by K. K. Allen
“Jaxon,” I gasp, my throat thick with a multitude of emotions that all but strangle me in this moment.
Jaxon is standing in the path of the flashlight’s beam, and he doesn’t look right. He’s cloaked in blood, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. His eyes are glazed over, like he’s not quite awake.
“Jax,” I say again, fighting through the emotions to try and get to him. To get him to hear me. As I stumble toward him, my foot kicks the flashlight, turning it in the opposite direction.
Another tortured yelp escapes Lacey’s mouth. Horror ricochets through my chest when I see her lifted in Brooks’ grip. He’s holding her by the neck, dangling her in the air, and his gun is pointed directly in her mouth. A roaring heat licks at the inside walls of my chest, thawing whatever kept me frozen, then feeds my adrenaline like gas on a fire.
“Come and get her, asshole,” Brooks sneers at Jaxon. “She’ll die first. You’ll die second. And this little bitch behind me goes last. You ready? ’Cause I sure as hell am.”
Jaxon’s face twists in angry determination just as a cry slips past my throat, just as I turn my head in the wrong direction and see Scott lit up by the only glow in the cave that’s now pointed at him, his lifeless body propped up against the rock wall, his tongue pinched between his teeth. Dead.
A gasp slips from my throat and acid crawls up behind it, stirring a liquid poison in my belly. A sob comes next as guilt wraps its ugly scales around my still-beating and undeserving heart. Scott is dead. He’s dead, and it’s all because of me.
Another shot fires; I vaguely hear it, but I don’t know where it comes from. I’m frozen in grief at the sight of my oldest friend and the circle of blood soaking through the shirt that covers his chest.
For the first time in seven years, my world doesn’t go blank. There’s no panic attack or amnesia to blame. Clarity washes over me. So much clarity now that even in the darkest cave I can see. I can hear. I can feel it all. And this time, I just want to forget.
The shot flies past my ear. I can feel the whoosh of air before the bullet hits its target: Brooks.
I swirl around to find the gunman. I should duck, but I can barely move as it is. When Brooks shot his gun at me, I was already on my way to the ground. His bullet may not have struck me, but that big rock sure as hell nailed me in the chest and arm as I hit the ground. By the searing pain radiating through my arm, I know it’s broken.
Broken or not, I’m not letting Brooks touch another hair on Aurora’s head.
Limping through the entrance of the cave comes Tanner, one knee bloodied, his eyes hard and trained on his father as he shoots him again and again, closing the gap between them.
“Thanks for confirming everything I already knew, Dad. You dirty fuck,” he yells like he’s fighting back a different emotion—guilt, grief, I’m not sure.
I don’t count the gunshots, but I know Tanner finishes his round, signaled by the click-clicking of his gun before he tosses it to the ground. His face is still hard as Brooks stares back at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. Brooks’ mouth opens as if to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgle of blood as Brooks chokes on the thick liquid filling his throat.
The gun that nearly shot Lacey falls from his hand as he teeters off balance, and Aurora jumps for it, grabbing it and kicking it to me. Then she scrambles to Lacey and wraps her in her arms, cradling her as she whimpers in pain. Aurora’s wrists are still shackled and the metal plates attached to the chains are prohibiting her from doing much more than that, so I move quickly to their side, just as Brooks faceplants into a large rock.
Tanner falls with him, landing on his ass with a thud. His eyes glaze over like he’s in shock at what he just did, watching his father’s blood pool around his dead body.
Tanner’s face crumbles, then twists, and then a heart-wrenching sob tears from his throat.
A stage sits in the main parking lot, a podium at the center with six chairs behind it. It’s standing room only, stretching from one end of Main Street to the other, as five hundred twenty-eight members of the Balsam Grove community, as well as families of the victims, gather for the press conference the town has been waiting for since the disappearances began ten years ago.
