by L. T. Vargus
A strange rush hit Charlie then, an almost overwhelming feeling of adrenaline flooding into her bloodstream. Her palms went icy-cold, and she had the sudden urge to burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. When she glanced up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she found she had gaping black pits for pupils.
When the car door slammed shut, she peeked out through the steering wheel again.
A dark figure stepped away from the car. A man bundled in a puffy coat, hat pulled down low over his brow. He hunched forward, something she interpreted as a reaction to the cold. His feet punched through the snow, taking slow steps at first and then speeding up as he made it to the sidewalk. After looking both ways, he veered into the park, not heading straight for the gazebo but instead making his way along a path toward the stream and trees on the east side of the park. If she remembered right, there was a place along the trail there that would be a perfect position for spying on the gazebo.
Charlie’s breathing grew faster and faster, hitting top speed as the dark shape disappeared into the elongated shadows under the trees.
Chapter Seventy-Six
With numb hands, Charlie thumbed the button on the walkie-talkie.
“Subject looks to be an adult male, around six feet tall. He just entered the park on foot,” she said.
“Holy shit. This is really happening.”
“Zoe, listen. This might be him, or it might be nothing. You stay there and keep watch in case it’s the latter,” she said. “I lost him in the shadows down along the stream, so I’m going in for a look. If I’m not back in, let’s say, seven minutes, come in after me.”
“Charlie, wait—”
But Charlie turned down the walkie-talkie before Zoe could finish her sentence. She needed silence now. No debates. No interruptions. Absolute quiet.
She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a delicate touch. Then she shoved the walkie-talkie into her coat pocket and drew her gun.
She hurried across the street and into the park. Light on her feet. Soundless.
She slipped into the long shadows under the trees, all those limbs reaching out across the ground, blocking out the light. The dark place enveloped her, welcoming her. She knew he must be close. Closer than ever.
Her breath came soft and shallow. In through the lips and out through the nostrils. Trying to stay ever so quiet.
Her skin crawled as she pressed into the darkest of the gloom, and she slowed, no longer able to see much. Ambiguous shapes occupied the space ahead. Hulking contours blacker than the rest. Crooked. Fragmented. She knew she must be seeing tree trunks and brush and maybe some park benches or fencing, but her eyes couldn’t make sense of any of them just now. She saw only sinister forms in the murk. Malevolent. Menacing.
The gun trembled at the end of her outstretched arm. She kept it angled down, the muzzle pointed toward the cement pathway sprawling out in front of her, the one thing she could still faintly see. The dark concrete aisle snaked through the snow, led her to wherever she was going.
Something writhed in the shadows to her left, and Charlie froze. Raised the gun. Squinted to try to make it out. Strange ripples stirring in gloom.
Her lips moved as though to call out, to ask whoever it was to reveal themselves. But she held her tongue. Something didn’t feel right. Some part of her knew that she should know what she was looking at this time, something familiar in the way it moved.
Water. The fluttering she sensed was the trickle of the stream, not all the way frozen just yet. As soon as she recognized it for what it was, she could hear the little hiss it made. A whispered murmur without end.
And then she saw him. The figure. The man. He stepped out of the shadows and into the light, walking away from her, hands tucked in the pockets of his puffy coat. His back fully to her, an air of comfort about him, something confident in the way he moved. He didn’t know she was there.
She followed, closing on him, still soundless. A crazy feeling came over her as she drew closer and closer. Half-terrified. Half-empowered. As though she were some lioness on the prowl just now. Hunting. Stalking another kill. Taking what belonged to her.
She got to within fifteen feet of him, and the details started to fill in on his person like a camera going into sharper focus. The texture and movement of the hair protruding from the back of his stocking hat. The stitched seams carving out the puffed bubbles on his jacket. The clouds of steam venting from his nose when he exhaled.
His head pivoted to look upon the gazebo off to their left, shadows of branches dappling over him as he moved. Chin tilting up and then down as he took it in, giving it a good, long look. Charlie’s heart jumped at that. Further confirmation, wasn’t it? This was the guy, staking out the place. Waiting for her and Zoe to arrive.
He moved into the clearing, finally out from under the last of the shadows, and in that moment, the distinct angle of his nose was cast in sharp relief against the moonlight shimmering down there. Light and darkness conspired to reveal that aquiline bump just lower than his brow. Charlie recognized the profile.
Will Crawford.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Charlie’s breath caught in her throat, some emotion reaching up to choke her. Clasping its crooked fingers so tightly that the sting brought tears to her eyes.
Shock. That’s what this feeling was, some distant part of her knew. Shock and horror. That detached feeling came over her again, just like all those times before. Her legs tottered beneath her, deadened and numb. Somehow still holding her up.
And this strange sensation dislodged memories from way down deep, flooded them up from the darkness. She’d felt this before—an overwhelming disgust and loathing and disbelief—when Allie had disappeared. All those sleepless nights, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, inconsolable. All those eerie moments when she’d ventured into their empty bedroom, felt the absence in the hush of the space, felt the lack of Allie there in a visceral way like the hollow feeling she got after a punch in the stomach.
