They did,” he said, meeting her eyes finally.

  “They found the murder weapons. The gun from Perry’s death and the knife from Ted’s.”

  “It was him,” she said, letting out a slow, agonizing breath. “He really did those horrible things? He killed those people?” She’d had a killer in her house. In her bed. In her body. She’d let a killer into her life. She’d kissed a killer. She’d fucked a killer. Oh. What had she done? Her heart pounded, her breathing growing erratic as the machine next to her beeped loudly.

  “There’s more,” Nathan said, sitting down next to her once again. “They found a wallet.”

  “A wallet? He robbed someone?”

  “No. The wallet was his. Or should I say…it was Alec Hopewood’s.”

  Hopewood. No.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BEFORE

  “Hello, beautiful,” Brett said, kissing his wife’s neck from behind. She jumped at his touch, turning around and slapping him playfully.

  “Way to scare a girl,” she said, kissing him back.

  “I thought you liked being scared.” He wiggled his eyebrows before pointing his nose to the ceiling like a bloodhound. “Smells delicious. What are you cooking?”

  “Shrimp scampi.” She turned back to the pan, grabbing a piece of shrimp on a fork and offering it to him. He took a bite slowly.

  “As delicious as it is,” he whispered, his eyes dancing over her, “it’s not as delicious as you look.”

  “Easy, boy. Our guests will be here any minute.”

  “We have time,” he promised, pressing his body against hers.

  “I don’t think so. Not if you don’t want dinner burnt.”

  He took another bite, kissing her lips. “I told you pizza was fine with me.”

  “Pizza is not what you serve dinner guests.”

  “We live in Crimson Falls, love. I don’t think anyone is expecting a four-course meal.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, speaking of guests. Take off the ‘s.’”

  “What? Why?”

  “Her husband had a thing. Work or whatever.”

  “Well, shouldn’t we reschedule? I mean, isn’t the whole point of a double date to have two couples here?” She offered up a playful smile, though her heart was sinking.

  “No. No, it’s fine. Meaghan didn’t want to trouble us. She knew you’d be cooking, and there’s no reason for it to go to waste. The four of us can get together again another time.”

  “Won’t it be awkward for her, though?”

  He let out a sigh, his forehead wrinkling. She took her thumb and moved to smooth it out as she so often did. “We’ll just have to make sure it isn’t,” he said, kissing her again before heading from the room. He was already unbuttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang. “Honey, could you get that? I’m going to run and change.”

  She nodded, pulling the pan from the stovetop and setting her oven mitt down. She dusted off her apron, glancing at the clock. Meaghan was early. She walked to the door cautiously, pulling it open and forcing a smile.

  Meaghan was small, in every sense of the word. A petite brunette with a tiny waist, eyes a bit too close together and lips that were chapped. Despite her flaws, she was gorgeous. And young. Enough to make Arlie hesitate.

  “Hi,” she said with a large grin. She held out a bottle of wine. Red when she should’ve brought white. If she’d bothered to ask what they were having, she could’ve paired them appropriately, but whatever. “You must be Arlie.”

  “I am,” Arlie said, finally out of her trance. She stepped back. “Come on in. Brett’s just run to change clothes.”

  “Thank you so much for having me over. I hope you aren’t too thrown off by my husband not coming. He had a work thing.” She raised her eyebrows, looking away. “You know how it is.”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m sure the four of us can get together another time.” She was echoing her husband’s words, not entirely paying attention to what was being said as she watched the girl taking in their home. Was it too small? Not as well decorated as she’d imagined? Nothing like she was used to? Did she think Arlie must be a horrible housekeeper? That Brett deserved better? Arlie shook her head. She was being ridiculous. The girl was married. And half their age. She wasn’t a threat to her. Besides that, Brett loved her. He loved her. She was safe.

  “I am just so excited to meet you,” she said, and Arlie detected a hint of Southern twang. “Brett has told me so much about you, but I’m never out this way. Riverside’s not that far, but honestly Arbordale is the furthest I ever go, and that’s just for work.”

