Next Girl to Die

by Dea Poirier

  Clearly they didn’t let him out. He must have snuck out of the hospital. I’m going to have to make a call once we’re done here. Ryder hovers near the door with his hands in his pockets until I motion toward the couch.

  “Why are you here, Ryder?”

  “I need to talk to you about her,” he says as he leans over, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “All right. What about her?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of rumors. It’s hard to keep things quiet in this town. But I want to be sure you have the right information before I leave.”

  “Whose idea was it to keep the relationship secret?”

  “Mine. Madeline didn’t want it to be a secret at all. But I didn’t want anyone knowing about us.”

  That surprises me. Why would he want to keep her a secret? Did she not fit into the persona he’d built?

  “My family has a reputation, you know. The people we love suffer because of that. I knew her dad would just think she was dating me to get back at him.” He sighs. “I didn’t want her life to be harder because of me, and honestly it’d end up harder for me at home. My parents won’t let us date anyone from the island.”

  It’s a sweet sentiment, and he’s right—most girls on this island would suffer if they dated a Warren.

  “How long had you two been dating?”

  “Almost a year.”

  They were able to keep a lid on it for a year? No one seems to have any clue they were that serious.

  “Recently, things changed, though. Madeline was trying to finish up high school a year early so she could go to college. She really wanted the hell out of this town.” He laughs to himself, but there’s no humor behind it. “She wanted to get her GED so we could leave last August. But I told her to stick it out for one more year. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I didn’t think I could support us.”

  “Did anyone else know that was her plan?”

  He offers me a one-shouldered shrug. “Madeline had a lot of friends, friends I didn’t talk to.” He looks down and grimaces, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  Ryder doesn’t seem as fragile as he did a couple of weeks ago. But I’m still hesitant to ask. “Ryder, did you know she was pregnant?”

  His eyes go wide and well with tears. “No,” he finally manages to choke out. “Is that why she was rushing me to find a way out?” He buries his head in his hands, and a strangled growl slips from him.

  I reach over to try and comfort him.

  “Why didn’t she just tell me?” His shoulders shake as his body is racked by sobs.

  “I don’t know, Ryder. We won’t ever know.”

  Tears pool in his eyes when he looks up at me again. “All she wanted was to move on with our lives, to get the hell out of here, and I couldn’t give her that.” His lips twist, and he stares off into the distance.

  “Ryder, it’s not your fault that she’s dead. I know it doesn’t help now, but I hope one day you realize it,” I say. I’m not the kind of person that tries to fix people. The career path I followed wasn’t about fixing but about closure. But I desperately want to fix this kid. He doesn’t deserve to suffer through this.

  “That’s easy for you to say. She was meeting me in the park, because I didn’t want us to be seen together having a date. I knew how bad that’d be for her. Her dad would have flipped.” There’s an edge to his voice; it’s close to cracking. Years of this, and it doesn’t get any easier to sit across from someone who’s upset. I steady my thoughts so what I’m going to say doesn’t come out sharper than I want it to.

  “Believe me. I’ve been very close to where you are. It’s the same place I was in with Rachel. Looking back, there are things I could have done to save her. If I had told someone what I knew . . .” I trail off, unsure what else I want to say to this kid. And the burden is doubled, because my future niece or nephew died right along with her. Two lives I’ll never be able to make amends for, no matter how many killers I find.

  “How do you live with yourself? How have you convinced yourself that you deserve anything? That you deserve to be happy again?”

  “For a long time, I didn’t think I did. But I realized Rachel wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life punishing myself.” It was something that took me years to process. When you break it down, Rachel was a much better person than I was. She did what she could to save me. And all I did was keep my mouth shut. Rachel had to know. There’s no way she didn’t know that something terrible was about to happen to her, and the only reason I got away was because she wanted me to. “Someone told me something that helped after Rachel died.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re never going to be the same again. But one day, you’ll be okay. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but one day you will be.”

  “So don’t aim for happy; just aim for not wanting to die every moment that I’m awake. Got it,” he says as he rubs his eye into his palm.

  “It does get easier.”

  He shakes his head and lets out a strained laugh. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to be okay. I don’t want to get over this. I deserve to feel like this.”

  I don’t argue with him, because the conviction in his voice tells me that there’s no point. It will take years for him to come out of this fog. I can only hope that he makes it through.

  “Even if you find who did this, it’s not going to bring her back,” he says, but I think he’s saying it more for himself.

  “I know. But it will stop someone else from going through the same thing. Whoever did this isn’t going to stop with Madeline, Emma, Piper, or Rachel. They’ll take someone else’s daughter, sister, girlfriend.”

  He nods, and my cell phone vibrates.

  “Sergeant,” I say as I answer the phone.

  Ryder pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and points to them, as if to ask me for permission to smoke one. I wave my hand for him to go ahead, and he lights one.

  “Ryder Warren escaped from the hospital. We need to keep an eye out for him on the island. They were sure he’d come back,” Sergeant Michaels informs me.