She focused on her breathing. Forced her throat to open, to let the wind in. It took a second to get the rhythm of it back under control.
Will. It was Will. How could it be him?
She ran the story of the missing girls back through her mind in fast motion, drawing the line between Will and the crimes. He’d known both of the victims, representing Kara Dawkins professionally and doing business with Amber Spadafore’s father. Will had been the one who’d told her about the Red Velvet Lounge and had apparently frequented the place enough to be considered a regular. He would have had easy access to not only Charlie’s office but her apartment, would know better than most when it was likely to be empty. And then there was the Leroy Gibbs connection. The falsely accused murderer was his cousin as well as his client, for God’s sake. Will had access to Gibbs’ property to plant evidence, and he knew the long-term history as well as anyone on Salem Island. Gibbs. Allie. He knew all of these people personally, rotated in the same orbit as everyone enmeshed in the crimes.
He’d been present at every step of the investigation, asking her questions about it, hiding in plain sight. A snake. A murderer.
Another thought struck her then. If Will was setting Gibbs up now, had he done it before?
She went over everything in her mind, the things Will had said to her about Allie.
Dear God. Had Will killed Allie? Was that why he’d been so certain that Gibbs couldn’t have done it?
Nausea roiled in Charlie’s gut. Lurching and spitting like a lantern. A twinge of sickness stabbed at her, so sharp in her middle that for a few seconds she thought she might vomit.
She swallowed a few times in a dry throat. Let the queasy feelings pass.
It made sense. Crazy as it seemed, it all made perfect sense. Will Crawford was the killer.
Charlie raised her shaking arms, pointed the gun at Will’s back, tried her best to steady the weapon, to stop the muscles up and down her forearms and shoulders from twitching li
ke mad.
When she spoke, her voice came out loud and sharp, ringing out over the empty park.
“Don’t move.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Will turned in slow motion. The furrow between his brows loosening when he saw it was Charlie behind him. For a split second, he looked pleased, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Then his eyes shifted down to the gun in Charlie’s hands, focused on the black bulk of the weapon clasped between her fingers, and his eyebrows shot straight up.
“Charlie, what are you doing?”
“Put your hands up,” Charlie said.
Her voice shook just a little. She hoped he didn’t hear that.
All sound seemed to be whooshing around her now, the night air sibilant, whispering a string of nonsense syllables that seemed to fall in and out of time with the blood roaring in her ears. She swallowed and gave her head a shake. Tried to fight off the auditory hallucinations without effect.
Will’s hands lifted up to near his ears, looking red from the cold.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“You’ve been spying on me,” Charlie said.
His mouth opened and closed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to try to deny it or not.
“You installed a keylogger on my computer.”
“OK, look. I can explain.” His shoulders came up in a shrug. “This isn’t what it must seem like—”
“Quiet now,” Charlie cut him off.
She wasn’t interested in hearing his excuses just now. Didn’t think she’d be able to process it all with the shock still running through her. She needed to focus on keeping the gun on him until Zoe got here. After that, there’d be time for talk.
Probing with her elbow, Charlie could feel the bulk of the walkie-talkie in her right coat pocket. She wanted to get the thing out, call Zoe, but she didn’t dare take either of her hands off the gun, didn’t dare take her eyes off Will. Not now.
Zoe would come. Soon. They’d made a plan, right? Seven minutes. That had to be coming up already. Had to. Any second now.
“Charlie, lower the gun at least. Please. I’m not dangerous. This whole thing is a misunderstanding.”
“Shut up.”
Will took a step forward, one of those elongated shadows from the branches above falling over his face for a second, blotting out one eye.
Charlie backpedaled several paces.
“Stay back.”
She gestured with the gun as though to remind him that she had it. Any intimidating effect was likely undercut by the fact that her whole body was trembling.
The night whooshed louder. Flapping insects seemed to surround her, swooping ever closer. Her heart raced, more of a slurred murmur than the knocking beats that had pounded in her chest earlier. Some distant part of her thought she may be verging on a panic attack.
Where the hell was Zoe? She had to be here by now. Didn’t she?
She took one hand from the gun and reached for her pocket. Her fingers clasped around the walkie-talkie, gave a pull. The bottom slid out easy enough, but the antenna caught on the edge of the pocket. Charlie glanced down, just for a second, only wanting to get the walkie unstuck.
And the next thing Charlie knew, Will was on her. The walkie-talkie spilled out of her pocket, striking the pavement somewhere in the shadows, but she was too focused on keeping her hold on the gun to think about that now. Will gripped her forearms, fingers as hard as steel. He threw his weight into her, his hip bashing into her abdomen. Knocking her back on her heels. Off-balance.
And then his hands were on the gun. Prying. Lifting.
She gripped tighter, but he was bigger, taller, stronger.
He ripped the gun away.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Charlie gasped. A creaking sound torn from her throat. Lips parted. Jaw agape.
Her mind whittled down to a singular focus: her tunnel-vision view of her gun in his hand. The matte black of it partially concealed by his palm and fingers. It looked so much bigger now that he had it.