  “You’re from Riverside?”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling at Brett as he walked into the room. “Hey you.” She reached out to hug him, and Brett obliged awkwardly, his eyes on Arlie.

  “I thought you lived in Arbordale,” Arlie said.

  “No, honey,” Brett told her, “I told you Meaghan was from Riverside, didn’t I?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What? Is there a turf war?” Meaghan joked. “Am I wearing the wrong color?”

  Arlie shook her head, wrapping an arm around her husband to pull him to her side. “No, of course not.” She laughed. “It’s just…I wish you hadn’t had to drive so far to come. We could’ve all met in Arbordale if I’d known.”

  “It’s all right. I just came straight from work, actually. Which is why I look so terrible. Excuse my appearance.” She was fishing for a compliment, and though Arlie knew it and refused to offer one, Brett didn’t seem to be aware of her resistance.

  “You look fine,” he told her, reaching out to take the wine from her grasp. “Make yourself comfortable. Should I open this?”

  He looked to Arlie, who nodded uncomfortably. Should she point out that white would go better with the dish? She decided against it. “Dinner is almost ready. I’ll get the table set.”

  Meaghan sat down on the couch, crossing her legs so that her skirt rode up even further, and Arlie followed Brett into the kitchen. He grabbed three glasses from the cabinet and poured their drinks. His gaze never met Arlie’s, though she tried desperately to catch his eye. Something was off about him. Suddenly he was one of those guys. He was all too charming. His act was done well, but Arlie could see through it. She knew her husband. This was not him. If it were one of the guys, they would’ve met them closer. If it were one of the guys, and their wives couldn’t make it, they would reschedule. So what was it about Meaghan that made Brett suddenly lose his nerve?

  She knew what it was. She’d known what it was the second she saw the tight skirt and perky breasts. The fake smile.

  This girl was vindictive. Young. She made Arlie self-conscious, something she’d hardly felt before. Brett loved her. She knew that. But something about this felt off.

  She placed the food on their plates quietly as Brett disappeared into the living room with two glasses. She could hear them laughing and carrying on, and as her anger bubbled, she took a deep breath.

  She was being ridiculous. This was Brett. He wasn’t capable of an affair. He loved her too much.

  She set the plates on the table, laying out the silverware and taking off her apron as she walked into the living room. She tried to i
gnore the way Brett’s hand left Meaghan’s arm the second she appeared.

  “Dinner’s ready.” She felt more like a maid than a wife, hating herself for the unfounded jealousy filling her chest. She was not a jealous person. What on earth was happening to her?

  “Perfect, I’m starving. It smells delicious, Arlie.” Meaghan stood, waiting for Brett to lead the way, and Arlie fell behind them. Brett pulled out the chair at the head of the table, waiting for the ladies to take a seat on either side of him before he sat down.

  “This looks amazing, babe,” Brett said, squeezing her hand. Arlie smiled at him.

  “Thank you.” She took a drink of the wine. A gulp, more like it. It was going to be a long night.

  After dinner was over, Arlie was cleaning the dishes as Brett and Meaghan remained at the table, their laughter echoing throughout the small room. Arlie cast sideways glances at them, her hands raw from how hard she was scrubbing, but everything she did seemed to go unnoticed by her husband.

  When she had finished, she dried her hands on the towel that hung by the stove, laying it on the countertop and refilling her glass of wine. She was on her fourth glass. Or maybe her fifth. And it was finally white wine, which would’ve actually gone nicely with the meal she’d slaved over.

  What did it matter? Brett and Meaghan had hardly touched their glasses, so lost in each other. She walked toward them, merely feet away when Brett finally noticed. “Hello, darling. Sit down,” he said. “You look exhausted.” He patted the table as if she were supposed to sit there.

  “I am,” she said. “It’s getting late.” It was a hint to Meaghan, and her gaze fell to her. “Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, of course,” Brett answered. “Why don’t you go on up to bed. I’ll finish cleaning up down here.”

  She looked around at the spotless kitchen, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes. “I was just thinking Meaghan should get going. It’s getting late, after all. You have a long drive home.”