Acting Sheriff Daniel Andrews stands at the podium wearing a somber look that matches the crowd’s. Dressed in brown slacks, a matching button-down shirt with a gold badge pinned to his pocket, and a wide-brimmed hat, he looks every bit the part. Danny has been ready for this moment since we were playing cops and robbers in elementary school. His confident eyes scan the sea of faces, commanding our attention.
The locals were shocked when they found out the truth about what happened to the hikers. Everything they had been certain of for the last seven years since Henry June’s arrest was false. Instead, the true abductor—and now confirmed murderer—had been right under their noses the entire time, living among them, breathing their air, ruling their town. Sheriff Brooks was adored by many. Despite his comfort with bending the rules and covering up the odd crime here and there to maintain the town’s squeaky-clean reputation, he seemed as sane as the rest of us.
“Thank you all for being here today,” Danny starts, his voice projecting through the speakers set up along the sidewalks. I squeeze Aurora’s hand, but she doesn’t need my comfort. If I’ve learned anything over the past three months, it’s that Aurora June is the strongest woman I know. Her jaw is set, pointed straight ahead at Danny, ready for the closure I know she’s been seeking for years.
“I want to start off by acknowledging the men and women sitting behind me who have worked tirelessly over the past three weeks to uncover the information I know you all are waiting to hear. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank my fellow deputy, Tanner Brooks, who has taken a leave of absence due to personal reasons. His family asks that everyone respect his privacy during this devastating time.” He continues to scan the crowd as he speaks, but there’s not even a stir as everyone awaits the closure they came for.
This part, Aurora and I already know.
It took close to three weeks for the homicide detectives to explore the entire cave and locate all six missing bodies. After finding a stash of trash bags, tools still caked with dried blood, zip ties, and stacks of cement blocks, it didn’t take long to piece everything together—especially after they found a manmade window at the other end of the cavern. Brooks used it to deposit pieces of the bodies into the deadliest part of the waterfall when he was done torturing, raping, and dismembering them.
Brooks was one sick fuck. He’d befriended Aurora’s father—sat with him at the bar, loaded him with shots, then drove him home like the great sheriff he wanted the town to believe he was—and learned all facets of Henry June’s personality—the stable ones and the delusional ones. He became a trusted ally just by being present when everyone else turned their cheeks. He egged on Henry’s delusions of devil worshipers, of sinners who had premarital sex, and shared fantasies for how they should be punished. He planted the idea for Henry to stalk Brooks’ potential victims—all females between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four, all unmarried, and all from out of town, except for Aurora. And over his bar chats with Brooks, he’d report back, unknowing of Brooks’ plans to carry out what Henry had only ever imagined. The tree carvings were, in fact, trophies of Brooks’ Balsam Grove killings.
Sadistic fuck.
After an investigation to put the final pieces of the puzzle together, it was confirmed that each of the girls had what he considered inappropriate relations with someone they were in town with—a boyfriend, a friend, a fiancé. He’d bragged about his conquests to Melody Roberts when he was tying her up. She was supposed to be next.
Detectives were there to question Melody when she woke up in the hospital. Disoriented and scared, it took a few visits to get the information out of her. Information that answered many questions regarding why Brooks started killing in Balsam Grove again, using the same methods that m
ade Henry June the prime suspect seven years ago. And between Brooks’ confessions to Aurora and Melody, the detectives were finally able to close the case.
Danny clears his throat after delivering the key findings to the crowd, giving them everything they need to understand what played out over the last decade. “Wrongful convictions cannot be taken lightly,” his voice booms. I swallow, my pulse racing because I know what’s coming next. “And so while it deeply saddens me that Henry June is not here to accept my sincerest apologies for the crimes he was accused of, I would like to take this opportunity to extend my regrets on behalf of the Balsam Grove community to his daughter, Aurora June.” Danny’s eyes lock with Aurora’s.
My heart twists in my chest as I look over at the love of my life, the wind blowing back loose strands of her dark brown hair, her chin raised high, a sad smile lifting her rounded cheeks, and a glossy mask of tears filling her big, beautiful, light blue eyes. She nods up at my best friend, accepting his apology, and then she looks at me and squeezes my hand.