He didn’t point it at her, though. Didn’t even hold it by the grip. Instead, his bony fingers clasped around the top of the slide, barrel facing down toward the sidewalk.
“There. See? No one is in danger. Now, will you just listen?” His voice tried for a soothing tone. Soft and quiet, as if he could reassure her somehow.
But Charlie was beyond listening. Beyond reason. She was an animal trying to survive.
Her fingers stung. Raw and red from where he’d stripped the weapon away from her. The cold reached in to touch the wet in her mouth, in her throat.
Like a striking cobra, Charlie leapt forward and kicked him in the balls. The crack of her foot striking his groin sounded like a vicious helmet-to-helmet hit in a football game, the kind that put someone’s lights out and brought out the stretcher and cart.
Will buckled over at the waist, hands cupping his crotch. One big breath huffed out of him, the steam coiling there before his bulging eyes. Coiling and disappearing.
His lips popped a few times. Little plosive sounds rendered as though he was trying to speak but couldn’t. Stunned and hurting and speechless. This was her chance.
Just as she readied herself to snatch the pistol from his hands, the clatter of heavy footsteps on the pavement sounded behind her.
Zoe. Finally arriving to provide backup. Almost too late.
Charlie whirled around to face her friend.
“Zoe, I—”
The words died on her lips.
It wasn’t Zoe charging toward her. Charlie froze, not understanding.
She knew him, recognized the face, but it took her frantic animal mind several moments to place him.
Chapter Eighty
Todd Ritter barreled straight past her as though he didn’t see her. His eyes focused solely on Will, wide and wild and insane.
He rushed at the lawyer, launching himself like a torpedo. Will was still bent at the waist and didn’t even see him coming. His feet lifted off the ground as Ritter’s shoulder struck him in the chest, and both men went down in a tangle of limbs.
The men struggled, but in the darkness, Charlie couldn’t make out who was winning. Still unsure of what was happening, she wasn’t certain who she should even be rooting for.
She stepped closer, the writhing, grunting mass on the ground looking like a giant spider. Will bucked his hips, trying to throw the smaller man off. Todd straightened and drove his elbow into Will’s stomach, putting his weight into it. Charlie saw Will’s entire body spasm as the wind was knocked out of him.
In one clean motion, Todd’s arm shot out and ripped the gun out of Will’s hand without struggle.
Will held his empty hands out like he didn’t know what to do with them. Dazed. Eyebrows lifted. Forehead wrinkled. Confusion etched into the lines up and down his face.
Without hesitation, Todd brought the butt of the Glock down on the dome of Will’s skull with a sickening crunch. He moved with ferocity, hate, anger, aggression, decisiveness. All shocking to Charlie based on what she knew of the man. Hard to even believe. He looked like he was possessed.
Will’s eyes rolled back in his head, eyelids fluttering over the exposed whites, and Todd brought the gun down again. Another crunch. Louder than the first.
Once more, Charlie couldn’t believe the brutality of the act. The speed of it. The violence of it.
Mind whirring, she tried to make sense of it. Todd must have been following her, but why? And why attack Will so aggressively?
She supposed that if he’d witnessed their conversation and ensuing tussle over the gun, that he might have come to the same conclusion that Charlie had. That Will was the killer. Had the knowledge that this man murdered his stepdaughter sent Todd over the edge?
As Todd got to his feet in front of her, she thought he looked bigger than before. Something swollen-looking in the muscles of his upper back, some new thickness occupying his legs. All of him rippling, flexing, unc
oiling as he rose to his full height. Towering over Will. Over her.
Charlie took a few steps back, suddenly wary of him. But why? He’d saved her… hadn’t he?
Her eyes searched the ground for a frantic moment, trying to spot the walkie-talkie. But it was nowhere in sight.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Just the faintest wind on her teeth, on her lips.
Todd turned the gun on her as though he’d heard her, sensed her feelings, a smile playing along the edges of his lips. Something wolfish about it. Like a smile he was trying to conceal but couldn’t.
He strode over to her, and she scrambled backward, but he was faster. On her in a split second.
When he spoke, his voice came out strangely calm. Perhaps even a little amused.
“I think we need to talk, you and I. So why don’t we just do this the easy way?”
He lurched forward with another jolt of that unexpected savageness. A ripping, violent motion.
She only half saw the gun arcing downward for her head, a dark blur at the end of his arm. Slashing through the air.
Bright light flashed in her skull when it hit. Endless white that flashed and blazed and blotted out her vision.
And then everything went black.
Chapter Eighty-One
Charlie dreamed. Drifting.
She felt Allie there before she saw her. Her sister’s presence was tangible here, as obvious to Charlie as heat or the color red. That familiar feeling of being with someone you knew so well, rich with all its nuances. You often only became aware of the feeling when they were gone, Charlie thought—the absence left a hole that showed you what you’d lost.
The dream images filtered into her consciousness a beat after that sense of Allie’s presence. Flickering pictures that slowly strung themselves into a movie, like a flip-book animation from when they were kids. All the colors were saturated, exaggerated, hyper-real the way her dreams sometimes were.