  “How’d he escape?” I ask, and Ryder raises an eyebrow in response. He stands, but I motion for him to sit back down.

  “He took someone’s badge while they were on the shitter. If you see him, grab him and let me know so we can get him back to the hospital,” he says and ends the call.

  “They figured out I’m gone already?” Ryder asks as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

  I nod. “Yep. I’m supposed to be looking for you.”

  “Are you going to take me back to the hospital?”

  “That depends. Are you going to hurt yourself again?” I ask, because I’m pretty sure he won’t. This kid reeks of guilt—it comes off him in waves—but I don’t think he’s going to hurt himself because of it. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to turn him in—because I don’t know who to trust in this. My fear is that someone is going to try to pin something on this kid, and that will push him over the bit of ledge he’s got left.

  He shakes his head. “No. It all just got to be too much, you know?”

  I nod. I do know. I know what he’s feeling—or pretty close, anyway. There were days I thought the grief and guilt would swallow me whole. With my emotions as raw as they were, I didn’t think I could ever be okay again. Everyone told me it’d get easier day by day—it didn’t. It took good days, and it took bad days, but eventually I realized somewhere beneath all of this, I was still there. “Madeline would want you to live, to be happy.”

  A thin, lifeless smile curves his lips. “I know. Even if I had killed her myself, she’d still want me to be happy. That’s just who she was.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to Bangor. I can’t stay here; everything reminds me of her.”

  “As long as you promise that you’ll call me if you think about hurting yourself again, I never saw you. But you’ll have to figure out how to get yoursel
f off the island.” There’s only so much of a risk I’m willing to take for this kid.

  “Thank you.”

  Ryder hangs out in the living room until dark and then disappears into the night. I wait until he’s gone before I head back to the hotel. The next morning, with no word or sightings of him, all I can hope is that he made it to Bangor okay.

  CHAPTER 35

  Early Saturday morning, my phone vibrates on the nightstand, pulling me from what feels like less than two hours of sleep. My eyes burn, raw with exhaustion. Noah and I stayed up too late looking through more case files with details on Frank, trying to find answers about his sister, but everything we’ve found has pointed to her leaving the island—and though I’ve asked around, the only responses I’ve gotten match that story. Though I blink over and over, trying to make out the words on the phone’s screen, it takes me what feels like five minutes to read them.

  “You want me to handle that? You’ve barely slept,” Noah offers.

  “Thank you, but I’ve got it,” I say as I unlock the phone. “Mom,” I say as soon as the call connects.

  “Hi, darling. What time are you getting to the church tonight? I thought it’d be good if we arrived at the same time,” she says, her voice so chipper I’m sure it’s an octave from shattering glass.

  “Church?” I have no idea why she thinks I’d be going there tonight.

  “There’s a memorial for all the victims.”

  “I’m not sure,” I start to say, but she clears her throat, interrupting me.

  “Everyone is expecting you to be there,” she says, and the undercurrent in her voice tells me everyone expects it because she told them to. If the whole town is expecting me, I can’t bail. I can’t dodge something like this.

  “I’ll be there at seven,” I say.

  “Is everything okay?” Noah asks.

  “I’ve got to go to the memorial at the church tonight, if you want to come with me,” I offer.

  Noah nods. “Of course. I’ll be there if you want me to be.”

  I settle in the hotel room, a box of files at my feet. As Noah types away on his laptop, I dig back into Frank’s history.

  The edge of the bed dipping from Noah’s weight pulls me from my nearly unblinking gaze on my laptop. He brushes hair away from his face and says, “You should probably find a stopping point so we can head to the church.”

  I nod and close the laptop. Shifting on the bed toward the edge, I groan. After the constant rush of adrenaline and stress lately, my whole body aches. I try to stretch my sore muscles and groan again when a sharp pain radiates from my bruise.

  “You all right?” Noah asks as he rubs my neck.

  I nod. “Everything hurts right now. I’m sure it will be fine once I get moving,” I say, and I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. But I need to do this. I have to be there. Most of the town will be, and I’m curious to see if Frank will show up.

  The bruise on my neck has only gotten worse since the attack. Purple, blue, and green handprints are etched on my skin. The last thing I need is for everyone in town to see it. After I get dressed, I call Sergeant Michaels.

  “Claire,” he says as soon as the call connects.

  “I’m going to the memorial tonight.” The idea of Frank being out there, possibly attacking someone else, while I’m at the memorial makes me want to second-guess the whole thing. “Who has eyes on Frank?”

  “Allen is watching Frank tonight. He’s staked out there now. Jason is in town as well, keeping watch. He’s sweeping between the church and park.”

  “Sounds like we’re all set, then. Call me if they see anything,” I say.

  “You know I will.”

  The reality of going to the memorial hits me, and I turn to face Noah again. “Are you sure you want to go to this?” He’s going to be diving headfirst into being picked apart by this entire island. No matter why he might be going with me, to everyone there, he will be my date.

  “If you want me there, I want to be there.”

  I know what he’s really thinking, what he won’t say—I shouldn’t go anywhere by myself right now. “You’re throwing yourself to the wolves,” I warn him.