Aurora wholeheartedly forgave me for the fact that my testimony was one of the key pieces of circumstantial evidence to help arraign Henry June, an innocent man under the law. His actions leading to the murders were still questionable. Still immoral. But one thing’s for certain. Henry June is innocent of all accused crimes, except for doing nothing about his daughter dying in his arms. But now that the facts are out in the open, his actions on the day he found her escaping the cave come down not to malice, but to poor judgement based on a mental disorder he couldn’t control. He never had a part in the killings—not knowingly, anyway. And the voyeurism Brooks accused him of may not be true at all. That’s something we’ll probably never know for sure.
Danny goes on to recognize the dozens of victims outside the county whose bodies are now being uncovered at the bottom of various waterfalls. His method of killing seemed to remain the same, though his tree markings were reserved only for the girls he took in Balsam Grove.
“And the final Balsam Grove victim, Scott Turner, who, after extensive investigation, we concluded was simply guilty of giving a friendly ride to someone in need, will be sorely missed by his loved ones.”
I know this statement hurts Aurora most of all. Scott shouldn’t have been driving that night. He was as drunk as Melody Roberts was when he pulled off the road and headed down the trail, deep into the woods. They were just trying to wait out the storm.
While there may be closure with her father and the crimes he was accused of committing, she’s working on forgiving herself now. Scott’s death will be a hard one for her to recover from. She may never fully heal from losing her childhood best friend, and that’s something I’ll learn to deal with, too. For Aurora. For Scott. Because the only thing Scott was guilty of was loving her, and I can’t be angry at that.
In the end, I’m thankful Aurora can finally put her father to rest. Because although Henry June had a mental disorder that made him a less-than-pleasant man in his final years, she was right. He wasn’t a monster.
Puffs of white float lazily through the sky, adding to the layers of sparkling powder that blanket the landscape. Water moves fluidly in the stream below, crashing over boulders and rocks in a rush toward the cascade. A crisp, wintery breeze whips a strand of loose hair against my frigid cheeks, and I move it with a leather-gloved fingertip.
I lived in Balsam Grove for ten summers and one fall, but until now, I’ve never seen it in the winter. And this year, it came early. I’ve heard people talk about it, the majestic sight of cottages wrapped in white and the quiet that cloaks you in its calming embrace. But now, seeing it, it’s a whole different thing.
It’s only been three months since I stepped out of that cave realizing I’d never really left it. It had been my prison for seven years. I was chained in darkness, starved from the truth, gutted and heartbroken by events I never quite understood, and robbed of a future for too damn long. But not anymore.
Gloved hands wrap my center as Jaxon hugs me from behind. His bearded cheek moves against mine. “You ready, Waterfall Eyes?”
My belly flips at the name, and I smile. It will never get old. “I think I am.”
I shiver when I turn to face him, not because I’m cold or because his eyes are still the most beautiful storm I’ve ever seen, but because I can feel it—the long-awaited ending of the final chapter, an epilogue inevitable—and it’s happening now, as I say goodbye to my childhood summer cottage for the final time.
It’s been sold, and the new owners, a family of three, close on the home tomorrow. Jaxon and I decided it was best to sell as part of our plan to start over. It’s time to let go completely of the past and move on together. So far, we’ve made great strides. For the first time since I can remember, I don’t mind making plans. Plans give me something to look forward to as I continue to heal from the physical and mental trauma of it all.
Scott’s death hit me hardest. The grief and guilt filled my every vein with a poison I’m still trying to drain. The worst part was making the phone call to Aunt Cyndi to let her know what had happened. She considered Scott to be like her son, and hearing her pain was like learning about his death all over again. Scott’s memory is like an excruciating wound that can’t be bandaged, threatening to haunt me for the rest of my days.
Jaxon turns to me, wincing a bit at his own residual aches and pains, then gives me a small, supportive smile. “You sure you want to do this?”