  He grins. “Then I hope I taste good.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “They’re going to ask you a million questions.”

  “Good thing I have a million answers.” Though I didn’t think it was possible, his grin widens. I smack his arm. “You wound me!” he cries dramatically before falling back on the bed.

  It takes me a few minutes to finish getting ready, and then we head to the church. My mother is leaning against her Jag outside when we walk up. Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s seen my neck. I adjust my shirt to cover it, realizing that during the drive it shifted to reveal my bruise.

  “What on earth happened?” she asks, her eyes still on my neck long after it’s covered.

  “Problem with a suspect,” I say as if it doesn’t bother me a bit. If I show that it scared me, that it was at all an issue, she’ll panic. And the more I talk about it, the more likely it is to upset me again. I can’t deal with her panic and my own.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that job. I keep telling you that,” she says as she clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. I’ve had this argument with her a million times. Police work is a man’s job, I don’t even need to work, our family money will take care of me—we’ve been through all her points so many times I could make her arguments for her. But I’ve never wanted the family money; that’s not the life for me. I’ve always wanted to make my own money, to be my own person.

  “We should go inside,” I say to change the subject. Hopefully the moment we step inside she’ll stop questioning my life choices.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, Noah,” she says, ignoring me as she kisses him on the cheek. Great—maybe he can be her new favorite.

  “You too, Mrs. Calderwood,” he says, offering her a forced smile.

  “Evelyn! Over here!” Jan, one of my mom’s friends, calls from right outside the doors to the church. Her black hair is pulled up in a french twist. She’s wearing a short black dress, the kind most would find inappropriate for an occasion like this. According to my mother, though, Jan is in the market for a new husband, and that excuses all.

  “Let’s go. There’s no reason to dawdle out here,” she says as if it were her idea.

  We trail behind my mother, her sleek black dress swaying back and forth as she walks in front of us. As usual, she’s got on impossibly high heels. They’ve always been her trademark. She tried to pass the tradition on to me, but I was hopeless. I’m just not a high heel kind of woman, and I’m fine with that. It’s not like I can chase down a suspect in stilettos anyhow.

  “Where’s your dad?” Noah leans closer to me, his voice low.

  “He doesn’t like getting out much. He’s always been a bit of a shut-in.” Hell, I don’t think my dad has ever even left the island. He’s lived in the same house his entire life. My dad may as well be a hermit. I’ve always been surprised he left the house long enough to meet my mom.

  The church is packed. From the looks of it, nearly every person in town came. Pews line the room all the way to the altar. With night falling outside, the stained glass windows are dim, lifeless.

  Being in the church again makes my stomach sour and my heart clench. The air is thick, heavy, like everyone in here collectively let out the breaths they’ve held for too long. Family units clot together, swarming from one group to another. I can read them. They think their togetherness will save them from the same fate. I wish there were something that would save them from this. But deep down, I know none of these girls are safe.

  My mother ushers us around like we’re a collection plate. She looks at me as if waiting for me to ask questions, but here, in a situation like this, listening has much more value than questions. As we move to our seventh group, my phone vibrates, and I’m thankful for a reprieve.

  “Excuse me, I’ve got to take t
his,” I say, glancing to the rest of the group as apologetically as I can manage.

  “Want me to come with you?” Noah asks.

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Sergeant Michaels’s name pops up on the screen, and I answer it as soon as I step through the back door. Darkness blankets the island, and back here, I blend into the shadows. Above me, a sliver of a moon stands out against a twinkling sky.

  “Hey, Sarge—” I start to say, but the sound of scuffed footsteps forces me to turn around. In the darkness, I see nothing. But I feel it, a presence so close the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something cracks hard. Lights explode behind my eyes; then darkness claims me.

  The ocean rocks me awake. A slow, pulsing throb, like the waves, starts at the back of my head and radiates through the rest of me. Pain splits me in two as my consciousness returns. My eyes flicker open, and I look out over the ocean lit only by the sliver of a moon. It takes too long for my mind to register that I shouldn’t be here—right around the time I realize I can’t move my wrists, my legs. I’m bound to a chair, ropes so tight around my arms and legs that my feet and hands have gone numb.

  Panic swells inside me, and my heart beats with a frenzy. My breaths come so quickly my head swims. Though I try to look for the shore, to see how far from the coast I am, the lights glitter so far in the distance that for all I know it could be fifty miles.

  “You’re awake,” a rough voice calls behind me. Though I try to turn my head, whoever it is, is too far behind me for me to see. But I recognize the voice now. Though it doesn’t match the voice of my attacker—he was too feral, too raw then—now that he’s calm, I’d know it anywhere.

  “Frank, untie me,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

  He chuckles, low, and my blood chills.

  “Come on—if you’re going to kill me, at least be a man about it,” I growl as I struggle against the restraints.

  His feet thud against the wooden deck of the boat behind me. “Don’t act like this is my fault, sweetheart. You had to get in my way. You had to keep me from what I have to do,” he scolds.