Releasing another breath, I nod, knowing this is the right thing to do. I’ve had my time with the cottage. Years’ worth of memories. The happy days, the sad days, and everything in between. It’s time to let it go.
“I don’t have any doubts,” I confirm. “Not a single one.”
His forehead presses against mine before our chilled lips warm each other’s. I love how gentle Jaxon’s been with me lately. And since he’s been recovering from a broken arm, our need for each other has become a raging fire, roaring hotter with each glance, each embrace, each kiss. While he would have risked his recovery to be close to me, I wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t. It would have only added more guilt to all that already weighed on my mind.
He moans. “Damn. Maybe Claire and Danny can bring the baby over another time. I’m missing you,” he growls low against my lips. “A lot.” He presses against me, letting me feel his truth.
I bite back a laugh and graze my lips against his. “I want to see the baby.” My eyes connect with Jaxon’s, a serious look making him understand right away.
Claire’s delivery scare was a part of our nightmare when we left the cave that night. So much light entered my world after that moment, powerful knowledge of a reality I’d kept hidden seven years before. The light drove out darkness that was so much more than a cold, empty prison cell. It was the feeling the loss of blood seeping into my clothes and just knowing that I’d lost our baby. The doctors never even noticed.
That night in the hospital, I told Jaxon everything I’d remembered. The entire fight with my father, learning about my pregnancy and Jaxon’s decision to stay in Balsam Grove. We cried together. At the loss. At the secrets. At the devastation of it all. I felt like I was losing the baby all over again. I’d forgotten that I was pregnant. After making a visit to my therapist in Durham, he confirmed what I suspected—that bleeding out from the miscarriage in that cave was ultimately the trauma that triggered my amnesia. Of course, the events surrounding it didn’t help, either.
One good thing came from the discoveries. Jaxon had always blamed himself for my abduction that night. No one knew that I’d gone home after our fight. No one, not even me, knew about the altercation with my father and the fact that Brooks was tracking me like game, just waiting for the right time to strike.
Jaxon helps me into his white truck, an older, beat-up vehicle he keeps hidden in his garage for the winter months when the roads are too dangerous for his motorcycle. Lacey hops in behind me, pushing me to my spot in the center. I laugh and nuz
zle her soft, white fur that makes her look just as majestic as the snowy landscape. Her light blue eyes shine back at me above that long-hanging smile, her panting every bit as energetic as it was when I took her on her first walk.
“What do you say, girl? You think we can all finally live together now?” Lacey laps me with her wet tongue, making me giggle as Jaxon hops into the driver’s seat. He reaches over and pats Lacey’s head, then grabs my knee, leaving me with a smile before he starts the truck and backs up.
“What are you two giggling about?”
I smile back down at Lacey, nuzzling my nose with hers. “Oh, nothing. We were just agreeing that you’re outnumbered now, buddy. Two females and one male.”
Jaxon chuckles. “Yeah, well. We’ll have to even that out one day, don’t you think?”
My heart flutters in my chest. He spoke the exact words I was just thinking. “I think I like the sound of that.”
The rest of the short drive is silent as Jaxon takes the highway to his—our—driveway and pulls up to the garage to find the new blue truck already parked outside.
“Lila’s here!” I gush, spotting the carrier in Danny’s hands as he steps out of the car.
We got to meet little Lila through the incubator she was stuck in for the first six weeks of her life. Once Danny and Claire were finally able to take her home, they wanted to get settled a bit before inviting anyone over. Yesterday when they called, Claire said they were stir-crazy and needed to venture out.
We rush them all inside to get out of the cold, and Jaxon takes Lacey downstairs. We aren’t sure how she’ll react to a baby, but we’d rather not test out our luck today.
Lila is still low on the scale at nine pounds, fourteen ounces. But as Danny gently pulls her from the carrier and into his arms, I can see how perfect she is. Dressed in a light blue onesie jumper, matching socks, and a pink cap wrapped around her tiny, fuzzy head, she’s the most beautiful sight, a perfect blend of Danny and Claire.
